[Tender Little Hearts II] - Sapling
Wayward lodge, The Step
Autumnsfall aerst-eve, third Moon, Seventh Astral Era
The last ribbons of golden sunlight gradually seep behind the cracks and nooks of the mountains overhead. Spring always held sway over these distant shores, so far removed from the mainland... For even in Autumn’s advent could one stumble across fields replete with reds and whites, and yellows and blues; a tapestry of colours in bloom. From boundless glades brandishing beds of petals, inked in all hues of the rainbow, to harrowing peaks of stone and iron, maintaining solitary vigil over us who oft dwell ‘neath their crooked boughs... It truly did hold this unfathomable allure, a getaway haven above any other far and wide... Well, ‘s long as you valued green plains o’er roofs o’ maple crowns, or vast kingdoms of seamless snow that is...
I know I did. At least on that day.
It all began not unlike all other, grand adventures--with small feats. Naught more than a little ‘Dear diary,’ here, and a doe-eyed observation there... Oh, and ‘course, not wanting for a spirit of adventure and mischief o’erlong, nay...
It all began on a sunny day, a normal day by all accounts, I assure you, honest.
With a spirited lad, and his hunger for the world--among other things.
The royal court of Autumn, a terrific place, you see... They held all of these halls and keeps of splendour, bathed in vibrant strokes of the paintbrush, and the Great-forges, the Haer-fyr being the grandest of ‘em all, differed very little. A proud folk, a hearty folk--aye, they found succor in those decorated marbles and draped halls...
...Yet, they also were none the wiser to another quarter, one far more rustic, under Hyrtfyr’s belt. There, in the secluded midst of The Step, laid the Wayward roadside lodge... A rustic cabin, homely and tranquil, long-removed from the troubles that ailed the shores of the Mainland.
That is where, upon that day, a flighty Sea Wolf had made his escape from the familiar life that cradled him thus far, and with no more than eleven summers to his name, did he steal away, under the veil of night, a ship of silver sail and mallorn timber; or had he merely joined a well-versed crew secretly so? Frankly, memory oft eludes me on these matters...
I am but certain the former sounds far more tell-tale worthy, I’d say...
Yet, as the break of dawn sprang ‘hind the jagged pillars of the mountains, so too did he find himself upon this blessed, remote soil. While Roegadyn cubs may’ve been left wanting for stealth, this slippery Wolf honed his own skills throughout the better part of his childhood--fleeing ‘twixt chamber and hall with varying success, at first.
And where did the road take him? Well, of course he knew... In a sense. His destination was made known to him, albeit the course--not so. His day wasted away in exploration, and as morn waxed to midday, had he already learned of the fruits and the flowers that made their peaceful home there. As midday turned to wane into night, however, did he finally chance upon the steadfast planks and crude cobblestone that lined the foundations and walls of the beckoning homestead. A keyturn here, a few cursory glances there... And to bed he went, wholly spent and content, sinking away into dreamscape’s hold...
...Would that he awoke the same fashion--at least, as far as his feelin’ of accomplishment went. As his vibrant hues began to squint open, did he drink deep of the crashing sunlight; of the specks that flitted from window to floor, of the gentle wind that lulled the shutters.
Of the looming silhouette, colossal and terrible, perched by his bedside, with arms in a lax fold atop its breast. Yet, a gasp he could not withhold, no matter how hushed--his instinctive fear entrenched him firmly, forcing him to spring back in his covers. This, of course, was noted by the stalwart shade, now visibly sitting upon a pulled-up chair.
Its bulk soon gave it away--a male Sea Wolf, through and through, his skin brandishing a light tint of seafoam, and his fiery mane long, at ends sharp, with two great braids running past each side of his face, each encased in a metal cask near the bottom. It was the brittle clatter of these very cases that announced his attention steering towards the cub.
“Well, well, what d’ve have here, then... Rise an’ shine, lil’un.” His deep, powerful voice gently ushered into the wind, an unbecoming serenity yielding from his lips.
The child’s jaw unhinged gingerly, for as he took in the form of the man afore him, he could make no mistake; from the runic insignia upon his braids, to the war-paint cherishing his lower eye, even momentarily bereft of crown--the Haerkoen, the Greatking of Hyrthyml stood afore him. The youth was swift to knit his brows in frustration, pulling up the covers in a feeble attempt to remain concealed.
“Your--uh, your... Majesty, what... Brings you ‘ere...” The Sea Wolf feigned a cough, muffling his juvenile voice faintly.
“Oh, you know...” Began the larger Wolf, a single brow flicking up in quizzical amusement. “Making certain my ‘subjects’ are happy and content in all matters. Oh, and seein’ as you’re wholly satisfied with lounging the day away ‘ere by your lonesome, figured I’d take up the undying duty of delivering you this coveted... Journal, which someone simply must’ve stolen from ye--no way you’d e’er be clumsy enough to forget it by yourself... Mm? It belongs to you, I trust--especially so, given the detailed plans o’ yer lil’ flight to the Step littering its pages, and all.”
Oh, he knew the words to pick at times... While mostly stoic, in the few instances where he could, he’d feed his own twisted amusement until every last drop was siphoned.
“What’re you doin’ ‘ere! Don’t ye have some important errand t’ attend to anyroads...” Barked back the child, the frustration of his own, flighty nature, gnawing at the back of his mind--how in the Seven Hells could he forget his most prized possession!?
“Nortstyr Rhotdornnsyn,” Thundering swept his proud voice, as ire rose and grew ripe in his burly throat, and akin to a whip he barked back, “The most important, unending duty o’ mine rests with my son, my daughter, my wife and my peoples--and none may come inbetween.” The quivering of the shutters would quell in the aftermath, as he assumed a much more resolute, hushed decibel. “Gather your belongings. We are to set out.”
While the rolling thunder instilled him with dread, the King ever knew the blood that ran in the child’s veins--and how a simple spark could give way to an unquenchable flame of anger. Not that he had been any different in his childhood, anyroads.
Off came the covers, and with a swift swipe of his arm did he snag back his adventuring journal--greedily pressing it to his chest, plumes of fire nearly seeping through his nostrils, as his own anger began to boil.
“I am not leaving! I barely got here, lil’alone findin’ the place besides. I have no mind to go home yet.” Baleful daggers were shot towards the larger Wolf’s crimson hues, who only reprimanded him with a proud smirk. It did occur to the younger’un then that his senior wore less so a royal garb or anything alluding to his status--no, a simple, leather jacket, dark trousers and journeying boots was all he required for this task.
“I ne’er mentioned returning home just yet, my son. Come, while the dew is still fresh, and the ground rousing awake.” Into his arms he would guide Nortstyr, reassuringly guiding him off the weathered bedside. In bewildered wonder did the child glance up to the figure of order, and for the first time in a long, tiresome while, did the light of morn wash over not the High-king, but his father. Together, they would eat and make merry still, at the expense of the mature Wolf’s love for cuisine--before setting out into the wild.
There, after a longer trek drowned in rising laughter and, past halfway of the route, a piggybacking, did they at long last reach their quarry--an aged, immense oak, resting upon a sizable glade--a glade entirely cradled and embraced by the arms of the mountain. A quiet brook trickled and bubbled nearby, running off into a timid pond at the far side of the verdant plateau.
“We are come, at last. The Ahldeyha, or Old Oak, in short.” Spoke the labouring male, squeezing the child’s ankles within each fist affectionately. He gave him little room to ask his queries, for he knew what puzzled the cub’s mind. “You see, back when I was no more’n a lil’un, I fell into the same woes I seem to have cast upon you... My Pa was awfully invested in running everything, yet even in spite of it all, he noticed my turmoil... And while he did his best, it hardly sufficed.” Rhotdornn’s lips curled into a nostalgic smile, as he gazed up the terrible crown of the lush giant ahead, slowly taking his approach.
“So one day, o’erloaded as we both were with our burdens, our duties--I was stolen away, in the naught o’ night, by a mysterious figure cloaked in shadow... An’ next thing I knew, I awoke in that very cabin, with ol’ Hyrtfyr by my bedside, in these... Farmin’ trousers an’ suspender vest. I’ve never quite seen him out of his royal attire afore then, either.”
Nortstyr found great irony in this, if the devilish smirk upon his lips gave any indication. “Like father, like son.” He jabbed lower, prompting his father to rustle his legs playfully.
“Aye... Suppose it runs in our blood. An’ so we made away, an’ he took me to this place... A thing of beauty at night, as you’ll witness yourself. And together, we... Well...” Bracing both of his palms against the smaller one’s sides, he’d gradually pry him off, softly allowing him to find his own footing once more upon the gentle, dew-crowned blades of grass. From his large palm, at last, he’d unearth the smallest of seeds, to which the youth took immediately, taking it away as if it were the most brittle of all things.
“We made a promise or two to eachother, and dug into the earth together a little seed--no bigger than the one in your hand, my little lion.” Dornn’s hand soon proudly sat atop his son’s fiery locks, ruffling them with unwarranted affection.
“As we gave birth to a new life that day, so too did our bond grow, replenished with new life, new hope... And as our sapling grew greater an’ greater, so too did it nourish and strengthen the ties that bound us. A simple ritual, to be sure--but on this enchanted glade... You need little more than a bit of love, care and determination to see the smallest of saplings burst the mightiest of branches. Great feats oft spring from the smallest, most humble beginnings. Remember this, my child.”
The child nodded but once, awestruck as he had become from the intimidating shadow, blotting out the rays of daylight’s break near-wholly. “Aye, I... Think I un’erstand.” He slowly muttered, honouring the seed within his palm with an impressed, if not slightly fearful, glance. But in the end... It mellowed out, ultimately finding greater comfort than intimidation in such a small, timid thing.
Rhotdornn guided him ever lower, with one palm on Nortstyr’s back, and another patting a malleable patch of heavenly-soft ground to boot. With a bare palm each did they endeavour to draw out a smaller hole, none too far from the great Oak, gingerly lodging the seedling within the firm mouth of the earth. Rhotdornn slowly guided Nortstyr’s steps, piece by piece, showing him even as much as to how to pat the land together, how to straighten up the stalk... And from the nearby, gurgling brook did they draw water, sprinkling it across with due diligence, to tide the newborn life over, until new clouds were to blanket the sky, and pour clear rains upon the fertile soil.
At long last, they’d merely sit upon the ground, enjoying the peace that spoiled their senses vehemently. At long last, Rhotdornn spoke once more.
“The deed is done, Nortstyr. We ought to think of a name for it, I reckon... But that can wait. ‘Tis funny, in a sense--e’ery time I visit this spot, I visit a life I’ve given to one, while in the company of another... Much like my father, I’d say. Mayhap one day, even you will... Or you may yet unravel the magicks that stir within this place at dawn and dusk. Or you might chance upon a fetching lil’ witch and bring her hither to solve the mystery... Among other things.”
A sharp fang protruded from the roof of his upper lip, as his lips spread in a subtle grin, offering the smaller Wolf a little nudge with his elbow. Nortstyr scoffed, unused--and nearly unsettled--to witness his father in such informal chatter.
“Hrmph... As if. Besides, didn’t uncle Ornn say that adventure waits for no Wolf!? And so, none will hold me in one place with the world so large and ripe for the taking. Besides...” He quizzically peered up at his father, ever so innocently blinking upwards. “You mean to tell me sis an’ I were planted in the soil, too? Is that where Roegadyn children come from?”
Rhotdornn near-froze up, billowing a long breath out of his nose at the assumption. A long sigh followed thereafter, as a profound chuckle stirred his chest boisterously. “...Eh, let’s... Leave that mystery fer ‘nother day, can always ask one of your uncles or aunts--not Dhem, though. Never Dhem.” His brows knit together in a flat line, half-lidded as he had grown at the mere idea of his twin granting any... Quality advice in hindsight.
And so did the waning of the Sun, and the waxing of the Moon, finally come to pass. Together, did the two set out once more, homeward bound--hopeful glints for a brighter future twinkling in their eyes.
Signed,
Nortstyr Rhotdornnsyn
[ The lower section of the entry appears to have weathered a few drops of liquid at the very bottom of the signature, bearing a more recent addition. ]
