Sleepers' Sage | ONC 2023

III. Morning

"During difficult times we often retreat wherever we feel safest, whether in the arms of a lover, the beckoning doors of our home, or the compelling halls of ale and song that the taverns build. Barely twenty, Marion Barwick had no significant other to seek comfort with, no home of her own, and the loud pubs she grew up knowing brought her no sense of rest. So, when brought to her knees by consuming guilt and humiliation, she first attempted to seek atonement in the presence of her best friend. Those who harbour friendships strong as hers and Delards would understand the solace found simply in their company. Something about that endless conversation, fellowship and understanding is consolation. Something about it is healing.

The young Barwick woman found herself the first evening after the tournament on the flat roof she shared with Dale. Where they would usually meet by the call of dusk, this time, there was not a trace of the young man. As the sun slowly sunk below the horizon, Mara watched the arrival of stars, unsuccessfully attempting to withhold the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. She didn't know how long had passed since she had seated herself on the cold roof, but it didn't matter. She would wait forever if it meant seeing him.

Even when clouds began to mask the sky above, and the summer warmth fled from the Great Dales to invite the cold of night, Mara did not budge. Her limbs had long since become heavy with sleep, making her teary eyes sting. Still, she stayed in wait for him. It was so that Delard found Marion, her own arms wrapping around her in the wishful gesture of a hug. Not a  word was spoken between them as he knelt beside her. He held her close as she wept until her shame lay bare against the evening breeze, and she could no longer cry.

Finally soothed was the fearful heart of the innkeeper's daughter. She rested long in his calming embrace until she noticed the moon above them. It stood high, proud against the backdrop of midnight, signalling time's long passage. As long as she had waited for Delard's arrival, so quickly she pulled away, suddenly in worry that she was keeping him awake from rest. Apologising profusely as she wiped away her tears, Marion soon noticed she was not the only one who had been sorrowful. Dale always had a joyful, upbeat presence, but now he looked solemn. Even the golden sparkle that usually adorned his eyes had dimmed. Marion felt her heart fill with fear before he had even spoken.

As Dale told her about his father's decision to leave Forn, her heart sank even further. Graham was to meet with Lord Alcott in the Auran Reach. With the war concluded, treaties had to be signed, pleasantries of peace exchanged and ceremonies performed. As a future ruler, Dale was to accompany his father. While Dale had left Forn many times to attend to business befitting his future station, he had always known when he would return. However, this time his leave would last indefinitely until his father was able to heal the bonds between Forn and Alcott fully. As far as Dale and Marion were concerned that evening, indefinite meant forever.

As dawn crept closer, so too did their eventual goodbye. It was a warm goodbye, filled with hopeful grief and wishes to keep in touch. Contrasting dusk, this dawn no tears were shed, and only blessings were exchanged. Sadly, as often happens with farewells, their prayers would be in vain. Promises swiftly became letters, and letters eventually became silence. Marion would move on with her life, and Delard would become joyful memories of the past.

Mara grew up much quicker without her companion, ending her apprenticeship at the cobbler and getting a full-time job at the temple she had been schooled at. During her downtime, she reconnected with her family. These days were wasted away gradually in the homely environment of the Hearth's Rest Pub or near the training fields where her brothers exercised their new profession.

Both Bartic and Dustan had grown up alongside their dreams. While the latter had remained mostly the same, safe for shedding his chubby figure and boyish curls, he had gained a nearly refined atmosphere. Dunstan, meanwhile, had almost become a different man. Gone was his adventurous spirit and jesting (save for the more longwinded jokes he told at dinner), replaced by a powerful resolve and love for working. Most days and nights Dunstan spent training, should he not be otherwise occupied by his passion of amateur smithing work. The ginger-haired man had grown not only a set of broad shoulders but a keen intellect too. Daggers, trinkets and bracers, he could smith it all.