Letters The Axe and the Queen

[Arnor Skuldsson]

He awoke to the sound of horse trotting along. This was a common sound now, people moving to and fro. The world, at large- seemed to be on fire. At any given time, in the west, there were rumors of the dead army, the hordes in the North, and now the coronation of a new Emperor. People were fleeing, moving, and hustling to and fro.

The spine, the literal dividing point of the world, between East and West, was constantly being bombarded with travelers. It was one such caravan that caught Arnor's eye. He could see them, the marks on their faces. As well as they could see his. They caught him during his morning routine, eating oatmeal and watching the passing of the carts on the busy street he had been lounging in.

The innkeeper had let him stay after he removed yet another would-be Necromancer. Which turned out to be the angry son of a jaded father. Arnor just beat sense into him and dragged him back to town. Much to his chagrin, the father scolded him, so Arnor beat him for driving his son away. Arnor was an equal-opportunity ass-kicker. As a thank you for preventing another ghoul problem, Arnor had been staying there, just South of Molthal in one of the many quaint, quiet villages that lay around the Spine.

The cart that caught his eye- was full of Nordenfiir. Not the ones he encountered some time ago, that told him that the Eternum marched, but these people seemed happy. He hailed them and they hailed back, and he approached. Out of habit, he stuck out his left hand. They smiled, commenting on that they were a little far south to be doing that.

Arnor couldn't help but finally smile.

Then something curious happened.

They asked him if he ran away, if he was a supporter of the King, if that's why he was outside of the Tundra. Arnor didn't understand. One of them, the younger woman, explained it all to him. The coup, the rebellion, the ascension to the throne. Arnor couldn't help but smile and feel the red-braid in his hair. He thanked them for their time- and for their trip, gave them a rather hefty sack of silver. Arnor, after all, was the mercenary lately for the Spine. His services were well rewarded and his reputation had proceeded him.

He got back into the inn, and with a nostalgic twinge in his heart, he asked the innkeeper- not an angry dwarf this time, but a gruff Orc, for pen and paper.

And then, in the solace of his room, he began to write.

Dear Maude,

I hope this letter finds you well. I feared after my enslavement that the worst of fates had fallen you. I haven't returned to the Tundra since. I have found ample work as a Mercenary in the Spine, after Knottington. I've heard great things about you, and your succession to the throne. I humbly can say that I knew a Queen before she rose to the throne.

I have included proof of life with this letter. I do hope to hear from you soon. Please return it with your reply if this finds you well.

Yours as always,

Arnor Skuldsson

He stopped, and reached to his hair. And for the first time in over a year, he cut the red-tinted braid in his hair out from his head, and tucked it into the papyrus envelope. He walked out, and found the local courier service, resting in the tavern. For two coins and a cock of his head, he mapped out the route, and charged him a few extra coins for the longevity of the route. But Arnor didn't care what the cost was.

It was all worth it, in the end.

 

[Maude]

She'd only just arrived back to the capital a few days prior when the first letter arrived. One baring curious and unwelcome news of an encroaching group to the west called The Eternum. One that asked for peaceful talks between leading parties in her home city. One that begged far too much for far too little.

The Queen mulled it over for some time, taking drink in her solar and no company to speak of. These were trying times: not but a week after the fall of Borvenir and his regime had the Red Mists arrived just outside of Faarin. They'd lost dozens in Borvenir's purge, more in the movement against him, and more still in the crisis to the north. Now they faced a potential incursion of undead?

If ever Eogorath had a sense of humor, this truly must be it.

She'd left her other mail to sit for hours, settled in a massive chair wrapped in pelts and structured by bones and horns. The same chair her grandfather, the late King Iordahn, had sat in for over 80 years while taking time to contemplate the many difficulties of ruling a kingdom. Maude found herself wishing for his presence, some semblance of wisdom for a regime of people still very much reeling from loss and instability.

All she could remember were the words he spoke to her in her youth, All In Time, Kulean, All In Time.

"Dott'rhi," the voice of Denma at her door as the Councilwoman stepped in, "a letter has arrived for you."
"I don't want it."
"Are you certain?" Denma gave a lopsided smirk, "It has come all the way from the summerlands. There's something inside."
Green eyes turned away from the fire to look at the other woman, peering at the rolled parchment in her hand, "Leave it with the others."

What now? Elbion seeking further payment for their aid? Silverblood sniffing out his trade permits? Maude had no desire to look, but something about a letter from the Summerlands wouldn't permit being ignored. She stood from her chair and stepped back to her desk, setting down her horn of ale and taking up the parchment. It was heavy - so far as a rolled scroll went - and though the manner in which it was bound should have struck her as familiar, too much time and terrible things had passed for her to see it. Maude cut open the string holding it closed and blinked as it rolled open and deposited a red braid on the pile of missives.

Suspicion and a sudden surge of anger ran the length of her spine, thinking it a threat. Maude quickly pulled the letter open, nearly tearing it in half in the process, and began to read. The anger immediately subsided into something of shock, concern, and then guilt.

Arnor was alive.

She must have read it three times before it really sank in. The Queen looked down at the braid and picked it from the stack of letters, holding it in her palm and thinking the woman who'd cut it away was someone else entirely. It hadn't been that long, in retrospect, perhaps a year? She'd lost track, but so much had happened since she'd left Knottington and him. His letters had been carefully stowed away during her travels and now, Maude recalled, were kept inside a small chest made of solstal sitting on a stand near the window. Placed with all her other belongings she couldn't bare to lose - Skaalagrim's amulet, the rings of her grandfather, an armband from her mother.

Had she locked her feelings for him away in there, too? What had they been?

Maude sank back into her chair, letter in one hand and braid in the other, and felt for the first time in a long time the weight of her journey from home to the summerlands, and back again.


~~~

Arnor,

I always liked to think I am not easily spooked, but your letter has shaken me. It has been so long, I admit to believing the same fate for you and having given up hope you might yet still live. Seems both our journeys have been long and unforgiving - too long to speak of in a mere letter. In all the things that have happened between before and now, gaining this news is some of the best I have had in many moons.

With hope that you may find your way to the winterlands again, that we might share those stories face to face, I return this to you. It was always yours to keep.

Gemaudelene
Dott'rhi Nordengaard

 

[Arnor Skuldsson]

The letter came the day he was preparing to leave. Luckily, the courier that delivered was meeting one going the opposite way, so the network would be able to carry his reply. He sat down to read it in the inn, surrounded by strangers, happily enjoying their time together.

But here he was, enjoying the company of a person so far away that it seemed impossible to fathom. And while the others in the inn sat and drank their loneliness away together, Arnor couldn't help but smile as he penned his reply, threading the braided hair between his left hand, his right gripping tightly to the quill he was supposed to be writing with. But he had to a lot of to think of, based on a simple title that she penned at the bottom.

He had a Queen to write back to now.

To the Rightful Queen,

I am glad to hear that your journey met an amicable end. I am beyond words in joy to hear of your succession to the throne. I know that you will do all that you can to make the Tundra and our people safe. I did not mean to frighten you with my sudden letter- I know that it can be quite shocking to find someone to still be alive when you thought them passed.

I do apologize for my lack of contact- being continents away tends to render one unable to keep in close contact with those that they care for deeply. Your wish will soon be granted, my lady fairest-

I, to my pledged word- am returning home.

Yours as always,

Arnor Skuldsson

He found his letter appealing, if not short. He had much more to say, but as she rightfully pointed out- words that they could not convey properly, things that should not and could not be said over paper and over distance.

He needed to see her. A part of him burned for it more than any fire that he had ever faced before. He looked up at the Orc running the inn, and folded his letter in the usual, familiar way. No seals, no concealment. She was running the show now- and her letter showed no deceit. The stroke of her quill, the way she spoke, the smell of the paper- she was the one writing it, not some pretender.

Things, feelings, thoughts he had lost long ago came over him, like water to a shore. He looked around, and suddenly felt more lonely than he had in months.