RP:Arien Grieves Trekia
LOCATION: Arien's Private Quarters, (Fold compound)
As you enter this private space it becomes quite evident that the occupant has tried to make the humble quarter a home away from home. While larger than the other rooms in the barracks, it is still quite an intimate space. A four poster bed takes up much of one wall in the room, as if the owner refuses to yield the comforts of a good night’s sleep to the inconvenience of the location. A small fireplace is tucked into a niche opposite the bed, and a writing desk is nestled next to it. A small window looks out into the surrounding forest, and on the bedside tables and comfortable lounging chairs in the room, lay clues to the identities of the primary occupants of this space. A dragon scale coat tossed carelessly across seat back; twin daggers, carefully polished and resting upon table within easy reach in case of surprise attack. There is a sense that the world behind these doors is one on which you are intruding and so you retreat, closing the door quietly behind you.
Arien was standing by the window in her private quarters, looking out into the night as it sat heavy upon the forest. Slender arms were wrapped around her form in unconscious reflection of the sense of unease that gripped her. It had been thus for hours. Something was not right, and she didn’t know what it was. A shiver made her tremble, and she felt tears sting at the back of her eyes, a slow sense of dread building. Only one thing could make her feel this way. No. She was being morbid. The drow had been killed, no immediate threat loomed, what cause had she to fear? He knew her heart- surely he would be careful. She needed to work, work was the antidote for all her fears..it always had been. She crossed the room quietly and slipped into her seat at the desk, drawing quill and parchment before her. Helich had written an attempt at an apology, it was past time that she responded to his outreach.
Rhocielle quietly rapped his knuckles upon the door into the elf's quarters. His face was somber as he peered inside before stepping in fully. "Arien...?" His voice called to where she might be seated. Keeping against the door, he drew in a deep breath. Gods ordained how fate was to work out. Was it their wish that this wolfen warder give his love solely to the High Elf before him? If so, he would have damned them; never would he have wanted it like this. His grey slate eyes had an almost fragile and crystalline silver hue to them as they closed slowly while he composed himself. He could not bring himself to say it, but he knew he must. As Arien's Round Guard, he found it his responsibility, that he, and only he, bear the burden of giving such devastating news. The Silver was dead. "Arien..." His husky drawl uttered anew. She needed to know. It would be known sooner or later. "Trekia.." His voice stilled for a moment. Already, reluctance crept into his heart and onto his tongue. No, he told himself; he could not stop now. ‘If you love her, you will tell her,’ the wolf berated himself loudly in the confines of his mind. Because he cared so much for her, he had risked following the Silver, and retrieved the body so a proper burial could be offered for the fallen dragon. "Trekia went after the Orc being bountied on the Kelay Board. Hearing he was the Gualon Champion, I left immediately to stop him... but..." The ominious word said it already. He had been too late. The body had already been skewered and hung on the arena wall where the black Lycan had had to carefully remove the corpse. "...I brought his body back… It is in the Keep," he uttered, with his eyes opening anew to view the wreck he had caused by telling the elven woman the news. His throat now stiffened and maws grew too heavy to move, too heavy to offer vocal words of solace, but his remorseful tone for Arien alone, cried every apology his mind and heart could create.
Arien heard the sound of the door being opened and turned her head to focus her attention that direction. The sound of her name of the lips of the wolf drove a spike of dread as cold as ice through her warm heart, and her hand stilled in its movement across the parchment. Emerald gaze found and held his crystalline silver hues in the moments that hung like hours in the minutes after he spoke. “ Rho?.. what is it?” Her question was a fearful whisper in the silence between them before he spoke the name of the silver and chased the blood from her face. Arien stood to her feet slowly, pale fingers curling around the back of her seat to fasten with a grip that seemed tight enough to splinter the wood. Her eyes blazed startlingly green in the ashen features as a single gasped word escaped her lips in blatant denial. “No..” But her warder didn’t stop..and he didn’t take it back. His report spilled forth from hesitant heart and lips, each word deepening the wound from which life’s blood seemed to flow, at least..it felt that way to the paladin. “No..Rho..no..no..” She shook fiery head in denial, as if the very movement could undo time and reality itself. “Please..please take it back..” She was shattering. “He wouldn’t..he promised he wouldn’t die..” The tears sprang then, a silent flow that presaged a choking, shuddering sob as she remained frozen in pace, locked onto her chair for support. If she released it, she would likely fall to the ground. “You’re lying..why would you lie to me? Is it because I kissed him?” Her anguish was blinding..all sense of logic lost. Before her eyes she could see the silver standing, pleading for her to take him back..she could taste his kiss on her lips. He’d left her..he’d left her again..This time, forever. A keening groan racked her frame, a violent fit of trembling ensuing as the female attempted to lay hold of the reality.
Rhocielle flattened his ears completely against his scalp as he saw the woman be crushed before him, by his words. To his continued dismay, she struck out at him. She cut him as she believed him to be speaking falsehoods. She had kissed Trekia? It was not surprising news to him, knowing Arien had disappeared for an entire day, several moons ago. She had been at her villa, she later admitted. Of course she had been with the Silver, who was now lifeless in the Fold's Keep. "Arien...," he quietly pleaded with her, raising his paw to her, "...I would not lie about such a thing." It was all he could say in protest, then repeating his earlier statement. "I saw his body... and I brought it back with me," the wolf remarked, but no step towards her was taken, "I could not leave him like that, and... I know you would have wanted his body retrieved... for his burial." Again his words would threaten to cleave her heart in twain, no matter how soft spoken and comforting her guard tried to be. A burial, he had said. There was no doubt that the silver dragon was dead with not a breath to his lungs. When she trembled within her hold of the chair, he at last acted. Leathern palm of his paw gently clasped at the lithe and shaky hand of the elf, attempting to bring her back to the present, to the dark reality that she was now to live and overcome.
Arien felt the touch of his paw though the delirium of her pain and turned unseeing eyes to rest on the face of her warder. “It’s my fault..” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “ He felt that I didn’t love him enough..Proving..he was always trying to prove himself to me..Trekia..Oh, gods..” Her hands moved to cover her face- guilt, deservedly or no, wracking her frame. He had come to her..and she had rejected him, what cause did he have for care?..He’d had little enough to live for. Another groan wrenched her body, an unconscious rocking of her torso beginning, as if the burden of pain was too much to bear standing still. It was into this cocoon of agony that the words of the wolf drifted, penetrating finally into the haze that was her consciousness. “ He is here? Trekia is here?” The wellspring flooded again, rivulets streaming down already ravaged face. Despair was branded on every inch of the once proud frame of the elf. “ Take me to him Rho…take me to my heart..” Her voice broke, the loss becoming compounded with each passing moment. Would she really never see that brash smile again? Never touch his face..hear that rich Nordic brogue? Would she never feel him dominate a room with his very presence? How could he be gone?..No..she would not believe it true until she touched his cold flesh with her bare hands. She looked at the wolf again with renewed, desperate urgency. “ Take me to him..Maybe there is still hope..maybe I can bring him back..”
Rhocielle nodded to her slowly, even as she continued to speak in her agonized and soulful monologue. Inadvertently she continued to harm him, calling the lifeless Silver her heart. She had warned him, his mind's voice echoed to him, in a moment along the Vibrance river, where both elf and wolf spoke of the realities to their hearts; realities that had slowly blurred and reformed between them. Still, her warder remained stolid, enduring the emotional barrage she inflicted upon him no less than he would endure any physical harm for her sake. "Trekia is here," his husky voice answered, remaining strong, for her. It would do no good to reveal the damage she was causing him, only worsen the mentality of the already fragile High Elf. Keeping his paw upon her hand, he squeezed gently to silently request she stand, as well as to silently remind her that her warder would remain at her side in her mourning. He made no comment as to whether she would be able to resurrect the Silver. He was no paladin, and his abilities could not be deemed divine by any means. If she believed she could breathe life back into the dragon, he would wholly believe in her. In the end, the wolf only wished her happiness. Helping her remain on her feet once she would stand, the Round Guard would lead the distraught Round member towards the site that would serve for the clan's last stand. Every footstep taken upon the staircase, seemed arduous, for both individuals, but he kept to the pace she deemed necessary in her grieving. Finally arriving upon the door that would lead to the resting place of Trekia, his paw opened the portal for her. In the center of the smaller table of the Round lay the Silver, enshrouded protectively with the guard's leather cape. Releasing her hand once they would enter, she was free to approach at her disclosure, while the outwardly stolid wolf remained at the door frame.
The Fold Keep
A brief journey through candle lit secret passage and up a flight of stairs brings you to this secure location. Spanning most of the length and width of the rooms below, the Keep, like its namesakes of old is the one place on the compound that can protect its occupants in the event of an assault or siege. Your exploring gaze reveals that the room for all intents and purposes is divided into four quadrants. Along the eastern wall, below small windows nestled near the wooden rafters and covering half the length of the room, are a series of makeshift cots dressed with linens and bedding kept in a constant state of readiness. Along the western wall of the room and immediately opposite the sleeping arrangements, a cluster of roughly made dining furniture is arranged. The tables and chairs sit in front of a long storage unit which doubles both as a supply store and a food preparation area. A curious invention protrudes through the roofing, opening up into a clean pail below. Further examination reveals that it is a device to collect rain water from the eaves of the roof. Closer to the door where you still stand, the room is more clearly dedicated to facilitating the continued business of the clan. Racks of weapons of every kind rest against the remaining walls, while a simpler and smaller version of the table of the round and its accompanying seating provides a location for strategy and group council. Indeed, it appears that The Fold is well prepared to sustain a siege of some length, and you depart the way you came with an increased sense of your own security.
Arien was not entirely aware of how she arrived at the door of the Keep, time and space seemed blurred, the darkness outside impenetrable to her unfocused vision. All she knew was that she had remained anchored to the wolf in the storm, and somehow had arrived here, at this place, her beloved hidden beneath the cloak that more familiarly draped the broad shoulders of the lycan at her side. She stood at the door, staring at the still mound, unable to repress the soft whimper that escaped at the sight of the tips of adamantine boots that protruded at awkward angle beneath the leather. Disengaging from the wolf, she took first hesitant steps into the room, lit now by the gas lanterns that served to cast unexpectedly cheerful and warm rays of light onto the temporary pedestal upon which the body of the Silver was laid. It seemed wrong, somehow, that the world was not shrouded in gloom as was her heart. Was she the only one who could see what had been lost? Another whimper of pain escaped as the tears pricked again. The elf was swinging on a pendulum that careened her between denial and anguish as she approached the side of the one who had been her soul mate. A lifetime of history flashed in front of her eyes before she could find the courage to peel back the soft material of the cloak from his face. She froze in that moment, the passage of an eternity felt in minutes, before she lifted pale fingertips to brush across the strength of his jaw line and cheekbones, and to run her thumb across his cold lower lip in a mimicry of actions performed before their lips had met in kisses past. “Oh Naith..Trek.. what have you done my love? What have you done?..” She lowered her body over his own, to press her lips to the flesh of his pale brow, pausing to gently stroke navy tipped, silvery locks out of the way. His hair still felt like silk beneath her fingers. “I love you..” She whispered into unhearing ears, “ And I will love you forever.” Eyes drifted closed as she pressed warm cheek to cool. “ I’ll take you home Silver..to the mountains where you’ll fly again..I promise..”
Rhocielle /Gods cursed him continuously. Though without sound in his vigil of the High Elf and her slain love, his canine ears heard all. He did the small gesture of relief for his own heart by keeping his eyes averted from the scene before him. Sharp teeth behind the black lips of his muzzle clenched to endure this tortured moment for him. Black bushy tail that so often wagged in eagerness to be in her presence now hung limp and as lifeless as the dragon. She seemed so distant from him at the moment, as if it were him that stood before her own dead form. However, she was not, and this forced and repeated statement from his logical mind to his ravaged heart served to keep him standing. In his mind, he only half retreated to the refuge his role in the clan offered. He could not abandon her, would not. Slowly he took a figurative and literal step forward. Out of the shadow of the Round Guard, he tentatively emerged wholly as the wolf that had befriended her. There was no title to shield his heart from the grief her mourning caused him, but he still remained. A few steps further, and he was beside the High Elf anew, at the familiar place behind her shoulder. His muzzle was dipped low, along with his ears in a sign of respect for the departed dragon.
Arien was hurting, a deep, throbbing ache that made it almost impossible to identify where emotions ended and self began. How would she learn to live without him? She had once..but she had always known he was out there..somewhere..living. Now, he would be gone, and she would be as truly alone as she had ever been in this world. Her partner, her soul mate..her best friend ..gone. It was in that moment of utter desolation that the wolf would approach, slipping silent and watchful into position at her shoulder. She could feel him hurting for her, and some part of her was aware that he must be hurting for himself, though she could do little enough to stem the flow of damage she must be inflicting with her love for the fallen dragon. She could feel his heat at her back..a stark contrast to the cold, dead flesh that lay still below her fingers. Life and death..love..all in such proximity. The pain simmered now as a dull , heavy ache where her heart should be..the first waves of passion spent and her mind beginning to think of what lay ahead to be done. Gone. Gone..He was gone. Emerald gaze fell to his face again, and she could swear she saw lips twitch in the hitch that marked the onset of familiar grin..Even in death..he was so full of life. Suddenly, from the depths of memory a scene tickled; Trekia, Arien and their brothers of the Silver Alliance sitting around the fire, singing the rollicking folk song that was the warrior’s lullaby, sang more often than not after a particularly arduous mission..and always, if they had lost a member in action. 'In death I hold the answer, in death I live again, fear not the Reaper's plague, it does not mean the end.' A gentle smile tugged at the elf’s pale lips. “ It does not mean the end Silver..it does not mean the end.” A soft sigh escaped before she lifted her hands to draw the cloak over his face again, and turned, finally to meet the eyes of her longsuffering warder. “ Thank you Rho..for bringing him home.” Her eyes shimmered again with unshed tears. “ I will take him to Frostmaw ..” She had to leave..to get away..to be alone with her heart and thoughts. “ I think..I’ll go to bed now.. I’ll see you in the morning.” And not waiting for the wolf to reply or react, the high born would begin the slow walk away from him, and the body he stood over, passing through the door and down into the darkness of the stairwell without a backward look.