Of Promises
In the autumn of Saleh's fortieth year, the first frost of the season brought with it a lone pair of riders. The sound of pounding hooves echoed strangely off the ancient rock faces of Caer Pelyn, and Saleh narrowed his eyes as the riders drew nearer, for travelers here were rare enough—to arrive so close to the advent of winter was almost unheard of.
As they rode through a patch of pale, feeble sunlight, Saleh saw that the riders were armed, and beneath the heavy folds of his cloak, his grip on his tome tightened. He moved from his perch on the large boulder in order to stand before it, though it pained his knees to move so suddenly, and when the riders brought their mounts to a stop barely a stone's throw away from him, he spoke.
"It is rare for travelers to journey here," Saleh said softly. "No one has passed by in many years." He paused, and watched them carefully for any sign of hostility; they wore their collars high, and kept their heads hooded, and thick woolen scarves wound around their necks and across their faces to stave off the cold. But their clothing was fine, and their weapons well cared for. He would be on his guard. "There are few, now, who journey to see the old places of the world."
The slighter of the two riders urged their horse forward a few paces. "And what of those who come to see the one who dwells there? We are nothing but humble travelers, who hope for nothing more than to see old friends once again." Even muffled by the scarves, the rider's voice was one Saleh remembered well, though he had not heard it in many years, and he saw, from beneath the rider's hood, a familiar pair of bright eyes looking at him fondly.
"Eirika," Saleh murmured. "You said nothing of coming here in your last letter."
The queen of Renais dismounted and pulled the scarves away from her face. She smiled, and Saleh saw fine lines crease the skin at the corners of her mouth and eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "I myself didn't know I was coming. Forde arranged it all." She cast a glance back over her shoulder at the other rider, who had also dismounted and uncovered his face, and though Saleh had not known him well, he recognized the man as one of the Renaitian heirs' guard from their journeys years before.
Saleh bowed slightly at the waist. "Sir Forde."
The knight returned the gesture. "Master Saleh," he said. "It is good to see that you are doing well."
"And you," Saleh replied. He looked between the two of them. "You must be tired," he said to Eirika.
She shook her head. "I am fine," she said. Eirika smiled again, gently. "It's good to see you again," she said softly, as she placed a hand on his shoulder; heat seemed to radiate from it, through the thick wool of his cloak, his jacket, vest and tunic, to the flesh, his very core, but he ignored the warmth; it was nothing more than a fond memory, now, a distant echo of what might have been.
Saleh did not reply immediately. It would not do to dwell on such things, not now. There were other, more important, matters at hand, he told himself. Saleh had forgotten how small she was; in his memories, she always seemed taller, looming over the bodies of the undead things from the woods. Perhaps, in the years since then, his memory had simply betrayed him. "You look well," he finally told her, after a few moments. He spared a brief glance toward the knight before continuing. "Come inside. It would not be wise to linger in the cold much longer. Winter is almost upon Caer Pelyn."
"Sound advice," Forde replied. "If you would lead the way, Master Saleh?"
"Very well," Saleh replied. He turned away from them, mindful of how Eirika's hand fell, slowly, from his shoulder as he did, and the way in which they stood beside each other, and gestured to a set of roughly-hewn steps cut into the old stones of Caer Pelyn. "This way." He paused. "Be mindful of your footing. The rocks can be perilous."
They followed him with neither question nor hesitation as Saleh led them over the ancient stone pathways of Caer Pelyn, the clacking of hooves on stone and the occasional whinny of one of the horses the only sounds to echo off the craggy faces. In time, they reached the village; a few people milled about, seeing to their daily tasks, and with the exception of a few who nodded briefly to Saleh in recognition, did not seem to be trouble themselves with the two strange travelers. Saleh led Eirika and Forde past them and to a small, modest building near the center of the village. Wordlessly, he opened the door, and gestured inside.
"Welcome," he said.
The houses of Caer Pelyn are not made for comfort or aesthetics, but for practicality in the harsh landscape, and Saleh's home is no exception. His was a home made, not for relaxation, but for the pursuit of knowledge, and it was obvious, in the books and tomes placed neatly in their shelves, and the sheaves of paper and bottles of ink upon the desk in the corner, the half-melted candles placed strategically around the room. The only signs of decor were a few strings of shells and feathers and pieces of bone that hung from the ceiling, and a few archaic paintings and maps mounted on the walls, their colors faded and the images reminiscent of a different time, and in the corner, a fine Jehannan broadsword in an elaborately decorated sheath—gifts from old students and friends long gone from this world. But his visitors said nothing; instead, Forde turned to Eirika and murmured something to her about seeing to the horses.
"There is a small path to the side of the house that leads to a stretch of flatter land, and you will find a paddock there—the villagers use it for the mountain sheep. You can tether the horses there, if you wish," Saleh said as he removed his cloak and hung it on a peg beside the door. "There should be enough there for them to graze."
"I didn't see any sheep when we arrived," Eirika said.
"The last few years have been difficult, and a mountain cat killed our ram last spring. Those remaining are probably grazing while there is still grass to sustain them."
Again, there was silence. "I see," Forde finally said. "Thank you, Master Saleh." He left quietly, shutting the door gently behind him.
Eirika had removed her scarves, and now held them limply in her gloved hands as she looked about the room; they were fine woolen things, thick and warm, dyed a rich, vibrant red—the same color as the wax she used to seal her letters, the same bright hue that made up the Renaitian standard, and the sweet berries that grew beside the stream near the village in the brevity of the summer months, and the gently solemn eyes of a little girl who was not a little girl at all.
"Saleh," she said, "are you well?"
She meant it kindly, and Saleh found that he could not look at her as he answered. He turned away from her and knelt before the hearth to tend to the fire. "I am," replied Saleh as he placed another log inside the grating and reached above the mantle for the small box of flint and tinder he kept there. "The seasons change. I continue to learn, and I continue to teach. The children of this village come to me for their studies, and some stay on as apprentices. They grow, and many of them leave the mountains, but there are also the ones that come back. Our lives are simple, here. The village survives, as well as it can. Life continues on." He continued to strike the flint, until a few bright sparks fell on the tinder, and gently, he coaxed them into a small fire. "But, I expect, the life of a queen is not as idle as that of an old scholar. Your letters indicated as such."
"You're not old yet, Saleh," she said, smiling gently at him, but she did not answer immediately, as if she was too tired to answer. Instead, she removed her gloves, and looked down at the soft leather strangely before answering. "It's been difficult, at times. My brother and I both knew that it would not end with just the reconstruction. There are alliances to maintain, Saleh, and countries to guide. And I am only a woman."
"But you are strong." The fire grew, and began to burn steadily, and Saleh rose slowly from his position on the floor, as well as his aching joints would allow. He looked down at her, and was again struck by how small she was. "And strength is what allows us to move on. Your people look to you. They love you. They will follow you anywhere." He gestured to the hard chair at the desk, and Eirika took it without question.
"Yes," she said. "I know."
They fell silent, then, with the crackling of the fire the only sound between them, until they were stirred by a knock at the door. It opened barely a moment after, and Forde entered the house. He closed the door behind him before shrugging off his overcoat and pulling off his scarves. His cheeks were red, where they had not been properly protected from the mountain air, and he rubbed his still-gloved hands together in an attempt to bring some warmth back into them.
The knight looked at Eirika. "It's much colder here than I expected," said Forde. "We'll make note of it for the future."
"Of course." Saleh nodded. "But if you should come here during the warm season—as brief as it is—you will find extra clothing cumbersome."
Forde shrugged. "Perhaps," he said, "but it is better to err on the side of caution. I think you would agree with me on that, Master Saleh." He clenched his hand quickly, so tightly that his knuckles whitened.
"Naturally," Saleh replied. "There is wisdom in being careful." The response came out more tersely than Saleh had intended, and he watched the knight and queen closely for a reaction. Saleh had not missed how the knight's hands had trembled, barely perceptible, except to those who had long been trained to notice such minute things. He frowned.
An uneasy silence fell upon the room, and stretched on just a moment too long to be considered unintentional. "We won't be here long, either," Eirika said, finally breaking the silence. "We haven't much time. We must leave for Renais soon."
"I see," said Saleh, then, and he did. "In the morning, I will take you to her. For now, you both may rest."
Forde crossed his arms over his head, and looked at Saleh. "Thank you," Saleh thought he heard the knight say, but it could have just as easily been the cold mountain air howling past the window, a harbinger for those things that had not yet passed.
They rose at dawn, and though they dressed warmly, the air of Caer Pelyn was still bitterly cold when they left the warmth of Saleh's home. They led the horses down the precarious slopes of the mountain, and then by horseback followed his directions to the edge of the wood, where the trees grew dark and thick, and the ancient stillness took hold of Saleh, as it always did.
"Come with me," Eirika said to him as they stood before the tree line. "We'll go together."
But Saleh shook his head. "I cannot. You must go alone."
She bit her lip, and looked at Forde. He shook his head. "It's as Master Saleh says," he told her.
"This is where the Great Dragon rests," Saleh said. "What she will say is for your ears only."
"We'll wait here for you," Forde assured her. He smiled. "Go."
Eirika lingered, perhaps a moment longer, her gaze flickering quickly from Forde to Saleh, and then turned to face the wood. "I won't be long," she told them.
"Take as much time you need," Saleh said to her.
She paused, mouth slightly open and expression curious as she looked at him, as if there was something she wanted to ask of him. But she said nothing, and instead turned around, and entered the Darkling Woods alone.
They watched her together, the scholar and the soldier, as she made her way through the branches and brambles, until the shadows of the forest hid her from view, and even then Forde seemed to linger a few moments longer, until finally he turned toward the horses and began to rummage through one of the saddlebags.
"How long will she be?" he asked.
Saleh shook his head. "This is between her and Lady Myrrh," he replied. "There is nothing I can say, now."
Forde exhaled slowly. "You don't know, then."
"No. I don't." Saleh looked back to the wood for a moment before he turned away and shifted his satchel to hang more comfortably from his shoulder. "But we can wait."
The other man nodded and removed a small sheaf of paper and a small roll of cloth from the saddlebag, and from another, a worn cloak. "I suppose so." He spread the cloak on the ground near a boulder and settled himself on it, resting his back against the rock for support. "We have no choice, do we?"
Saleh watched the soldier unfurled the small cloth, and saw that it was little more than a scrap of fabric, in which a few pieces of charcoals and the nub of a pencil had been rolled. Forde removed his gloves and leafed through a few sheets of paper, before finally selecting one that had already been scribbled on—Saleh could make out the faint outline of a human figure, and a few lines hastily scrawled along the edge of the sheet.
"We were in Jehanna," Forde told him. "The king was giving us a tour of the gardens. Have you seen them?"
Saleh shook his head. "But I have heard of their grandeur." He recalled the words of a gangly young man, more mature, and significantly wiser, but still possessed of the same vivacity and curiosity. "They are beautiful, I am told."
Forde glanced down at the sketch. "There is an old statue at the edge of one of the palace gardens, near the temples." He shrugged. "It was old. But you heard right; absolutely beautiful; I'd never seen anything like it."
"Surely," Saleh began softly, "you have seen things in your lifetime you had never thought you would see."
The question hung between the two men in the cold mountain air, and Forde looked at him curiously. "You're right," Forde finally conceded. "I've seen many things. But I'm sure you have, as well." Then he glanced back at the sketches in his lap. "Why don't you sit down? Your knees—they're bothering you, aren't they?"
Saleh shifted a bit, but remained standing, despite the growing pain in his knees. "I know of a draught that may help your hands," he replied. "It is not a cure, but it will make the shaking less frequent and noticeable."
Forde looked up at him, expression almost incredulous. "You could tell?"
"I was taught to see many things."
To Saleh's mild surprise, the knight smiled tiredly at the statement. "Eirika doesn't know," he said. "I'm sure she suspects something, even though I've done my best to hide it from her."
"She is observant." Saleh crossed his arms across his chest. "I am not surprised. You do not give Eirika enough credit."
"She has all of my respect," Forde replied, and Saleh could not have mistaken the sudden terseness in his voice, as minimal as it may have been, for anything else, "and more." And then he sighed. "But perhaps you are right."
Saleh bit back a retort, and instead crossed the short distance to where the other man sat against the bolder. He settled himself on the cold stone, ignoring the discomfort as his knees popped and cracked in protest, and held out one hand expectantly. "May I?"
The knight complied, handing the sheet and pencil to Saleh, and then craning his neck to see what the scholar would do.
Wordlessly, Saleh turned the sheet over and wrote something quickly on the smooth surface, and read over it twice before giving back both it and the pencil; their fingers brushed, barely touching, but Saleh saw how the knight's hands trembled almost imperceptibly, and he knew it was not because of the cold. "It is simple enough," he said, catching the soldier's hands gently and placing them in his own open palms until the shaking passed a few moments later. "Give the instructions to a trusted medic when you reach Renais—they should be able to make this for you. Until then, I will give you enough to tide you over for the journey back. Mix a spoonful in a cup of warm water every morning and drink it. You will begin to notice it taking effect soon enough."
Pulling his hands away, Forde skimmed the instructions written on the sheet quickly before turning it back over. "Thank you," he said as he once again took up the pencil. He furrowed his eyebrows as he glanced at the sketch once more, before looking back to the scholar beside him. "Send word to Renais if you are ever in need of anything," the soldier said. "Eirika and I will not hesitate for an old friend."
The words were meant kindly; still, they hurt. Saleh looked away, and reached into his satchel, for one of the smaller tomes he had packed the night before. "I am a simple man," he replied, as he ran his hands over the faded cover, worn and tattered from many travels and many handlings. "There is nothing I can ask of Renais." He closed his eyes. "I am content."
"I understand," Forde said simply, before looking back to his sketch, and began to draw.
Saleh did not reply.
"She talks about you," the knight continued, "whenever she gets your letters. They make her happy."
Saleh made sure to keep his face expressionless. "Is she not happy, then?" he asked as he opened his tome slowly.
"I'm sure she is," came the reply, and when Forde made no action to explain further, Saleh looked down at the old tome in his hands, and the faded, yellow pages, tattered and curling in the corners. The next time he happened to glance at the knight, Forde had wrapped his coat around himself, and had fallen fast asleep.
"Perhaps," Saleh said to the sleeping soldier, before looking back to the tome "there is something. Perhaps."
Eirika did not return until the setting sun had already begun to paint the sky pale orange and red; though the queen had been with the dragon for only a few hours, at most, Saleh told them of the urgency to move as fleetly as they possibly could, for darkness fell quickly, here, especially in the waning daylight of the coming winter. To travel the treacherous mountain paths in the blackness was foolish—if night fell, they would have to wait for morning.
She was silent as they made their way over the ancient mountain paths for the second time that day; it was obvious that the experience had affected her deeply, and yet he said nothing during the course of their ascent, save a murmured warning here and there, or a comment regarding which trail to take.
Forde, too, said nothing for the majority of the journey, remaining at the rear of the small group as they made their way back up the mountain. Only once did he speak, when Eirika rejoined them after her time in the ancient woods, but in a voice so soft, it was clear that his words were meant for the queen's ears alone. She answered him with a gentle murmur of her own, standing on tiptoe in order to whisper in his ear, and when they separated, Saleh discovered that he could not discern the expressions upon their faces. It unnerved him. This was not the Eirika he knew.
Even her movements, he saw, had changed, though he did not know if it was because of the years that had kept them from each other, or her responsibilities as a queen and her role as a surrogate mother for her brother's children, her recent meeting with the Great Dragon, or something else entirely. The Eirika Saleh remembered had been far less reserved than the one he saw now, but the resilience he recalled was still there—in the set of her shoulders, and how her posture seemed almost delicately defiant. He glanced back, once, when the village came into view, and saw her leaning toward Forde. Her lips moved, though Saleh could not make out the words, and Forde did nothing more than nod slowly before facing forward once more.
Saleh felt something in his belly coil strangely at the sight of them. He cleared his throat, and the pair looked at him. "We'll be at the village soon," he said.
"Thank you," Forde replied. Eirika smiled; Saleh said nothing, and looked away.
They left early the next morning, shortly after sunrise. Saleh traveled down the mountain with them, until the land began to level out, and murmured a soft goodbye.
"I'll keep writing you," Eirika told him. "Will you respond?"
Saleh nodded. "Of course. I look forward to your letters." He offered her a smile, and she returned the gesture.
"Thank you," she said. "And, please. Come to Renais, if only for a little while."
"I will try," Saleh replied. He could feel Forde's eyes on him, but avoided looking at the soldier. "You have your duties, and I have mine."
Eirika nodded, then. "Of course."
Saleh looked to Forde, then, and the other man simply nodded. "Goodbye, then, Master Saleh."
"Take care."
And then Forde gently turned his horse around, Eirika mimicking the gesture slowly, and Saleh watched the riders until they were little more than a red blur on the horizon.
The first part of what I hope will be a pseudo-series of interrelated oneshots detailing my personal headcanon about Magvel and most everything occuring post-FE8. It isn't much to go on, especially with this being the first "installment" (and, thus, the one with the least amount of backstory, as of now) but, hopefully, all will be addressed in time. If not, feel free to send a PM my way with any questions or concerns.
Regarding this fic in particular, the most important things to note are these: Ephraim is dead, with Eirika taking on the role of dowager in his place; Saleh went back to Caer Pelyn, while Myrrh came home to the Darklng Woods; the fic itself takes place just over a decade after the events of FE8. Again, it's not much to go off of, but as I said, more will (ideally) be revealed with time.
With this story, specifically, trying to figure out the genre was particularly difficult; I think, by this point, it's obvious why. Regardless, thank you for reading; any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.