Chapter Text
The black night sky roamed over the vast land and the woods, and though it was devoid of stars, its silence wielded serenity. A natural silence, which, like the sky itself, draped itself over the woods and its trees, over the beings that slept and those that watched in its darkness, down to the blades of grass.
And yet, something was not right.
A thing that did not belong had found foot in the blackness. A thing was abusing the cover of the night and the refuge of the trees. Fog had descended into the woods and snuck between each tree that stood. And right behind it, evil advanced.
It poisoned the air, asphyxiated the life it encroached on. Those creatures that slept were woken by its sound. And those that saw a sudden sea of red eyes glowing in the dark like a sea of fire, fled, and tore the silence apart to cry out their warning to those that could hear...
...And would heed to it.
The healer startled when the cry of an eagle tore through the night. She turned away from the fire and rose to the open window.
The sky was cloudless and devoid of stars. The lonely white moon glared back at her. Then there, she saw: The shadow of an eagle high in the night sky. Flying higher and higher, as if it soared so the heavens themselves could hear it. The sight of it and the sound of its cries quickened her heartbeat, for she had never seen this creature in the night.
...It told her something was not right.
"...What are you doing in the night sky?" she whispered, staring up at it.
It conjured up a worry and fear in her she did not understand. And yet, what it was telling her, she could not sense. Before she'd get lost in her tangling thought, she forced it into the back of her mind. She shut the window as quietly as she could before she looked over her shoulder, at the stranger.
Her eyes wandered over him, looking him over, before she moved to sit. The crackling flame illuminated only half of his face. His eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell like waves of water. Shortly, her eyes fixated on the dancing fire of the lit candle in front of her, before they found him again.
He had fallen asleep.
After she'd shown him the garden, and after their words, he'd remained silent for the rest of the day and what then came of the night. She had not tended to the garden, and neither had he. She had left the place to him.
After the devastation she had seen in him, and felt in herself as if it had gotten caught around them in the wind, she'd felt it was the right thing to leave him be. He only returned into the hut when the sun had set, and she had not heard him come in when he did. He suddenly just sat where he'd lain for the past days, his back turned to her.
She'd wondered whether Elves had their ways of mourning. If there was a prohibition to speak... or eat. Or whether it was his own manner of grieving, for he had not touched his supper.
In the ancient tales of the Elves she had heard their kind to be cold and devoid of emotion. Serious and yet, carefree as they were not eroded by the sands of time. So that when they shed a tear, it held a bottomless depth of pain and sorrow.
In her ancestral lands, tears that like his fell onto the ground and soil, meant that a great transgression had transpired against who had shed them . And that the souls from whom one came from would gather in the unseen realms to console and avenge their dear one.
It made her wonder who those he came from were...and who he'd been before he'd arrived on these shores.
She took a deep breath before she suffocated the candle with a sift move of her fingers, leaving her corner of the hut darkened. She then stood up, walking up to where he lay, where she watched him for a long time, before she knelt to cast three cuttings of firewood into the flame.
"Stranger..." she whispered as she knelt over him and saw the trails of dried tears that marked his cheeks.
"May the sorrow of your heart not find you under the refuge of sleep,"
"And may your eyes cease to weep in the morning."
With those words, she left his side and mounted her Geríon, for she was to cross hills, valleys and woods to arrive at the gates of Núrn, the city of the Southlands.
Maywren turned one last time to look back at her home, praying deep in her heart no unsolicited visitor would come by to find what they should not. She looked East, where she saw the hues of the sky begin to change. Dusk was upon her.
If she wanted to reach the city, she would have to depart before first light.
"Go!" she whipped the reigns, and Geríon rode down the dark hills. The healer felt the wind on her skin and in her ears, she still heard the eagle's cry.
Núrn lay in the deepest valley, surrounded by highlands and mountains. Rivers off the Núrnen Sea flowed inland to its East and South-West, fertilizing its rich green grounds which reached as far as one's eye could see.
Maywren caressed Geríon's hair as they galloped down the main path. She knew he would remain calm, it was her own blood she was trying to still. She disliked the city and avoided its people, for its people were ungrateful and untrusting; Cold, to anyone the considered an outlander.
No matter the significance of her services, she never grew to know their kindness. Her hands, despite their craft, were feared; Brown and unfamiliar it seemed they would forever remain.
She knew she was not far from the gates as the sounds of the city began to grow louder with every step the horse took. She pulled the hood of her midnight cloak off, as the city walls, tall and and built of dark grey stone, came into view. She revealed her face not because guards waited at the gate; Núrn was a city without a ruler, a kingdom without a king. Overtaken by the strongest and cruellest hand, Bloodbeard, a moralless brute and his men, controlled the people from the shadow. No, she removed her hood so her view was clear, for she knew not whether her deed on the shores had been perceived and if by her mercy upon the elf she had made an enemy.
She draped the cloak over her blade and looked up as she passed the tall bow of the gatehouse. The plastered path raised itself, leading upwards into the streets. The banter and music grew louder. The first people appeared, beggars and lost souls lining the corners speaking to invisible things and crying of hunger. Maywren lowered her head as she passed them, looking up only as she reached the market. And there, in the first faces she perceived, she already saw the kindness fade. Those who paid her any mind sneered at her and whispered among themselves.
"There she is," she heard a woman say.
"She wasn't seen here in months... One can only wonder what she does in empty lands all by herself."
"She seldom speaks to any body when she comes, holding secrets in her eyes... like a witch."
The crowd gave way to her horse as she passed through. The ground beneath its hooves was brown as dark sand, and without stone.
The homes were built of dark wood and reached half the heights of the city walls, most entrances were only made of hanging cloth.
The healer looked straight ahead and kept an air of indifference as she passed through them. Out the corner of her eye, she saw a man spit on the ground as he glared at her, gripping the handle of his sword. His head hung lazily and he stunk of beer. Others were close behind him, talking among themselves. All bore the scarlet leather emblem on their cloaks, shaped like a drop of blood.
They were the men of Bloodbeard.
And where they stood, were the old houses of the soldier's guard. Right there, the stone path began anew, stretching out to built a courtyard. In its middle stood a tall post of wood, stained with blood. It is where those that did not obey his violent governance met their end, whipped till their bones peaked through their flesh and abandoned until they drew their last breath.
Maywren got off the horse and led it over the court, keeping her eyes levelled as to not show any fear as she passed the men. There were a hundred of them, speaking loudly, duelling one another.
In her back, she heard one of them speak of the shipwreck. Many answered the voice, cursing and spitting at the mention of the bodies of elves that washed ashore.
"Damned may they be, sailing for our lands after what they did to our ancestors!"
"They may not have set out for these lands." another said, "The ship looked like it was struck by a terrible storm, unnatural in force."
"Whatever it was," the first one said. "We do not want them here, dead or alive. Bloodbeard decided all their bodies shall be brunt in two nights."
The healer felt her stomach turn at those words. Her mind drifted to the Stranger. She fought the urge to turn her head, her eyes barely able to cast a glance over Geríon's back and get a look at the face that belonged to the mouth that had spoken those words, but she stopped herself and looked right ahead.
"Come on boy," he said to the horse "let us go from this place."
Laughter erupted in her back, and a clanking of chugs filled with booze as she finally crossed the courtyard, feeling a wind in her back that raised the hairs on her back. As she walked she felt something in the air, an energy, as if someone had left the court with her. As if she had not left alone.
Still, she did not turn.
Silently she disappeared around the second corner, on to what those in Núrn called the "Seer's path".
As dubious shadows passed her and curious eyes latched onto her self as she walked down it, her only focus was to make it to the house of old friends.
Maywren exhaled and saw her foggy breath rise up before her. She turned her back to those across the road that seemed to stare Geríon down. Though the only manner in which she could take their attention was abrasive, she knew that her horse was strong, dark and calm as it was. Like a mysterious beast. She grabbed a hold of its leather lead and bound it to the mast.
"Behave, Geríon...while I'm gone." she said under her breath, caressing his neck.
"I shan't be long."
He snorted and shook his head gently, leaning into her touch. She patted him twice, before she walked away from him. Eyes followed her. But she wouldn't have to walk for long. Not had she taken twice a dozen step, had she arrived at the old apothecary. It's door, made out of an intimidating scarlet cloth that hung over where a door should have been.
It was the domain of the Seer and the Smith. Their bloodline had rested long in these lands, some said even outdated Núrn itself. Born of one womb they were, brother and sister of the same age. Twins.
Annora and Lothar were their names.
Calmly she brushed the cloth aside and entered, shifting from light into the dim. The smell of rosemary instantly filled her nose and a warmth hit her skin which made a smile grow on her lips. Shelves full of flasks, jars and bottles lined the walls. And herbs hung from the ceiling as they did in her own home.
Against the North wall stood a table covered in black drapes, as grey stone in its middle, and carved into it a pair of eyes.
And yet the person they belonged to were not in sight. Maywren smiled, turning her back to it.
"...Still burning the rosemary I see." she said, brushing the cloth back into place.
"...Of course." a gentle voice answered her.
"It is the only way to convince you to return here it seems."
Maywren chuckled, finally turning to look at her dear old friend. There she stood in the corner, half hidden in the dark. And yet, her milky mint green eyes almost glowed like jewels. The healer walked towards her, taking a hold of her extended hands, after which she smiled faintly.
"There you are." she breathed. Her hair was long and brown, down her back, though strains of silver slowly began to appear in her mane.
"You have left your eyes on the table." she said.
"Hm," Annora hummed, turning her head towards the table.
"I need not see all the time."
She was blind. Had been born as such. And just as early she had begun to see in other ways, just like the women before her.
The women of her blood.
Much so she bore names she did not receive from birth. Known and feared for her power.
"You know it is dangerous, not keeping them with you." the healer muttered, lowering her eyes in frustration. "The way the city is turning."
"It has been turning for a long time now." her voice was calm as still waters.
"It is only quickening due to mysterious happening unfolding."
Maywren let go of her friend's hands. "You've heard." she muttered, turning her back to the her.
"Death and darkness carries upon the wind." the blind woman said, all remnants of happiness fading from her face. "That day after dusk, it was as if the sky shifted quicker than it was supposed to." Annora grabbed a hold of the door frame, feeling the emotions over the gone day overcome her once more.
"I could feel the cloud blackening and twisting through the very roof. Great malice," she paused,
"Creeping over the vast body of water."
Maywren furrowed her brows and turned around to face her at those words.
"What do you mean?" she asked the seer.
"What... did you see?"
"Something evil which could not reach us, held back by the protection of the sea, has found a way to our lands."
There reigned silence for a long time until she broke it. "I felt it like black branches, twisting and snaking their ways around my fingers, arms, until it swallowed me whole.."
The healer did not answer, for she knew not nor understood what the seer spoke of.
"What did you see?"
The healer's heart skipped a beat at the question and she felt herself clench her jaw. Her mind, as hardly as she'd fought it immediately strained to the Stranger. In the safe walls of a friend, she still carried the sentiment that true friends may have run out for her, knowing what she had done. The secret she carried.
Slowly and hesitantly did her lips part, trembling and afraid her tongue would betray who she had promised safety to.
"I have seen the ship." she almost bit out each word. "Belonging to Elves." she looked down at her hands.
"Broken... by mighty wind and water."
Annora listened silently, tilting her head at the healer's words.
"...Hm." she hummed to herself, a hum almost inaudible. Maywren, too distracted in her thoughts, remembering the words of the men in the soldier's guard. She knew not how she was to tell the stranger what already blackened her own heart against her own kind.
"What have you come for?" her friend's voice pulled out of the quicksand od her mind.
"Bandages." her fingers brushed against the cloth she had bound around her forearm. "I cut myself tending my garden."
Annora smile reappeared.
"So it seems." she said, her fingertips wandering over and along the shelves until she found the rolls of bandages.
Maywren's eyes remained on her keenly, before she began to look around the apothecary, where her eyes would land a dirty apron.
"Where is Lothar?" Maywren asked.
"Hill's watch. He has been keeping watch over the lands for three days and nights. He shall rerun the fourth night."
Maywren said noting in return, knowing that exactly three nights ago she rode to shore and returned not with seashells but an elf. Long she had known the twins, long enough to know that despite their humble existence among the town folk, they were of mightier and deeper ancestry than most knew. Long enough to know that they may be the last of the truly good to remain in the Southlands.
Good enough to keep secrets, and afford trust. And yet still in her heart, the healer felt she had already endangered them by befriending them. She decided she would not risk more than one life in her endeavour.
"Here it is." she flinched as she so suddenly felt Annora's breath on her neck. Silently she accepted the supplies, her fingers brushing against the seers as she took them out of her hands.
"I have brought Athelas for you to hang to dry." Maywren said, looking her friend in the eyes. In her own, worry and sadness hung, a cloudiness Annora could not see.
The Seer followed the healer out, stopping for the blink of an eye to grab a hold of an obscure bag she had hidden under the table.
They stepped back out into the light of day, the sounds of the city filling their ears. Maywren grabbed a hold of the seers hand and led her to her horse, Geríon, who had patiently waited for her.
She unravelled the ties on the bag hanging off Geríon's back, revealing the rich green herb. Out she took it and gently placed bundle after bundle into Annora's free arm.
"You dry it well," she instructed the woman, "and hide it if you must. I may not come by for long."
Annora heard the seriousness in her friend's voice.
"...I know." was all she said in turn.
Maywren chuckled for only an instant, before she unbound the leather lead from the mast and mounted her horse. "This place is no good. Here..." she breathed,
"I can feel all kindness, all trace of good fading out of men. A dangerous air to breathe."
The Seer looked up at her and gently lay her hand on the horse.
"Take this." fogg rose from her breath as he held up the bag.
"...What is it?" Maywren looked at her friend, hesitantly taking it.
"More things...to tend to your wound." she smiled as if she had not told any mis-truths.
Maywren felt her heart skip a beat once more as she immediately locked eyes with the Seer, hearing the words that were not spoken. And without a word, she obeyed and slung it over the bag, binding it in place. She felt her heart begin to race as she began to turn her horse.
"I hope you to see you soon, friend. May the Mother guard your every step, and may fortune not leave your side..."
Maywren stayed silent, feeling a sudden tear threaten to fall from her eye. She was afraid, and she felt alone, no matter what she told herself. No matter the iron walls she'd erected.
She had convinced herself she had always been.
She knew not how to appreciate flowers sprouting through those walls to grant only her the beauty of its colourful petals. So she gathered the courage she had left, and thanked the seer in the only way she knew how.
"...yes." she whispered, before she took off, parting the crowd as she rode as fast as the wind could carry her, knowing that the only good eyes that would follow her out were surrounded by a sea of ones that watched her with malice.
The Seer stayed behind, listening to the sound of hooves growing fainter and fainter.
"...you will need it all."