Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter 10: Enter the Sandman

Métimafoa put a comforting hand on the shoulder of the weeping LeShay girl who had just watched her father die. He had no words to comfort her, and she kept repeating the phrase "Grisum un klaw estem, y no driedo evah folau." She repeated this for about 3 hours straight, before finally collapsing into a restless, nightmarish sleep. Métimafoa's concern for Nolgaion prevented him from truly appreciate the beauty of the realm they were in, but Oroneminya noticed it, even as she carried Nolgaion over, and set her under a nearby mallorn tree.

The feeling of the gelatin grass under her feet was mildly disconcerting, as was the fact that she had just watched Mallori die, but it was hard not to feel calm in this realm. The Temperature was perfect, and the sky was beautiful, smooth and colourful like matte painting covering a never-ending canvas. The small grey gnomes with tricolour horns ran around playing games amongst themselves, and there were crystalline trees peppering the hills and vales. "What are we doing here, Métimafoa? We have no place to live, and no food to eat, Little one." A gnome came up to her and offered her a white flower, which she graciously accepted. She inhaled its scent with a sigh and continued: "We will survive, Métimafoa, for as long as we stay here, but there are foes, probably the Forces of Meneltarma, waiting for us on the other side. We die when we leave." She was surprised at the lack of emotion in her voice. She was not afraid to die, not anymore and certainly not afraid to fight, but this was different. It was not fear, that she felt; it was resignation, as though she had lost all hope.

Métimafoa smiled at her and took her youthful hand in his infantile ones. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. That is out of our hands. All we can do is make do with the time we have and make it count. Who says we have to leave, anyway? We have all of the resources here that we could ever need. We have everyone here that we could ever need, except for our siblings, but they will never even know we are gone."

Orónëminya was tempted for a moment but in that moment of indecision, she felt something she had not felt before. She felt a responsibility, not only for Métimafoa, and Nolgaion, but for her siblings in the Material realm, and all of the people who dwelt therein. She sighed, as the words of her father echoed through her ears.

"You must always do what is right. Not for me, your mother, your aunts or your uncles, but for the people of Meneltarma. As a princess, someone will always be watching you, and some will want to see you fall. If you give them an anchor, they will grasp it, and pull you down into the deep dark recesses of your crime."

"What can I do to stop it?" She had asked fear in her young voice.

Her father looked at her and replied, "Some part of me wants to hold you, and comfort you, and tell you that all is, and will be, well, but such is not the case. Darkness will rise from the deep, and the Line of Estelondo will be broken. I will not always be here to comfort you, nor will I be able to. I must teach you to be strong now, so that you will be strong later. That, is my duty as a father."

Orónëminya whispered under her breath, "If only he had believed the same was his duty to the citizens." She took a deep breath, and to Métimafoa said: "We cannot stay. We have a duty to our people, and that duty is worth far more than our lives. Such is the curse of a monarch; we must return to the home of our childhoods, regardless of the danger to ourselves."

The hope in Métimafoa's eyes dispersed, and he sat down between her and Nolgaion, holding one of each's hands. "So be it." He looked around at the quick-moving gnomes and smiled at their curious antics, but inside he was disheartened. As far as he was concerned, all that lay in the material realm was death and despair. How could he take Nolgaion back, just to see her father's corpse, and die? "I suppose we should begin building shelter, though I doubt that it will rain. I at least want to build a platform to lay on, so that we don't have to lay in this Gelatin grass." His eyes strayed toward Nolgaion, who rested under a nearby tree. "I hate what this world has done to us. No."He corrected himself, "Not 'to us.' 'To its people.' To the citizens of the Land of Aponar ar Quendie."