Sallitia: Age of War

6

One morning, Laralythia gathered her children in the courtyard, a place she hoped would help them keep their minds busy. Alvanar, now barely old enough to draw a bow on his own, stood beside Faelyn, who held her own small bow with an eagerness that made her mother smile despite her worries. As they practiced, Laralythia demonstrated different stances and techniques, watching with pride as her children attempted to mimic her movements. Alvanar’s brow was furrowed with concentration, while Faelyn's tongue poked out slightly as she squinted at her target, a makeshift straw dummy at the far end of the courtyard.

“Relax your shoulders, Faelyn.” Laralythia encouraged gently. “Let the bow become an extension of yourself.”

Just then, the sharp, rhythmic sound of hooves echoed from beyond the castle walls. All three turned their heads toward the approaching noise, each with their own rush of thoughts and emotions. As the gate creaked open, the sight before them filled Laralythia’s heart with dread. Eburon, slouched on his stag, clutched a black arrow protruding from his chest, its dark shaft shimmering ominously.

"Eburon!" Laralythia gasped, immediately rushing forward. Her children stood frozen, wide-eyed and silent, their young minds struggling to process what was happening.

One of the soldiers dismounted and quickly moved to her side. “My queen,” he began, his voice weary. “We were ambushed by a band of orcs just as we drove off the human soldiers. It was a hard fight, and though we prevailed… the king was injured.”

“Quickly!” Laralythia’s voice rang out with the authority of a seasoned captain. “Take him to the Hall of Healing.” She turned to Alvanar and Faelyn, trying to soften her tone for their sake. “Stay close to me, my little ones.” she murmured.

They hurried to the Hall of Healing, where the soldiers gently laid Eburon on a low bed surrounded by jars of herbs, tinctures, and vials. His face was pale, his breath labored. Laralythia could see the toll of the battle in his every labored breath, and the memories of past wounds shadowed her mind.

With steady hands, she inspected the arrow lodged close to his heart. Her fingers brushed lightly over the spot where the old dragon-fire scar marred his face, a wound that had never fully healed. This arrow was dangerously close to reopening one of old scars, a terrifying reminders of past battles fought and lost.

“Oh, my dear, you should have been more careful.” she whispered as she carefully removed the arrow, her voice a mix of concern and relief. “I know how much you despise the orcs, but your life is not worth risking so rashly.”

He grunted softly as she pulled the arrow free, blood welling up immediately. Laralythia wasted no time, quickly crushing a handful of herbs and applying them to the wound with practiced precision. She placed her hands over the injury, closing her eyes as she murmured a healing spell, one she had learned long ago when she served as captain of the royal guard.

“Menno o nin na hon i eliad annen annin; hon leitho o-ngurth…” she chanted softly, willing her strength to flow into him. A warm, golden light surrounded them both, bathing the room in a soft glow. Slowly, the bleeding ceased, and the wound began to close. Eburon’s eyes fluttered open, meeting her gaze with a weak smile.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

“Quite.” She gave him a teasing glare, though her relief was evident.

Without missing a beat, he reached up and pulled her down, pressing his lips softly to hers. “There. All better.” he murmured.

Laralythia blushed, caught between laughter and exasperation. “Fool.” she replied, smoothing a stray lock of his hair.

“Naneth, is ada going to be alright?” came Faelyn’s small voice from behind them. Both children were standing close, their faces wet with tears as they clutched each other for comfort.

“He will be fine.” Laralythia assured them, her voice soothing. “But he needs to rest here for the night.”

That evening, a fierce storm rolled over the kingdom, thunder rumbling through the castle and lightning illuminating the darkened halls. Faelyn lay in her bed, the covers pulled tightly around her. Each crash of thunder made her heart race, and after one particularly loud rumble, she couldn’t take it anymore. She slipped out of bed, her small feet padding silently down the halls to the Hall of Healing.

Entering quietly, Faelyn saw her father sleeping, a soft rise and fall to his chest as he rested. Without a second thought, she crept under his mantle, seeking the comfort of his presence.

Eburon stirred, his hand falling gently on her small head. “What’s wrong, little one? Can’t sleep?”

“Thunder is terrible, ada.” she whispered, peeking out from under the cloak with wide, frightened eyes.

Eburon gently lifted her, holding her close as he began to rock her back and forth, humming softly. His voice slipped into a lullaby, an ancient song that his mother once sang to him when he was young:

“Dilthen hén, n- ú- ruce-… Child, do not be afraid, though the rain beats roughly against the glass like an unwanted stranger…”

His voice was a warm, steady comfort amidst the roaring storm. Faelyn’s breathing slowed, her body relaxing as the melody wrapped around her, like her father's strong arms. As he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, she could feel her fears fading away. Each note painted a picture in her mind: of rivers and forests, mountains draped in mist, of the moonlight’s soft embrace on the world below.

“Dilthen hén, n- ú- ruce-… The same rain that draws you to me falls on rivers and land, on forests and sand. It makes a wonderful world that you will see in the morning…”

Soon, Faelyn was asleep in his arms, her tiny hand resting over his heart. Eburon held her close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Don’t be afraid, my little one.” he whispered as he drifted off to sleep. “I will never let anything harm you.”

Outside, the storm began to wane, and the first glimmer of dawn peeked over the horizon, bringing a quiet peace to Hisidore.