Illara Chronicles: Swordplay

A Life Lived in Love

Layla Kettlesbee burst through her front door into the rain and ran towards Kendreth. Between his blurred vision and the dark, he couldn't make out her face, but her movements betrayed her fear. A mothers panic. She yelled something. Kendreth used his sword like a cane as he moved, he wasn't a dozen steps inside the gate that surrounded Keliths home before she was upon him. First a hug that he didn't have the strength to return, then a flurry of hands at his wrist, his neck, she felt his face. "You're chilled to the very bone!" She peeled off her soaked shawl and draped it over his shoulders. she tried to help him forward but buckled under his weight and they both fell into the mud. Kendreth groaned.

Help her.

Kendreth couldn't find his feet, until strong hands pulled him up off the ground. The man had his father's face. His scent.

It was warm inside, he lay somewhere soft and slept restfully, without dreams. There was comfort in the complete void. The incessant call to action ceased. The guilt and the regret quieted and the fiery need to place himself between others and any pain cooled to nothing. Kendreth slept.

 Then, sunshine crept into the room and shone upon his bare shoulders and back. It was warm. He closed a fist around a knitted quilt and nestled his face into the feather pillow. Slowly, Kendreth found his nightmare waiting for him, there as he woke.

The first conscious breath of the day caught in his throat, and wound itself into a knot.  He couldn't breathe. Tears boiled and burned behind his eyes. It hurt. He rolled onto his back and pressed his fingers into his eyes to stifle the crying.

Finally, he gulped, and angrily forced down a greedy breath. He focused his thoughts on slowing his racing heart.

She's still needs me.

Kendreth stood and dressed in the folded clothes on the desk beneath the window. Keliths long sleeved shirt fit tight across Kendreths chest. The room was full of books, none of which were stories so they must have belonged to Keliths brother.

Rook must have struggled to sleep in his father's study, on my acount. The smell of food... ...breakfast food muddled Kendreths train of thought, and drew him into the foyer, where Jaskier set a single plate onto the table. Two eggs, bacon and a biscuit.

"I know you'll be in a hurry Son. Eat before you go." Jaskier pulled a seat out for the young man. 

Kendreth began to retort, to say that he really hadn't a moment to spare, but the command came again, "Eat before you go." So he sat. His mouth watered and his stomach growled. All at once the simple plate became irresistible. He had to force himself to stop and thank his host before he devoured it all at once. He left just enough time between bites for breaths, and when it was done, he put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. "Thank you, Sir." He smiled. The brief trickle of joy was immediately chased by a torrent of guilt. His face fell into a frown.

How could you smile?

"Your father was a good friend, and a better man than I. You've been family since before the tension between your parents, when she'd beat him at the mid-summer games. That smug smirk, oh-...Jaskiers eyebrow twinged, and his building excitement died. "Don't thank me. You have a plate at this table, always."

Thank you.

Kendreth kept the gratitude to himself. "I really don't have a moment to spare. You have been very kind. Please thank Layla, and Rook." Kendreth started for the door. His sword leaned against the wall there, and he grabbed it and stepped into the sun.

"Kendreth." Jaskiers thick brown hair was more grey than Kendreth remembered, as he followed him outside. Much more.

"Is our son alive?"