Fate and Destiny- The Story of Earwyn Lothiriel
Chapter One- The Words Better Left Unsaid
The name Lothiriel is a character in the Lord of the Rings so I don't own that name. This story is based on the Guild Wars game.
Earwyn Lothiriel sped down the basically empty road leading away from the snow-crusted mountain peaks. As she looked gratefully over her shoulder clutching the shining new hammer she had obtained, Savich the local Collector smiled uneasily, trying not to drop any of the icy lodestones she had given him in exchange for the hammer. The delicate snow crystals melted away from her hair as she picked up her pace a little, and even in the leftover cold air the tight grip on her hammer made her hands sweat. Her footsteps echoed on the pathway.
Earwyn was not breathing heavily, yet she heard breathless panting. Stopping in her tracks annoyedly, she turned her head sideways; Aron. "Good evening young lady!" he said sarcastically with a satisfied grin. He ran beside her, noticing neither the cold wind nor the fast pace. "What is a fine lady like you doing so far away from Ashford at this time of the night, Miss Earwyn Lothiriel!" he said, and this time so sarcastically that he would burst out laughing any moment. "Kolethe!" she corrected frustratedly. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Kolethe?" Aron raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes back as though he were making a decision. "Hmmmmm…give me one good reason I should!" he said triumphantly, as though he had won the argument by a landslide; Earwyn hesitated, "To answer your first question," she said, catching her breath. "I am tracking a party of stone elementals eastward up the road, which is totally none of your business in the first place," -"Which is why I'm asking," he added with a laugh. "And, to answer your second question," she said, swinging her hammer effortlessly and pinning an elemental to a tree, "My mother named me Earwyn Lothiriel, but at my birth ceremony my father christened me Kolethe, and last time I checked, my mother died years ago and my father is who I live with! I choose to be called by the name he gave me, if you don't mind," she said, finishing off the elemental with a triple spin of her hammer and a smash straight square on the head. "Oh I mind," Aron said with his mouth full of some bread he had taken out of his pocket, "But I just choose to be a polite young gentleman," he said in a fake gentlemanly voice. Earwyn smiled half-heartedly. Suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks, and stared Aron frustratedly in the eye. He gave her a deranged look. "Why did you stop?" he said as eagerly as a dog. "Oh, I'm just waiting for you to leave, that's all!" she said happily; she clearly had won this argument. Aron frowned. "Playing hard-to-get now are we? That works, I'll just have to try harder!" And with an awkward smile he skipped down the hill.
Aron was one of the neighborhood boys of Ashford, not one of the nice, sweet ones, but more of one of the obnoxious ones, you know, the ones that show up to local dance parties in their underwear. He was tall, light-skinned, and had dirty-blonde hair. Okay, maybe he was extremely good-looking, but his maturity was well below average; most of the boys near Ashford Abbey were like that. It just so happened that Earwyn Lothiriel was the town beauty, and, being only sixteen had showed up for a few immature parties here-and-there, but that was not her character. She was tall, and her hair was a strange grayish-bluish color. She was slender and always wore a leather skirt that was exceptionally short, and a low-cut leather tank top that matched. She went barefoot, bothering to wear neither vambraces nor greaves, and against her father's will wearing no helmet. She barely ever got hurt, however, and even when she did she was able to cover it up tastefully.
Aron had had a crush on Earwyn ever since they were level ones. They met at a party at Ashford Abbey four Novembers ago. They were twelve at the time, and it was both of their first times there, and let's just say they didn't exactly "click" as Aron said they did. Opposites don't always attract, no matter what the lore-masters say.
Once Earwyn was sure she had destroyed the entire pack of elementals, she leaned her back against a large elm tree and sighed deeply. "I can't go home now," she said mournfully, letting two tears escape. Today was October the Fifteenth. Today was the fifteenth anniversary of the day her mother died. She didn't like to talk about her mother. She never actually knew her, but she remembered the day she left them like it was yesterday, even though she was an infant at the time. It happened like this-
Andreia was a warrior at heart. She was young, pretty, and strong, but her ambitions never seemed to work out for her. You see, she married a blacksmith named Jordan. He was not wealthy, and had a workshop in his barn. They were in love, don't get me wrong, but she had too free a spirit to be contained. Andreia was a good person, but her impulses led her down the path that was best for her, not her family in Ashford. One day she just disappeared from Ascalon City. Master Saberlin was the only one who knew where she had gone, for a few days later he disappeared as well; nobody had seen him since, but the Gate Guard Torin swore he saw him sharpening swords in a dilapidated area of an old cellar. Actually Andreia had gone off to prepare for the War. She was on the Ultimate Quest that so many young children spoke of only in whispers.
Earwyn had dosed off a little. When she awoke again, the sun had already sunk beneath the Shiverpeak Mountains. Even if she were to go home now, her father's hostile lecturing would be a certainty, for her mother's "death" had made him bitter. And then there would be her sister Ivy reprimanding her for being disobedient and lecturing her to be more like a young lady instead of wasting time pursuing a profession, let alone a second profession. She knew that she couldn't tell her sister that she was meeting Master Ranger Nente to learn her ranger skills so she could study a second profession. She hoped to learn the art of charming animals so she could have a ferocious but loyal companion, maybe one of Melandru's Stalkers. Ivy despised those Melandru's Stalkers. She came from an ignorant family that had far too much ego to admit it. They corrected her when she used terms like "by Balthazar's beard" or "For the sake of Dwayna" because they did not believe in the gods. In fact, Ivy once referred to Melandru's Stalkers as "ranger's folly". She didn't believe in Melandru. The worldly family so foolishly placed all their faith in the power of men; Earwyn Lothiriel thought differently.
It was now completely dark, and she had neither blanket nor kerosene lamp, and it was getting very cold. Sighing uneasily she hacked two small branches off the elm tree with a small, blunt axe she kept dangling at her side; on the other side was a rusted sword in a battered leather sheath. She eventually started a fire, and, leaning back against the tree, she fell asleep.
Morning came swiftly, but as beautiful as could be. It was like every morning in the Lakeside County/Ashford area. The birds chirped happily and warm, friendly sunlight shone on the fair face of Earwyn Lothiriel. She awoke with an uncanny sense of calmness, but it didn't seem to bother her much. She stood up slowly. Then she remembered all her troubles. She looked up at the Shiverpeaks, tall and majestic, crowned with a helm of pure snow. She wondered if somehow there was something wild out there, beyond the mountains, something to get away from this place so limited. She wanted independence.
Suddenly, she heard a faint hissing and rattling sound. She turned around abruptly, for the sound was getting louder; a Carrion Devourer. Earwyn eyed it carefully, then rolled her eyes. "Level one," she said disappointedly, reaching for her hammer. "I'm almost a level eight! How am I supposed to gain any experience wasting my time fighting level one things in Ashford? How do I get anywhere in it.life when I have to worry whether I'm getting too far from home? How do I-" She stopped. It just wasn't worth talking about
As she reached for her hammer, she found that she grasped the hilt of the sword that hung at her side. Though shocked a little, she slowly and carefully drew the rusting sword from the weather-worn sheath. It was her mother's sword. She always took it as a token of good luck, but never for fighting. She always put the blame on her father for her mother's leaving. She admired her mother for her independence once she could kind of put aside how she left them. Hesitantly she swung the old sword in the direction of the devourer, and surprisingly enough, the devourer fell as if it had been blown with a flaming sword! Earwyn stooped to the level of the devourer and studied it intently; it was completely cloven in two.
She touched one half of the devourer carefully, but it crumbled to dust; there was a joyous applauding and hearty laughter from behind her; she turned around abruptly: it was Prince Rurik. "Well done!" he cheered, patting Earwyn on the back. "You're just like your mother, both strong and strong-willed," he said as if to himself. There was a dull silence before Rurik spoke again. "Oh, there's something I have to ask you," he said, hesitating a little; Earwyn stared confusedly. "Where on Melandru's green earth did you get that sword?" he said, staring amazedly at the old decaying sword. "It was my mothers" she began solemnly, "She gave it to me before she died." Rurik raised one eyebrow in confusion. "Died? By Balthazar's beard Earwyn Lothiriel, what do you mean by that?" Rurik was utterly bewildered. "My mother died years ago, Rurik, your majesty, sir." He shook his head. "How are you so certain? He asked inquisitively. "I was young when she just disappeared and my father said-" Rurik rolled his eyes. "Since when do you believe everything your father tells you? Andreia was a strong women, Earwyn, and such small beasts as devourers and elementals would not take her down, especially if she had that sword you hold there, miss." Earwyn's glance shifted from the face of Prince Rurik to the battered sword she grasped with her right hand, then back to the Prince. "You see Earwyn, your mother was not flawless. She had a secret." Earwyn was not believing this. Her mother was not a women of dark secrets. She was a bold and strong warrior who followed her heart. To Earwyn she was perfect. Rurik put his hand on her shoulder and bent to her level, and, lowering his voice to a whisper, said, "You see, your mother was a follower of the Arch-bend." Earwyn had never heard of this. "The Arch-bend? What is that supposed to mean?" The prince sighed heavily. "The Arch-bend was a guild, consisting mostly of Necromancers who used there knowledge of the darkness not for good like most do, but for evil. Andreia studied long with them, thinking that by learning their secrets she could be stronger for good; she was wrong. She was corrupted. She tried to return to the light but she took a blood-oath to the Arch-bend and was forever tied to their teachings." A tear slipped down the cheek of Earwyn Lothiriel. The truth beat down on her like a hammer. She tried to walk away, but Rurik grasped her hand. "I'm not finished," he said, then began the rest of his tale. "Once they suspected that she was attempting to betray the Arch-bend, they cursed her. They gave her this sword, and set her a horrible fate, that she would slay the Ultimate Power of Good with this sword, or end her own life on the highest point on the Shiverpeaks. Bound by her fate, she took the Ultimate Quest and left this world." Earwyn was broken. Rurik put his hand on her shoulder and told her not to cry. Through her tears she asked, "Is there anything I can do?" Rurik hesitated. "Well, You can hope that Andreia made the right decision." Earwyn was infuriated. "The right decision? If she destroyed the Ultimate Power of Good wouldn't we know it? Is the right decision taking her own life?" She hung her head. "Well, the Ultimate Quest takes you to, well, the future, sort of, the fate of it depending on the outcome of one battle." He thought intently, then made a final suggestion. "You could take the Ultimate Quest, and destroy the sword where it was made; the Arch-bend Way, in the guild-hall. You would set your mother free, and maybe be reunited with her. I'll be at the Ascalon gate if you make a decision. Take care of yourself, and keep everything I told you a secret." With that he walked away, and Earwyn knew what she had to do.
As she stood in the dust kicked up by Rurik's horse, she saw a figure clothed in silk approaching the elm tree under which she stood; it was her sister, Ivy. She tried to turn abruptly and slink behind the tree, but it was too late. Ivy grabbed her arm forcefully. She gasped out in pain as fresh blood began to drip from her wounded arm onto the muddy snow. Ivy let go, and backing away, gave Earwyn a stern look. "Where in the fires of hell did you get that cut, Kolethe, if you were at the Abbey?" Earwyn gasped out in pain as she clutched her arm. Ivy was angry. "Who told you that?" she asked weakly, but Ivy returned a disgusted look. "Don't start with me Kolethe," she began in a temporary calm voice like the eye of a hurricane. "I can't believe you were that deceitful to have poor Aron lie for you!" Her voice rose again like a wave that ceased to fall back down. Then thoughts went through her head briefly. "Aron," she thought angrily. "Why would he cover for me like that even if he doesn't like me in the first place?" This she said aloud, and it was a complete accident. Ivy stared confusedly. "So you didn't ask him to lie for you?" Her tone was now calm and indeed very intent, her gaze fixed on Earwyn. "No." Earwyn said hastily, still grasping her wounded arm. Her hand was covered with blood that was rapidly seeping from her wound, but she didn't seem to notice. "Well," Ivy said hesitantly, "Maybe it's because he loves you." This she said almost angrily. There was that sort of harshness in her voice that made Earwyn feel some strange emotion that she could not describe. Ivy shook her head, then called Earwyn Lothiriel to follow her home so she could bandage her wound. "It might not be worth it yet, Father is going to be very upset and might lose his temper." This made Earwyn shudder. She knew her father was a good man at heart, but he had been embittered by her mother's leaving, and had quite a temper, perhaps enough to even harm Earwyn when she disrupted things enough, but she just marched on and as she did a solemn tear slipped down her cheek, freezing in the cold winter air before hitting the ground.
Earwyn cringed as the painful wound blackened rapidly. She stopped in the midst of the now-warmed road; dusk was slowly creeping up the seemingly endless pathway. Ivy turned around and glared at her for a couple of uncomfortable seconds before motioning her to keep walking. Then, very strangely, Ivy grabbed her wrist and forcefully dragged her past her own home and half-shoved her into the edge of the abbey. "Why-what-" Ivy put her finger to Earwyn's lip. "Because I know you would do the same for me." Ivy said calmly, lowering her head;a shiver of guilt ran down her spine because she knew she wouldn't. But anyway, she wasn't going to tell Father! Earwyn Lothiriel brushed herself off hastily before she found herself blinking in the strong light of fires that blazed yellow, and lamps that burned with intensity. A large group of Warriors, Rangers, and some outgoing elementalists danced whole-heartedly around the fire, and Earwyn prepared to blend in, but after what she had been through, it just didn't feel natural.
"Kolethe!" She heard her name called from the crowed; it was Aron. Trying to block the immaturity factor with the heroic one, she prepared to go say hello, at least, until she laid eyes on something far more spellbinding. There was a monk sitting in a darkened corner with his knees drawn up to his chest. He wore no shirt, and Earwyn couldn't help getting an attracted feeling. He looked dark and mysterious, but she knew the lore of Tyria better than to call a monk 'dark and mysterious'; that was a 'necro term' as the neighborhood kids would say. But, no matter how many times she blinked, he still appeared dark and mystetrious, and far more desirable than Aron as his eyes glowed red with the reflection of a sudden flare of the fire. She walked over to the front gate of the abbey, adjacent to the corner where he sat away from the commotion. She stared off into the velvet black of night, and pretended to be deep in thought and enchanted by the sparkle of the stars, but she was really wondering if there was a right way to approach somebody who was obviously and outsider, and so strange as he. "You look terrible." Earwyn turned around abruptly. The voice that had spoken had been deep and clear with a superior-sounding, ringing tone. The monk had obviously spoken, but sat so motionless that it looked like he hadn't. He didn't even raise his head from his knees. "Here." he began. There was a long pause, and he looked as if he were thinking out a very tough answer. "Stand close to me." he said in almost a commanding way. Earwyn stood next to him intrigued with windswept emotions of love and confusion and doubt, none prevailing. He began to wave his hands in complicated motions and he began to concentrate. Then, the most amazing thing happened; her wound was gone! Just like that, it was healed! He saw the astonished look on her face, but stangely enough he did not smile triumphantly, or look pleased with himself at all; he just stayed the same. "Just a little something I learned back at the academy." he said, but the way he said it remained so humble. Then their eyes met.
Then, unexpectedly, the monk began to sing softly with a melodic, hypnotizing voice:Time races by as innocence dies, is it really a shame? Deep in the eyes I can see their replies, is it really their fall? Is it really mine...
Her entranced gaze stared hypnotically into his vivid blue eyes as he sang about love. Earwyn did not know love, unless love was what she was feeling now. She was feeling passion, unless love was passion. "What do you mean by that song?" Earwyn asked with an innocent ignorance. "Have you ever fallen in love with someone?" he asked in the same almost monotonous but beautiful speech. This time he raised eyes and made them level with hers. "I can't say that I have." she answered, somewhat sadly; regret lingered deep in her eyes. "Don't cry; destiny never fails so I know love will find you." Earwyn, again, was shocked, for no tears escaped her eyes. "I wasn't crying," she said curiously. "Inside you were."
That was her defining moment. She now knew what love meant. She stooped to her knees in the soft grass, and it felt refreshing on her bare knees. He drew her closer to him, and then, he kissed her. The heat of the next few moments were intense as she felt like the world was beneath her and she had drifted away. She thought she felt an unreal hand touch her shoulder, but it was most likely the monks. Then, a flash of reality shot through her mind like a vague vision. His hand was farther down her back. Who had touched her shoulder? Her only instinct was panic. It could have been her father. It could have been Ivy. But, worst of all, it could have been Aron; it was. Slowly backing away from the confused monk,n her eyes met with Aron's. She tried to ignore the hurt that was obviously present in him, but the guilt beat on her like a hammer even though they had nothing to do with eachother in that way. "Aron?" she said, shaking uncontrollably.