1 June 359 SR

Eska’eldalie

Eska’eldalie!
A magical place of peace and tranquility where the sprites hover and the trees gently sigh in the breeze...

The last thing I remember of my journey here with Gwen was standing under Aldenkoi and meeting Miguen there. It was a greeting that I felt mixed emotions about. I was much comforted that he was there to protect and tend VanQa. But it quenched the last lingering glimmer of hope that I had kept alive that one day I and my beloved might be one. Vain hope! It was always but a fantasy, a delusion…

We stood awhile under that mighty tree and Gwen told me that those who listened well could hear it speak and learn wisdom of it. I heard nought except the sigh of the wind through its branches. But Smaed, who came to Eska’eldalie and spoke to Durinka during the Ilshenar quest, says he did hear more and that, staying under its canopy for several nights he felt his understanding grow.

I quaffed a magic potion given me by Gwen that brings forgetting of the journey from Aldenkoi to Eska’eldalie. It is rare indeed that a human is conferred the privilege of visiting Eska’eldalie, for the elves keep it as a closely-guarded secret. I feel greatly honoured.

We came then to the elven tree-town and climbed its wooden ladders to take us high in the branches where houses sit on spacious platforms. Miguen indicated a house for me to enter. I did so and there on a bed lay VanQa, in a deep slumber, her chest rising and falling, slowly, rythmically. She looked peaceful and the scars that mark her fair skin seemed less angry than when I had visited her last in the Healing House of the Elven Quarter, an age ago it seems now.

Tears filled my eyes as I beheld her, and for a while I struggled to master my emotions enough to keep my voice steady. Then I spoke softly to her and bent low and kissed her cheek. As I spoke I imagined she stirred, and with my light kiss a tear-drop trembled over and fell on her face and methought the scar it wetted did fade.

I put the roses I had brought for her by the bed, together with a note that I hope one day she may read. Then I went out and Gwen, Miguen, and I sat on the benches around the edge of the platform and talked a while. I found myself telling Miguen how I had fallen hopelessly in love with his wife. It felt strange! Yet it came naturally, for I explained that there was a time when VanQa thought Miguen was dead and I thought I could take his place and comfort her, hoping that she would come to love me and take me as her husband. He understood and I felt myself unburdened.

Of course, there was more that I didn’t try to explain. VanQa had been so brave putting up with that drow-creep, yet so vulnerable, so full of sorrow at losing her husband. It was then that I realised my love for her was endlessly deep and not just a passing desire. In her time of crisis, her loneliness and her danger my heart went out to her.

After, I went to a tree-house on another platform, cast myself down and, exhausted both emotionally and spiritually, immediately fell asleep.

It was a slumber deeper and more peaceful than I have had for a long time, forgetting my troubles, the pain of my broken marriage and my fatherless children, and Ye Olde Poste Office now but empty house, a mocking echo of the home it once was when it was filled with the laughter of children.

7 June 359 SR

VanQa remains in a sleep, while Miguen spends much time sitting by her, sometimes with eyes closed as if in meditation, other times watching her, sometimes gently wiping her brow with a damp cloth. He speaks to her too, softly, in the elven tongue and it seems to me that she responds with slightly deeper breathing.

Miguen and I hardly ever speak with each other but we share a sense of working together. I cook and fetch, and carry food, bring a bowl of water, sometimes cold, sometimes steaming, sometimes with different herbs in it as Miguen requires. Other menial tasks I do too. But the intimate care of VanQa I leave to her husband and at these times I leave the hut. It is a sorrowful time but keeping busy and by the side of the one I love it is not a burden but a quiet if anxious feeling that I am being useful in some way.

Sometimes Miguen is away on an errand – to the meer town to fetch water from a special well, or to Aldenkoi to seek advice and inspiration, or sometimes to hunt or gather medicinal herbs. At such times I sit by her alone and talk to her, words of love, recounting memories of the times we spent together. Sometimes I sing a favourite song of hers or of mine that she would recognise. It is these times that, strangely, are the hardest. For despair and grief are always near, made sharper by the memories. But at such times, alone with my beloved, I can allow the tears to flow, a temporary cleansing and easing of the heartpain.

This is such a tranquil place, sprites flutter by and sometimes I hear their voices. There is nowhere better for VanQa to be than here. And there is nowhere else I would be than by her side, serving her.


Midsummer’s Day 359 SR

Emissaries come from the Trinsic elves to keep Miguen in touch. They speak together in private, no doubt of matters of state and magic.

But this day I too had a visitor, none other than Smaed, with appalling news. The Duchy was going to release Iglata with no more than a flogging! Smaed had checked the laws of Trinsic. And he explained that they were strangely lenient: no death penalty at all! For murder the penalty was a flogging and a 10,000 ducat fine.

Outrageous! Multiple murders amounting to half VanQa’s family – her father, mother, two of her sisters murdered. Kidnapping, torture, grevious bodily harm inflicted on VanQa, death threats, the list of evil just went on and on and on… And all the mounds of evidence that had been collected by guards: dozens of pairs of elven ears, the witness statements…All for just a fine and a flogging! Why bother?

Disbelief gradually hardened into a cold fury. For a while I couldn’t speak, just stood shaking, white with anger, my mouth working, unable to do more than make a gargling, choking sound. Smaed looked at me in alarm and motioned for us to go down the ladder and out of the tree-city.

That sobered me, freezing the cold fury into an icy determination. I wanted to turn on Smaed, unfairly venting my anger on the messenger, asking how he could just stand there and countenance this Duchy criminal negligence. Instead I summoned my patience and told Smaed that if as a result of freeing Iglata he wreaked more pain and evil, I would hold the Duke personally responsible and, so help me, I would forswear my oath of allegiance to him.

Smaed next delivered a message to me from Gwen, begging me to return to help out with the Free Repairs Hour. But it seemed so trivial a concern while VanQa lay in a deep unconscious sleep, so I replied that my place was here beside her, they should find other craftworkers instead.

After I had calmed down we discussed the weak and ineffective laws of Trinsic, and agreed that the laws were only made to deal with ordinary crimes. And even that they failed to do - no wonder crime was so widespread and the Trinsic Guards so frustrated by their job!

But once in a hundred years or more there arises an evil that needs to be met with more drastic measures. They would really need to establish some sort of a Mass-Crimes Tribunal to deal with it, with the death sentence at their disposal. But clearly this was not going to happen.

Smaed stayed the night, standing guard outside the sick-hut, departing at dawn next day.

I had time to ponder what I would do if Iglata did resume his campaign of hate and violence, as he no doubt will. I have lost my family - would I also lose VanQa? And I would become an oathbreaker. There is always another way – and if the laws of Trinsic are so weak and ineffective, perhaps a life of crime might be thinkable...

But for now I must put aside such thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand.

7 August 359 SR

VanQa awakes
Every 5 years a night comes round when the dead awake and point accusing boney fingers at the loved ones they left behind. Such a night is filled always with angst. I remember well the last time, the night of late July 354 when the windows of Ye Olde Poste Office rattled, and when wailing and curses could be heard in the wind. And I heard my mother’s voice sorrowful and forlorn, abandoned, wrenching my heart.

This is a night of fear and dread, when past failures and unfinished business return to haunt us. Why were you not there when I needed you? Why did you not come to say farewell? Why did you not tell me you love me? Always there is unfinished business - a misunderstanding never cleared up; old sins never revealed; resentments; a lost last chance to beg forgiveness - or to give it - or to to show tenderness or love. The sense of somehow having failed a loved one is always strong at this time. For this is All Hallows Eve, when graveyards come alive and none dare approach them. It is this night that the spirits awake and come to haunt us so that our thoughts are perforce turned to those who had departed and how we could have done better by them and that we must now remember and atone, sending them thoughts of love. And this we do the next day, All Hallows Day, when we place out flowers on the resting places of our loved ones and lead our thoughts towards them to seek for peace and reconciliation in our own souls.

It was at this time that a change came about in VanQa, without warning.

Days, weeks had passed, the routines did not change and the watchful waiting weighed heavily, while we tended her. Then one day – and it was around the time of All Hallows, though restless souls could not disturb the peace of Eska’eldalie - that suddenly it happened. Miguen was inside the hut murmuring gently as usual to VanQa and I sat outside, when I heard his voice change and become more lively. I peered cautiously in and lo! VanQa seemed to be recovering. I joined Miguen and watched as her eyes opened. Joy rose in my heart, but she seemed distressed and in pain and cried out in agony, her scars seemed to my eyes to flame anew, and I saw Miguen’s anxiety. And I felt a cold dread grip my heart.

Later elven messengers sent out from Eska’eldalie to learn news returned and reported that Iglata had been murdered while working in a Trinsic chain-gang - a vigilante revenge that Duchy justice could not, or would not, prevent - but that his remains had been removed in some mysterious manner. Will he be ressurected to become undead and return to haunt VanQa? Is this the power the Duchy hands to vigilantes who do the job the Duchy abdicated its responsibility for?

VanQa has returned to us. But I am troubled in my soul, and cannot see the way forward. Time is needed to heal and to see how things develop.

Meanwhile, I bide here in Eska’eldalie but keep away from VanQa so she can be alone with her husband at this time. I leave a rose outside her hut each day to let her know I love her and am nearby.

Late August 359 SR

Time seems to stand still in this elven sanctuary. I have lost track of the passing of the days, but I guess that it is still August, so my 33rd birthday is not yet. I have seen VanQa a few times since the day she awoke. She will let none but Miguen and I to approach her or to see her - nay, not even her sister Durinka. It is a hard fate for VanQa to bear, the brand-marks of her tormentor all over her body, a reminder that he will always be intimately next to her, his foul curses of eternal ownership tattooed into her fair skin. I sense she feels shame and revulsion. I have sometimes heard her quiet weeping, and my heart goes out to her.

I think sometimes of that empty house that once was my home, but the days pass and I wait, but I know not for what, other than to be near VanQa and be here for her if she should need me. That she allows me in her presence is a gift she makes to me that I will ever treasure. It is this that holds me here still. I will know when the time is come to depart, and I feel that it is not yet.

Early September 359 SR

If my reckoning is not entirely out, then my 33rd birthday has come and gone. Little has changed with VanQa, and I still know not where my path leads from here. Once this time of devoted service to my beloved is over I could simply pick up the old threads and resume mining and smithying in Delucia, going to the tavern three nights a week, as if nothing had happened. But I feel that some change is about to take place in my life – that it already has taken place, with my marriage in ruins, my faith in the Duchy shattered, it seems, beyond redemption. And I feel in my bones that VanQa will not return to the Elven Quarter – or if she does, then she will never again lead the elves nor run the tavern. Gwen Irima will grow into her new responsibilities and be a fine successor, but for me it will never be the same. I feel it will be time to move on in my life, though to where or to what is unclear.

Some days later Smaed came, bringing me fresh clothing, books, notepaper and other items, and telling me of the Trinsic Moot that was in progress, with its coloured lights and the streets festive in bright colours, Gwen’s and the serfs’ cooking and baking. He has taken my place, staying in my house and going to the tavern just as I did. He even goes to Free Repairs hour but for the company, not of course to mend anything. I listen but it seems an alien world my cousin describes. And already he longs for Silverleaf Village…

After he left I changed my clothing and looked at myself in a mirror. I hardly recognised myself, so much I seem to have aged! My eyes look sad, my hair is thinner and streaked with grey, worry lines have appeared on my brow and anger lines - or is it grief lines – begin to form around my mouth. It is yet another sign…

Early October (?) 359 SR

I am sitting on a terrace of the city, basking in the sunshine of a warm autumn day and looking out on the extensive views over the surrounding woodlands. I am reading extracts from my journal that I saved from the fire, reminiscing over my first meeting with VanQa. It was on 67th March 351. Can it really be getting on for 9 years ago, some years before the Heartwood elves arrived in Yew? As the extract makes clear, I didn’t even know she was an elf then. Of course, I didn’t know Nian Cethlin was a sort of elf either. How ignorant I was…

I got quite hooked on this brew. It was dwarven ale that I drowned my sorrows in after Nian left me...

This made me realise, of course, that Sheila was no longer a serf. But I've also changed quite a bit since my late teens.

This was some time before I heard VanQa sing - that treat was yet to come...

In those early days I addressed her as Lady VanQa or simply Milady. I was of course still a serf then, but it wasn't all that long ago that she asked me to call her VanQa, plain and simple.

I put away my journal and watch the pixies hover by, and the comings and goings of finely-robed elven emissaries and green-clad scouts. I've also had talks with an elven smith who lives here. There is much to learn from the elves, as I realised when I began to study elven smithing secrets in Heartwood.

I continue to wait for a sign, trying to sense whether the time has come for me to leave or not. But I feel its not yet. Will it ever be? What would I go back to that I don't have here...

15 October 359 SR

Meeting VanQa

The first time I saw VanQa up and about was a few days ago. From some way away I saw a lady dressed in a simple white ankle-length gown, looking out across the land from one of the city terraces. She had her back to me, but I recognised her.

I approached nervously, unsure of my reception, aware that she was still likely to be self-conscious of her tattoos. She greeted me warmly, though I could see that she seemed uncomfortable and shy. But it soon passed, and after some time we both relaxed and sat on benches and talked.

Many times before I had thought through what I would say. I had decided to be direct and simple. I confessed that during the crisis I had fallen in love with her and thought that if Miguen really were dead she might return my love, but that now, of course, all was changed. We hugged and both shed a tear, but it was a healing meeting for me.

After consulting with her sister, Durinka, Guardian of Eska’eldalie, VanQa bestowed on me the right to freely visit this elven haven, escorted by an elf and using potions of forgetfulness: also for my children should they need sanctuary. I was overwhelmed: it is a mighty gift.

Then, after I took a potion of forgetfulness, she escorted me a little way to just in sight of the elven city, pointed the way to Aldenkoi, and we bade each other farewell. From Aldenkoi I knew my way.

I had no heart to return to my empty house and so went directly from the Trinsic Moongate to The Trinsic Rose, falling into an exhausted sleep in the elven reading chair that is in the crafting room. I dreamed I met Sir Elion and Ruadnit Troi at the moongate, but the potion of forgetfulness was still on me, so I cannot be sure.


28 October 359 SR

Back - yet not back

I went to my first evening at The Trinsic Rose and met Gwen and Sir Elion. A fine crowd gathered, ordinary rough men and women like myself from Yew who I felt an affinity with, playing darts for diamonds. The serf, Ivan the cook, came too.

Yet I felt strangely detached, as if seeing everything with new eyes for the first time. My thoughts turn always to VanQa. I am between two worlds. I had not the heart for small talk, so I excused myself early and went to sleep in the crafting room.

This is a strange time. I need to digest all that happened and make sense of my churning emotions. When alone I have periods of uncontrolled weeping, though I sense they are slowly lessening. I have returned, but feel not the same man. I keep putting off going to Ye Olde Poste Office; to seek my children; and to begin to work metal again - to complete the transition to what has become to mine eyes a world of darker shades of grey. And to decide my future…

Yuletide 359 SR

I still feel suspended between two worlds, but I am slowly but surely becoming earthed (as it were) in the everyday world of Trinsic and The Trinsic Rose. Still my thoughts fly to VanQa and the longing tugs at me, but the ache is not so insistent and heart-wrenching and I am in the here-and-now for longer periods. Slowly I am adjusting.

My 6-year old son, Jern Junior, went to The Trinsic Rose the other week. He had been fishing, was chased by a mongbat and ran and hid from it, getting lost. He stumbled by chance on the tavern, meeting Gwen outside, to whom he sold his fish. He then spent an hour there drinking lemonade. He was quite amazed at the large crowd gathered: more people than he had ever seen in his life before, a big adventure!

It seems Tammy was there from The Swaggers Inn and looking for me. Junior didn't have the presence of mind to bring her home: well he is, after all, little more than a toddler. But she is someone I do want to meet to discuss business. Perhaps she will come to Free Repairs Hour one evening, as she has done before.

Tammy didn't come last night, which was disappointing. Draxandru Rose announced that I had been named Quessirenmellon and of my being granted the right to go to Eska'eldalie whenever I wished. Yet it feels to me a big step to return there, obtaining the potions of forgetting I need from Gwen and making the journey. Not least because I don't want to over-use a precious right, but also because returning there keeps me divided between two worlds.

I hear rumours that a new mineral called blackrock has been discovered, and of some terror that stalks miners, an elemental of the blackrock. It seems it can strike anywhere, anytime. If the rumours are true then mining becomes as dangerous as any warrior's task. As an elder smith, I sometimes wonder if my smithing days are coming to an end, for I cannot fight.

I must at least think about seeking new work-pastures - a change of career, perhaps.

Major events of the 350s: The Elven Decade

4th January 360 SR
It seems fitting that this extract of the chronology, covering "The Elven Decade", should complete this account and that it be lodged with the records of the Elves of Trinsic. I have written it in the third person as it includes matters concerning all the Frettings, though it mainly concerns me.

At the start of the new decade many changes are in the offing. VanQa is a distant vision I will visit sometimes, though my life is elsewhere. In other ways, too, I am at a crossroads and cannot see my way forward clearly. I am balanced between my love for VanQa and an anger at the injustices of the world, as well as a disillusionment with all high-born nobles who despite often good intentions are often little more than strutting marionettes. It is also possible that the mining profession has now become too dangerous with the spread of blackrock elementals, and I am tempted to use my hiding and stealth skills to start a new career. But whatever turn my life takes The Trinsic Rose tavern between 7 and 8 pm will remain as a home to me. And for that fixed point in my life I will ever be grateful.

Namaarie!

Jern

The slow healing of VanQa
September 363 SR
Four years have passed since I first visited VanQa in Eska’eldalie. Gwen Irima has grown into her position as leader of the Trinsic elves and as Mine Hostess of The Trinsic Rose. Time has also seen a gradual change in VanQa that gave me a spark of hope. When I first visited her she was very withdrawn, wore a full gown that covered all of her except a small part of her lower face, ashamed of the terrible tattoos which that hateful drow Iglata had covered her whole body with - the marks of his possession of her. And she never left the elven city, living as a recluse, afear’d of the outside world.

I visited her only twice since then. Each time she appeared somewhat better, and glad to see me, eventually abandoning her full gown for more normal elven apparell. Each time my heart was filled with love for her and I left with my spirits lifted, only to fade until my next visit to her in her elven city sanctuary. But progress there was. Yet still she did not venture away from Eska’eldalie, never coming to Trinsic, the place of her horror of that mass-murderer - Iglata: elfbane, kinslayer of VanQa’s family, her tormentor, kidnapper and torturer - and the place where Gwen Irima was growing into the hard-earned position of elven leader, a position that VanQa wished not to disturb.

Then in the year 362 came a beautiful spring day with the Yew forests stirring with budding growth and the sun sparkling on the blue sea. I was moving into Fretting Cottage in Silverleaf - that elven village unique in its mix of races: humans, dwarves and halflings - when quite unanounced VanQa visited me at the cottage, wishing to see how I lived! Miguen was nearby and left her for a short while so we could meet and talk. I thought mayhap this foretold her coming back out into the world. But time passed, and she did not appear again. Yet it was a sign. And that she chose to visit me and me alone gave me much comfort and hope that I dared not even acknowledge to myself.