Of all the places he could be right now, the lake was not his first choice. He flexed his slender hands and shook them out, feeling the coolness of the air against his damp palms. He felt the smooth fabric of his tunic against his thigh and closed his eyes, hiding their red glow. Music danced in the background, teasing him. He loved the drums, the way they pounded in motion with the turning of the world and harmonized with the flickering of stars. Everything around him was caught up in the music. Everything but the lake. Why here? Why now? Questions that tugged for answers stretched his patience thin with their persistence though he purposefully trained them elsewhere. Control over the self. In this lies the only way to overcome emotion. But do not destroy emotion; emotion is part of the driving force of our kind. He smirked, kicking a stick into the pond. Passion is at the heart of defending the Elven Way for the Way itself is defined by its passions. And though it may define you, do not let it control you.
He sighed longingly. Landoreth. Writing books in hazel illumination with those gliding hands, which though masked by time's etchings were incredibly strong, like her heart. Those books she wrote on weaponry, swordfighting, music, magic, dance and the amalgamation of them all into the elven Bladesinger. He sighed again, this time tucking his chin to his chest above folded arms. He kicked another stick into the pond.
Of all places it had to be the lake.
The water lay completely still and he couldn't help but admire its stillness. Although encircled by the tall trees that surrounded its shore the waters lay in stillness, not fearing the trees' or their occupants' consumption of its resource. It knew the water taken by them would return in its time. The blue he saw on the lake's surface did not hide from his heart's eyes its resentful waiting. The illusion of the restful existence did not fool him. No, this water did not belong here and everything around it gave off the air of contention. Even now the lake participated in the life cycles around it, giving water to its neighbors unrestrained. And yet it waited in turmoil underneath. Deep underneath where the surface did not watch.
I hate those trees. I hate their leeching. I hate the way the leaves fall around the lake but never on it. I hate the way the winds hurry all away from the waters' edge. I hate the suspicious glances of the approaching dear and the halting steps of the bear at its shore. He grated the flats of his teeth together; his dark face became even more so with the oncoming emotions of anger, frustration and resentment.
It is not just. It is not right.
Anger. Passion.
And though it may define you, do not let it control you.
Aldorile's shoulders heaved with a deep breath. "Of all places," he said.
His friend put her arm around his belted waist and gave a little squeeze. He felt his back slump a little – a sign he was relaxing a bit. "It's okay. One day the Steward will open their eyes."
"What if nobody cares?"
"We care."
"As if that mattered."
He felt her arm tense up and pull back a little. Her voice firm and tight, "It matters enough for the Steward. When He takes the water and they all mourn, we will see. They will see."
They will see.
They will see the gaping hole they have left in our world. They will see the severed limbs of our Way.
They will see it is not just.
They will see it is not right.
Aldorile put his hand into the icy blue of the lake's surface. He felt the water heave, then sigh. "Until then," he said to the depths, "I wait with you."
"Not for long Aldorile." A voice of power.
The voice was more shocking than the chill of the water. Emonwe. "You're late m'Lady."
She extended her hand gracefully, revealing her intentions. "My orders for you," she said, nodding at the roll of parchment in her hand. "Follow the directions very carefully." His training picked up on her message. Be secret for this is bigger than you.
He retrieved the parchment and bowed. "Yes m'Lady. As you wish."
"Very well. Take care of yourself Bladesinger. You are more precious than you know." She looked at the girl and smirked. "And it looks like I'm not the only one who thinks so." The girl pulled her arm back and looked to the pine needles blanketing the ground. Presently, she cleared her throat. "Looks like I am wanted." Just then a page ran up, waiting ten feet yards away. "Until next time Bladesinger."
Aldorile bowed, then stood, avoiding his friend's eyes. "I, uh, have to go now." And with that he turned and strode into the wood, toward the music, where his night's lodging had been prepared.