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Months ago, Callonde promised herself that she’d be home for Steldaran, knowing that would mean family, seeing friends who’ve aged and changed, and worst of all, the memories of how things used to be all those years ago. Happier days when her father lived, and she knew what the future would hold instead of feeling the need to guard against every coming moment.
Now she was there, standing in the entrance foyer to the Argeris’ manorhouse. With her mother out, still at the celebration, Calan could find just a few minutes peace before going back to see everybody and wear a smile she didn’t feel. Greeting her from the wall facing the door was a forty-year-old painting of her family. Mother, father, and daughter… One of the happy memories she’d known would be waiting.
Walking slowly past, the elf kept her eyes on the image until she passed through the door into the receiving chambers. A small parlor-like room, it was used when the family wanted to entertain one or two guests in a more intimate environment and without a formal function. She was about to take one of the soft seats when a sound came to her keen ears. It sounded like someone upstairs when there shouldn’t be anyone upstairs.
Taking to the stairs, Calan crept slowly and silently on her toes. Her Lincoln green holiday garb felt enough like her typical armor that she started to forget, letting her sharp, barbarian sensibilities take hold. Stealthily, she made it to the top of the stairs, then paused, waiting for a sign of what she might have heard. Instead of a sound, Calan smelled something. Her head jerked around and she breathed deeply, getting a long smell of it… Smoke! From a candle!
As quickly as she could, Calan made her way down the hall, poised as she walked along the polished hardwood. Green eyes wide, searching for anything that might reveal this intruder, she caught a glimpse of flickering light through a not-quite-closed door. One corner of her mouth curled into a dangerous smirk as she leaned in and pushed the door open, expecting to see someone picking through belongings.
Instead, she saw a single white candle in a silver candlestick sitting in the middle of the floor, its pale glow illuminating a small collection of tiny figures. Recognizing them, Calan’s mood instantly changed and she dropped to the floor to look. Raising the candle and one of the figures, she smiled, then inspected another. Fifty years ago or more, she’d played with these toys, imagining the adventures of knights and crusaders. Putting the cavalier on his steed, she stood it up and sighed.
That was when another sound snatched Callonde from her reverie. Jerking her head up, she saw her mother, Argeris Danaste, kneeling by the fireplace that she’d just lit. As the glow of the flame grew, the older woman smiled.
"I kept them for you, Calan," she said. "I… Just thought that one day you might want to see them again… And well…" Danaste paused, looking her daughter over. She thought about how different the girl had been when she left home so many years ago. A skinny adolescent with a heart filled with the fire of loss and anger. Now that child was a young woman. "Tonight seemed so very appropriate. They were the perfect treasure in the dark."
"Mother, I…" Calan started, then stopped, weighing her words carefully. She’d been short with her mother for years. During her brief visits home, she always acted like she had less and less time for Danaste. Now her heart sank as she looked at her mother. "Thank you… They’re the best gift I’ve ever gotten."
Danaste could only smile back, trying not to sniffle as she watched Calan tap the toy horse’s hooves across the floor, letting the cavalier knock over a pikeman. At least tonight, on the night of Steldaran, she knew her daughter wouldn’t have to fight.
"Happy Steldaran, mother," Callonde finally said.
"Happy Steldaran, Calan," Danaste softly replied. "Muo Callonde…"
Banners of Boraneum & related material © 2011 Antique Submarine
Now she was there, standing in the entrance foyer to the Argeris’ manorhouse. With her mother out, still at the celebration, Calan could find just a few minutes peace before going back to see everybody and wear a smile she didn’t feel. Greeting her from the wall facing the door was a forty-year-old painting of her family. Mother, father, and daughter… One of the happy memories she’d known would be waiting.
Walking slowly past, the elf kept her eyes on the image until she passed through the door into the receiving chambers. A small parlor-like room, it was used when the family wanted to entertain one or two guests in a more intimate environment and without a formal function. She was about to take one of the soft seats when a sound came to her keen ears. It sounded like someone upstairs when there shouldn’t be anyone upstairs.
Taking to the stairs, Calan crept slowly and silently on her toes. Her Lincoln green holiday garb felt enough like her typical armor that she started to forget, letting her sharp, barbarian sensibilities take hold. Stealthily, she made it to the top of the stairs, then paused, waiting for a sign of what she might have heard. Instead of a sound, Calan smelled something. Her head jerked around and she breathed deeply, getting a long smell of it… Smoke! From a candle!
As quickly as she could, Calan made her way down the hall, poised as she walked along the polished hardwood. Green eyes wide, searching for anything that might reveal this intruder, she caught a glimpse of flickering light through a not-quite-closed door. One corner of her mouth curled into a dangerous smirk as she leaned in and pushed the door open, expecting to see someone picking through belongings.
Instead, she saw a single white candle in a silver candlestick sitting in the middle of the floor, its pale glow illuminating a small collection of tiny figures. Recognizing them, Calan’s mood instantly changed and she dropped to the floor to look. Raising the candle and one of the figures, she smiled, then inspected another. Fifty years ago or more, she’d played with these toys, imagining the adventures of knights and crusaders. Putting the cavalier on his steed, she stood it up and sighed.
That was when another sound snatched Callonde from her reverie. Jerking her head up, she saw her mother, Argeris Danaste, kneeling by the fireplace that she’d just lit. As the glow of the flame grew, the older woman smiled.
"I kept them for you, Calan," she said. "I… Just thought that one day you might want to see them again… And well…" Danaste paused, looking her daughter over. She thought about how different the girl had been when she left home so many years ago. A skinny adolescent with a heart filled with the fire of loss and anger. Now that child was a young woman. "Tonight seemed so very appropriate. They were the perfect treasure in the dark."
"Mother, I…" Calan started, then stopped, weighing her words carefully. She’d been short with her mother for years. During her brief visits home, she always acted like she had less and less time for Danaste. Now her heart sank as she looked at her mother. "Thank you… They’re the best gift I’ve ever gotten."
Danaste could only smile back, trying not to sniffle as she watched Calan tap the toy horse’s hooves across the floor, letting the cavalier knock over a pikeman. At least tonight, on the night of Steldaran, she knew her daughter wouldn’t have to fight.
"Happy Steldaran, mother," Callonde finally said.
"Happy Steldaran, Calan," Danaste softly replied. "Muo Callonde…"
Banners of Boraneum & related material © 2011 Antique Submarine
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© 2011 - 2024 LaVioletta
Comments33
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loving this pose and also those fuzzy anklets. One of these days I'll also post some actual art.