The Vale of Merdelain
Brego snorted, his hooves clopping up clots of mud from the overgrown path. Marin patted his neck reassuringly but the horse tossed his head, dancing to the side as a rabbit shot across the path. Marin told herself the horse was just skittish with the early morning mists swirling around them, but in truth she knew the source of his ill-ease. They were drawing close to the site of the cataclysmic battle against the King of Shadows, and even the horse could sense it.
She would've sensed it too, even if she hadn't known where she was going. There were animals and wildlife here, true, but they were subdued. Not lethargic and oppressed, as they had been when shadow had grown long, just… subdued. The magnitude of what had happened here had left its mark on the land.
The wind shifted as they crested a rise, the morning mists lifting as the sun's rays burned them away. Marin reined in, a lump catching at the back of her throat. Laid out before her, resting in a sunken crater, was the Vale of Merdelain. The final resting place of the King of Shadows… and how many of her friends?
Brego snorted restlessly but Marin could not bring herself to move on directly. They had gone through so much to reach that point, to uncover the true enemy threatening the lands, to face the King of Shadows in his own fortress. And they had done it, vanquished evil, become saviours of the land, but the cost had been high. Many greycloaks had fallen in defence of Crossroad Keep, hundreds more in the failed attempt to retake Highcliffe. Before that, Commander Tann and the defenders of Fort Locke, Shandra's sacrifice in the Haven, the villagers of West Harbour, and Amie.
She gazed down into the peaceful Vale. Here the last that she knew of had fallen; Qara to shadow, Bishop to his own emotions. Marin's heart gave a twist at the thought of the troubled ranger; as tormented as he had been in life he'd found the oblivion he'd craved in death.
Brego tossed his head impatiently, pawing at the ground. Towards the far end of the crater were tumbledown ruins; the entrance to the underground keep. They'd never seen the entrance from the surface, but she knew it was there. Responding to her guiding hand, Brego picked out a safe passage down into the basin of the crater.
Nearing the ruins and the looming memorial marker Marin found herself slowing Brego, a feeling akin to dread crawling over her. She knew what she would find there, inscribed in stone the fates of her companions. Ammon Jerro had already told her what he knew, but she couldn't believe him, not until she had some form of confirmation. Daeghun's voice echoed in her mind, chastising her for steadfastly refusing to believe Amie's familiar had been mauled by one of Bevil's dogs until he had eventually shown her the savaged corpse. Was she being naive again, refusing to believe what Ammon had told her? The stakes were much higher here.
Had Ammon been right? Khelgar survived the rock-fall, but had he escaped the living tomb? Had Neeshka survived, on the other side of the rock-fall? Had Grobnar really been killed stupidly trying to protect the Construct from falling debris? Had Sand completed his spell in time, his iron golem form saving him? Had nature's touch allowed Elanee to survive? Had... had Casavir been crushed beneath a doorway he'd held intact for others to pass through?
Marin recoiled from the thought, and she pushed it away. He had to have survived, there was no other option. She hadn't gone to the City of the Dead and back for nothing. She was going to read the inscription on the memorial marker and learn he was still alive. It was as simple as that.
The memorial marker was partially overgrown, with only the first few lines of text still visible: "1374 DR. This memorial marks the location of the final battle in the Shadow War, where Knight Captain Marin A'Shaller and diverse companions of Crossroad Keep defeated the King of Shadows and restored peace to the land."
She dismounted gingerly, shivering as a sense of foreboding passed over her. Caution followed swiftly as her sharp ears picked up something moving stealthily in the undergrowth, slowly, steadily towards her. She quietly dropped into a defensive posture, holding her hand before her in a warding position. The undergrowth rustled again – whatever was there was big – when the bushes exploded outwards and a grey blur bounded joyfully towards her.
"Fedain!" exclaimed Marin, dropping to her knees and throwing her arms about the wolf's neck in delight. He barked excitedly before lathering her face with enthusiastic licks, his busy tail sweeping back and forth as he danced about her, almost out of his skin to be reunited with her again.
All she had to do was clear away some of the brush, and she would know... With Fedain returned to her side, as he had been since her tenth birthday, how could things not go her way? Pausing to give the wolf a final hug, Marin took a deep breath and pulled away the obscuring brush to read the remainder of the inscription, her heart pounding painfully in her throat.
Ammon Jerro's observations in the fleeting seconds before he had chased after her kidnappers had been accurate; Khelgar, Neeshka and Sand had survived, the others... not.
Marin came to herself slumped to the ground, her arms wrapped about Fedain's neck, the wolf nuzzling her in concern. She clung to him, her face buried in his ruff as the aching anguish of lost hopes and dreams found voice. A stream of memories assaulted her: his earnest blue eyes, entreating her to allow him to champion her in the duel against Lorne; that curious half-smile, with which he'd calmly watch the latest squabble between Neeshka and Khelgar; his quiet courage, brimming with the resolute belief in what was right, in her; the softness of his lips against hers, that last night...
How long it was before she finally sat back, she didn't know. Fedain leaned against her, his long tongue licking at the salty tears marking her cheeks. She should've known... Ammon had been telling the truth; he had had no reason to lie. She should've known... Neeshka had always said tieflings didn't find lasting happiness, no matter how good they tried to be. She should've known... a painful jab to her ribs broke her morbid thoughts and brought her back to the present. She smiled despite herself, placing her hands on her belly, feeling her baby squirming in response to her tumultuous emotions. She should've known she risked falling into the dark despair that had taken Daeghun after the death of his wife, fixated on the past while missing out on what was happening in the present.
"I won't do that to you," she said to her unborn child, speaking aloud to commit to her words. "From now on you will be my life. I'll keep my memories of your father alive so that you might know what a great man he was, not so that I lose myself in bitterness and lose you."
She rose, drying her eyes and taking a deep breath. She wasn't exactly sure how she was going to keep her promise, but she suddenly knew that she could do it. Feeling buoyed by an unusual sense of peace, she looked about for Brego. It was time to move on.
Satisfied she wasn't about to collapse again, Fedain leaned against her for a moment then scampered off to the edge of the clearing. He sniffed at something hidden in the undergrowth not far from the memorial marker, barked once, then started scrabbling at the dirt. Curious, Marin walked over and carefully knelt down beside him, clearing away some of the brush to find a small stone cairn built of white stones.
A bunch of fresh flowers rested at the cairn's base.
Marin reached out in wonder, touching the dew-kissed petals. Sweet galenas… Hope bloomed in her heart, elation surging through her. Sweet galenas; the same blooms he had given her as they had walked the fields together after the siege.
"Sweet mother of all that's..." began Marin, but the words faltered as icy bitterness swept her soul. Sweet galenas; the same blossom Daeghun was fond of. That he'd laid on the white stone cairn marking his wife's grave each year, on the anniversary of her death. Tears welled in Marin's eyes as she struggled to her feet, stumbling away blindly, crushing desolation returned.
