The burnished glow of the setting sun cast lingering shadows across the secluded glade on the edge of the capital of Calethria. The ancient trees grew hundreds of feet into the air, and in most cases, overwhelmed most of the undergrowth. Still, dozens of groves similar to this surrounded the city and were interwoven into the fabric of the community, plants and flowers and fruit intertwining with the old growth, providing privacy for those who sought such seclusion for meditation, relaxation and other pursuits. This particular grove was a favorite, far enough from home to offer a pleasant stroll, near enough that a quick run could return one to the front gate in just a few minutes. When in solitude and silence, a small brook bubbled slowly around one edge, departing from a small spring of heated water, slowing cooling as it wound its way towards the central entrance of the palace to disappear into the larger stream at the true center of the keep before flowing towards the small lake in the distance.
The setting sun reflected a halo of gold around the silently standing figure in the uniform armor of a lieutenant in the Royal Guardsman, the small but dedicated elite unit responsible for the defense of the seven provinces of Yasa Nalore, supplemented in times of war when necessary by the provincial militias. The spring breeze occasionally ruffled the gold cloak on his back, a cloak that bore the sigil of the personal guard of the Royal Commander, a brilliant sunburst with a sword crossed with the fruit of the elderberry vine. A smaller version of the sigil rested upon the small shield hanging from the right shoulder, and long sword in golden scabbard was strapped to the tall elf to allow for a left hand draw.
In addition to his unusual height, the features of the elf normally drew attention when uncovered by helm and in new areas of the kingdom. No single feature stood out, the silver hair nor the coppery tan skin, or even the strange eyes of blue and copper and gold. Combined into one elf, however, it provided the clues and description of a rare Eventide elf. The features were now still, the ruffling of the cloak and hair by the occasional strengthening of the breeze the only signs of life. The eyes were fixed, slowly watching the movements of another, glistening lightly as dusk quickly approached and magical lights slowly came on, turning the forest into a mystical place of dark and slowly bobbing lights of multiple colors.
He watched and watched, transfixed by the beauty of the much shorter elf slowly dancing in the dimly lit glade. Or maybe he was transfixed by the haunting melodies of two songs harmonizing from a single twin flute played sublimely by the dancer, sadness echoing with joy, the bursts of song magically reflecting light amongst the glade and reflecting again and again from the small pool. After time immeasurable, he slowly approached the exquisite creature with the coppery hair flowing down her back. As she transformed the songs into a new duo, he began to dance slowly, seductively with her, grace upon grace, movements echoing as if in mirrored trances. Music played, and the duo danced, and the joy and hope of one melody said the moment would never end, and the pain of the song of departure wondrously entwined with the other to promise that the end would come.
As the echoes of the music drifted into the woods, the sounds floated higher into the void before eventually reaching the moonlit sky of full night. Silently, she handed him the flute, and picked up a small case, before they both walked towards the pool. She sat the case on a small table of carved stone, opening and retrieving an older wooden flute of basic design, but exquisite construction. He carefully put the twinned flute into the padded case as she began to play a slow but peaceful song on the older flute. He smiled as the tune played, unclasping his shield, and sitting it against the massive base of one of the elder trees, adding the scabbard a few moments later. He turned and walked around the minstrel, with a caress on the neck, he unbound the back of the court dress she wore, letting it fall gently to the ground, holding her gently from behind while she completed the first song he had ever heard her play.
She sat the older flute on the table next to the closed case, and turned, smiling up into his face. Gracefully, and seductively, she unfastened his scale mail, and eventually the under-tunic and breeches. After a slow passionate kiss, he easily lifted her into his arms, and melded into the heated pool of the spring.
Hours later, Elyrienne rose from the pool, rivulets running down his body, highlighting the tattoos of his back and right arm. He offered a hand to assist Shinelian, a hand her grace obviously didn’t need, but need in this moment came from other areas. He withdrew needles and ink from the bag, and she once again retrieved the old flute from the table. She began to quietly play the Song of Departure, melody echoing upon melody through the ancient forest, somehow echoes harmonizing with the play, floating sound through the hundreds of feet to the canopy above. Elyrienne, finished with his preparation, slowly began to use the needles to begin carving the beginnings of a new tattoo into his left hand, murmuring in arcane meditation. No flinching by either, no awareness of time by either. Eventually, the murmuring became something stronger, the songs louder, rising to a crescendo until in a sudden flash of colored lights, the flute disappeared and the coppery hilt of a sword was engraved into his hand.
Slowly, wearily, he stood, taking her hand to re-enter the warm spring pool. There, they lay together, resting until both had entered the reverie for the remaining hours of darkness.
Spring dew flashed with the rising sun as they awoke to the cries of a mourning hawk hunting its early prey. Slowly they helped each other dress, he into the armor he would wear for the final time that day, her into yesterday’s court dress. They walked hand in hand back to the palace. No words were necessary, they had been said before and his departure had been jointly decided upon over twenty years before. The time was now. The return sometime potentially far in the future, and she would be he here when he finally returned. Those promises had been made as well, if only to each other.
Last Dreams 