Fate - First Reply Warmth and Stories by a Campfire

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Kristen Pirian

Pride and Steel
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One fixture above all, primeval in its origin, had the enduring power to bond people together, and this fixture was a campfire on a cold night.

Yes, it is true. Not all strangers who entered the orange glow of a campfire were of the friendly sort. Such were the perennial imperfections of the world. But many a traveler, regardless of the reason for their travel, sought the camaraderie which could only be found around the flame.

Kristen Pirian sat before her own campfire (above which strips of venison were cooking) in her own modest camp, a simple lean-to tent set up behind her. The night was blanketed with a total darkness brought on by thick clouds smothering the light of the moons. Mayhap for miles around in the forest, hers was the only light.

Which might be what attracted her visitor.

She glanced up when she heard the approach, idly pulling her cloak a little closer on her shoulders.

"Hello?"
 
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He approached. Each step carried with it a sound - the jangle of his sword belt, the forest's debris beneath his feet. She'd heard him coming, of course. It was hardly as though he were hiding himself, and yea, he had heard even the small crackles from the campfire long before drawing near. Were his eyes to fail him he'd have likely found his way, but it was fortunate that they did not, because ears could not see the unheard. And after so long, his ears would likely not recognize that which had changed so much.

It was as though he had long been expecting whoever it was that he drew near to now, as even at the sound of her voice there was no hesitation.

"Hello?"
​
He continued forward, wordlessly for a moment, hidden under the shadow of his heavy cloak and hood. But as he came closer and was shown in the orange glow of the fire, he reached up his hand and showed his open palm, a general sign of peace, and with the other he reached to his hood and pulled away the shroud of it. His hair fell across his face which he promptly brushed aside to tuck behind a pointed ear, and his eyes rested on the girl who sat in the midst of her humble camp, hidden under her own disguise.

"Peace," he said, "I bring no ill intent."

He scanned the camp with a sharpness in his eye, and was quick to return his gaze to her, "I have traveled long, and would rest here by this fire with you if you would have me."

Otherwise, he would leave without protest.

 
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From the darkness came the stranger. The raw potential for anything rested with the sound of someone (or something) approaching whilst veiled by the night's gloom, and only in the firelight's glow did that potential take definition. And so it was a relief, of course, when he showed his hands and declared his peaceable intent.

Kristen was made slightly wary by his pointed ear, this in deference to the long history between elves and Dreadlords. But peace could rule here, for it was willed by both her and him, no matter the grand schemes of Vel Anir and Falwood which rested above them.

"Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing with an open palm opposite the fire. "Long days make for a weary nights, this I know well enough myself."

Kristen as a show of good faith reached up (her right hand, curiously, a construction of porcelain and adamantine, the latter material reflecting the light with a metallic shine) and pulled down the hood of her cloak.

"I do not mind sharing any of my rations, if you would like—"

Finally she got a direct look at his face, and all at once she recognized him. Though she knew not his name, his face was one of many seared into her mind from a day whose events she could never forget. Her eyes widened and her tone became breathless.

"—...oh my god..."

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
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For those first few moments there was nothing to this meeting other than chance in his eyes. He was far from the same elves that had warred with Vel Anir time and time again. He was one of the few who had dared to venture behind those fortress walls, let alone into their lands. But the Aeraesarians always held themselves above such enduring squabbles, erring more toward addressing the more malevolent of evils. To him, the Anirians were no different than most others, and if their ire were turned on him then yea he would wield his blade against them, but if their ire was stayed, then so too would his hand be. He'd even raised his sword together with them in the past, one of the few Aeraesarians to have done so. And these were his thoughts as his eyes rested, momentarily, on the Dreadlord's sigil.

His colours were gone. The sigils of his Order and those regal, albeit faded blues, all burned away.

"Indeed," he replied, bowing his head in thanks to her offer before moving to take a seat.

The reflection off her hand caught his eye, and he noted the oddity. It wasn't something familiar to him, but the expression his eyes landed upon with his new companion's sudden pause was something that was.

While her recognition was immediate(unbeknownst to him exactly,) his was momentarily paused. He studied her, even as those breathless words left her lips, and for a few short thoughts he could not exactly place the familiarity he felt.

But then he remembered a strange thing, something, someone who was not this person.

Elan the Brave...

"Kristen Pirian," he said with a long and contented breath, settling into his place, "you have grown."

Now, it looked a little more like fate.

 
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"I...I saw you..." she said, still astonished. "On...on the Isle of the Blades."

And then it registered.

"You...remember me? You remember my name?"

Chance. Fate. Providence, perhaps, ordained by Aionus Himself. Whatever the cause for this fireside meeting, it left Kristen dizzy and reeling—in a good way.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
Kristen's flesh and blood hand glided slowly upward to cover her mouth, that astonishment yet undimmed. It was not only the might of Pirian-sworn men, the Anirian Guard and the Navy, but the efforts of the employed auxiliaries as well. Men and women who owed no allegiance to Vel Anir, yet who volunteered to put themselves in the way of great peril. For her sake.

She was not overly idealistic in this notion. Some, of course, ventured into the deathtrap of the Blades with only monetary reward in mind. Yet here it was not so. Eloquently stated, the elf had joined the Assault with her well-being foremost in mind, and even to this very day eight years later remembered her name and her (now more matured) face.

"You did not know me, yet you braved our Anirian aversion to your kind in addition to the hell awaiting on that beach, and you did it all selflessly. May I have the honor of knowing your name?"

Kristen's eyes were glossy in the firelight. Emotion slowly overcoming her, her lips were quivering into a smile.

"And...m-may I hug you?"

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
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"You may call me Erën," he replied, "It is my charge to protect and defend those of innocence in need, and when I had heard of the young girl who had been stolen away from her family, well..." it would not have mattered if she were nobility or not, though her being such was likely what brought her name to his ear in the first place.

It didn't matter, he'd have done it regardless, alone if he'd had too - the army he joined with had only been a bonus. When Kristen had been kidnapped, she had been about the same age as...

"And...m-may I hug you?"
​
He straightened up some, not exactly averted, only surprised. He blinked, and then allowed a small smile to creep across his lips, and said, "if... you wish," with an almost inquisitive tone taking his voice.

 
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Kristen scooted over to Erën's side of the fire and threw her arms around him in an embrace of deeper warmth than just that which might be between mere acquaintances.

"The depths of fear I knew whilst on that island will forever be without compare."

She pulled back. Wiped at her eyes with the back of her flesh and blood hand.

"Yet it is people like you, Erën, who inspire me to greatness. The charge which has driven you then, I aspire to now."

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
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Erën, though somewhat awkwardly, invited her embrace and even returned it to a somewhat less degree than her, but genuine all the same. He was simply not so touchy, but he appreciated the gesture for what it was and humoured the situation as much as he could. He thought he did alright.

He nodded at her words, and though in those days when he trudged the beaches of the Blades and fought that vicious fight his thoughts were of this girl before him, now his thoughts dwelt on another. He wondered what his daughter had felt when she had been taken.

He wondered if she...

"Yet it is people like you, Erën..."
​
His eyes met hers as she told him of her new goal. He smiled at her, and then allowed his eyes to fall as he said, "it is no small aspiration," his eyes followed the ground and then found the fire where they rested, "but through it, I have found peace in my shortcomings. Though we may fail some, there are still others who we may not.

I am glad to see you, young Pirian. Your life is an evidence of what I speak of."

 
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Shortcomings. A word that was hard to hear, coming from a man whom Kristen regarded as...well, regarded as a hero in all honesty. Yet in the sober descent of his eyes and their gazing at the fire, she knew that though the word was hard to hear, there was yet hard truth in it. Already, even before she had graduated the Academy and could make any worthy claim to being such a guardian as what she aspired to be, had she herself also tasted failure. Most pointedly in the death of her fellow Initiate Raf...that same incident claiming her right hand and leaving her with the enchanted porcelain prosthetic.

She would have to steel herself for this inevitable truth that Erën suffered now: that it was beyond mortal capacity to save everyone in need.

He closed on a note of brightness, though.

"This is good to hear. I will in all my days strive to honor your selflessness by living with faith, nobility, and goodness of heart—a boon to Arethil and those around me."

Then.

"As for you, surely...despite the solemn occasions for finding peace...your own life has gone well in these intervening years? How do you fare, Erën?"

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
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The situation he found himself in now was a peculiar one to him. Ever had it been that he'd been so closed to those who were not of his Order, not of his kind. The changes that recent years had brought became, once again, obvious to him in this moment, as it had in others before. He found himself all too willing to answer her question which at one time, for someone else at least, he'd have done so only half heartedly. But seeing how she would take after his own path in such earnest, in was hardly a question whether he would speak wholly or not.

"Let my life in these intervening years be, perhaps, a warning to you, young Pirian," he started, "to strive for these things, though they be good things, they would lead you down darker paths.

To pursue these things is to take up a heavy mantle, to face that which is darkest so that others may be spared of it," he drew in a deep breath, "I do fare well, but it comes at great cost."

Avoiding great detail, he recounted some of the things he had seen and done. The battle for the Orcish fortress city in the north, the deaths of his closest comrades, the curse on his lands and others and the dreadful whispers of war in every corner. And though he wished to, he reserved any mention of his daughter, who he knew was still out there, knew he could save.

"It is no small thing that you take on, but I can see you are no stranger to change," he gestured to her hand, which was quite clearly not unworthy of mention, "something tells me this was not a welcome one."

 
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Heavy were his words, but necessary. Kristen was...yes, she was admittedly prone to idealizing those whom she looked up to: Selene, Zana, Evangeline, Edric, Erën, a few others. Some she had never truly met. One she had gotten to know and found out that he was no one deserving of admiration. Here with Erën, threaded through his stories were implications, things left unspoken, tenebrous experiences the likes of which were naught but harrowing—even more so than the things he did tell.

Yet, through it all, he to Kristen seemed to persevere and maintain his goodness of heart. He was an example of what she herself could be, of what she herself wished to be: a Dreadlord that her future children could be proud of.

He gestured to her hand.

"Yes," she said, raising it up and twisting it side-to-side and flexing the fingers, the reflections of the campfire brilliant in the lines of adamantine reinforcing it, "this was the result of...a shortcoming of my own. Evidence that I've still a long way to go before I can lay true claim to the descriptor of 'capable.'"

She took in a solemn breath. Let it out. "His name was Raf...and I failed him." A mournful pause. "I hope that his rest is peaceful."

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
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"His name was Raf...and I failed him."
​
Throughout the breadth of her mournful pause, Erën felt oddly... comforted. He took no joy in Kristen's feeling of failure, in fact this was something in itself that would bring one sorrow.

"I hope that his rest is peaceful."
​
The grafted hand Kristen was owner to was one that would forever be laced in sorrow. Not only did it remind her of the weight of losing a literal piece of one's self, but to be paired with the loss of one held dear was another thing entirely. Indeed, it was evidence, but he hardly agreed with her assessment of it regarding how "capable" she was, as she put it. On the contrary, he thought it signified how capable she in fact was, and he imagined it to be considerably so. It was not as though he had come upon her cowering in some dark corner.

His hand fell gently upon her shoulder.

"If the things done in memory of him are good, then I believe it shall be a peaceful sleep, one worthy of contentment."

 
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"Wise words," she said in reply. "Wise words indeed."

There came another pause, this one less mournful. More an acceptance of what happened (and this acceptance, as it happened, was a task much like propitiation, something to be renewed when the occasion so demanded).

She held up her hand again.

"Oh, I do have some help in this matter: a healer, quite experienced, working to create a new right hand for me." It was a process that was going to be long (and one that, after experiencing the enhancements her artificial hand brought with it, she wasn't entirely sure of in recent times), but that was beside the point she was about to bring up.

"His name is Owen Mason. He mentioned that he, too, was present at the Battle of the Blades—what whimsies of fortune have come my way!" She smiled, thinking on the chances, then asked, "He mentioned that he was an Auxiliary as well. Do you happen to know him?"

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
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"I don't believe that I met him, but I do remember the name," he said when asked of Owen. In truth, however, it was very possible that he had and only had missed out on the opportunity of placing the name to a face. There had been many faces on that day. Often when he thought of the Battle of the Blades, it was not even Kristen, the aim of the task, who came to mind.

"There were many who joined with me on that beach, Kristen," his eyes looked into the fire, "one such was named Elan."

And he began at his tale, recounting his time during the parade and his subsequent meeting of the one he had so affectionately began to regard as Elan the Brave. He admitted she likely had various reasons for joining in on their cause, perhaps not as linear as his, but her outrage was real all the same. Her involvement had come from a good motivation, whatever ulterior ones there had been.

"I found her amidst the dead in the aftermath."

Though he spoke of solemn things, as he took in a contented breath the sadness that darkened his features lifted some. But there was a weight that would always remain.

"I left her on that beach to die. Duty, young Dreadlord, is not always your friend."

Having brought up the memory of these things, the parade, the storming of the Blades, the death of Elan... his mind could not help but fall to another who had his part to play. Someone who, from Erën's perspective, of all people, was the last one expected to remind him of such things as this: to be better men.

"And sometimes, who you think your enemy is, is not always such, or at least, not always such. One who could be blamed for your being on that island..." he spoke carefully, "I met one Duresh. If I'm not wrong... he was the one who abducted you."

 
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Kristen's thoughtful and mournful expression fell away the moment the name of Duresh was spoken. Her gaze, likewise, fell away, staring a hole into the ground between them.

She was quiet for a moment, and dark shadows from the light of the campfire played across the hateful creases in her expression.

Her tone was scornful, tongue like a dagger.

"That bastard."

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
And sharp was this dagger.

Erën, however, understood.

"You yet struggle with the memory," he asked, but his tone was not one of judgement.

He imagined she wished some kind of vengeance, some kind of justice for the wrong that had been done to her. And, perhaps, in a case like hers such vengeance would have some depth and meaning. He had found in his own experience with the traitorous Anur that vengeance could be... empty.

It hadn't changed a damn thing.

But at least he'd been stopped from doing any more harm.

 
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"How can I not?" Kristen said bitterly, though it was clear that this bitterness was aimed like a poison arrow toward that very memory of Duresh. "He despoiled my very world, and left me with a trauma that I live with to this day."

And this was to say nothing of what happened more recently in Vel Numera. Kristen longed to make him answer for his crimes, to put him to the sword so that justice could at last be delivered not only to herself, but to so many others affected as a result of the deeds he had done.

Yet for now, she had the wherewithal to entertain what Erën might be able to say of Duresh. Through that bitterness and loathing, curiosity, like a lighthouse perched on a lonely island amidst stormy seas, shined through. Even if only just. Kristen knew Duresh solely in the capacity of a villain; though she couldn't imagine it any other way at present, that curiosity was there nonetheless.

"So you have met him. Tell me, with all honesty, the nature of your acquaintance and of the things he may have said to you. I must say, I anticipate nothing but the tongue and deeds of a scoundrel and a murderer."

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
"Indeed," he replied, hardly put off by her tone, "the nature of our meeting was... interesting."

It had been very shortly after the Battle of the Blades, and Erën, though planning to depart, had yet remained in Vel Anir. He recounted the story of accusation and his having been roped into it, he suspected because of his lineage.

"Knife ears, as your people say," he half smirked, and then continued on with his tale of how he and Duresh, unknowing of who one another truly was, fell into step together to clear their names of a crime that neither of them seemed to be guilty of.

"It was not until very late in our joined journey did I learn of what he had done," Erën said with a finality, bringing his story to a close. But then, he hesitated, and chose to recount perhaps the most vibrant of his memories regarding their time together. He spoke of the youth they'd found, hidden away in the closet of a dwelling they'd been forced to move through, and of his momentary lapse of reason - his inclination to slay the boy. And Duresh's intervention.

"In my thirst for justice I'd nearly committed a great atrocity of my own. How could one such as I do such a thing? And yet, it was he who reminded me of what is right."

He fell silent for a moment, "I do not seek to defend him, only to say that once more at least I have learned, that not everything is as plain as we see."

 
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Erën's story was to Kristen much like riding a ship through stormy seas (and House Banick, of course they were involved; she now knew something which made this make a lot of sense to her). By the end of it, fittingly enough, she was left adrift, unable as of yet to come to grips with what he had said at the very end.

Kristen was clutching herself, arms tightly wrapped about her abdomen, and her lips pulled into a dismayed line. She was undeniably crushed to some significant degree.

"It is...it is as though the world in your story is cruelly inverted."

Erën was to her a hero. Duresh a man—if he could even be called such—who was naught but a perpetrator of mayhem and malice. Erën's own words of himself echoed loudly to her: how could one such as I do such a thing?

She took a moment to gather herself, and then said, "Know...that despite the things you have done of which you are not proud...of the things you have nearly done...that neither shall erase the good you did for me. That which is commendable ought to be commended; that which is condemnable ought to be condemned. For my part, I will never forget your heroism."

She knew, tacitly, that these same words could readily be applied to Duresh and what he did with the boy. But she did not speak on this directly.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
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Erën was not one who typically held the opinion of others toward him personally in such high regard, but in this case there was a difference. He was relieved that Kristen's opinion of him had not lessened so much toward him, and though he had little need to be regarded as a hero he did not wish to be a disappointment. At least not to her. And so he nodded his quiet thanks to her remark, obvious in his appreciation of it.

"I do not wish to challenge your opinion of Duresh, Kristen," he eventually, quietly said, "what has been done, has been done. There is consequence in that, no matter the whys, there remains what is..."

His eyes turned into the fire with a thoughtful stare.

"...or what isn't."

 
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What is. Or what isn't.

The weight in Erën's eyes spoke to everything he had left unsaid, those things at which he only hinted, those which in his own estimation stripped the title of hero from ever being cleanly applied. Kristen's opinion heldfast, even if her heart sank when taking sight of that downward gaze.

"I did..." she started. Then paused. She thought briefly on whether she should bring this up, but with Erën's mention of House Banick, of the action he and Duresh took against them, she decided to tell him.

Tell him, and bridge this admission into the reveal of a common foe.

"I did forgive one of the men responsible for my kidnapping—the men above Duresh, who crafted the scheme and saw it done. It was Walter Banick, and...I must say...forgiving him was perhaps one of the hardest things which I ever had to do."

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas
 
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