[[ So this was written long ago, and I found it again and realized it was never posted on Lydi’s blog. So here! ]]
The sun set on another busy day in Dalaran City. For many the darkness brought with it an end to the work day, while for others that day was just beginning. As mage-lights flickered to life in the street lamps, the crowd slowly morphed from the bustling day workers to the sparse littering of late night ragamuffins and runabouts. Even here they existed, trying to make their living any way they could, though how they had gotten there was anyone’s guess. Had they found the cost of living too expensive? Were they rejects of the mage college? Ne’er-do-wells who thought they could turn a fair bit of coin by pinching money off of rich magi? Whatever their motivation, Lydianah was never one inclined to go about her business outside at night; not that her magic made her unable to defend herself.
She sat instead in one of the Violet Citadel’s great libraries, violet eyes poring over a text on illusions and cantrips. There were so many spells in this small book and she wanted to try them all, but she simply had such precious little free time these days that it was a rare occurrence when she got a full night’s rest. A murmur and a wave of her hand conjured forth a ball of mage-light to combat the rapidly dimming light in the large space. Oh, the room had its own, of course, but none so close as to make reading less of a strain. Sighing, the young magister leaned forward as she read further. Illusion and arcane manipulation had always been things that intrigued her. They called to mind the memory of her mother during a simpler time, telling her stories as she lay down to sleep at night. Her lips curled into a smile as she started a section pertaining to illusory maintenance. The memory was vivid, as if she were there again, snuggled into her bed sheets and peering up at her mother’s warm countenance.
“Years ago, when your aunt and I were still students at the Spire, the two of us invented a game of sorts. One of us--usually your aunt--would go door to door dressed as an old homeless woman, and cast an illusion on herself to hide her young face. She would hunch over and hold out a shaking hand, and ask if they had anything that they could part with--a heel of bread, a pair of old shoes, a jacket. We found that our game had turned into a social experiment. How many of these noble families actually had noble intentions? Well? How many?” her mother asked, leaning forward just enough to displace some of her shining hair. Those blue eyes were upon Lydianah again, and she squirmed with delight as she answered, for she knew that she would be right.
“None of them!” she exclaimed, and her mother chuckled fondly at her, reaching up to stroke her hair with a pale, gentle hand.
“You are right, of course, my smart girl. None of them,” she confirmed. Then she swept her arm out across the room. “We visited every noble’s house, and not one of them afforded her even a table scrap. When she was denied, of course, the illusion was dispelled and they recognized her immediately. Most of them were confused when she explained that it had all been a test of their intentions, and some of them even had the decency to look ashamed. But with our cover blown, we had run out of nobles to call upon. That was when we decided to take our game to the merchants.”
Lydi wriggled beneath her sheets, staring up at her mother with wide, expectant eyes. She knew the next part. Oh, she did! “Oh, and this is the part where you meet--“
“Shh,” her mother interjected, pressing the pad of her finger to the young girl’s lips. Now she was chuckling, the warm undertones of her voice causing Lydi to giggle softly. “Now, it wasn’t the first--or the second, or even the third!--that we went to that was the most interesting, though these folk were typically much nicer even if their shrewdness was more necessity than vanity. No; it was the fourth shop we visited that finally yielded results.”
“Are you telling her that story again?” When her mother turned Lydi caught a glimpse of her father leaning against the doorframe to her bedroom. He looked tired, as he often did after a long day’s work, but there was a fondness in his gaze and happiness in his smile that could not be denied. “You are going to taint her mind,” he gently scolded.
“Ann’daaaa, she was just getting to the good part!” Making a shooing motion with her hand, Lydi scrunched her nose and stared up at her father. His dark hair hung loosely about his shoulders and down his chest and back, and as he pushed himself upright and stepped into the room he all but bumped her mother off of the small chair that she was sitting on. She laughed, and the two of them tussled playfully over it for a bit before her mother finally stood.
“Fine, dear. Have it your way,” she said, and came to stand behind him with her arms draped loosely around his neck.
“I will,” he announced, and then leaned forward just a bit to catch Lydi’s eyes with his own azure gaze. “And I will tell you another part of the story. You see, there was a young man who, being extremely wonderful and handsome--“
“Keth, stop right there!” her mother scolded through her laughter, and her father reached up to hook his hands on her mother’s arms to keep her from going anywhere--or perhaps, in retrospect, to keep her from smacking him. Lydi giggled again.
“As I was saying before your minn’da so rudely interrupted me, this extremely handsome, wonderful and talented individual had been doing so well in his studies that his parents had felt comfortable letting him run the shop for the weekend while they took a well-deserved break from the business. Things were going very well, until who should walk into his shop at the end of the day but your minn’da, dressed in rags and looking like an old crone!” He spread his arms wide and smiled down at his daughter, who squealed when his hands found her sides and tickled. “She looked so old and ugly that it might have caused a twinge of disgust in a lesser man. But not this one! Not only did he offer her a bit of food and a cloak that needed a new home, he also offered her a place to stay for the night. Before he could make good his offer, however, the old crone turned into the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he asked for her hand on the spot!”
“No! Keth, you’re running away with the story!” Despite her scolding her mother was laughing again, and her father straightened again to twist and look at her.
“Oh, please. You act as if you have never exaggerated in your entire life.” He held up a finger before she could give him any kind of retort, and then went back to animatedly retelling the tale. “Where was I?”
“He asked for her hand on the spot!” Lydi supplied helpfully, her small voice rising muffled from the blankets that covered her mouth and nose.
“Ah, yes. I am afraid that part is not true. He did ask for her name, though, and some time later she began to stop by the shop to see the extremely handsome, wonderful and gifted man, for she could not resist his kindness and his charm. They became good friends, and eventually he won her heart with his witty jokes and enchanting smile.”
“You are so full of yourself!” her mother exclaimed finally, playfully punching her father in the bicep before turning her gaze down to Lydi once more. “There was a moral to this story before your father got a hold of it. Can you tell me what it was?”
Yawning now, Lydianah snuggled just a bit deeper into her blankets, her eyelids drooping tiredly. “Appearances are only as far as you look with your eyes,” she drawled as if repeating something she had previously heard, “but there is always a deeper beauty in kindness.”
“You are right, Little Lydi. And so I can safely say that it wasn’t your father’s good looks or charming smile that won me in the end, but his strength of character and his kindness to those less fortunate than he.” Her mother bent to kiss Lydianah’s forehead then, and her father followed suit before he stood and yawned himself, and the two of them left Lydi to drift off after whispered affections, retreating from her room hand-in-hand.
“Lydi.” The hand that shook her was gentle, and the deep voice just so. As her eyelids fluttered open, she realized that she must have fallen asleep reading, for she was slumped over her desk on a book that was collecting enough drool to warrant replacing. She picked up her head, groaning. “Lydi, you need to go to bed, where the pillows will not run like this ink when you drool all over them.”
Her eyes found the source of the voice and she smiled. “Anvyr,” she murmured, slowly uncurling herself from the text to stretch her arms high in the air. He was right, of course; and as he leaned down to begin cleaning up the mess she’d made he kissed the top of her head. It was a simple, affectionate gesture; but then, he was not one to exaggerate anything. “Hey. I have a game we should play sometime.”
“Tell me about it when you’re not sleep-drunk, my love--oh, you’ve a spell written on your face; we’re going to have to get that off. I would call it irony that it looks like an illusion incantation, but you're too tired for that,” he said with a chuckle as she stood. Then his arm was around her and his dark hair fell over her shoulder as he guided her toward her quarters and toward sleep.
