Alkara sits quietly next to Dre in Uncle Iro’s room as she sleeps. Alkara has a meeting with Charlotte soon, but she’s loathe to leave Dre alone. And Uncle Iro and Chiron are both busy.
There’s a soft knock on the door. Alkara quietly rises and goes to answer it.
“Ileta!” Alkara whispers exitedly. “Thank you so much, here let me help.” She takes a few of the carefully wrapped parcels from the small, pale woman with brown hair and brown eyes and takes them to the new table Chiron and Uncle Iro had secured for Dre’s new station. “Over here. Quietly now.”
Ileta inspects the table, narrowing her eyes. Her eyes dart back and forth.
Alkara frowns a little. “Um. Is something wrong?”
Ileta purses her lips and puts a hand on her chin. “No. But you’d best let me arrange everything. There’s not much space.”
Alkara nods. “Okay but quietly. She’s still asleep.” Alkara heads to the second room but then turns back. “Actually, I have to leave soon. How quickly can you–?”
“I can watch her. And I’ll make sure she doesn’t see it before you get back.” Ileta murmurs quietly, already unwrapping parcels and placing them just so. “I’ve got some more salve for her back in any case.”
“Oh.” Alkara fidgets. “I umm… I finished healing her back… last night.” She looks down. “I just… I couldn’t stand…”
“It’s quite alright.” But there’s a bit of an edge to Ileta’s voice. Is that jealousy?
Alkara shakes her head. Don’t be crazy. “Okay um. Well I’ll be back in an hour or two. You sure you’ll be able to keep her in the room that long?”
A small smile appears on Ileta’s face. “Don’t you worry.”
Alkara arcs an eyebrow. “Okay. Well.” She glances at Guen, then back to Ileta. “By then.” She turns. “Come on Guen.”
Closing the door as quietly as she can, she quickly makes her way to the Retrievers’ guild hall to pick up the most recent slew of assignments.
In Charlotte’s office, she shuffles through the papers, then stops. Her heart beats a little more quickly. A small smile creeps onto her face. A caravan to Afanen. “This one.” She says firmly, holding the paper out to Charlotte to inspect.
Charlotte arcs an eyebrow and then snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous Alkara. That’s hardly the most important–“
“I’m taking this one Charlotte. They’re requesting me. And I’m going.”
Charlotte freezes, then slowly turns to Alkara, irritation sparking in her eyes. “Need I remind you that you’re paying off several fines now. And I need you to bolster the reputation of the Retrievers’ in the city, not with the damned elves!”
Alkara swallows. “It won’t take long. Besides I…” Alkara clears her throat. “I have other business in Afanen.”
Charlotte narrows her eyes. “Like what?”
Alkara shifts nervously. “Like. Stuff…” She looks up at Charlotte then quickly looks back down. “Look I need arrows okay? If you want our reputation to keep going up, I need good arrows.”
“You can get good arrows in the city.”
Alkara snorts and smiles with assurance. “Not like these you can’t.”
Charlottes arcs an eyebrow. “You’re telling me. That these arrows. Are critical to our growing reputation? And warrant two weeks’ travel time?”
“A week and a half.” Alkara frowns. “And yes.” She leans in conspiratorially, “Guen isn’t the only thing that gave me away last time.” She winks, snatches the mission details from Charlotte, and turns to leave. “Thanks Charlotte. You’re the best!” Alkara quickly dashes out the door and closes it, but not before she hears Charlotte groan.
Alkara smirks, then her grin widens when she looks down at Guen. “We’re going to Afanen!”
She dashes down the stairs, out of the guild hall, and makes her way through the city, anxious to get home before Dreonna is awake.
Finally! She’d been looking for a chance to head to Afanen and now this one basically drops itself in her lap. Though, Charlotte is right. She can get arrows in the city. She can even get arrows made my elves.
But she can’t get his arrows. And even though she’s pretty sure she’s getting to the point where she can just keep reattaching the arrow heads to new shafts, she just…
Well first of all she wants to get out of the city. She needs new arrows and she wants to get out of the city. So there. She nods to herself, trying to solidify her conviction.
Because Uncle Iro is right. It’s only a matter of time before she gets in trouble again. Helps someone who she’s not allowed to help because of guild law and penal action and whatever other bull shit.
Charlotte wants her to stay out of trouble and keep up the good work, then she needs more arrows, plain and simple.
But even Alkara has to admit that some day she won’t really need to go get more arrows. And the impracticality of the trip is a harsh reality. His arrows are pricey. Getting into the damn city is a hassle. Having to sleep in the forest because no inns will house her, thinly veiled behind the excuse of not being able to accommodate Guen.
Still worth it.
But for how long? She can’t keep this up forever. It just doesn’t make sense.
Even so, she’s pretty sure she’ll miss the trip when she does finally stop making it.
She shakes off her brooding as she arrives home. She opens the door quietly, and is pleased to hear Dre speaking quietly with Ileta in the second room. “I’m home!” She calls quietly.
Alkara grins widely, even more pleased to see the immaculate set up Ileta had managed, even with such a small space. She ducks into the second room. “How are you feeling?”
Dre smiles warmly, but then her smile fades. “Like I’m ready to get back to work. But…” She looks forlornly at Ileta. “Ileta just told me someone just cleaned out her supplies. And her next shipment doesn’t come for a couple of days.”
Alkara feigns surprised devastation. “Oh no. That’s just… awful.”
Dre narrows her eyes at Alkara suspiciously, then looks back at Ileta, who’s failing at keeping a smile off her face. Dre looks back at Alkara. “What’s going on?”
Alkara grins and gestures with her head. “Come see.”
Ileta helps Dre stand, but Dre shakes off the assistance. “I’m fine.” She says with some exasperation. She walks to the door, still eyeing Alkara with suspicion, then turns to look into the front room.
She gasps with wonder. Her eyes widen. Her hand flies to her mouth. She pushes past Alkara without ceremony and rushes to her new table, now laden with brand new flasks, vials, bottles, and an immaculately organized set of herbs and other weird things Dre and Ileta use in their potion making.
Alkara feels a satisfied warmth spread through her chest. Dre is not one get emotional.
But this time she turns to Alkara, tears in her eyes, and runs back to give her a fierce hug. “Thank you.”
Alkara tentatively wraps her arms around her older sister. “Thank Ileta. She did most of the work.”
“But you paid for it.”
Alkara shrugs. “Eh. It wasn’t that much.”
Dre looks sharply up at Alkara. “Liar.”
Alkara laughs nervously. “Okay it was that much. But it’s the least I can do.” She squeezes Dre one more time. “Now, go have fun. I have to get to work. Going to Afanen. Be back next week.”
Dre arcs an eyebrow. “To see Tharan?”
Alkara feels a small, confusing, spike of defensiveness in her chest. She frowns a little, trying to shake it off. “To get more arrows, yeah.”
Dre narrows her eyes at Alkara again. “Uh huh.”
Slightly outraged. “What do you mean uh huh? That’s what it’s for!”
Dre turns away from her toward her station. “Yeah yeah. You’ll see.”
Alkara frowns, then shakes her head and digs in her pack. She finds her gold pouch and quickly counts. A little short. Good thing I checked. She digs some out from her chest. These fines fines really are starting to add up. Now she’s paying for the boar that Dre supposedly poached from the Earl. And escorting caravans doesn’t exactly pay [top dollar].
She shakes her head. Oh well. Time to go. “See you in a week or two.”
Dre, already pre-occupied as Ileta demonstrates a new, strange looking apparatus, barely remembers to wave at Alkara.
Alkara smirks, then heads out the door.
When they get to Afanen, she collects the rest of her payment from the caravan and heads toward Tharan’s house. She hopes he’s home. She’d been thinking a lot on the way here. And she’d realized that, while it’s such a simple thing, but having these arrows has been so… nice. It’s like knowing she was working with one of Dre’s potions or Chiron’s traps. She can count on them. And she’d been a little disappointed that she hadn’t gotten to thank him in person the last time. When she arrives, her heart beats faster with excitement. The guards are flanking the doors. She opens the gate and almost skips to the front door. As she knocks on the door she realizes that it’s probably almost dinner time. She cringes. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
The door swings open, revealing Dorië. His upper lip tightens, Alkara smiles in return and straightens. “Hey Dorië,” she relishes the tiny quirk of the elf’s mouth; Dorië in particular seems to fail at keeping his expression completely neutral. “Long time no see. Is Tharan here?”
The quirk of his mouth sours into a frown. “Good evening, Miss Alkara.” Dorië steps back into the foyer, sweeping his hand inward. “Master Tharan is home. Please enter.”
Not long enough, apparently
Alkara chuckles. “Thanks.” She steps into the foyer and surveys the pieces. Nothing new. A warm, yeasty aroma wafts into the entry from a side hall. “I’m sorry, dinner is almost ready, isn’t it?” Her arms droop, “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You are not intruding, Miss Alkara.” Dorië leads her to the lounge and away from the scent of bread, meats, and whatever else is cooking. A small fire crackles. Some of the smoke escapes the chimney to mix with the scent of musty books, filling the void of those food smells. “Master Tharan attends his forge. I will not interrupt him.” He gestures to one of the couches, “Please wait here.”
Alkara’s cheeks warm, “Oh! Of course.” She sits on the indicated couch, “There isn’t any way to get a message here quickly, you know?” She blows out a puff of breath, “It’s hard not to stop by unannounced.”
Dorië nods, his frown a distant memory. “Indeed.” He steps back into the threshold of the lounge’s doorway. “Refreshments will be delivered while you wait.” He smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes, “Thank you for your patience.” He bows and exits.
He… smiled…? It’s as fake as all the other Doësin expressions but it’s still a smile. That’s progress. They probably stare into mirrors and make faces as kids.
Alkara snorts and shakes her head. She settles into the couch, letting its soft cushions envelop her. She pulls her legs up to her chest, letting them warm with the fire’s glow. Guen curls up underneath the table. A clink alerts her.
“Good evening, Alkara.” Leä’s smile and lack of addressing Alkara with a title radiates more warmth than the fire. “It’s lovely to see you once more.” The elf has set a tray with bread, cheeses, and cured meats on the table. Alkara wrinkles her nose. Leä sets down a teapot with two ceramic cups.
Alkara beams, “Leä! Good to see you too.” Alkara shifts, sitting straight again and avoiding looking at the teapot. Her heart shrinks a little as Leä pours out a measure of tea into one cup. With a slumped shoulder, Alkara takes the offered cup. “Thank you.”
If only I’d practiced looking thankful.
Leä presses her lips together and bows low, putting the expression out of sight. “It is my honor and that of this house.” She straightens, the expression gone. “Please call on me if you have need.” The elf fidgets, “Master Tharan doesn’t tend to work so late, but I can’t estimate when he’ll be finished.”
A lightness buoys Alkara, spreading through her chest, “Thanks Leä. I’ll be fine.” She sets the teacup down and takes a slice of cured meat.
Leä begins to leave, but pauses before turning away. She raises her eyebrows, “Is this is short visit?” Her eyes sparkle, “Or will you be joining Master Tharan for dinner?”
The huntress stops mid-chew, tilting her head at the elf. “Um, I’m usually in and out.” She narrows her eyes, “And I brought enough food for the journey back.”
Leä’s mouth quirks, “Very well.” She bows herself out of the room.
What…?
Alkara stares at the empty doorway. After a moment she just shrugs. She nibbles at the assortment of snacks. The tea sits alone, cooling. Alkara spends the time examining the room’s decor. Aside from the books, sculptures, portraits, and unusual plants celebrate an elegant tapestry. None are out of place.
Nor are they Tharan’s. Few are even of metal. A sophisticated wire device lifts splayed ornaments toward the ceiling. A second melds metal and glass. The transparent metal thins to translucence at the joint. Blue and green glass reflect the shifting firelight.
Definitely not Tharan’s, I wonder who made it.
Alkara slumps into the couch again, leaving the tea forgotten on the table. She reaches for some of the meats without rising. “Want some, Guen?” No response. Alkara leans over. The panther has disappeared. Somehow. She jumps to her feet and leans over the back of the couch, “Guen?”
Where on Urda? A stray cat in a stranger’s house is one thing. Guen is another. She waits a beat. No screams at least.
Alkara dashes to the door of the parlor. Guen’s tail swishes through a doorway down the hall. Alkara frowns at the downward motion. Is it a staircase? She creeps to the stairway and whispers. “Come on Guen, get back here.”
Alkara snaps her gaze left and right down the hall. She shrugs and treads down the steps. A landing reveals another hallway and an open door a few paces away. Guen pads toward it. “No no no no, Guen!” She dashes forward and lunges for the cat. Her hands fly through empty air. She scrabbles at Guen’s hindquarters but receives only a baleful look when the panther turns.
The great cat continues into the room. It’s pristine. A forge dominates the center. Clean, organized tools line a rack on one wall. A familiar figure places a bow on a stand. Guen darts for him and rubs her neck and shoulders into his legs. His knee bends but Tharan recovers well enough. Alkara groans and slaps a palm to her face.
“Miss Alkara!” Dorië’s indignant, distressed voice comes from behind her, causing her to whip around so quickly that she smacks her hand hard on the wall.
She gasps in pain and doubles over, clutching her hand, trying to reassure Dorië through clenched teeth, “I’m sorry… I noticed Guen was missing and… was trying to find her before…” she inhales through her teeth, creating a vibrant sucking sound, and tries to shake off her throbbing hand.
Tharan’s deep voice sounds behind her. “It is alright, Dorië.” Footfalls mark his approach. “I have finished with the day’s work. These commissions are complete. Once they are packed you may go.” A small pause. “Thank you for staying so late this evening.”
Dorië bows with stiffened posture. “It is my honor, Master Tharan.” He sweeps past Alkara to collect the parchments. Once collected, he passes by her again to enter some sort of office.
Alkara turns to Tharan, still wincing a little in pain, “I’m so sorry.” She forces the words past a lump in her throat. “I was in the parlor looking at the art and then realized Guen wasn’t there and I followed her to try to bring her back–“
Tharan chuckles and holds up a hand, “It is quite alright, she did not interrupt anything. I had just finished. And I daresay she was a pleasant surprise.” He kneels to scratch behind Guen’s ears as he says it, then he looks up, “Is your hand alright?”
She’s surprised at the genuine look of concern on his face, but even more by the flush that starts creeping across her face. “I’m fine. It was dumb. I just smacked my hand against the wall.”
“Yes, I heard it across the room, which is part of why I am concerned.” His voice softens. “The wall is stone.”
“Is it?” She laughs, blinking. She stretches her hand, closing it with the throbbing, “See? Fine.”
His mouth twists in an amused smile, “Very well then.” He stands and gestures back down the hallway, “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Now trying very hard to ignore her hand, but face still tight with pain, she heads back toward the staircase, “Well, I was in the area and thought I’d stop by. I’ve been slammed with work and I’m out of arrows. Good ones anyway. I’ve been trying to make due with what I can recover and reattach on my own but,” She turns and flashes a smile at him, “My work just isn’t as good as yours, what can I say?”
He returns the smile, “I cannot fault you for that.” He stops to allow Alkara entry into the main hall before him, “However, that the smiths of Three Rivers work is not to your satisfaction is surprising. It is impressive that you have surpassed them.”
Alkara snorts. “Of the ones I feel comfortable buying from? Not like that takes much.” She heads into the parlor.
They sit and Leä enters the room, “Master Tharan, dinner is almost ready. Will Alkara be joining you?”
Tharan turns, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “Apologies, Alkara. I seem to have misplaced my manners.” A moment passes and he stares past the walls of the room, “Would you honor me with your presence at dinner?”
Alkara looks to Leä. She begins to speak but swallows instead, “Er.” A tenseness that isn’t hunger grips her stomach as she turns back to Tharan, “I don’t want to impose. I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can, but that is not what I asked.” Tharan rests his steady gaze on hers.
Alkara’s mouth quirks, “Sure,” She looks up quickly at Leä, “If it’s not too much trouble.”
Leä smiles widely, “Not at all. We’ve already prepared a place for you.”
Tharan arcs an eyebrow at Leä, “Excellent. Thank you for your foresight Leä.”
Leä smile shows signing of cracking into something deeper. “It is my honor, Master Tharan.” She bows and there’s a lightness to the motion Alkara can’t place.
Is she that excited for dinner? These people are strange.
“Excuse me, Master Tharan,” Dorië says from the doorway as Leä leaves, “The completed commissions have been marked, the paperwork filed, and the pieces will be ready to be sent by midday tomorrow.”
Tharan stands and turns toward him, “Thank you Dorië. Please apologize to Mära for me for keeping you so late. Your assistance is invaluable, as always.”
Dorië bows low, close to perpendicular, “Thank you Master Tharan. It is my honor. Goodnight.”
Tharan nods, “Goodnight.”
Alkara steals time from the distraction to check and stretch her hand. The swelling is getting worse, and it hurts a lot more than it should. So embarrassing.
“Are you certain you are alright?” Tharan must have noticed, “I have a healing salve that would most likely help.”
She snaps her head up. Tharan has contracted his lips. His soft expression a clear departure from the serious one. Alkara blinks, “It’s fine, it’s—” She looks down at her hand and sighs, “Actually, I guess if I’m gonna join you for dinner, it’ll be a lot easier if I can use my hand. Would rather not make more of a fool of myself.” She looks up and smiles. “So, thank you, I’d appreciate that.”
He gives her a gentle smile, “I will return shortly.”
Alkara stares into the fire. Her working hand finds its way to Guen’s pelt and she strokes the great cat. This is turning into a proper visit. Not the usual in and out. And staying for dinner? She watches as the flames dance. What had Dre said? You’ll see? She shakes her head. She’ll never hear the end of it. Maybe she’ll just leave out this little detail…
“Here,” Tharan kneels in front of her, offering a small, open jar. “You do not need much.” The paste inside reeks of a spicy citrus aroma. “This is what I use when I accidentally strike myself with a hammer while I am working.”
Alkara starts, wrinkling her nose. “You’re joking, right?” She looks back at the paste, heartbeat picking up.
Tharan chuckles and shakes his head, “I am not.”
“There’s no way that still happens to you. After… three hundred years?”
Tharan nods, gripping the couch’s arm. He smiles, “It does, actually, even when I am in flow. Though that is almost more problematic because sometimes I do not notice I have injured myself until I drop something.”
Alkara gawks, forgetting all about the salve and why he’d brought it.
Moments pass and Tharan holds her gaze before laughing. Still smiling, he sets the lid down, dabs his fingers into the salve, sets the jar next to the lid, and takes her hand in both of his. He works the salve in, massaging the paste into her joints without any tinge of pain. “There,” He looks up, “That should feel better soon.” He screws the cap on and returns it to a shelf.
Alkara’s voice creeps out, “Oh, uh… Thank you.” She returns her gaze to the fire, feeling lightheaded.
“It is my honor.” He replies lightly, sitting back down in a chair across from her.
She looks down at her hand again, testing it out. It really does already feel better. Dre would be dying to know what’s in that salve. She looks up, “Oh, by the way, Dre says thanks for the details on those arrows. She’s been happier than a cockatrice in a hen house ever since that first batch.”
Tharan smiles, relaxing into his chair, “Wonderful. Did you find them useful?”
“Incredibly. I had no idea what I’d been missing out on. I wanted to thank you in person but you weren’t here. I hope the note was um… acceptable. Not rude or anything.”
He shakes his head, “Not at all. I appreciate that you took the time to write it.”
Alkara nods, “One thing Dre and I haven’t been able to figure out is how you attach the clay head to the shaft. All our attempts have failed miserably.”
The master craftsperson furrows his brow. His chin tightens. “It is a little tricky. I cannot imagine figuring it out on one’s own, though at some point someone must have. I could show you if you like.”
Alkara’s eyebrows shoot up, “You’d do that? Why? What about repeat orders?”
He chuckles, “Alkara, the commissions I typically take are far more lucrative and preferable to making arrows.”
“Oh.” She blinks, feeling… stung. A tremble spills through her muscles. “Then… why do you keep making them for me?” She tries to still herself, but the tightness in her throat breaks through.
He pauses, now watching her, “My comment seems to have hurt you, for which I apologize. I only meant that teaching you how to make your own arrows will not affect my practice negatively.”
“Right.” she says. “It’s fine,” She looks away from him and toward the fire. A tinge of jaw pain enters the chorus of emotions now burning inside her.
“Hmm.” He watches her a few more moments. “As for why I keep making them for you, well… I enjoy your company.” The statement is matter of fact, flat and even.
Alkara snorts, “Except half the time I’m delegated to poor Dorië, who clearly does not enjoy my company.”
Tharan nods, “Dorië believes that you do not respect me, or my work, and he sees many of your behaviors as overwhelming proof of that.” He tilts his head, “I do not see it that way. I apologize for when I am not able to meet with you in person, but I assumed you would prefer to have your order ready, regardless of my schedule.”
Alkara twists her mouth, he has a point there.
“Master Tharan? Alkara?” Leä says tentatively, observing the tension in the room, mostly emanating from Alkara. “Dinner is served.”
“Thank you Leä,” Tharan says as he rises. “Alkara? Would you still like to join me for dinner?” He says with his eyebrows raised.
Alkara sighs, still staring at the fire. Forcing her mouth to stay neutral. “I said I would stay didn’t I?”
Tharan nods, “You did, but that is not what I asked.”
She grinds her teeth, turning to the elves, “Fine then. No, I don’t. I make a point of doing what I said I was going to do. But if you’re asking me if I want to? Then the answer is no.” She jumps to her feet, “I do a lot of things I don’t want to do. Meeting you was one of them. But then I start thinking, ‘Hey, maybe this guy’s not so bad,’ until you go and say crap like that.” She clenches both her fists, drawing in slow breaths. She stares at him for a few moments, but he gives no reaction. He just watches her, calm and collected. Her vision fades at the edges, leaving only Tharan. Spittle groups at her mouth. She growls, “And you don’t even have the decency to look sorry about it!”
She looks down, fists shaking, “Look. I’m sorry. I guess I’m more upset about what you said than I thought. Won’t exactly make good company like this so maybe some other time. Come on Guen.”
Leä clasps the little bell that hangs around her waist and murmurs a brief chant. Alkara storms out of the parlor, tears welling in her eyes, angrily asking herself under her breath whether elves even have feelings. Guenwyvar looks up at Master Tharan sadly for a beat, then follows her companion out.
The silence and stillness after Alkara leaves is deafening. Neither Leä, nor Master Tharan stir when the door slams.
“Master Tharan?” Leä asks tentatively after a while.
Tharan stands motionless. “Yes, Leä?” His tone perfectly courteous.
Leä’s heart fills with compassion and sympathy for her employer. She’d watched him entertain family after family over the last century and a half and not a single woman had ever affected him as strongly as Alkara does without even trying. She’d noticed the extra warmth in his smiles these past few months, the new life in his eyes, the quiet joy with which he sings around the house, without even realizing he’s singing. And just now she’d noticed him tense as Alkara had spoken, noticed his skin grow pale, noticed he’d stopped breathing. Alkara was just too hurt and angry to see it.
“The bow… it’s for her, isn’t it?”
He waits so long to answer she’s not sure if he will. But then he simply says, “It is.”
“Does she make you happy?”
Another long pause. “I hardly think it matters, if that is how I make her feel.”
“You know she’ll be back tomorrow to apologize.”
“Tomorrow? Possibly. Though I doubt it. Eventually, yes.”
“Then you won’t object if I set a place for her tomorrow as well?”
Yet another pause. “No. Now if you will please excuse me Leä, I am going to retire early. Please forgive me for wasting your excellent work. Goodnight.”
Leä’s face crumples a little, “Goodnight, Master Tharan.” She says, voice filled with sorrow.
Anguish, is the word. A sinking sensation, forever drowning in the tail of the word.
Tharan sits on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. A sweet aroma drifts from the food laden tray on his desk. His loafers point away at strange angles from his feet.
How careless. An unfathomable count of days spread out to invite her to dinner and she arrives unannounced the same day the bow is finished. And now… now she gets the bow anyway.
Tharan swallows. He steadies his tapping foot. A sickness had crept into his stomach but he pays it no heed. This is what becomes of those that meddle.
No time for preparation. No curated evening. Instead, a haphazard trial of his improvisation. The result stands as the last interaction he will have with Alkara. A chill washes over him.
And then disaster. Speaking of the profit from his work. Tharan shakes the thoughts loose but they surge back. Alkara’s transparency benefits him by not being elusive in her motives and actions. She interpreted the statement exactly as she intimated. Tharan pulls his hands away from his face. The odd mixture of ginger-root in the paste still clings to his hands. And reminds him of Alkara. He stands and begins to pace. Each circuit urges him further along the thought process.
She will not come tomorrow. I will not be able to apologize or explain. Or see her. The orders she sends will come through courier. I could not even give her the parcel Dorië packed.
He glances toward the large bell across the room from his bed. No solace is found there. Doë’s Sound pings from somewhere far away. Through mists and across gulfs. No, Tharan does not hear it.
Do the Doësin even have feelings? Alkara would find her implied opinion validated among the rest of the Glohasin should she but ask.
If only it were true.
Alkara stands in front of Tharan’s door. Heat grazes her cheeks and a lodestone fills her stomach. She glances side to side. No guards again.
Shit. But I have to try.
She looks down at her hands and shoves the injured one behind her back, out of sight. She knocks with the other.
Come on Alkara, apologies are easy. Just gotta say that I’m sorry and… explain. Tharan hadn’t deserved any of that last night. He’s always so proper and polite. That comment about money hadn’t been an insult, just something she’d taken harder than she should have.
Her heart pounds. It quickens with the footsteps from within. She turns, unsure if she’s going to stay. Someone unbolts the door and opens it.
Leä stands in the doorway with lips parted. She looks back into the room before speaking, and turns to Alkara with an uneven gaze. “Good afternoon Alkara. How may I help you?”
Alkara winces. She’d even upset Leä. “Leä, I’m so sorry about last night. Is… I know… look, is Tharan home? I need to apologize. Please.”
Leä’s gaze melts into a soft, radiant smile. Alkara’s shoulders untense. A sparkle flits in Leä’s eyes, “He is not home, but says that you are welcome to join him for dinner this evening if you would like to.”
Alkara exhales, tension leaving the rest of her body. “Yes, please. Thank you so much. I’ll uh… I’ll be back later then.”
Leä bows. “Very good. We will await your arrival with great anticipation.”
Alkara smiles, a titter of nervous laughter escapes her as she turns to leave.
As she closes the gate, her panther quietly padding behind her, Leä murmurs something behind her. Alkara frowns and looks back, her mouth open with a question.
But the door is already closing.
And then it was over. The evening, and Alkara, had come and gone. Tharan lays flat on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, reflecting on how the evening had gone.
She had looked so upset with herself when she had come in. The amount of emotion in her eyes had been, quite simply, breathtaking. He envies it.
“Welcome back Alkara,” He says with a bow, “I must admit I had not expected you so soon.”
She had looked so nervous.
“Look. I messed up. And I’m sorry. I… realized that you– that your arrows, they’re important to me. I rely on them. I can count on them. And they’ve made a huge difference. And when last night it sounded like they meant nothing to you… I got upset. You said you didn’t mean that, and I didn’t listen. So I’m sorry.”
Tharan’s heart had skipped a beat, but then he had immediately chided himself. His arrows are important to her. Part of him wants to accept that as good enough, and the other part of him knows that that would be torment.
“Thank you, Alkara. Though I, too, need to apologize.” He bows low, and since no one else is in the room, he comes to rest on one knee, “What I said was careless. If your arrows were not important to me, then I would not make them. Please forgive such a thoughtless remark. I did not mean to hurt you.”
She had stumbled over her words, saying that it was fine, and when he had risen he had been completely enthralled by the blush on her face, as well as the contrast between her cheeks and her eyes…
Leä had come in before he could say anything else.
“Master Tharan? Alkara? Dinner is served.”
And dinner, quite frankly, had been lovely. He had not had such an enjoyable dinner for as long as he could remember. He had noticed, of course, where Leä had set the place for Alkara, though Alkara had been clueless as to the significance of it. She had entered wide-eyed, observing the room with awe.
The room is not that big, but it is elegant, and has another set of art pieces, one from each of the six Glohasin clans. He had eyed Leä with an arched eyebrow and a small smile as he had pulled out the chair for Alkara. Leä had studiously avoided his gaze, but the smile she was trying to suppress told him she knew.
A smile creeps onto Tharan’s lips as he remembers how much and how quickly Alkara had eaten. Not to mention that she had forgone the use of any of their many utensils and simply eaten with her hands. He supposes he should not have been surprised, given her upbringing and how active she is. He needs to eat more on forge-heavy weeks. It makes sense that she needs more food. And she had loved it.
“This is delicious! Can I start adding dinner to my orders?” She laughs, “This even beats Uncle Iro’s cooking. Though,” She ducks her head, looking mildly embarrassed, “That’s… actually probably not hard, so never mind. Forget I said that.”
Tharan chuckles. “You are welcome to join me for dinner whenever you would like. I rarely entertain these days.”
At first she looks surprised at his answer. She had not been serious. But then she looks confused, “Popular guy like you? How come?” She says between mouthfuls.
Tharan just smiles, “Most of my commissions come from outside of Afanen, and I am often engaged with other social obligations.”
Tharan’s smile fades. That is some of it anyway. In truth, he had tired of entertaining families who were clearly there with the sole aim of engaging him with their daughter. He had not blamed them. It was simply how things were done. He needed to fulfill his duty as a Doesin man: find a partner. Have many, many children. Support the community.
And the women had all been perfectly… fine. Well-cultured. Intelligent. Beautiful. He had appreciated the ones who had at least tried to study up and discuss his interests. But there was no real passion there. No connection to be made. His strong sense of dissatisfaction and the incessant feeling like something was missing was the only thing keeping him from a partnership of the highest prestige and life-long [misery.]
He snorts. His mother had berated him more than once for rejecting his duty in favor of finding a relationship like the one his father had with his mother. He had watched his father somehow continue to fall more and more in love with his mother. To the point where his father would regale the many joys of being married to Elisen to anyone he could corner long enough to make them listen.
Tharan pauses at that thought, remembering Alkara telling her stories, and a smile creeps back onto his face.
First it had been a delightfully absurd story about Dreonna and the time when she had managed to turn Alkara purple, but that same concoction had turned Guenwyvar white. “Fascinating!” Alkara had mimicked Dreonna’s higher pitched voice and facial expression with alarming accuracy. That had made him laugh, and he was very grateful he had not had anything in his mouth at the time.
Then a series of stories about Chiron, Iroshi, and their tricks and traps, and how she was somehow, still, always walking into them. Sometimes literally, she said, as she described the time Chiron had managed to make their front door look like it was open, and she’d walked face first into a very shut door.
“Wham!” she scrunches up her face.
But that wasn’t the worst one. Though, regrettably, he had been forced to interrupt her before she could tell him what the worst one was. It had been getting late, and he had still needed to present her with the bow.
He asks Leä to bring them some wine, gestures for Alkara to follow him back to the parlor and there the bow sits on its stand, along with a new set of arrows.
Alkara gasps appreciatively, her eyes wide, and she moves closer as if drawn toward it. “May I?”
He nods.
She picks it up and moves closer to the fire to get a better look. “This is incredible.” Her voice filled with awe and admiration, “Who’s the lucky client? I assume they’re coming tomorrow to pick it up.”
“Actually, no. This is for you.” He is grateful that he manages to keep his voice at a neutral courtesy.
“It’s… what?” she blinks at him, incredulous.
“I wanted to apologize for sabotaging your plan of attack against the brain collector. Your mission was already incredibly dangerous, and I unwittingly put you at a severe disadvantage. I recovered some of the creature’s remains and incorporated them into the structure of the bow. The Glohasin style curves at each end lend the bow more power than a traditional Grecian longbow. Additionally, the magical properties imbued through the creatures remains will ensure that your arrows are effective against any aberration you may fight in the future, and will empower them with psychic and poison effects.”
She freezes. Completely stunned.
“In addition, I have three hundred arrows prepared for you, including a few new arrow types.”
“Stop.” She finally says. “I can’t… I can’t take this. You’ve been making this for me all this time? And then I blew up at you the way I did yesterday!” She groans and her shoulders sag.
He smiles, “If it helps, I have absolutely no intention of giving it to anyone else. If you do not take it, it will gather dust.”
She gives him a flat, unamused look. “I don’t like being manipulated.”
He shakes his head, “The intention is not to manipulate you. I am simply telling you the truth.”
She looks back at the bow. Desire shines in her eyes, and he thanks Doë for the guidance that had supported him in the making of something she admires so greatly.
“How about a trade?” he says thoughtfully.
She looks up at him, one eyebrow arched, her eyes a little wary.
“When I came to visit you in Three Rivers, I had intended to ask you how well the arrows served you, if any noteworthy effects had presented themselves beyond damaging the creature effectively. I should very much like to hear your thoughts on them, as well as the rest of the story.”
She straightens a little, looking nonplussed, “That’s it?”
He nods, “If your information and story are satisfactory, then you can have the bow.”
She hesitates, but then a slow smile spreads across her face, “Alright.”
The information she had given him about the mythril arrows intrigues him. Mythril is also called True Silver, since it affects aberrants much in the same way silver affects lycanthropes and vampires. But he suspects there is another benefit, though he would need to gather more information before confirming.
She had said that when they had tried to hunt the brain thief down the first time, it had some sort of teleporting ability, but that the creature had not used it at all during its fight with her. It had been a spellcaster, and so had a greater degree of intelligence than the beasts she usually fought. She had assumed she would have had to deal with that. But it had never used it.
Tharan wonders if that is a property of the mythril.
And then she had started her story. He still has no idea why the bell had gone off when it did. It should not have happened, even wandering as closely as she had to the Doesin sacred sites in the Deadwood. He had made many memorial bells and hung them in the Deadwood, and they do not randomly go off even when he walked by. It makes no sense.
When she continued her story he was very grateful that she had had enough wine that she was not looking too closely at him, because he had simply felt like an open book while listening to and watching her tell it. He had been thoroughly drawn in, riveted, completely absorbed. He had never felt more free in his life. Though with that freedom came a certain amount of fear, he had noticed.
When she had finished her tale of victory she had kept going. The end of her story had reminded her of another mission the team had taken. She had taken a sip of her wine and asked if he would like to hear it. He had nodded, smiling. Of course he wanted to hear it. From there it was story after story, late into the night. Far later than he had anticipated her staying.
He sighs happily, a warm feeling in the center of his chest that has nothing to do with the Bell that lies there. He adores the way she tells stories. Her skills are already far superior to any minstrel he had ever seen or even the occasional bard passing through, by his estimation. Not only does she have a delightful way with words, he admires the way she sets the story up, mimics the different voices, even gets an unamused Guen involved. Alkara is vibrant, energetic, enthusiastic. She is alive in a way that he rarely encounters and that is absolutely intoxicating. And the ebb and flow of her is almost like… music.
Why had he worked so hard to appear detached? To stay aloof? What is so important about maintaining that distance? Propriety? Protecting himself? Why had he not just told her he–
His eyes snap open. He sits up quickly, heart pounding, head swimming, eyes staring wide into the darkness. He what? Cares for her? Cannot stand the thought of never seeing her again? Cannot think about her for too long before his whole body ached with desire? Is willing to weather her temper? Is somehow madly attracted to her during her outbursts, even as he stands in awe of the power of her emotions? Wants to protect her more than anything? Even if it means making arrows again? He had not made arrows since the falling out with Mei!
He starts as droplets land on his hands. There are tears rolling down his cheeks. He knows the truth. There is only one word that summarizes the flurry of thoughts that had just whirled through his mind.
But even as that truth settles, he shakes his head, his mind second-guessing the very thing his heart claims to know for certain. How can he possibly know?
He grimaces. He will have to figure it out. Soon. He is not about to lose her if his mind ultimately agreed with his heart. And then he will have to find out if she feels the same way.
His heart sinks and he flops back down on his bed with a groan. Considering how the evening concluded, he does not think it is likely.
She had had too much wine by the end, and he had been worried about her safety. He had offered her a guest room but she had refused.
“Psshhh it wasn’t that much wine. I’ll be fiiiiine. And besides,” She wobbles as she kneels down and rubs her nose on Guenwyvar’s, ruffling the fur on her head, “Guen’ll keep me safe. Wontcha girl?”
His heart had twinged at that. And he had had just enough wine that he almost had not been able to stop himself from embracing her and confessing everything right then and there. He had managed it, but he had also insisted on escorting her to the inn in which she was staying. Then she had said that she was to sleep outside the city walls, in the forest! And if she prefers the forest to staying in a private room in his house…
He shakes his head. The notion had stung. Still stings. But he had escorted her to the city gates anyway. He can at least ensure she makes it that far safely. And does not inadvertently cause any trouble. He may be smitten with her, but he knows how his people would see her, especially wandering around the city late at night having had too much wine. He also knows how she feels about his people.
He sighs. Even if she does return his affection, will she think it is worth what would amount to defying an entire clan of elves just to be with him?
That, he thinks is even less likely.
He shakes his head. One thing at a time. He does not even know if or when he will see her again. He had supplied her with extra arrows. It will likely be several months, at least. He will use whatever time he had to contemplate, pray, meditate, and see what came of it.
Satisfied with that decision, his mind slowly wanders back to her magnificent storytelling, and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.
The next morning, Alkara groans as she rolls over and starts to push herself up from her bed roll, eyes squinting in the shafts of light that manage to pierce the thick forest canopy. She hadn’t so much made camp as barely remembered to pull out her bed roll and wrap herself in it before passing out next to a tree. At least she hadn’t had any nightmares. That’s probably thanks to the wine.
She rubs her eyes and clumsily paws for her water skin. Her head is pounding. And she’s so thirsty. Also probably thanks to the wine. Damn it. She hadn’t overdone it like that in a very long time. Even drinking with Eryl. But the wine had been good and the company had been… yeah, she’ll admit it, somehow better.
She can’t remember the last time someone had been so enthusiastic about listening to her tell stories. Dreonna gets bored if there aren’t any creepy monsters she’d never heard of, and then she constantly interrupts for more details about what it loos like and how it moves. Chiron’s always just waiting to make a joke out of something. Sengmar had always enjoyed her stories; he’d been such an open book. And so much fun to watch. Though he’d had an annoying habit of predicting the end. But… now Uncle Iro is the only other person who would listen, and even he had limits on how many stories he wanted to hear.
Tharan’s fascination had felt never ending, like an unquenchable thirst. He’d hung on her every word, asked the right questions at the right time, and instead of the usual porcelain Doësin expressions, his reactions last night had actually been rather satisfying. She wonders if she’d gotten to see a side of him that he doesn’t really show to anyone else.
I wonder if that’s why he’s sad. Alkara takes another sip of her water and packs up her bed roll. She pauses after she reaches down to secure it to her pack, and picks up her new bow, appreciating it’s weight and design anew. She already loves this thing, and she hasn’t even gotten to use it yet. Just from the way it fits in her hand… She can’t wait to try it out.
It’s possible it would start to attract attention, especially if it had the abilities Tharan said it had. Hopefully no one will notice. And she has enough time to think of a way to play it off to her family.
What do you mean play it off? There’s nothing to play off. Just tell them what he told you.
Alkara sighs. Somehow she doesn’t think they’ll buy that. Not like it matters. She isn’t likely to see him again any time soon. Not with two extra sets of arrows, plus the arrow heads she’d salvaged from her old batches. And besides, she has work to do.
But he’d been so sad. He’d seemed fine on the outside, but she can’t shake this nagging feeling that inside he’d been struggling with something. She thought she’d seen something when he’d met her outside his forge, and then again in the parlor. But then she’d gotten so angry at his comment that she’d forgotten. Until she saw it again during dinner the next night. A strange look in his eye.
“Um. This might be none of my business but… is something wrong?”
Tharan slowly turns his head toward her, his eyes slightly wide with surprise, “Not at all. Why do you ask?”
Alkara feels her cheeks beginning to burn. She shrugs, “I don’t know, today you seem kind of… sad…” She slurps some soup, “Yesterday too.”
Tharan simply smiles, that same, gentle smile that does indeed include a tinge of sadness. “What is wrong with being sad?”
Alkara blinks. She’d never really thought about it. “Well… I don’t know. But usually people are sad because something is wrong… aren’t they?”
Tharan looks down toward his own bowl of soup, “A fair observation,” He says slowly, “But it does not mean something has to be wrong for one to be sad. For example, I am sad because I believe that something I have… come to quite enjoy is coming to an end. While I might not wish it to end, who is to say that the ending is right or wrong? Perhaps it is neither. Perhaps it just… is. And if that is the case, then perhaps I should like to be sad that it is ending.”
Alkara looks at Tharan warily, not sure what to say. How could she give advice to an elf who’s literally lived for centuries? All the same… she wants to at least try to help. She shakes her head, “I don’t get it. If you want it to continue, why does it have to end?”
Tharan takes a deep breath and looks back up at her with that steady, piercing gaze that she swears sees more than it should, “If it were up to me, it would continue.” He smiles again, “But the decision is not solely mine.” He finishes simply as he returns to his soup.
Alkara frowns as she and Guen head back toward Three Rivers. She hadn’t pressed the issue after that. She knows there’s more. But they aren’t exactly confidants. She’d just have to hope he had someone to talk to and that it would work out for him.
But if she does end up needing more arrows someday… then she supposes she can always ask him how it was going.