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The process of moving is never an easy thing. Especially when it is a matter of merging families, they're never seems to be enough space for what your families deem important. When it came time to moving in with your betrothed, her family seemed to prioritize their belief that their home— your home— should reflect Elven culture more than anything. Not that you particularly minded, of course, given the fact that the elven culture had always intrigued you from a young age.
Standing in the main foyer now, however things seem to settle in that mind of yours. As you wander down the hallway, your feet echoing against the ground with each step you take, you can't help but run a finger or two along the border of the wall. The wallpaper of choice of your betrothed was crisp, clean, but warm. This was not something that you expected from her, but after the initial chaos that was your respective families coming in and out of the new manner, you've realized that she is far more welcoming than she lets on to be. The warm, wooden border that divides the wallpaper and the baseboards was your choice, as were the baseboards. Something reminiscent of what you grew up with, the oak wood was always comforting to you. The wallpaper that takes up a majority of the upper half of the wall is a mix of greens with gold embellished throughout. At a quick glance, it's reminiscent of trees and fireflies twinkling within. The flooring appears to be wood, but it is more like a resin poured floor over top of wood in a way that makes it look like ravines are going through your floor. It is this natural sort of aesthetic that you did not anticipate enjoying.
The creak of the stairwell behind you is what snaps you out of your daze. At first, you believe it to be nothing more than the wind breezing through the window that you left open at the top of the stairs. However, that changes when you feel the light touch of your wife's hand atop your shoulder.
“I was wondering where you ran off to.” She smiles shyly when you turn to face her.
You settle under her gaze. Arlyana had a way of easing anything that began to unsettle you, even if it was the smallest of things.
You clear your throat before going to reply. “It—surely it is not that late?”
“You left the room an hour ago, at the very least.” She tucks a loose strand of her silver hair out of her face. “Is something troubling you?”
You run a hand through your hair. How do you even begin to answer that? “Do you remember that group I travelled with? For awhile?”
“Yes? What of them?”
“They were—well, how do I even begin to elaborate on this…”
Your wife gently cups your face with her dainty, pale hands. “Take your time to form the words you need to. We have all the time in the world.”
“Well, until the little one awakens.”
Arlyana laughs. Gods, you love that sound. “I suppose so. Even then, I have heard she makes quite the wonderful listener.”
“Much like her mother?”
“Much like her father.”
You chuckle a little at your wife's statement. You know, of course, that it is not meant to be a joke, but there is something about being spoken about in a positive light that seems…foreign. You sigh and, ever so slowly, clasp your wife's hands in yours.
“She is young.” You say. “She has much time to change.”
Arlyana pauses, her lips pursing as she searches for the words. “Like you?”
You can't help but scoff. “I hardly believe that I have changed.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I am still the same, foolish man that I once was. Regardless of whether I have atoned for my sins or not.”
“Foolish men do not return to a family that they ruined. Foolish men do not apologize for mistakes that could cost them greatly. In my eyes, it is only the foolish that run and continue to run.”
You aren't quite sure what to say to that. And then again, your wife has quite the habit of taking you off guard on the best of days. Your gaze trails down to the floor, then back to her bright blue eyes. “There is not a moment that passes in which I do not regret what I did to you. If ever there is something more that I can do to make it up to you—”
Arlyana raises a dainty hand. “Henryk, you have done more than enough.”
“It hardly feels like it.” You scratch at the nape of your neck. “I will admit that it is rather difficult when I am traveling as much as I am. I do wish, most of the time, that you and our little one were with me. It can be rather…lonely when I am out on the road alone.”
“Surely Master Zakren has taken care of you?”
“Of course. The Laurens have been more than accommodating on our travels. They have supplied me with many resources to hone my craft.”
“The Laurens?”
You pause. “The Littenwaald Market owners.”
Arylana nods slowly. Just as you go to explain, the sound of crying catches your attention. Both you and your wife look towards the stairs, and you gently squeeze her hand.
“I will go.” You smile a little.
“Are you certain?” Your wife asks gently. “I do not want you to push yourself after traveling as long as you have.”
“Nonsense. The brace is aiding greatly, my world.” You murmur as you head towards the stairs.
Technically, your reassurance wasn't a lie. The intricately crafted brace has done wonders for the muscle repair around your joints and thigh. The mobility has gotten better, allowing you more freedom. More…normalcy.
There always is a catch though, isn't there? The pain without the brace is worse than anything you've handled. Dita—at least, that's what you believe her name to be— has offered herbal solutions that have eased the pain significantly, but the aches remain.
You've made your way up the stairs with the slight limp and ache, rounding the corner to the nursery. You recall the servants organizing the room rather poorly. How thankful you were that you had Arlyana to aid in these matters. You've always left the door open slightly, offering your daughter some light to chase the monsters away. You can't help but hum when you see the door shut entirely.
“Did you close the door?” You call out to Arlyana as she trails behind you on the stairs.
“No, my love.” She frowns. “I—”
“She is afraid of the monsters in the dark.”
“I know.”
“That should be known by all. Someone isn't doing their job if they are tending to the nursery.”
“Henryk…”
“I will not allow Safyra to be handled by idiots.”
Your wife is quiet as you open the door. The tension that has crept into your shoulders settles a pinch when you see forest green eyes staring at you from the gilded crib. You tsk as you see the window shaking and the shutters crashing against the open window. You weren't aware that a storm was coming. This will delay your travels. Good, you think with a small smile.
Arlyana sets a gentle hand once more on your shoulder as she catches up with you. With a soft exhale, you both enter the room. You can't help but shake your head and make your way to the window, closing it as gently as possible.
“Why was this open?” You ask. You can taste the irritation creeping into your tone as you shut the shutters and tie off the curtains. “It is irresponsible for someone to have made such a foolish mistake when Safiyra is he—”
“Dada.”
One simple word has you whip around. The air has been taken from your lungs as little Safiyra holds her arms out to you.
“...Did she…”you whisper. The words are caught in your throat.
Arylana smiles. “Surprise.”
“...In…common. She spoke common and—”
“And called for you. Yes.”
It was decided upon very early on what your daughter's education and life would be. A somewhat even split of culture, you both agreed upon. Lately, to your understanding (especially since you have been away), she has spent most of her time headfirst in the elven world of Arlyana. To hear your daughter speak a treasured word in common is—
“She picked it up naturally.” Arlyana explains. “She's a clever little one, our ‘Fyra.”
You're standing in front of your daughter's crib before you even really realise it. You peer at her through your spectacles and hoist her out, holding her against your side the way you were taught to.
“My little Sapphire…”you murmur. A shaky hand wipes the tears from her cheeks, and instinctively the girl rests her head on your shoulder. “Now, now…”
Safiyra sniffles. The toddler has wrapped her fingers into the fabric of your shirt and vest, trembling. Another nightmare.
“Boo.” She sobs. She hides her round face against the nape of your neck, her white curls tumbling with each movement.
“A boo matter, little Sapphire?” You ask quietly. “The monsters in the shadows again?”
“Henryk…” Arlyana frowns.
You look at your wife with a raised brow. “I am asking a question.”
“There should be no speak of monsters in the shadows. You know we are protected.”
“Yes, yes, by Lady Oda. She does not know that yet. Nor should she.”
Safiyra sniffles and snuggles into you more. She rubs at her wet eyes.
“She's exhausted.” Arlyana points out. “I can fetch the tincture that your friend made.”
“The stillsleaf and rosewort one?”
“Yes.”
“That would suffice. Perhaps adding it to some warmed milk may prove useful.”
Arlyana cocks her head to the side. “Warmed milk?”
“A human comfort, my world.” You smile a little. “Something my mother used to do for Katrina and I when we were being rather difficult at bedtime.”
“You are certain it will not upset her stomach so late at night?”
“I am certain.”
With a gentle sigh, your wife disappears to fetch what you asked. Well, to ask one of the night staff for what you requested. Arlyana returns shortly after with a glass bottle of rich smelling milk.
“Will she know?” She asks as she hands the bottle to you and sits on the chaise by the crib.
“Certainly not.” You scoff. “If she does, our daughter has the finest senses Neverwinter has to offer.”
Arlyana laughs and you can't help but smile. She's gorgeous in the moonlight drifting through the window. You make your way to the rocking chair, holding Safyra close. You Feed your little one the bottle as you rock gently, telling tales of your adventures. Tales that feel like dreams on the best and most quiet of days.
The bottle is empty. Safiyra has fallen asleep. It's only a matter of time before the glass slips from your hand and you, too, have drifted off to the land of nod.
What peace this is.