Requiem for the Damned

[Aeron Ktrenna]

It was one of those incredibly gorgeous fall days, sharp clean air scented with the crisp smell of turning leaves and smoke from the numerous hearths in Myrken Wood. There were perhaps only a few hours of light left before twilight encroached, bringing with it the inevitable night and stole perfection away.
But to the children it did not matter. Every chore was done and those that were not, well they could wait until tomorrow, for who would not wish to suffer the wrath of their parents rather than miss out on such a golden opportunity?
Of course, they did not know how or why, for they were either too young or their parents kept the full weight of such dark and malignant knowledge from them, but the evil that had been a part of their lives for so long was gone. Packs of children of assorted ages played throughout the woods and nearby fields, their laughter and carefree shouting, a delightful series of echoes reverberating across the land. What a glorious day to be alive and be a child.

A group of young boys, ranging in ages from ten up to fourteen or so, played by an old wall, part of an abandoned farm in one part of the forest, long ago given over to the wild. Their game was simple, and had been played by children repeatedly, down through the ages. The good guys versus the bad guys, the crumbling old wall was the battleground. Shouts of “I got you” and “You are dead” rang out amidst laughter and the quieter murmur of conspiring plotters. One side suddenly rushed the other side, whopping their version of war cries, leaping and clambering over the crumbling wall in an effort to achieve victory over their foes.
And as boys are wont to do, all their carefully laid plans disintegrated into a wild, rowdy wrestling match. Eventually even this gave way to the simpler act of lying on their backs and watching the clouds overhead. One of the oldest, Ian, realized the light was not as bright, and perhaps they should all consider starting the long trek back home. With any luck, they could be there by supper, and few, if any of their parents, would be the wiser.
With this in mind, he stood and urged the rest of his pack toward their feet, using a few more or less dire threats to get them all moving. Since he was the eldest son in his own family, it was easy to slip into the role of leader with this bunch. Despite the change in the woods, Ian thought it was better not to be caught out here after sunset. There were still other things, he had heard the stories the adults told about what prowled these woods and the surrounding lands after dark.

Something drew his attention away from the pile of arms and legs on the ground, something odd. Ian’s head turned to his right, his eyes searching the landscape for anything that seemed out of place. There, a strange wavering shimmer in the air along the old wall, or so it seemed to him from this angle. Being he was the oldest, he felt it was his duty to go and investigate it.
Ian stood in front of a crudely constructed arch in the middle of the old wall, a thing that made no sense to him at all. Why would a farmer build a wall and slap such a shoddy arch in it? His livestock would get through; it made no sense to his simple mind at all. The arch looked like it was going to come tumbling down at any moment, no less. But then the damned thing began to shimmer, like the air around it was heated. He stepped back in surprise, and threw an arm over his eyes to shield them when the whole thing suddenly exploded with brilliant blue and white tendrils of light. However, nothing else happened, so he lowered his arm and looked at the arch again, dumbfounded by the vision before his eyes. And, like any child, his curiosity led him on; he stepped under the arch and vanished right before the amazed eyes of his friends.

A pact was made that day, by a group of young boys who had been playing someplace were they had been told never to play. When asked, each one swore up and down, they had no idea where Ian was.
It was not precisely the truth, but it was not exactly a lie they told, either.

[Aeron Ktrenna]

The hooded figure stood by the old wall, oblivious to the light rain. Her gaze was focused upon the crude arch, the gate she had constructed in what already seemed to be another lifetime. There was a choice here, a choice between what she had once been and the individual she was now. She could go through that gate, and seek out life only to deliver death. Or, she could make the choice not to.
It had been a long hard journey to this point, over a year of more extreme situations than she had been through in a thousand plus years. There had been heartbreaking choices to make, among them taking the life of her son so that many would live. She had been caught and tossed about within the grasp of a magical loop, time overlapping as if time did not even exist. Never knowing where or when she would end up, twice that journey alone had nearly killed her. But, she had survived, because had she not, everyone she had known and cared for, would have perished. A shudder ran through her slender frame when the unbidden memory of the future came back, the devastation she had witnessed with her own eyes, the pack of voracious wolves that had hunted her, chased her through the ruins of the keep. The ensuing explosion when it had all been blown to hell, sending her back to the present, almost dead.
A firm shake of her head dismissed the memory, there was no point reliving it all. She had survived against nearly overwhelming odds. That was really, when it came down to it all that mattered.
Another memory, one of her son’s small hand held within her own as they walked through the vast gardens, came back to her. He had his father’s elven love of nature, for they had taken daily walks together. She wanted to remember him this way, not as the twisted thing he had become. Nor did she hate him; for nothing could have made her do anything but love him.

Love. A deep sigh of breath escaped her lips, for love had driven her to this extreme, pushed her to another crossroad. So many words, so many promises, and she, like a fool, had believed in him, in his words. She had killed for him, stood alone in the way of a city’s army, bought him time with her blood and the blood of others, so that he could kill a God. Aeron had risked her life for that man, as she had not done for another, and for what? For a man whose every word, and every action were not equal to the feeling or depth of her soul. Sadly, she now understood she had indeed loved him, and that love for him, had been tearing her apart. Why?
Because he was never capable of receiving it, never capable of accepting her for whom she was. She would have walked in his shadow, for he had something to prove to the world. He could never accept her strength, could never have understood what had made her, nor respect that long process of forging. He had sought glory for the sake of glory, whereas she had spent long years fighting the good fight and hiding from the glory. Aeron had long ago learned the lessons of humility, and understood quite well that the word noble did not always refer to a social class.
And now, he was drowning himself in his own pity and bottles of liquor. Yet again, he had been kidnapped against his will, tortured and spoke of a voice in his head that bid him lie down and die. She had surmised he most likely would die, for you cannot save someone who does not wish to save himself. No, Donovan wanted to die, and he was damned, cursed, more so than she had ever been. In the end, his Gods had abandoned him as she had warned him they would.
That was the difference between them, whereas Aeron had the courage to fight and go on no matter what the odds, no matter how bad things seemed he did not. She had hope because she believed her fate was in her own hands, she determined her own destiny, not the whim or will of some God.
Should she try to save him, the result would be less than pleasant. For the more entangled their lives were, the more pain he would cause her. She had a multitude of grief’s to sort through and work past, she did not need to watch him die, or see him live and move on without her. If he lived, there would always be yet one more glory to pursue, one more thing he had to prove to the world. He had lived for the glory of battle and vengeance visited upon his enemies, for hate, not for himself and most certainly not for love. No, he was too consumed by hate and by the path of glory to truly understand or be able to love deeply and wholly.

In the end, the man had damned himself.

But as for Aeron, her future choices began right here, right now. No, she would not commit murder to ease this heartache for she was so much more than that. And murder it would have been, for she would have sought death for every opponent right from her opening moves. One cannot tell the heart what is good for it and what is bad. The heart does not listen, it never listens, and she knew that, she had known that for a long time, anymore than she could tell it not to love this fallen man.
It was in this moment, when he had hit rock bottom, she had come back to herself. Aeron turned away from the gate and set her feet upon the path back to her estate. The stone she had given him, the one he mentioned in his drunken litany, would return to her of its own accord, for it would not remain in the possession of a false love. And when it did, she would secret it away, thinking long and hard before ever giving it to anyone again. Perhaps, the truth here was, there would be no more. She had no answers, but the gate existed, and she could leave this land at any point and time, if she so chose to.

One day at a time, this was her answer to it all. It would not be easy, it would hurt, but the pain would ease with time. There was nothing she could do for him. If she tried, he would only try to destroy her along with himself. Strangely, Aeron had the vague feeling that was exactly what he might have wanted for some time now.

She went home, carrying hope for herself, the determined belief in a better life for herself. Along the way, she sang a soft, old and sorrowful lament for a man who had died before he had ever found the courage to truly live.