The Ashes Wake

Chapter 18: Arwen

ARWEN
"The citizens have taken to calling Highborn the 'Forest Fortress' because of its endless vines, trees, and gardens. To me, it looks more like a prison."

Diary Entry of Princess Aileen
5670 Year, Frigus Season

-

More days passed, each one feeling worthy to be Arwen's last. He hadn't seen his suns in so long. He hadn't seen the nature, and he needed it.

It was morning when Golith visited him. The moment he saw those eyes of precious emerald he knew it was time for his manacles to disappear, time for real food, and time for a bed. Time for a hair cut.

Arwen didn't have the energy to get up when the Glareum unlocked the cell, looking at him in sad disgust.

"Let's go," he said gruffly. He crouched down next to him, slipping a smaller key into the lock that rested in his chains.

They fell to the floor with a liberating clang. Arwen looked at his wrists and ankles; they were covered in boils, the skin red and bruised.

He pushed himself up using the wall for support, as it had done so many times before. He grunted with effort while his atrophied muscles screamed at the movement. The Glareum whistled, stone fingers pressed against his lips, and two castle servants appeared scurrying into the cell. They grabbed him under his arms with grace and walked him out of his cage. Arwen looked at the other cells as they passed. As always they remained empty, except one. A figure hunched in the dark recess of a cell, where the orange glow of the torches couldn't reach.

Before Arwen walked up the stairs, the castle servants supporting his weight, he whispered, "I'll be back."

No words escaped the stooped creature as Golith, taking up the rear, shut the metal door behind them.

The walk through Highborn Castle was torturous as it always was after the first moments of his release. The white, natural light was too sharp and bright; his corneas felt as if they'd burst from color. His ear drums thudded from the noise of servants running around, from the Royal Militia running drills outside, from the simple sounds of ruling the entire Realm. And his nose! The smells wafting from the massive kitchen made him nearly faint.

His senses were overloaded, and it was all Arwen could do to not collapse at the knees as the servants dragged him along, his feet taking laborious step after step on majestic marble tiles.

It was another few minutes until they met the door of his room, having finished a long last flight of stairs. The wood was dark purple with pale, flowery designs carved at each corner. The sight of it made him cry. He knew the tears would leave streaks of clean on his dirt-covered face.

He heard Golith release a huff of annoyance as he opened the door. The servants rushed him inside, as if afraid he'd been seen.

His colossal bed was the first thing that met Arwen's eyes; its familiar white, fluffy sheets beckoning. Dozens of pillows were strewn across in various sizes and colors. Satin curtains hung down from the wooden rafters above the bed, and a mural of the Nebula Woodlands was painted on the wall behind the headstand; its Cerlac trees stood tall while the grass was a saturated green, and the night sky filled with stars and the Realm's four moons.

Dressers, armoires, and a desk of the finest wood in the Realm graced the room, but Arwen's favorite spot looked out at the rest of the world. It was a wide and tall window, recently cleaned so that the glass was sheen. Golden light poured in, sending crystals of luminance across the floor and walls.

Before Arwen could even try to approach his window, the servants steered him to the nearly as-large adjoined washroom. The white tiles felt icy on his bare feet and he noticed he left black footprints as he walked.