Things Lost and Found (a Waglington and Mianite fanfiction)

Epilogue 2/3

*? POV*

I scanned my bookshelf, wondering if I'd missed anything important. I had already packed the important books of history and lore. I had my book on potion brewing. A title at one end of the top shelf caught my attention: Quintessence for Dummies. I laughed at the memory. Mianite had gotten me that for my hundredth birthday. I still hadn't read the darn thing. Maybe someday, I thought with a shrug. I added the book to those inside my pack. That was it for the bookshelf.

Turning to the rest of the room, I had the feeling I was forgetting something. I already had my armor, coat and scarf, weapons, food, first aid kit, spare clothes, and sleeping bag. Wait! I quickly felt around my pockets; they were all empty. Where's my knockback stick?! I frantically turned the room upside down when the more usual search failed. No, I literally tossed the furniture around. The pesky wand had rolled under the edge of my bed—which was now clear on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. I sighed and tucked the wand securely into my pocket.

When I made to rise, I stopped. There was a photo album and an old box, almost falling apart with age, down here too. I pulled both towards me and tentatively lifted the latch on the box. The shallow, wide box held dozens of letters and journals. I grinned, remembering where they'd come from. I opened the photo album next, enjoying the memories captured there. There I was with my purge mask, standing with the heroes. There was a picture of me standing next to the newly constructed "Quartz House"—before Redbeard and Furia ruined it. I frowned, recalling the mess they'd made and the dark times leading up to the heroes' departure for Aethoria. The next page held a picture of one of my favorite builds—The Tank of Judgement. Now that was the most fun idea Dianite and Mianite had ever come up with. If only they could work together more often. One of the oldest pictures in my photo album was of Mianite and I standing side by side. Looking at it, no one would know it was over a hundred years old, taken the day after Mianite had made me his acolyte. Neither of us had aged a day.

I sighed and set the photo album aside. Picking up the topmost leather journal, I pulled a loose photograph, yellowed and cracked with age, from the crumbling pages. There I was as little more than a sprout. My parents stood behind me, and Grandma Treia stood to one side. I didn't have to leaf through the journals to recall the story there. I'd heard my grandma tell it often enough. She always started the story off the same way.

~Flashback~

"My parents and their parents before them were merchants and traders, spending much of the summer and winter months on the road. I traveled with them until I was six. Then my family was killed by bandits while we were visiting the desert villages. The militia of the closest town chased the bandits away before they found me. As an orphan, I should have been counted among the street urchins, forced to beg for what food I could get. The elder of that town took pity on me. He had known my parents and had lost a daughter of his own to one of those childhood illnesses that strikes fear into parents' hearts. He would have adopted me in her place, I think, if not for his wife. She had been hardened by her girl's recent death and would not have me take from the inheritance that her other children were entitled to. In her grief, she saw me as a threat. She was not without a heart, however, and the couple reached a compromise. They would raise me and see me well married, but my status would be that of a slave, not a daughter.

They never treated me poorly, and I accepted my place, knowing little else at the time. If I had to help with the household chores, hadn't I already done that every evening when my family made camp and every morning when we packed up? I made friends among the kitchen staff and gardeners to replace those I'd lost and learned a lot about the making and running of a household.

The elder's wife eventually softened towards me as well, calling me "niece" in her happier moods. It was in one of these good moods that she confided that she had arranged for someone important to visit shortly after my seventeenth birthday. The knowing smirk she gave me when I asked who it was told me plenty. I'd seen that look when she was matchmaking for her older children—two of whom were happily married now."