Tharan sits in a chair in his parlor, staring into the fire, musing on the encounter he’d had with his potential new client the previous evening. It had been entertaining, that much was certain. He chuckles to himself as the image of her flinging a sculpture at some nightmare monster resurfaces. Her elvish had been surprisingly proficient as well. The Grecian accent was unsavory but even that wasn’t as prominent as usual. Must be this adoptive father of hers… The half-Forsaken, half-Reäsin elf she lived with was also quite intriguing.
He turns a little as he hears Dorië answer the door. She’s here. And early. Interesting. From what he’d gathered from her previous employers, he’d half expected her to be late. He stands to greet them as Dorië leads her around the corner.
“Master Tharan, Miss Alkara, here to see you.”
Tharan smiles and offers a formal bow, but by the time he rises her arms are crossed and she looks rather irritated.
“So that’s how you knew I had a commission.”
Tharan merely inclines his head, then gestures behind him toward the couches. “Won’t you have a seat?”
She doesn’t move. Anger begins to color her tone as well as her cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
Interesting. Indignation, perhaps? “As you noted in the shop, my work is highly prized and I’m not without fame or prominence. However, I prefer to meet people without the deference they tend to give me due either to my work or my office. You didn’t recognize me. I saw an opportunity. So I took it.” Tharan replies evenly.
Alkara recoils a little, pulling back with her head as she wrinkles her nose and narrows her eyes “You were worried I was going to try to kiss up to you?”
Tharan shrugs. “Worry is not the word I would choose. It is simply recognition of a circumstance of my life.” He cocks an eyebrow, “Though I see now that what I’ve heard about you is true and that it was an unnecessary deception, for which I hope you will accept my apology.” He bows again.
Dorië’s eyes looked to be about to pop out before he sputters, “M-Master Tharan.” He recomposes himself physically, “I must insist the proper forms be observed. Your preference for candid conversations does not extend to your office.”
Tharan’s amusement grows that this human woman has so thoroughly flustered his typically unperturbable assistant. The tiniest tickle of a smile touches Tharan’s lips. Maybe humans should visit more often and bring a little flappability to my people. He rises from his bow, just catching the tail end of the annoyed look Alkara gives Dorië.
“He basically just told me to treat him how I treat everyone else. Not that I needed his permission…” She finishes, ending in a string of muttering.
Dorië presses his lips together, “Perhaps, but certainly you do not treat everyone else with such ill-manners.”
Alkara turns to Tharan, “Look. I didn’t come here to get a lecture on what your assistant thinks about my manners. I came to find out if you’re actually as good as people say you are. And if you are, if you’ll make me those mythril arrows. I’ve got an aberrant to hunt down.”
Tharan nods and gestures once more to the couches behind him, “Then please, take a seat. And we will begin.”
“Truth be told,” Tharan says as Alkara sits on a couch across from him, “Your inquiry is quite simply one of the most intriguing I’ve received in some time.”
Alkara gives him an incredulous look, “Really? They’re just arrows. I mean mythril arrows, but how rare could that request be?”
“As I am sure you are aware, Miss Alkara–“
“It’s Alkara. No title. I can’t stand titles.”
Tharan blinks at her with some surprise, but then smiles and continues, “As you wish. As I am sure you are aware, Alkara, I rarely craft weapons. Mistress Rasheen would be a far better match if all you were looking for was mythril arrows. So why me?”
Alkara shrugs, “I was told you were the best. She said even with Mistress Rasheen’s skill, you were my best bet for pulling this off.”
Tharan cocks his head and furrows his brow, “She?”
Alkara’s face blanks, and it’s almost comical how honest the expression is. “I… she didn’t give her name.”
He notes the flush beginning to creep across her cheeks. Or she forgot to ask, he muses. “I see. And what else did this woman tell you?”
“That you were picky, but worth it.”
Tharan throws his head back a little as he laughs in amusement, “And was she the one who advised you on your inquiry?” He watches her closely, smile lingering on his face.
Alkara’s flush deepens, “She was.”
“Hmm…” Tharan stares into the fire, apparently long enough to make Alkara uncomfortable.
“Um, she did say that she’d worked with you before. I don’t know if that helps.” Alkara offers awkwardly.
“She did? Interesting.” A woman who had worked with him before but didn’t give her name… He contemplates a few possibilities before taking a breath and turning back to her. “Now, tell me about your assignment. I’m given to understand you prefer to avoid politics.”
Alkara snorts, “There’s no avoiding politics. I just don’t like playing anyone’s games.”
“And yet you had the rest of your team taken off of this assignment. Some might see that as a play for glory, reputation, renown, et cetera. There is plenty to be gained from defeating this creature on your own rather than with a team.”
Alkara’s eyes spark with anger as she stands, her hands balled into fists. “And what is there to be gained from sticking to your damned process when the lives of innocent people are at stake?”
Tharan’s eyes narrow, “If this were truly about the lives of innocent people then you would have already taken a larger team, ensuring the creature’s swift defeat and the safety of the people it threatens, and we would not be here discussing this today. Yet, here we are.” He gestures to the open space between them.
Alkara flushes and her fists begin to tremble.
“I have no qualms with you pursuing this creature out of vengeance, Alkara.” Tharan continues more gently, “Though I think pursuing it alone is foolish, regardless of your considerable skill. However, I would request the honor of your continued transparency, both with me, and with yourself, rather than attempt to make this something it is not.”
Her teeth clench as she nods and, no doubt, bites back the angry retort she’d have loved to fire at him. But he is impressed with the restraint she shows, in spite of how angry she clearly is.
He arcs an eyebrow at her, “I can surmise from your reaction that your motivations are not political. So what are they?”
Alkara stiffly sits back down, and he’s surprised to note that she seems to be fighting back tears. “My team is my family.” She finally bites out. “This thing killed my brother. Cut his head open while he was still alive and ate his brain. Right in front of me. I took my team off the assignment to keep them safe.”
He pauses, allowing the weight of the circumstance and her emotion to settle. Then he lifts his clear, steady gaze back to meet hers, “Very well. But why not take another team? Others from the guild? Enlist help from the capital?”
Alkara looks confused at the question but then shakes her head, “That really would take too long. We’re already some of the best in the Retrievers thanks to Uncle Iro. Taking another team would amount to leading lambs to the slaughter. I couldn’t do that. Just to make sure I survive?”
“What about to make sure the creature is defeated?”
Alkara glares at him, her voice growing more impassioned “That’s why I’m here. Sure, it would be ‘cheaper’ to throw guild members at the thing, but they’re still people. They have lives and families. And I’m not going to destroy theirs like I did mine.” A small gasp accompanies her hand rising halfway to her mouth, before she balls it into a fist, still glaring at him. Almost daring him to challenge her.
Ah. “I see.” He says quietly, taking a moment to absorb the new information. “But even with all of this preparation and the best arrows I can craft, this undertaking is fraught with peril. Your chances of success are negligible. If you die–“
“Then I’ll die.” She says tersely.
He pauses for a moment and cocks his head, studying her, curious, “Does your life truly mean so little to you?”
She blinks with surprise for a few moments before looking Tharan up and down quickly. Her eyes narrow and her mouth tightens, “What do you care if some human merc goes and gets herself killed tracking down an aberration? I was hired to do a job. It killed my brother. Now I’m gonna finish the job. Are you gonna help me or not?”
He studies her a moment longer, then replies, “Perhaps. I have a few more questions.”
After a while it is clear that Alkara has no interest in misusing either his work, or the accolades she would receive should she succeed. And from the profile he’d received on her, she isn’t going to let anyone else misuse them either, as far as she had the power to control such things. She can’t do much about what the guild decides to do with her reputation, which is inextricably linked with theirs. And the Rook’s Rapid Retrievers of Three Rivers isn’t a terrible abuser of power. He can see why her employers have issues with her though: her veracity is decidedly abrasive.
But her aim truly is marvelously straightforward: kill the creature that had killed her brother. No hidden agendas. No attempts to get any rivals killed in the process. No desire to manipulate or threaten the merchants with her newfound glory, not even this Kierra of the Northern Blackshaw Company, for whom Alkara clearly holds animosity and contempt. Though from what Tharan had heard it is certainly warranted. No, this mission is simple and clean, other than the dark stain that vengeance inevitably leaves.
After thoroughly inspecting her bow, he takes her out to the garden so that he can measure her draw and study her form. He’s a little surprised at the draw weight of the bow. She must be stronger than she looks. He smiles a little as he notes the playful Reasin magic enchanting the bow: little wooden hands grasping the arrows so that she doesn’t have to draw from the quiver every time. Not that she needs the help. She’s certainly graceful enough, for a human. And more accurate than most of the archers in Afanen. Even the Ceallaigh family would have a hard time keeping her entertained at their range.
Tharan sighs inwardly. He’s sorely tempted to turn her down, simply so that she doesn’t get herself killed. There are precious few people in the world like this young woman. But he’s also completely aware that if he says no, she’ll go ask Mistress Rasheen, who would have absolutely zero qualms with sending the human woman off to her death. He presses his lips into a thin line. Perhaps there is something I can do…
After leading her back to the parlor he asks, “Alright, have you the mythril?”
Her eyes widen and she takes a small, anxious step forward, “I… I had it delivered yesterday. Did it not arrive?”
Tharan holds a hand up, “No need to worry, I am certain it did. Dorië?” He calls.
“Yes, Master Tharan?” Dorië says as he rounds the corner.
“Did we receive Miss Alkara’s shipment of mythril yesterday?” He hides his amusement at the glower for using the title.
Dorië checks the ledger quickly, “We did Master Tharan, it awaits you in your forge.”
“Excellent.”
Her eyes brighten with hope, “You mean, you’ll really help me?”
He turns back to her, startled at the marked shift in her voice and the new light in her eyes. They’re stunning. He recovers himself almost instantly. “I will. They will be ready in three days.”
The light goes out. “Three more days? It’s already been three weeks! The thing was hard enough to track down the first time, and now the trail is getting even colder. And it does not take three days to make a hundred arrows.”
He arcs an eyebrow at her, “Have you ever made a hundred arrows out of mythril?”
She flushes with embarrassment.
Dorië chimes in pointedly, “Not to mention the other commissions and projects Master Tharan is delaying to finish these in a more than timely manner.”
Alkara narrows her eyes at Dorië, all bristle again.
Tharan observes the transformation with fascination, then smiles, “I am sure a hunter of your skill will find a way. If you want my help, come back in three days.”
Alkara’s gaze darkens further. She is not happy, to say the least, but that is acceptable. She will come to terms with it. She stands, turns, and stalks out of the room without so much as a word, her panther following her closely. Dorië mutters about the rudeness of such an action and follows Alkara out.
Tharan doesn’t mind. His thoughts are already on his work. She is right. It doesn’t take three days to make a hundred arrows, even out of mythril. But three days gives him the extra time he needs to… what was it she’d said?
Be her best bet.
Three days later, Alkara begrudgingly returns to Tharan’s house, hefting the sack of gold she had agreed to pay him for his fee.
She shifts uncomfortably, “Look. I’m sorry about storming out the other day…”
Tharan holds up his hand, “It’s quite alright. I can’t even begin to imagine the stress you’re under with the coming battle, not to mention the grief over your brother.”
She looks at him, perplexed. In spite of the Doësin shell he wears like the rest, she gets the feeling that he can imagine, actually. Though she isn’t sure why she gets that feeling. And then he surprises her again. He kneels to scratch Guenwyvar behind the ears. “What’s her name?” He asks.
“Um. Guenwyvar.”
“Guenwyvar. After the Forsaken legend?”
Alkara starts. “Yeah, actually…”
Dorië comes around the corner with a bundle of arrows, looking a little precarious. “Miss Alkara, your arrows for inspection.” He sets them on the back table and beckons. She quickly crosses to it.
Her jaw drops. These are amazing! She’s been working on her own arrows in various capacities for years and she’s never seen anything like these. She takes her time inspecting the lot. Each piece she handles, pristine. She lets out a breath and turns back to see Tharan kneeling, and seemingly having a staring contest with Guenwyvar. “Um…”
He loses. At the sound of her voice he looks up at her, “Yes?”
“What are you doing?”
He smiles and stands, “Traditional Doësin blessing for safe return. She is going with you is she not?”
Alkara nods. “Are you always uh… blessing your clients?”
“Beyond my craft? No.” His lips twist into a mischievous smile, “Only the ones who are trying to get themselves killed. If you die it’s bad for business. No repeat orders.”
Alkara can’t believe… was that a joke? And a real smile? She ducks her head and tries to smother a smile but fails. “I’ll… try to keep that in mind.” She remembers herself and looks back up, “Thank you. Very much. These are beautiful. How long have you been making arrows?”
“Oh, almost as long as I can remember. About three hundred years, give or take.”
Alkara blinks in surprise. Oh yeah. Elf.
Tharan nods patiently, “But I imagine you must be going. I look forward to hearing the tale of your victory.”
The momentary mirth vanishes as the weight of her mission returns. For a moment she’d almost felt… normal again. Not that she deserves that. Not that she should ever feel normal again after what had happened. Tharan interrupts her thoughts.
“Would you like any help?”
Alkara quickly looks down, noting a strange sense of urgency in his voice, but not sure what to make of it. “No. Thank you, I’ve got it.” She turns to the arrows, bundles them, wraps some leather straps around them, and secures them to her back. “Come on Guenwyvar.”
She follows Dorië out of the room but turns back, “Thank you. Again.”
Tharan bows, “It was my honor.”
Not sure what to say, she just nods, and continues to follow Dorië out.
Tharan stands in the parlor, examining the strangest feeling that lingers in his chest. Or perhaps not so strange. Simple, really. When one sits with a feeling long enough to identify it, rather than shunting it away. Tharan rarely affords himself such a luxury. But this…
The twinge of regret at speaking words that caused the light to leave her face. The strange sense of loss. He had, of course, resisted the urge to attempt to bring the light back. That the thought had even occurred to him to attempt is bizarre. And now, such a simple sadness that their business is complete. She’s gone. The likelihood of their meeting again slim to none.
Tharan takes a deep breath. That may be. But he still intends to satisfy his curiosity at least. He waits for Dorië to return. It doesn’t take long.
“Dorië.”
“Yes, Master Tharan?”
“Please inform my contacts in Three Rivers to continue observing Miss Alkara and her family. I would like to be informed the moment she returns.”
Dorië takes note in the small book he keeps. “Assuming she survives.” He mutters.
Tharan sits in his chair and stares into the fire once more. “Yes.”