Completed Namesake

[Hahnah]

Menura. A place, like Strathford, of great change. Unlikely in that she did not even know the name of this place until she had come, and yet it was here that the path of her life forked into sinful certainty and hopeful uncertainty. She did not know what lay ahead, not with the supreme clarity that she once had, but in the unknown there existed the real chance to be someone of whom Kylindrielle and Elurdrith would not be ashamed.

And it was thanks to Griffyn. A human with a kind, caring heart.

There was danger in his returning into Menura, and though she was worried, she did not believe it to mean certain death for him; he was capable, and she had seen it in the street skirmish and in the battle at the gates to be so. The Court of Lords to Hahnah sounded frightening, a collection of human masters all gathered in one place and with their attention all focused onto Griffyn, but she believed that he would prevail; he was a ranger of talking, after all. Yes, she wanted to come with him and had said as much that she would, but...here was the true essence of trust. Being able to assuage her own fear and concern, to not grasp so tightly that it was harmful.

Sometimes trust meant allowing oneself to let go. For a little while.

Hahnah nodded, her forehead and her face rubbing against Griffyn's shortcoat. "I will. I will pray everyday for your health, and I will pray everyday to see you again."

She loosened her embrace. Slowly let her arms slip away. Then she glanced toward the brightening sky, the coming of the sun, and she turned and gracefully descended down onto her knees once more and clasped her hands and raised her head and closed her eyes and mouthed a quiet prayer.

In reverence she stayed for a moment. Then with languid motion rose up to her feet.

Hahnah faced Griffyn again and placed her hands on his shoulders and stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him on the cheek and then dropped back down to her heels. A small smile, faintly winning over all of the opposing emotions that pulled against it. And she said, "Please be careful."

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

He nodded, smiling back to his friend. The feel of her lips on his cheek was warmer even than the rising sunlight.

What if she's the only good one? his traitorous mind dared to wonder. What if you will never meet another one like her?

He would have to have faith. He would have to trust in the ineffable whims of the gods to steer him safely back to her some day, some day soon. If not because he was sure he would miss her, then at least to repay some of the heavy debt he had accrued towards the little elf. Surely Astra and her divine kin would not allow him to live out the last of his days owing another so very much! And he believed his own words - the Dying God had brought them together and could well do so again, should they need each other.

But for now, to bring her into his shadow and lead her back into the world he knew, the world of legislation and coin and shaken hands, would be an act of cruelty. She had a path to walk, and he would not deprive her of that. No matter how much it hurt.

"Commander Griff!"

He turned at his name. Amidst the jubilation of the soldiers amassing at the gate to the city, he spied Rych. The familiar face brought a grin to his own. The lanky soldier gestured to his side where the griffin rider was standing, watching, with a smirk and an impressed wiggle of his eyebrows.

Griffyn nodded, waving, and then turned back to his friend.

"You too," he said. "Until the next time."

Years-old lessons in decoram resurfaced as he considered how to part ways with her, and without shame he put one leg forward ahead of him, reached one arm outwards to the left with another placed on his chest, and bowed deeply to her. Then, as if he were removing a stinging bandage, he turned quickly and walked away. Towards the bemused eyes of the soldiers, the searching glances of both rider and mount, and the stone enclosure of the city of Menura.

Hahnah

 

[Hahnah]

An impulse to copy Griffyn's bow, but she had not been expecting such a gesture, had not in fact seen one like it before, and the small moment had passed before the impulse could truly take hold. Griffyn was walking away, back into Menura and to the ordeals that awaited him there.

Hahnah half-glanced away. Then back. A tiny wave, the lifting of her hand oddly demure and her fingers curling down as the motion slowed and the tips of them descending to touch her palm and then her hand drifted back down to her side. She looked away from the city again, toward the open expanse of Arethil beyond its walls.

Griffyn had thought it best that she go while she still could, and so she had trusted him.

And she had to trust further that, one day, they would see each other again. Before she knew it, the stark realization struck her, that she had let him go and that the act of letting go was already over, that they had only a moment prior still been together and now were not, now were on their separate ways as their paths diverged, and with this realization a thoroughly paradoxical and surreal feeling of immense relief that the pain of parting was over and suffering that very pain all the same.

Hahnah turned from the city. Her legs were as solid rocks and then they were not, and she allowed herself to take her first step away. One after the other. Soon her feet were whisking her away and the steady retreat of Menura behind had begun in earnest.

She carried with her an immutable truth, one far more pleasant than all that had come from the collapse of her worldview. Griffyn was a beautiful rarity in the world, one who, like Kylindrielle and Elurdrith, made manifest the very concept of "good" for her. It gave her an ideal to strive for. If all were capable of both sin and good then so was she, no matter how her heart felt. Perhaps there was an inseparable part of her that was monstrous, that yearned to do profane things, but with determination she could overcome it--Griffyn had through his example shown her the way.

And so Hahnah departed from Menura, unsure of what lay ahead but resolved to her faith that a better time would come.

Griffyn

 

[Griffyn]

"Oi."

Griffyn looked up from the tabletop and into the piercing eyes of the griffin rider. His name is Alnar, he reminded himself. He blinked at the high sunlight filtering in through the window of the command centre, broken suddenly by a passing soldier carrying another atop his shoulders. The city had devolved into raucous celebration, but that had been... how long ago? What time was it?

"Lost you for a moment there, my lord."

He shook his head with a frown. "No lord," he said, throat hoarse, and glanced back at the griffin rider. Alnar had opened the collar of his shirt beneath his armour and lounged like a cat on the centre's simple wooden chairs.

"So you continue to say," Alnar smirked. "But you sound like something of a lord to me, so you'll have to indulge me on this. Anyway, you were saying about this contract of Sunderland's, the one he made the elves sign?"

Griffyn nodded. "It held them to employment over a number of years. I understand it was up for renewal around this time of year. It freed them of any debt while insisting that their work went uncredited for the duration."

He cleared his throat, and Alnar rose with a sigh.

"I wish you'd told me this place didn't have a drinking establishment earlier," the rider complained as he walked to the door of the squat building. He opened it to the cacophony outside, where young Liam took his order for drinks with wide eyes and a ready step. "No wonder this city fell into chaos."

"I did say so," Griffyn retorted but without spirit. He leaned foward on his chair, elbows heedless of the maps beneath them, and sighed. "Anyway, there was nothing strictly illegal about the paperwork, which is why Hannah and I sought to resolve the situation in a different way."

"You don't have entrapment in Alliria?" Alnar asked as he took a seat.

Griffyn stammered. "Yes, but... It's not... That's different. It was simply a poor deal that they felt they had to..."

"Nevermind, it makes little difference in this case." Alnar waved his hand dismissively. "Lords have a measure of immunity from the law, as our Lord Sunderland no doubt is aware. Entrapment is a touch too soft a needle to skewer him properly."

The rider chuckled, but Griffyn could only frown. He was not enjoying the man's gleeful discussion of a situation which had caused such pain, even if they were allies in this. It was clear Alnar held no loyalty for Lord Alistair Sunderland, perhaps even a measure of spite. Griffyn felt a little wave of vertigo as he saw for a moment a much larger game playing out above their heads.

"See, a better means of declaring him guilty would be to show that he hadn't followed proper protocol when writing out this damnable contract," the rider continued. "Say, for instance, if he had neglected to afix his lordly seal of authority upon it."

"Lordly seal?"

"Like this."

Alnar reached into his pocket and threw something onto the table. A scrap of paper, torn from a larger document, and upon it the winged crest of the city. Sunderland's crest. Griffyn looked up into Alnar's mischievous gaze with rising alarm.

"And I can guarantee," Alnar savoured, "that the contract in question does not possess a legal seal with which to authenticate it. A seal that looks like this."

Griffyn sat back on his chair. If he was reading the room correctly, he did not like the direction the griffin rider had taken the situation. But if it furthered the 'right thing', should he just allow it to happen?

He shook his head. He was too damn tired for this.

"Now, let's see yours."

It took Griffyn a moment to understand. Alnar had returned to the building's entrance, and now held a tray in both hands as he gently kicked the door closed. A tall pitcher of water and two glasses. As if in payment, Griffyn reached down into his pocket and retrieved the small rectangle of paper, depositing it on the map.

Alnar sat down. Then he twisted his face in wry amusement, before laughing.

"I fold, I suppose?"

Griffyn looked down.

"Oh, apologies. That's not... That's..."

A playing card, the Two of Mirrors. Retrieved from a game that had taken place an age ago. Twin twisting figures caught his eye on the card's design, somehow familiar. He rummaged again through his pocket and pulled free the folded contract, placing it down in front of Alnar.

The rider opened up the paper, the one that named him captor of elves, and shrugged.

"This isn't ironclad," he remarked. "And again, no seal. I'll hold onto this. We can have it revoked ahead of the trial, never fear."

He pocketed the paper with one hand and poured a glass of water with the other. Griffyn could only watch, dumbfounded.

"Anything else?"

"Um, no. No, there's nothing. Sunderland has another of those, but..."

"Then we set off in the morning." Alnar grinned. "To Oban! And the Feathered Gardens of Griffmadár!"

He rose his glass in a toast, and Griffyn scrambled to match it with a drink of his own. The clink of glass was strangely jarring, the icy cold of the water like a needle to his cranium. Still, he drank readily.

"Unless you have some reason to hang around?"

Griffyn shook his head. The cards had fallen as they would, and now the game was over for him. Time to let someone else take charge. He would not miss this city. But first.

"I just have a letter that needs writing," he said, and thought of home.

Hahnah