Chapter 20 - Gathering the Pieces
Elarion stepped into Kolvar’s office to find him bent over a spread of parchment, the neat lines of ink catching the light from the nearby window. The air smelled faintly of cedar from the document cases stacked along the wall. Kolvar finished a note before setting the quill down and looking up.
“What’s on your mind?” His voice was even, but it carried the quiet weight of someone who expected an honest answer.
“I am… thinking of taking an indefinite leave from my duties,” Elarion said. “For personal goals. Personal matters.”
Kolvar’s gaze sharpened slightly, though not unkindly. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that I have not seen your ‘friend’ around the grove lately?”
Elarion blinked, caught completely off guard. “How did you—”
Kolvar allowed himself the smallest lift of an eyebrow. “It does not take a genius to figure it out.”
Heat rose to Elarion’s ears and he let out a low breath, trying to hide his reaction. “I suppose you are right,” he muttered. He crossed the room when Kolvar gestured toward the chair opposite the desk and sat, his posture just a little too stiff.
“I was thinking,” Elarion began, “of making my way to Leuthilspar. That is… her hometown.”
Kolvar studied him for a long moment before speaking. “I see. Do you plan to work there? If you do, I can send a word of recommendation to the Evermeet Knights. They would be glad to have someone of your skill.”
Elarion shook his head, his hands resting loosely on his knees. “No. I am not looking to settle in Leuthilspar. I want to try my hand at the adventuring life. I think… it is time I saw more of the world.”
For the briefest moment, Kolvar’s expression shifted with something like surprise, but he gave no objection. “Adventuring,” he repeated, as if weighing the word. “That is not a small decision.”
“I know,” Elarion said. “But it feels like the right one.”
Kolvar leaned back in his chair, his eyes holding Elarion’s. “It will be a shame to lose one of our best scouts for a time. Perhaps our best. But we will manage just fine without you.” The words settled between them, heavier for their sincerity. Elarion inclined his head in acknowledgment, a faint smile touching his lips at the rare praise.
“If you ever return to Selathryn,” Kolvar continued, “you will always be welcome to continue your work here. This will always be your home to come back to.”
“Thank you,” Elarion said quietly. The words felt steady in his chest. He rose, and after a final nod to Kolvar, excused himself from the room.
The next pages spoke of the many Houses in Leuthilspar that had stood for as long as anyone could remember, their names carved into the city’s history like the stone of its oldest halls. Elarion traced the list of them with his eyes, wondering what life might be like for those born into such legacy. It had to be so different from his own.
He remembered Iris telling him once that it was not all sunshine and roses, and that the so-called freedom noble-borns enjoyed came at a different kind of price. Thinking of her now brought a bittersweet twist to his chest. He still felt bad about their last exchange, the tension between them before she left, and for making her worry when he was injured. But more than anything, he missed her. Her presence alone had always been enough to ease the day.
His gaze lingered on the inked lines, but his mind was far from the page. He thought of her smile, warm and knowing. The way she laughed without holding back. How adorable she looked when she pouted, her lips pressing together in mock frustration. Her voice, gentle but cheerful, wrapping around every word like sunlight. Even the way she always smelled, soft, familiar, and impossible to name, lingered with him.
A long sigh escaped before he realised it, drawing the attention of the woman tending the archives. She approached quietly; her arms folded behind her back. “Is something troubling you?” she asked.
Elarion startled slightly and shook his head. “No, I… I am just reading up on Leuthilspar.”
She considered him for a moment before moving toward one of the side shelves. “If that is the case, you might find this interesting.” She returned with a slim volume bound in faded green. “It is not a guide to the city itself, but a memoir written by a lady from one of the great Houses. It may give you a more personal perspective on what it means to live there.”
Elarion accepted the book with both hands. “Thank you.”
He settled back into his chair, the murmur of turning pages filling the space around him and began to read. The memoir’s voice was vivid, tracing a life of carefully hidden compromises and quiet rebellions within a world gilded on the surface. It was unlike anything he had read before, and it pulled him deeper with each page.
As the day grew darker and the last of the golden light faded from the high windows, he closed the book and returned it to the desk for safekeeping. The air outside was cooler now, the Grove wrapped in the gentle hush of evening. He made his way toward Nymeris’ home, where she had “demanded” he have dinner with her and Ayda every night before he left. He was more than happy to oblige. After all, he could never hope to cook the familiar, simple yet delicious comfort meals Nymeris had been making for him since he was a teenager.
Nymeris had prepared one of his favourite meals, a cream of wild mushroom soup, thick and fragrant, with herbs gathered fresh from her garden. The table was simple but warm, the steam curling upward as Ayda nibbled at bread and tried not to look like she had been crying earlier. Elarion savoured every spoonful, the taste carrying him back through years of evenings just like this.
When the bowl was empty, he set his spoon down and looked across at Nymeris. “Why did you pick me up that day?” he asked softly.
She smiled gently, folding her hands in her lap. “Because I do not believe any child should be left to fend for themselves outdoors like that. You were but a child still, no matter the uniform you wore.”
The silence that followed was not heavy, but thoughtful. After a moment she went on. “I always dreamed of having children of my own,” she admitted, her eyes drifting to the candlelight. Elarion listened, his breath still as if afraid to disturb her words.
“My husband was a warden too,” she said. “Like too many wardens and scouts of Selathryn, he was taken from me too soon. We were married for a bit over a decade. For elves, there is always time, so we told ourselves there was no rush to start a family. And then… when he passed, I could not bring myself to remarry. Instead, I chose to dedicate myself wholly to serving Rillifane.”
Her gaze softened as she looked at him. “But when I saw you, sleeping in my garden, wrapped in a tattered cloak and wearing a uniform that hung too big on you… I could not help but feel it was Rillifane’s gift. A son not of my blood, but a son for me to care for nonetheless.”
Elarion reached across the table, placing his hand over hers. “I will forever be grateful to you,” he said, his voice thick with feeling. Her smile deepened. “Then stay in your old room tonight. You can always pack during the day. There is no need to wander back and forth.”
He agreed, rising from the table after wishing them both goodnight. The moment he stepped into his old room, memory wrapped around him. Everything was as it had always been, though the air carried a scent that made his chest tighten. Soft. Floral. Gentle. It smelled like Iris.
He paused by the bedside, noticing the small candle she had left there. The faint fragrance lingered, clinging to the air like a memory that refused to fade. He freshened up, then slipped beneath the blankets, and as the scent surrounded him, it was almost as if she were still there.
Gods, how he missed her.
His mind wandered despite himself, drifting into the shape of a daydream. He imagined rolling onto his side and finding her beside him, her smile soft in the dim glow. He could almost feel himself reaching out, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, letting them trail into her hair. He pictured taking her hand, pressing it to his face so he could hold on to the comfort of her touch. For a fleeting moment, it felt so real that his chest ached with wanting.
But the longer he lingered in the thought, the heavier it became. He wanted her so badly, but he missed her even more, and that made the ache unbearable. Before his mind could wander further, he caught himself and groaned, pulling the blanket over his head.
“What am I even thinking…” he muttered into the fabric, his cheeks burning hot.
Still flushed, he curled into the blanket and clutched it close to his chest. With the scent of Iris enveloping him, he closed his eyes, hoping that if he were lucky, he might at least see her in his dreams tonight.
Morning came gently through the curtains of his old room. Elarion rose, freshened up, and joined Nymeris and Ayda at the table. The meal was simple; fresh bread, fruit, and tea, but the company made it feel like home. Afterward, he stopped at his favourite café, ordering his usual. The warmth of the cup in his hands steadied him as he walked toward the archives once again, fitting in a bit more reading before the day pressed on.
By noon, however, a different thought was tugging at him. He glanced down at his pack, then at the worn straps of his leather armour, and wondered if his gear was truly fit for the life he meant to take up. Adventuring was not scouting. The risks would be greater, the journeys longer. Perhaps it was time he made sure everything was in the best condition possible.
He visited the blacksmith first, laying his shortswords across the anvil. The smith examined them with a practiced eye, then set to work, refining their edges until they gleamed with deadly sharpness. Elarion turned the blades over in his hands afterward, feeling the balance, the reassuring weight. They felt alive again. He purchased a new dagger as well, tucking it into his belt as an extra precaution. At the armourer’s, he found high-quality leather armour, supple yet reinforced at the joints, sturdy enough to protect but light enough to move in. It was a considerable investment, but he knew it was worth it.
By the time he left, however, his pack was feeling heavier than ever. He paused in the street, thinking of the long road ahead, and finally made his way to one of Selathryn’s more refined shops, its polished sign reading The Silverleaf Emporium. Inside, the shelves gleamed with carefully arranged arcane wares. He approached the counter, where the shopkeeper looked up from a ledger. “Is there something in particular you seek?”
“A bag of holding…?” Elarion said, his tone more hopeful than confident.
The shopkeeper’s brows lifted. “You are in luck! A traveling merchant brought one in only a few days ago. It will cost you, though. Such things do not sit long on shelves.”
Elarion’s hand hovered over the edge of the counter. He bit his lip, the figure that was quoted heavy in his ears. Was it worth it? He imagined the road ahead, the weight of weapons and supplies dragging at his shoulders, and then pictured himself weeks from now, regretting not making the investment when he had the chance. With a slow breath and a heavy sigh, he pulled his coin pouch free. “I will take it...”
The shopkeeper smiled faintly as the coins clinked onto the counter. Moments later, Elarion found himself holding the plain, unassuming bag, its surface soft beneath his fingers. He slung it over his shoulder, already feeling the relief it promised.
Outside the Silverleaf Emporium, Elarion tightened the strap of the bag of holding across his shoulder. It looked like nothing special, just a simple leather satchel, but the weight felt almost non-existent. He glanced around, then ducked into a shaded corner of the street and tugged it open.
First, he slipped in his newly sharpened shortswords. They vanished into the dark space as if the bag had simply swallowed them whole. Blinking, he tried the new dagger, then his folded cloak, then even the old, battered boots he had been meaning to replace. Each item disappeared neatly, leaving the bag no heavier than before. His brows furrowed as he leaned down, peering into the opening. It was black as ink, an endless void that reflected nothing back. He waved a hand above it, then slowly lowered his arm inside up to the elbow, shivering at the strange sensation of reaching into nowhere. His fingers brushed the hilt of one sword, then the fabric of his cloak. He pulled them out again in triumph, grinning to himself.
A passerby gave him an odd look as he stuffed the boots back into the bag with visible satisfaction. Elarion straightened quickly, clearing his throat and pretending he had simply been adjusting the strap. When the stranger moved on, he let out a small laugh under his breath.
“This will do,” he murmured, patting the bag like one might a well-trained hound.
For the first time in days, he felt a spark of boyish excitement. The road ahead would be difficult, but at least now he had something to make the burden lighter, literally.
He adjusted the bag one more time and glanced at the fading light across the treetops. It was getting late, and the warmth of Nymeris’ hearth tugged at him like a promise. He should head back, share another meal with her and Ayda, and call it a day.
Tomorrow would be his last day in Selathryn. The thought settled over him with a bittersweet weight. This had always been his home, the place where he grew from a grieving boy into the man he was now. Leaving it behind felt like loosening roots that had anchored him for so long.
And yet, beneath the heaviness, something else stirred. A small spark of excitement, fragile but real. For the first time, the dreams he had carried since youth, of stepping beyond the Grove, of seeing the world not just through stories and maps but with his own eyes, felt within reach.
He breathed in the cool evening air and let the corners of his mouth lift. The road ahead was unknown, but it was finally opening before him. With that thought, he turned toward Nymeris’ home, the sound of his footsteps steady on the path.