Private Tales Tea Time with Helena: Petra

[Petra Darthinian]

Amidst the quiet charm of Astenvale, nestled in a cozy corner of the town square, lay the Wyvern's Nest. Its welcoming atmosphere was a sanctuary for those who sought refuge from the crispness of the fall morning. The clouds hung low, whispering promises of rain, yet the day didn't bear the weight of a tempestuous sky. Instead, the gentle chill in the air was invigorating, like the caress of autumn's breath. Norvyk, Petra's ever faithful if not curmudgeous companion, lay languidly outside the teahouse for a nap. The once formidable air of uncertainty and fear that had surrounded him and the citizens whenever he showed, had dissipated like morning mist over the long months they had spent with the Knights. The people of Astenvale had grown accustomed to the sight of the dragon flying overhead and Petra perusing the local shops, her dragon at her heels. Today, they merely regarded him with curiosity, interest, or the comfortable indifference of familiarity.

Petra, sitting at a polished wooden table, gazed contentedly out of the Wyvern's Nest. She had dressed in burgundy tunic today, paired with soft breeches and a dark cloak keeping her dry. Her normally adorned and wild hair was captured in a messy topknot. The elf felt, relaxed. Content. Happy even.

The tea house itself, was adorned with the soft glow of fire-warmed air. Emanating the comforting scents of freshly baked pastries and aromatic teas. Petra found herself awaiting the arrival of Helena, her Dawn Captain, for their long-anticipated tea meeting. And not knowing what pastries the woman would be interested in, in the elf's anxiety, had ordered two of every one. A plate had been sat before her with a dazzling display of warmed baked goods. The honey cakes having especially grabbed her attention. But she was polite, and would wait, even if she began to suspect that the honeycake was whispering to her the sweet nothings of temptation.

Petra sipped her steaming cup of earl grey, the foreshadowed rain finally tapping a gentle rhythm against the teahouse's windows. It was a tranquil melody that danced with the soothing atmosphere. The warm tea embraced her from the inside, casting away the autumn's chill with every sip.

Glancing out of the window, Petra watched as the townsfolk of Astenvale strolled through the square, their cloaks rustling in the wind. The inviting aura of each of the surrounding shops, beckoning passersby into their safe harbor, drawing them from the misty street and into the cozy interiors.

Just as Petra's thoughts wandered back to Helena, the door chimed with the fated arrival of her captain.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Helena stepped in to the cozy little tea shop, the dawn white hood of her cloak, misted by the rain, it shimmered with the warm light. Her hands eased down the fabric, and shook her hair free of the minor confines.

The shop attendant greeted her, and the two exchanged a few pleasantries before Helena bowed her head and was away, striding toward her date's table, her cloak trailed behind her.

"Syr Darthinian," she said warmly, with a gentle bow of her head as she approached the table. "A feast, worthy of a dragon, I see," she said with a little laugh as she sat before the proud rider and her hoard of delectable treats. "Oh, you even got the chocolate chunk cookie," a pleased coo came sweet from her throat. Her eyes flit to Darthinian, a gentle supplication.

---

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

A bright smile flared at her Captain's arrive, motioning with a wave of scaled hand at the seat opposite to her.

Seeking something to do with her hands, she picked back up her teacup. Which came in handy when came time to shield her sheepish blush at Helena's observation.

"Aha, to be honest with you. I didn't know what you liked! And seeing as how this was my treat to you, I figured I might as well give you the opportunity to try whatever you wanted. But..." Her gaze shifting to said chocolate chunk cookie. "Now that I know, I will send my mother a letter and see if she'll include an extra batch in her seasonal basket she insists on sending me every year."

Petra laughed to herself at the memory while Helena settled in.

Helena

 

[Helena]

A chortle, and a smile the bloomed bright, despite all the cold of outside. "A sound strategy," she assured the dragon rider. "When in doubt, send it all out," she nod, sure in the wisdom she had like acquired from some old knight at one point or the other.

Dejan, perhaps?

A mystery for another time.

Helena helped herself to one of the cookies. Sure to grab one with nice flaky bits of salt, gleaming proudly upon the buttery landscape, stuck next to boulders of dark indulgence. Her fingers did a happy little shimmer as she looked down at the snack with a wolf's hunger.

But, politness dictated she have a bit of tea first. So she grabbed up the cup, and blew across the hot drink as she listened to Petra's words.

A nod, calm, as her eyes looked across the heap of goodies. "Well, wouldn't that be an absolute treat?" she said, as she took a sip of the dark tea. Her full lips parted from the rim, and she took a moment to enjoy the waft of citrussy scent and the tingle of steam on her nose. A pleased hum. "What else does she tend to send, you, Petra?" she asked, bright eyed and curious to learn more.

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The question made her pause. She took to watching Norvyk napping in the rain outside while chewing on her bottom lip.

It was hard talking about her family. Normally, she would phrase her answers in an evasive way that dug no deeper than the surface — that invited no further need for questions beyond polite conversation. But she had grown so much since becoming a Knight. Gone was the depressed party girl who yearned so deeply for a new purpose, a new reason to make something of her long life outside of the tragedies she had wrought, that she had pried it from the hands of fate herself, teeth bared.

People like Helena had given her a chance to grow. Given her a new direction to seek, and Petra had flown towards it with all haste. She had fought cultists, corrupt lords, monsters, and even monsters hiding as men. So many things that she was asked to be brave against.

And yet...

"To be honest, Helena, ever since my mother found out I'm here at the Monastery, she couldn't be prouder." Petra turned back with a bittersweet smirk. "She sends me something every full moon. And letters even more often. But those letters? I haven't read them. I don't have the courage to."

Helena

 

[Helena]

A pause, full with the silence that built between them.

Warm as the tea was in her hand. Warm as the breath was that mixed in that space around them.

Then it broke. Conversation like a sweet spill of cream upon the tinged drink between them. Cloudy, yet all the fuller for it. Complexities softened. Made sweeter. But none removed.

A slow nod at Petra's confession. Helena's eyes drift away, but only just before they returned to regard the elf's own. "Why is that?"

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

A deep exaggerated inhale while Petra gathered her thoughts and watched Norvyk while she blew her exhale from a pillowed cheek.

How do I even answer that... She thought to herself. Indignant at her own inability to rein in the impulse to overshare. One would think that after over 100 years of tempering her impulses, she would be better at it. But part of her had grown tired of constantly mastering herself. Of intellectualizing all of her feelings. Of compartmentalizing the shame and the guilt that was tucked into a neat corner of her heart. Doing her no good besides gathering dust.

Vulnerability wasn't exactly easy. Not to mention the fear that so often went with it. But as she finally looked back into the eyes of her Captain, there was a warmth in their brown light that made it easier to displace her fears.

Acquiescing with another deep breath, "Well..." She began, fighting the desire to fidget. "I guess you could say I left a lot of pain behind when my sister died. Ran away, really." She snorted self-deprecatingly. "I think... I'm just not ready for my mother to try and convince me that it wasn't my fault. She wasn't there. And her forgiveness feels like..." The elf looked down into her cup, hypnotized by the coils of steam. "It feels like pity. And I can't stomach either."

Helena

 

[Helena]

Helena paid heed to Petra's words. The tenderness there in. The way each syllable seemed almost choked. Starved. In need. To be heard, perchance. Or simply, to be uttered.

Young as she was, the Captain was no stranger to the hardships of life.

How many of her sworn kin had she watched, cut down too soon? Her own call to swear the oaths, spurred on by the tragedy that had befallen her home of Gladstone.

She knew little of Petra's past. But to hear her speak on the feeling. Helena nod. "It sounds as if, the memory of that time, lays heavy on your heart, Petra," she voiced. Looked down at one of the sweets, took it into her fingers, broke off a small piece. "My father," she said in a small voice. Almost as if she explored the space between them with the sound, and the gentle pitter patter of the rain knocked gentle across the glass of the windows outside. "I lost him when I was young. A hapless child, really. Still, I remember the helplessness that came with the news. How my mind found every thing it could, to shield itself from the realization,"

She looked at the crumbly cookie in her hands. Felt the butteriness against her fingers. "He somehow found it upon himself to procure flour and sugar, bartered some of the fine metals he had moled away from his time in the mines, then, we would bake cookies," she smiled, warm in the memory as she put the cookie down.

"Did you and your sister have such a memory?"

Petra Darthinian

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The question was quiet, but its aim was true in the way it knocked the breath from Petra's chest for a fleeting moment.

There within the warm breaths of their teapots and the soft din of the cafe, the trajectory of their conversation had caught her so off guard that she hadn't even noticed how quickly her walls had dropped in its bubble of safety. Swallowing the sudden welling of emotion, a tired smile held vigil on her features, one born of old grief between them.

"To be loved is to be considered." Petra replied gently. A pause while she took a contemplative sip from her teacup. "I don't think I remember a single thing I ever baked with my family." She placed her teacup on its saucer and spun it casually with one taloned finger, her chin resting in the palm of her other hand as she sought answers in its depths. "But music?" A soft smirk. "I have many memories of music between us. The way my mother could sing the language of plants for her apothecary. Of my father singing to the horses he trained; and how they never wavered under his hand."

She tilted her chin up and looked at Helena, "I have lived a long time, Helena. And I will live longer still. And I've found that time is the cruelest thief. It's taken many things from me, small treasures. Like the words to the song my sister used to sing when she braided my hair and the exact color of her eyes when she laughed at my stupid jokes."

Petra closed her eyes on a humorless chuckle, trying to grab at those memories, but it stayed just out of her reach. Murky and blurred. Sighing deeply, she sat up and back against her chair, folding her arms across her chest.

"But time has also taught me how beautiful it is to have had the privilege to miss someone who shined so bright. To have learned to never stop talking about them."

Petra laid her taloned hand flat over her heart, her gaze poignant where it caught her Captain's, "Sometimes it doesn't even feel like she's left me. Only just ahead of me, waiting. Because her loves still lives here."

Helena

 

[Helena]

It was all. So much.

Yet she found her eyes laden with tears. A smile, warm if only for the fissuring of the uncertainty that had kept her hidden behind her mask of calm. So well worn, it almost felt her second skin.

"So it is," she said. For truth was most oft, simplicity. She laughed, even as fresh tears welled fat from her eyes, and she made to wipe them away. Stopped. And let herself cry through half laughs. "But sparks, to keep our flames lit against the dark,"

Petra Darthinian