Arianwyn Cadarn is an excellent leader.
He’s not a very good adoptive father, though.
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Warnings include unhealthy thought process (what else is new?), Mentions of mild child neglect, mention of animal death (Wolves, Bears, Pawyas), past character death and talk of wars.
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Islwyn Cadarn, last known living relative of fabled king Baxtorian Cadarn and great queen Glarial, is a realist. Really, he is. He looks at every situation through a critical lens, analyzes it, compares the pros and the cons in his mind, and decides what course of action he’d take form here.
Really, there’s no reason not to do this. He may only be twelve decades old, but that was old enough to be considered an adult, by elven standards. Besides, this is a method that proved itself effective so far. After all, this exact same approach is part of how his grandfather conquered Kandarin. Naturally, what was good enough for one of the most powerful elves in history was more than good enough for Islwyn.
In his current situation, Islwyn wasn’t quite ready to learn more complex magics from the book his mother left him – he simply didn’t have the energy reserves for the more elaborate spells he hasn’t mastered yet, and most elves in Lletya weren’t much help either. Sure, he practiced daily, and he was pretty good at many spells, too, but energy reserves grow and develop with time, as does one’s magical ability.
So in the meantime – meantime being the last half decade or so – Islwyn Cadarn went on to practice archery. He knew the basics, of course, he was a member of clan Cadarn, thank you very much – but that alone didn’t make him good at it. So he practiced, using training bows made of pine wood or Kandarinian oak – because using a crystal bow, or a bow made of the local magic trees would be too easy. He’d be tempted to let his soul sing with the crystal, which would guide his arrows to the targets, or sync his magical abilities with those of the magic bow, and all progress will be lost. It wouldn’t truly be his own achievement. Not in archery, at least. It would simply be another way to train magic, but it isn’t what he needs right now. Right now he needs practice.
Easier said than done, though. All around him, other elves were chattering excitedly at one another. He didn’t know the reason, and he didn’t care enough at the moment to find out. He was training by the flax field, so of course others would be passing by to pick some for their own purposes, from time to time. Some of the voices were too high pitched to him though, and too laced with negativity. Whines and complaints of children at parents. The seeds of tantrums soon to bloom.
He released his grip on the bowstring, slightly irritated. The arrow flew forward with a quiet whistle before hitting the spot he was aiming for, the center of a flax flower he attached to the archery target. It wasn’t that he was keen on destroying flowers, but he needed to justify aiming elsewhere when the true center held too many arrows to keep shooting at. Besides, the flax flowers were calming enough to look at, and he liked having them in his field of vision even when he wasn’t actively aiming at them.
“I don’t care!” some child yelled. “We had bear stew for three days! I want something else!”
The next arrow hit one of the petals, a bit too high.
“I’m sorry, dear,” the woman next to the child – presumably his mother – tried, gently. “There isn’t much else right now.”
“Isn’t there any pawya?”
Tak. Another arrow missed its mark by about two inches.
Islwyn Cadarn wasn’t very good at concentrating with loud noises around.
Shame on him. He should do better.
“The hunters won’t return until tomorrow morning”, the mother replied. “We can go get things first thing in the morning, if you want”.
“They’re taking too long,” the child whined. “They’re bad hunters. Why couldn’t the good ones go hunting instead?”.
This arrow lodged itself in the ground.
Islwyn sure felt mediocre now, looking at all the missed spots.
He frowned, lowering his bow. Six of his last twenty shots didn’t seem to hit their marks. He would blame it on his own agitation, his own unbalanced reaction to the noise around him, but that would not be fair. “War isn’t quiet”, Arianwyn always said. “The noise” isn’t an excuse he could use to justify missing targets, adversaries that could be lethal to his clan if they ever have to defend Lletya from possible Iorwerth invasion in case it is discovered.
Still, he couldn’t prevent his selfish thoughts from gnawing at his mind. He couldn’t stop the passing thoughts that these kids are lucky to be raised like that. With parents they could whine to about anything. He didn’t have anyone to complain to, growing up. He lost his mother long ago. Didn’t even know his father. Islwyn Cadarn had to be a responsible child, because he was raised by Lord Cadarn himself, and because he was the grandson of two figures he never met and whose shoes he was expected to fill regardless, as if it was easy. As if it was possible at all, to become as powerful as two mages who shaped the world around them everywhere they walked. He was expected to shut up and do better, always.
The current Lord Cadarn hated it when he complained.
Islwyn sighed, walking forward. Lletya was getting busy, noisy, as it always did during the early hours of the afternoon. No sense to continue practicing now. Not here, at least. He won’t make much progress. He decided to pluck the arrows out of the wooden target. He wouldn’t want high and mighty Arianwyn to receive complaints about Islwyn’s behavior, now. It would reflect poorly on the both of them, would it not? Surely, Lord Cadarn shouldn’t be lenient on such displays of laziness. Islwyn himself would be seen as a spoiled princeling who expects everyone to clean up after him because his family ties got to his head. Absurd.
He was always judged based on “What would Baxtorian say? What would Eirlys think?”
What would it matter? They were dead. They weren’t coming back. Why did everyone insist on lecturing him about the dangers of disappointing a family that wasn’t there to disappoint, anyway?
There was only Arianwyn. Being close friends with Islwyn’s mother, he agreed to raise her little orphan son. He always reminded Islwyn of that. Always kept some forced formality between them. Ever since Islwyn could remember, he was expected to treat Arianwyn as a lord, and Arianwyn treated Islwyn like something of the sort, too. Not that he ever let Islwyn make any decision or have an actual say in anything, but he made sure to act as if Islwyn was an adult, effectively erasing any trace of free time or “undesirable” hobbies Islwyn had. Except the magic. Arianwyn never had it in him to prevent Islwyn from studying and practicing that.
Regardless, Islwyn never really had a proper childhood. Never had a chance to disagree with Arianwyn on anything. Never got comforted when he cried. He was simply told to act in a way befitting of his heritage. Conveniently, he was also told that his grandfather’s grief over the loss of his grandmother was private. That mighty king Baxtorian would put the morale of his troops above his own need to mourn. Even worse, he was told that his mother would do the same on her deathbed. More concerned about the healers who were supposed to help getting their eight hours of sleep than she was with her own pain. Naturally, selfishness in any form was never allowed. So he kept his selfishness in his thoughts, and kept those thoughts to himself.
Good, Merciful Seren, he thought. Thank you for making us incapable of peering into one another’s thoughts. I would’ve gotten an earful for that, too.
Having collected all the arrows, Islwyn was soon on his way home. It was the best part of being an adult, really. Lletya wasn’t all that big, but it still had plenty of room for him to construct his own little house, with the help of some ex-members of clan Ithell, engineers and siege weapon operators who married Cadarn elves after the war. Honestly, living on his own without Arianwyn’s judging (or sometimes pitying) glances and annoying, disappointed commentary. Still, he had to pass by Arianwyn’s house more often than not, as it had provided a rather convenient shortcut to Eudav’s general store, where Islwyn would sometimes sell the bones of dire wolves he had slain.
Islwyn had no wolf bones in his bag today, but he found himself passing by Arianwyn’s place out of habit. He caught himself and tried to increase his pace. The unmistakable whistles of arrows stopped him in his tracks. He looked around, easily spotting Arianwyn, outside his own house, shooting a target as well.
Islwyn wanted to look away, but the clan leader was impressive to say the least. With three shots a second, Islwyn was shocked to see some of the wooden targets held hundreds of arrows, so close together that some were somehow lodged not in the targets themselves but between two other arrows, each target forming simple shapes or designs. He recognized some from his studies. These were the clan sigils. Owl, for Amlodd, hare for Hefin, an acorn and a leaf for Crwys… He wasn’t sure he recognized the symbol Arianwyn was making at the moment though. It looked like some crystal with a messy background.
“Ithell,” Arianwyn said out loud, making Islwyn jump. He did not take his eyes off the target though, nor did he stop shooting arrows. “At least it’s supposed to be. But I can’t make a proper lyre to save my life.”
Islwyn nodded, respectfully.
“It’s quite remarkable, actually” he heard himself say. “Just a little hard to recognize with two smaller crystals still missing…”
Arianwyn nodded and lowered his bow and looked at him. Only, it was more like a stare. The leader was studying him intently, expression unreadable. The younger elf quickly realized what he’s done.
“Oh, I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you, Lord Cadarn,” he apologized. “I’ll be on my way-“
“Islwyn”
Islwyn flinched.
“…Yes?”
Arianwyn’s expression softened suddenly. He seemed uncertain, just for a moment, before taking a step in Islwyn’s direction and offering him his own bow.
“Would you like to add them?”
“I- what?”
“The other crystals.” Arianwyn answered, gently.
“Oh. Sorry, I’d really rather not.”
Arianwyn was giving him that look again. The one he didn’t understand. The leader of the Cadarns was regarding him with some weird, uncharacteristic guarded gentleness, as if Islwyn would vanish into thin air if the other elf dared to make any sudden movements. There was something apologetic in his eyes and in the way he held his bow for Islwyn to take. Finally, seeing he would get no other reply, Arianwyn nodded.
“It’s a shame,” he said. “You have your own bows, I was told you’ve been practicing for a few years now, and you never brought it up.”
“I picked it up again” Islwyn shrugged. “Five years ago. I think.”
Of course, he was taught archery as a child, too. All Cadarn children were expected to know the basics, after all. Arianwyn just never seemed very eager to teach him. So when he decided to start training on his own, he didn’t feel the need to involve Arianwyn in his decision making.
“That’s wonderful” Arianwyn smiled. “do you like it better now?”
Islwyn hesitated. He couldn’t say for sure. He enjoyed some aspects, sure. He liked the precision, the sound arrows made when flying towards a target, the way his heartbeat stabilized when he was concentrating…
…The fact that training arrows weren’t volatile and wouldn’t explode if he did something wrong, the way magic might…
“I think so” he admitted. It was true enough. Even if in all honesty, he was just trying to improve because he genuinely wanted to be better at something than the elf who raised him.
Well, after today’s display… Islwyn should certainly cross anything involving arrows off the list.
Arianwyn paused again.
“Would you join me in training, at least?”
“With all due respect, I don’t think you need training, Lord Cadarn.”
Arianwyn shook his head. “I do,” he sighed, glancing between his targets and the younger elf.
“I shouldn’t waste your time with beginner stuff, though.”
“You’ve passed beginner levels long ago, Islwyn. I’ve heard you’ve been developing your own style.”
Islwyn shrugged. He was trying, that was for certain. He was pretty handy with a crystal bow, though, having practiced with it for two years. Crystal bows are interesting weapons, offering high accuracy to those who sacrificed raw strength and vice versa, creating their own arrows of pure energy designed to accommodate the user’s style and choices. They were exhausting to use for long periods of time, but the results certainly spoke for themselves.
“Not very fair to say that, though,” Islwyn countered. “I think my bow decided to develop its own style. I merely happened to be present to witness it the longest, so I picked up a thing or two.”
“You’ve achieved a perfect harmony, then” Arianwyn pointed out. “I could really use a helping hand with that. I think mine doesn’t like me very much.”
Whatever Islwyn expected to hear in an answer from Arianwyn… That definitely wasn’t it. He stopped to think for a moment. Arianwyn was great at both crystal singing and archery. There is no reason for a crystal bow to not function perfectly in the hands of the leader. Then again, Arianwyn did mention, once or twice, that this wasn’t his own bow. Maybe…
“Well, in that case, I could use some help with improving my speed. I don’t think I can fire ten-thousand arrows an hour.”
Arianwyn’s face broke into a wide smile. “Neither can I.”
Huh. Who would’ve thought…
“All right,” Islwyn allowed a small smile form on his own face.
“I’ll settle for nine thousand, then.”
