ch6 Twelve Verses for a Paladin

The sun had barely begun to crest the emerald hills of Eire when the party stirred from their slumber. A faint mist clung to the ground, weaving through the cobbled streets like the softest of veils. The air, crisp and tinged with the salt of the nearby sea, beckoned them to rise, for the day was rich with promise. They had but a week to explore this storied town, with its ancient stone towers and market squares filled with the hum of life, all before preparing for their journey to Muse.

It was Rhys, the half-dwarf with eyes like burnished copper and a heart as steady as a smith's hammer, who had suggested the early start. He wished to spend every moment he could with Meryl, the human priestess he was betrothed to, before they departed. There was something about the way his voice softened when he spoke of her, as though even mentioning her name invoked a gentleness that belied his usual gruff demeanor.

"I reckon we’ll have the time," Rhys mused, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade as the others gathered. "A week is plenty for exploring Eire, and I’d like a day or two to spend with Meryl...before the road calls us again." His voice trailed off, filled with longing, though his companions knew better than to tease him about it.

Jacques, the human mage, raised an eyebrow as he tugged at the collar of his robe. "I’ve got my own business to attend to, anyway. The library here in Eire—ancient as it is—should have a trove of knowledge on Muse. I’ve a mind to research before we set out."

"I wouldn’t mind a bit of rest myself," Keldrin added, his silver hair catching the morning light. The half-elf from the woodland realm of Affehone always had a quiet elegance about him, his every movement fluid like a dancer among the trees. "Maybe buy a few books while I’m at it." He grinned, though his eyes were distant, perhaps already envisioning his quarry.

Keldrin’s heritage from Eissenfeste, the realm of wood elves shrouded in misty forests, made him adept at magic and hunting. "Might even find a tome on falconry... If I can’t, there’s always the forests. A direwolf would do well enough as a scout, don’t you think?"

"You’ve got a taste for the dangerous, Keldrin," Jesse laughed, the halfling rogue shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Speaking of danger, Bertram’s been hounding me for a spar. Wants to test my swordplay, and then I’m to meet Rhys’ cousin, Lom."

Rhys turned to him with a raised brow. "You’re better off waiting, Jesse. I’ve something I want you all to see—my family’s book. It’s important."

"A family book?" Jesse tilted his head. "What, do dwarves value genealogy that much?"

Rhys nodded solemnly. "More than you might think. With so many kinsfolk, it’s a way to see who’s next in line, for lands, weapons, even livestock. And," he paused, his voice lowering, "who’s destined for greatness."

The others exchanged glances but respected Rhys’ words. He seemed assured now, knowing his friends would be busy for the day, which left him free to spend precious time with Meryl.

The markets of Eire were a spectacle to behold, their essence woven into the fabric of daily life, as old as the town’s ancient towers and the sea that kissed its shores. Market day was no ordinary affair, held on the sacred days of Aegleday, Gaurthday, and Nethisday, from the hour of Sunwaken until the final golden glimmers of Twilight’s Edge faded into the ocean’s embrace.

Traders from distant lands gathered beneath canopies of deep green and vibrant ochre, their wares displayed upon sturdy wooden carts and fine stone slabs. The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the salt of the sea, while the aroma of spiced meats and roasted nuts drifted upon the cool morning air. Fishmongers, their voices rich with the cadence of song, hawked their gleaming catches, the bounty of the deep preserved by alchemical means—methods that defied decay, allowing goods to remain fresh long after lesser merchants' stocks had withered.

In Upsurgeth, a land where magic and technology walked hand in hand, food preservation had been elevated to an art, a practice imbued with as much reverence as practicality. From the common folk, who relied upon salting, smoking, and pickling, to the scholars of alchemy, who concocted elixirs that held rot at bay, the means varied, each tailored to the needs of the land. But in Eire, a port of great renown, where travelers of every creed and nation passed through, the mingling of arts had birthed a market unlike any other.

Mages clad in robes of crimson and gold could be seen alongside humble fishwives, whispering incantations to keep produce from spoiling. Caravanners from the south arrived with dates and citrus, preserved with exotic oils that shimmered like liquid amber. Merchants from the west carried casks of wine, untouched by time, safeguarded by enchantments that preserved not only flavor but memory.

Jesse, watching the bustling trade, chuckled as he nudged Keldrin. "Imagine, if you will, a world without such wizardry—no salted meats, no enchanted casks, no honeyed figs from the far reaches. We'd starve before winter’s first breath."

Keldrin, his silver hair catching the light of morning, merely smirked. "Perhaps, Jesse. But then, would we not cherish the simpler joys all the more? A single apple, crisp and golden, untouched by magic, would taste all the sweeter."

Before parting, Jesse and Jacques exchanged a glance. "So, Rhys," Jacques grinned, leaning in slightly, "who is this mysterious priestess that’s captured your heart?"

Rhys smirked but deflected their teasing. "All in good time, friends. You’ll meet her soon enough."

Keldrin chuckled, his keen elven eyes narrowing in mock contemplation. "I know of her," he said slyly. "She’s from the same region as myself—sweet, and a bit plump, if memory serves."

Rhys’ face softened with fondness. "She’s...thinner now," he replied, his voice tinged with pride and affection.

Rhys found himself watching the city unfold before him, lost in thought. His heart, as steady as a smith’s hammer, bore a weight far greater than the steel he wielded. To wed Meryl was his dream, yet dreams alone were not enough to satisfy the customs of his people.

The traditions of the dwarves, as ancient as the mountains themselves, demanded more than love. A groom of dwarven blood was expected to summon his kin from the far corners of the realm, to host them with great feasts and provide them lodging, no expense spared. It was not merely a gathering—it was a declaration of wealth, of standing, of one's ability to provide. And then there were the gifts, each cousin, uncle, and elder expecting a token worthy of their station.

To compound matters, there was Aegle, the deity of light, to whom he had yet to prove himself. A paladin’s worth was not measured in gold but in deeds, and though Rhys had trained and fought, his heart questioned whether he had done enough. Had he stood firm in the face of darkness? Had he carved a path worthy of Meryl’s unwavering faith?

He exhaled heavily, turning to Jacques, who walked beside him. "Tell me, Jacques, do your people demand such things in marriage? Grand feasts, gifts for kin, trials of faith?"

Jacques chuckled. "Oh, Rhys, my friend, we humans are a simple folk in comparison. A warm hearth, a shared meal, a promise beneath an old oak—such is the way of love in my homeland. But in your case, I fear love alone is not enough."

Rhys nodded grimly. "Aye. And that is why I must journey forth. Not just for honor, but for her. I will return not as I am, but as one worthy of her hand."

As they parted ways, Rhys wandered through the familiar streets of Eire. His mind drifted back to his youth, and the tales of his father, Vobog. The dwarven citadel of Hemam, nestled near the Red Cliffs, had been their home until the underground caves were besieged by giant insects from the deepest caverns. His father had seen it coming, the greed of the dwarven kings leading to ruin. Vobog had taken his family away, to this very city of Eire, where King Bertram had welcomed them with open arms.

Vobog had married a human woman, Cyneth, and together they had borne twelve children. Rhys’ mother had been devout, a follower of Aegle, the god of light. She had raised him in the church of Aegle, where he had trained to be a paladin, though he had never quite connected to the teachings as she had hoped.

Rhys, a half-dwarf with a penchant for the dramatic and a heart full of youthful exuberance, was once known for his flair for courtship. His dwarf heritage, with its unique blend of strength and wit, often set him apart from his human peers. However, his youthful adventures often ended in heartbreak, leaving him to lick his wounds and question the nature of love.

One such heartbreak proved to be a catalyst for change. After a particularly painful rejection, Rhys sought solace from Pastor Clarke, a wise and compassionate figure. The pastor guided him through his grief, encouraging him to focus on personal growth and the importance of kindness. Rhys, eager to heal, turned to his faith and prayed to Aegle for strength and understanding.

It was during this time of reflection and healing that Rhys met Meryl. A young priestess from the Misty Forest, Meryl had been sent to Eire to spread Aegle's teachings. Her gentle spirit and unwavering faith resonated with Rhys, and he found himself drawn to her in a way he had never experienced before.

As they worked together in the church, Rhys and Meryl discovered a shared love for the simple things in life. Rhys's dwarf heritage often provided a unique perspective on their adventures, adding a touch of humor and practicality. They enjoyed watching jousting tournaments and theatrical performances, exploring the bustling markets of Eire, and indulging in the city's delicious seafood. Their bond deepened with each shared experience, and Meryl found comfort in Rhys's large and loving family.

After three years of companionship, Rhys knew he couldn't live without Meryl. He proposed to her in a grand gesture, surrounded by their friends. While Meryl was overjoyed, they decided to postpone their wedding. Rhys wanted to purchase a home of their own and explore the world together before settling down. Additionally, Meryl had yet to complete her priestly training and couldn't take on the responsibilities of a pastor just yet.

Now, years later, Rhys hurried toward Bliss Cathedral, a bouquet of white lilies and bellflowers in hand, eager to see Meryl after her morning sermon. The cathedral’s towering spires reached toward the heavens, a symbol of the light that Aegle bestowed upon the faithful. Inside, the scent of incense hung heavy in the air, and the soft murmur of prayers echoed through the grand hall.

Meryl emerged, her eyes bright as the noon sun. Her smile, warm and gentle, melted away Rhys' lingering worries. "For me?" she asked, as he handed her the bouquet. She wrapped her arms around him in a tender embrace, her voice barely a whisper. "You’re too kind, Rhys. And to think, you’ve slain Noggle."

"Your pendant kept me safe," Rhys replied, his tone humble. He could still feel the warmth of the sacred charm she had given him before the battle, a constant reminder of her presence, even in the darkest moments.

Meryl blushed, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "I’m going to ask if we can wed in the Blue Hills," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Your family has already prepared the invitations, haven’t they?"

Rhys hesitated for a moment, then took her hand gently. "There’s something I need to tell you, Meryl. Before we go to the orphanage... It’s about the Blade of Sun—the Hopebringer. King Bertram has tasked me with retrieving it."

Meryl’s expression faltered, her fingers tightening around his. "But Rhys... That mission, it’s dangerous. What about our wedding? We’re to be married next Duskhollow."

Rhys sighed, his heart heavy. "I haven’t saved enough for the house yet, and I’ve made a promise. If both swords fall into the wrong hands, there won’t be any future for us... no fairytale ending."

Meryl’s eyes filled with worry, but she understood. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "How long will this journey take?"

"Five years at most," Rhys replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can return to Eire in two weeks if need be... on a gryphon or a Velena bird." He grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

Meryl laughed softly. "I’d love to see you riding one of those."

meryl sings a song for rhys

Verse 1
Oh, Rhys, my love, my guiding star,
Your courage shines so bright and far.
As you embark on this grand quest,
May peace and joy be your guest.

Verse 2
Through lands unknown, let dangers flee,
May Aegle's light forever be.
Your heart is true, your spirit bold,
A tale of valor to be told.

Verse 3
With every step, may fortune smile,
And make your journey worthwhile.
May friendships bloom, and love endure,
As you face challenges, pure.

Verse 4
Remember me, my love so dear,
My heart will miss you, year by year.
But know I'll wait, with hope untold,
For your return, a story bold.

Verse 5
When you return, with tales to share,
Of dragons slain, and treasures rare,
We'll wed, at last, beneath the sky,
And live in peace, you and I.

Verse 6
Safe and sound, may you return,
Your heart with love and courage burn.
Let every day be filled with glee,
Adventure's call, for you and me.

Verse 7
In distant lands, may you find grace,
And leave a mark upon the place.
Your name shall echo, far and wide,
A hero's tale, with pride.

Verse 8
But always know, my love so true,
My heart will beat just for you.
Through stormy seas, and mountains high,
My love will follow, never die.

Verse 9
So journey on, with courage bright,
And may your path be filled with light.
Return to me, my love so dear,
And banish every doubt and fear.

Verse 10
Together, we'll face whatever may,
With love as our guiding ray.
Our hearts entwined, forevermore,
We'll cherish moments, to the core.

Verse 11
So go, my love, and do your part,
To heal the world, with all your heart.
And when you're done, come back to me,
And we'll live happily, you see.

Verse 12
For in my heart, you'll always stay,
A guiding light, come what may.
So journey on, my love so true,
I'll wait for you, forever new.

Under the dim candlelight of Bliss Cathedral, Rhys unfolded the parchment, his calloused fingers tracing the edges as he read the words he had labored over long into the night.

My Dearest Meryl,

I have seen many wonders in my life, but none so radiant as you. You are the dawn that breaks upon the mountains, the song that lingers upon the wind, the light that chases away the dark corners of my heart.

Though my road is long and uncertain, know that each step I take is for you. I would carve my name into the stones of history, not for glory, but so that you might read it and know that I was yours, from the first breath to the last.

When I return, I shall not come as a wanderer but as a man worthy of your love. Until then, hold this letter close, and let it be a whisper of the vows I will one day speak before all.

With love eternal,
Rhys

Meryl’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she finished reading. Without a word, she rushed forward and lifted Rhys off his feet, spinning him with laughter that rang like chimes through the great cathedral.

"You always know how to make my heart race," she whispered.

Rhys, still caught between joy and awe, chuckled. "I’d do it a thousand times over."

Together, they stepped into the streets of Eire, bound for the orphanage, cherishing what little time they had before fate called them apart once more.

He chuckled, brushing a lock of her hair from her face. "I’d do it just for you."

Together, they headed toward the orphanage, ready to spend what little time they had left before the road called once more. The journey ahead was long, the dangers many, but for now, they had this moment. And for Rhys, that was enough.