Rathard at Dusk

Her eyes wide open, her pupils tremble. The Saintess lowers her gaze at the origin of the piercing pain in her chest. This hand, this hand committed to protect her, now holds a dagger tinted with her own blood.

“Why…” She asks in an already weakening voice.

    Her body feels numb, the pain soon becomes eerily more bearable. Distant.

    Tyffeon stands behind her, his free hand pressed against her shoulder. As he withdraws the dagger, he pushes her forward, letting the Saintess fall to the ground.

    All of her inspired the innocence associated with her rank. From her pale, short golden locks, her long white and light blue dress, to the simplicity in her eyes. Everything, whether it was for her appearance or for her soft personality, echoed this one word.

    The Saintess leans against her hands, her blood forming a puddle on the ground.

“How naive of you to think the King would have allowed you to leave.” Tyffeon observes the Saintess with pity, as he utters these words.

    How naive indeed, when King Erlkœnig asked her what she thought of his kingdom, to add that Tir-nan-cnocc was so flourishing that she probably wouldn’t choose this place to stay. Another place would need her more, so she said. So she doomed herself.

    If Erlkœnig can’t have her, then no one else will.

    But at this moment, it’s already too late. The first sin has been committed.

“This world…” The Saintess struggles to speak, each word costing her a breath she can’t regain. “This world will soon be corrupted by the emissaries of the Tain,.. until comes the awakening of the Rotten Lord.”

***

It is with that prophecy that the game truly begins. Repeated to the elven King, spread over the lands, the one whose vanity condemned a whole world pointed his not-so-noble finger at Tyffeon. He was the one who killed the Saintess. He was the one who brought misfortune upon their kingdoms. Hence made the scapegoat, he was executed off-screen.

    The rustling of voices in the wind fills the streets.

    An elven maiden chooses some fruits, and an unfortunate one rolls down the stall, unnoticed. Rolling further, it ends its course in the middle of the road, only to get squished by the wheel of a carriage passing through. Its colourful insides splattering on either side.

    A brief, insignificant jolt shakes the carriage, rattling the shipment of weapons.

    As he leads me through Rathard’s merchant street, I cast a sidelong glance at Tyffeon. The idea of walking down a path that would lead to his death doesn’t charm me. Though… I’ve visualised this scene countless times when I was writing. One more time should be bearable. Besides, all I want is to enjoy the extra time I have – however short it may be – to pester him.

    Speaking of which! I take a step closer to Tyffeon and whisper next to his ear.

“Hey, why don’t you say anything, Tyffeon? Don’t tell me the presence of an adorable maiden flusters you that much, hum?”

    Displaying a smug smile, I delightfully witness his reaction as he almost instantly shoots me a dirty look.

“Adorable… How could anyone get flustered by such an indecent woman?”

“Indecent?” I repeat, taking a glance at myself before reaching out my hands to my chest. My fingertips pushing slightly against the fabric. “They’re not especially big though.”

    No response.

    As I glance at Tyffeon, I notice a mix of embarrassment and disgust on his face.

“Oh. You’re a flat enjoyer?”

    His brows twitch.

“I d-” He pauses. And sighs heavily. “Do you even realise that we are in public and that anyone could see and hear you?”

    To his words, I tilt my head to the side.

“If you choose to stay among the Daoine Sidhe,” he continues out of sheer desperation, “you’ll be betrothed to our King. You can’t give such an image to our folk.”

    Well, I may have indeed acted a bit too out of character. Though.

“Then don’t call me indecent again.” I shrug.

“Fine.” He averts his gaze, resuming his walk.

    It takes him a while before noticing, or rather admitting, that I am staring at him.

“What?”

“Well, as much as your features are handsome enough to keep me staring at them for hours, silence won’t teach me anything about Rathard, you know.”

    Maybe realising I have wanted to point out something genuinely senseful, unless he simply wishes to end the sweet torture here and now, Tyffeon clicks his tongue.

“Do your wise eyes need words to see and hear our healthy people? All around you, Rathard bustles. The valleys, the nearby forest… they provide us with all the food we need, allowing us as well to craft renowned cures. They are quite appreciated by the other kingdoms.” He says, putting much effort into softening his tone. His tone.

    It’s not like I ease his task, this at least I may admit. After all, the Saintess is supposed to have a gentle nature, so unresponsive to Tyffeon’s grumpiness that he ends up acting friendly with her. Since I don’t plan to change the story, I could of course put more effort into fitting her personality.

    But, regardless, the Saintess will meet her death. Once more.

    She will be betrayed, and the Hero will appear.

    She?

    I’m only supposed to play her role, right?

    Children laughs echo around us. Following the sound of their voices, I catch sight of a group of young Daoine Sidhes sat in front of a little stage.

    Intrigued, I step closer, tugging Tyffeon by his sleeve.

    A huge wooden box the colour of deep forests stands where all the gazes are focused. It welcomes a small stage where marionettes stand in the middle of a simplified decor, huts painted on thin wooden pieces.

    Next to it, an old elf turns a crank on the side of the box, allowing a childlike music to accompany the moves of the marionettes. They don’t seem to have threads though, moving as if alive.

“…Curious of going beyond the village’s walls despite his parents’ warning, the young boy crosses the city walls,” The storyteller narrates as the small marionette hops, the village’s decor giving way to numerous trees. “he strolls through the forest, grabbing some berries, running after a rabbit, too happy to explore it to notice the creature lurking.”

    Another marionette the size of the elven child appears, his skin greenish, his eyes bloody, ears pointy.

“The poor boy, too young to master the magic flowing through his frail body, shakes as the creature approaches.” The old Daoine Sidhe comments.

    But as the little one is about to get killed, a gust of wind seems to trip up the monster, and another marionette appears. His axe beheading it in a single blow.

“Saved by a valiant Daoine Sidhe, the boy could return to his village and folk.”

    All the children gathered applause at the end of the spectacle. Despite that, I am not able to share their enthusiasm, staring absent-mindedly at the stage. Soon, they all scatter, returning to their games. Probably eager to spend as much time outside as they could before nightfall.

“Well, well. Would you happen to be the Saintess?” The storyteller steps closer after noticing me, chasing my thoughts away.

“You’re not mistaken. It is nice to meet you, sir.” I bow slightly by force of custom. “You have quite a pleasant voice to listen to.”

    Amusingly so, I can feel Tyffeon’s dumbfounded gaze. Did he think I couldn’t act wisely? My smile widens at the thought.

“The honour is mine for having the Saintess among my onlookers.” The old Daoine Sidhe replies before frowning. “Though, I wish you could rather hear of older stories, these of the golden age.”

“The golden age?” I politely ask.

    That’s enough to light up a sparkle in his eyes.

“Yes, honourable Saintess. Long ago, when these lands knew no peace, when their folks fought to raise kingdoms out of dust. At this time, the Daoine Sidhe were their true selves. Fierce warriors engaging a new battle as naturally as the moon ascends the sky at night. Ahh… when the shine of our blades, when the edges of our axes were illuminated by a moonbeam..!”

“Five centuries have passed, though. You’re among the only ones to still remember this era.” Tyffeon comments, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I guess I am getting a little old.” He sheepishly grants him before turning his attention back to me. “Anyway, let me wish you a pleasant stay in Rathard. Maybe we’ll have the chance to meet again tomorrow, during Sowilo.”

“If the spirits wish so.”

    After addressing him a smile, we walk away.

“Sowilo is the festival celebrating Summer.” Tyffeon explains, glancing at me. “It’s an important one, so I suggest we end our visit for today.”

“By any chance, are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Well, as far as my only intention is to advise you to rest, I can’t deny that I would be delighted not having you in my field of vision for the rest of the day.”

    Such words can only make me chuckle.

“Did I say anything amusing?” He asks, unamused.

“Oh, it’s just that your behaviour is refreshing.”

“Did the summoning alter your mental abilities?”

    I should start counting how many times he frowns.

    Casting Tyffeon a glance, I reply in a composed voice, lacking the tone he expected of me.

“I am sincere, though. Hatred is among the only honest emotions, if not the only one.” I hold Tyffeon’s gaze as he widens his eyes. “People who hate us are the only ones we can be sure they tell no lies.”