Chapter 8 - A Room Left Waiting
The Lirael’s home stood at the edge of a quiet stone path, framed by tall, white-barked trees and a blooming vine that curled around its rounded archway like nature’s lace. The door, carved with intricate patterns of wind and leaves, opened before they reached it.
A woman stood in the threshold, her robes long and flowing, woven from natural fibres dyed in subtle hues of forest green and pale silver. Her hair, snow-white and swept into a low, elegant bun, glimmered faintly in the dappled light. Though the years had etched their stories across her face, her beauty had not diminished. It had simply softened, settling into something timeless.
Her eyes, sharp and kind, landed on Elarion first.
“Hm? Why the long face, my child?” she asked with a fond smile. “Little Ayda was just regaling me with the most charming stories about her first adventure to the city.”
Then her gaze turned to Iris, and it brightened further. “And you must be the lovely cleric. Iris, is it? The one who saved my little wolfpup. I cannot thank you enough.”
Iris offered a small, graceful bow — one of the few gestures she still retained from her noble upbringing. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Elder. I am grateful I was in the right place at the right time.”
Nymeris chuckled softly. “And gracious too. What a rare gem.”
Elarion stepped forward. “I’m glad you returned safely, Lirael.”
Her expression turned even gentler. She lifted a hand and placed it against his cheek, a touch filled with quiet affection.
“And I am more grateful than words can say that you were the one who brought her,” she said softly. “It is no small thing for one of our kind to venture out. Especially not with the city so far and the nights so thick with noise. You did what was needed, when it mattered most. That is no small courage.”
Elarion looked away, the tips of his ears tinting pink.
Nymeris stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. “Come in, all of you. Let’s not keep the tea waiting.”
Inside, the home was bright and warm, the walls painted with delicate patterns of flora and sky. Shelves lined with carved wooden toys and carefully labelled jars gave the space a lived-in charm. Near a low circular table, nestled among soft cushions, Ayda played with a handful of tiny forest animal figurines, murmuring quietly to herself in the focused way only children could.
She glanced up when she heard the door close and waved with delight. “Grandma! Look, I gave the badger a crown!”
Nymeris laughed, her voice light. “A fitting choice, little wolfpup. He does have a noble face.”
As night began to settle over the grove, the soft hum of evening insects filled the air, mingling with the scent of moss and woodsmoke. Within the comfort of Nymeris’s hearth-lit home, a gentle quiet had settled. Ayda was still playing nearby, now humming to herself, utterly content.
Elarion stood from the cushion where he had been seated, brushing a hand through his hair with a tired exhale.
“Lirael,” he said, turning to the elder healer, “would it be alright if Iris stayed here while she’s in Selathryn? Just for a few days, until we sort things out?”
Nymeris gave a thoughtful hum. “Of course. She’s more than welcome.” Then, with a smile touched by something bittersweet, she added, “But do warn her that the spare room has not been redecorated since you moved out. I have kept it clean, dusted, and warm, but I left it just as it was.”
Elarion blinked, then let out a soft, weary chuckle. “That should be fine. As long as it’s comfortable, I don’t think Iris will mind.”
His voice was even, but his shoulders remained tense. The encounter from earlier still clung to him like a shadow he could not shake, no matter how often he told himself to let it go.
He turned to Iris and bowed his head slightly. “I hope you sleep well tonight. Thank you again for everything.” Then, with a trace of hesitation, he added, “And… I’m sorry you had to witness what happened earlier.”
Before she could answer, he crossed the room and knelt beside Ayda, who looked up from her toys with bright, sleepy eyes.
“Bed soon, little wolf,” he said, ruffling her hair. “No staying up late gossiping with your stuffed badgers.”
Ayda giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug. “Goodnight, Elarion.”
“Goodnight, pup.” He gave her one last smile, the brightest he had managed all evening, and then he slipped out the door into the quiet night.
Iris remained seated beside Nymeris, her fingers curled around the cup of warm tea that had long since gone cold.
She hesitated, then spoke softly. “That man we met earlier. The High Warden. Do you… know him?”
Nymeris raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
“I ran into him earlier with Elarion,” Iris said carefully. “And he was… awful. Cold. Cruel, even. I just—” she paused, frowning. “I was worried. Elarion didn’t say much, but it felt… personal.”
Nymeris gave her a long, gentle look, then smiled, though there was something tired in it. “I see…” she said quietly. “Unfortunately, if you wish to know more, that is something you will have to ask Elarion yourself, love. And he will tell you. If or when he is ready.”
Iris’s shoulders sank a little, but she nodded.
“Don’t worry too much, dear,” Nymeris added. “That boy is stronger than he lets on. Resilient in ways even he doesn’t fully see.”
The words eased some of the weight in Iris’s chest, though not all of it. Her gaze drifted toward the closed door, wondering if the moonlight outside reached him now.
Later, she stood in the doorway of the spare room.
It was warm, softly lit by a crystal lantern. The furnishings were simple and charming. A bed made with clean linen, a wooden desk tucked beside a tall window, and a side table bearing a small vase of fresh wildflowers. On the walls, a handful of framed sketches hung neatly in a row; birds, mostly, and quiet forest scenes. The bookshelf bore a modest collection: histories, folk tales, and studies of elven cultures, their spines worn but well-kept.
She smiled quietly to herself as she freshened up and slipped under the covers. As her head sank into the pillow, one final thought stirred.
Wherever he was, she hoped Elarion was all right.