Sorpeli Week 2025 | Prompt: Sun/Gold
Opeli’s life was built around routines.
She awoke with the sun, as it first crested the horizon. Her day began with a cup of strong herbal tea, the smell pungent enough to wake her, the flavor even more so. Refreshing. Healthy. Revitalizing.
Then to the temple, where she lit the candles and swept the pews, preparing for that day’s congregation. Usually it was a peaceful way to start her morning. She enjoyed watching the motes of dust as they danced through the first rays of morning light streaming down through the stained glass windows, even if they did make her sneeze.
But today she did not find it calming, instead the strokes of her broom kicked great clouds of dust into the air, displacing it more than removing it. She channeled her frustration into the action, scouring every bit of dirt and grime from the benches and the floor beneath. Today they would have a proper funeral. A day of mourning, as the king had deserved.
She didn’t care what Viren said, King Harrow deserved a proper farewell. Not the High Mage's rushed excuse of a funeral.
Opeli scrubbed the pews until they shone, on her hands and knees, focusing on the task instead of the terrible reality that was bound to come waltzing through the doors any moment. The sun rose higher and the candles burned low, the first of her acolytes arriving to help with the preparations. She caught the glance that Sibyl cast her and straightened up, shaking soapy water from her hands.
“Do you need any help, High Cleric?” the girl asked, holding her skirts up so as not to get them wet.
“No, thank you, Sibyl.” Opeli said, “I can manage just fine on my own. Why don’t you and Ursula put out the candles and get the ceremonial ones ready to be lit? The congregation will be here soon.”
The girl nodded, tawny hair falling in curtains around her face. She turned to go, but Opeli held up a hand to stop her.
“Don't use the tallow ones.”
“I believe our finest candles will survive a day of being lit, in the king’s honor.”
“Of course,” Sibyl bowed before scurrying off.
Opeli watched her go with a small sigh. So young, and yet already so worried. She would burn out faster than any wax candle.
Opeli scooped up the bucket of wash water and took it and the rag down the stairs towards the cellar. It was dark, even with the sun climbing higher in the sky, and she hadn’t lit the candles down here. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, but once they did, she made it down the stairs alright. She knew every inch of the temple like the back of her hand, and even in the dark she was able to make it to the cellar just fine. The door was slightly ajar, though she didn’t remember leaving it that way.
Opeli creaked it the rest of the way open, slipping inside on silent feet. She didn't remember doing it, but she must have left it open a crack when she came down earlier to get the washing supplies. She deposited the bucket and rag back in their corner and was about to head back up the stairs when she heard a muffled clinking from the next room over. The wine cellar.
She sighed. She knew she hadn’t left the door open.
“Alright, put it back and I’ll let this slide,” Opeli said, stepping into the doorway.
She expected to find one of the younger guards, maybe even a newer acolyte. Perhaps both, if she was particularly unlucky. But as her eyes adjusted, she was surprised to find Soren sitting on the floor, an open bottle sat beside him, half full. A few more were scattered around him on the ground, in various states of emptiness. He hiccuped.
“Soren,” Opeli scolded, surprised. She had known the young Crownguard to do a great number of stupid, immature things. But this was bad, even for him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Um. Wine,” he mumbled, holding up one of the bottles.
Opeli pinched the bridge of her nose, “I can see that.”
Soren scowled, glancing away as he took another swig, “Here to judge me?”
She blinked at him. The young man rarely scowled, let alone spoke back to her that way. “I am here because I am High Cleric and this is the chapel.” She told him, “Why are you here?”
“Long night,” he muttered into the mouth of the bottle.
Opeli’s expression softened. She crossed the small, dirt floored room and took the bottle from his hand. He didn’t protest, though he still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You are far too young to be drowning your sorrows in a bottle, Soren.”
He didn’t argue, and she pulled him to his feet. He was unsteadier than she’d hoped he’d be, and instantly leaned against a nearby rack of bottles, making them shake and rattle.
“Come here,” she sighed, letting him loop an arm around her shoulders and beginning to help him up the stairs.
“Are you gonna tell my Dad?” Soren asked, drunkenly, leaning on her heavily.
Opeli barked out a sharp laugh, “What, that you got drunk on clergy wine? You’re a little too old to be worrying what your father thinks of your habits.”
“I thought I was too young to be burying my sorrows-” he hiccuped, “in a bottle.”
“Life has a strange way of making us both too old and too young,” Opeli said, hauling him up the last few stairs and out of the cellar. She began guiding them to the back door. There was no need for the younger acolytes to see him like this, not when she knew what gossips they were.
“I’m really sorry, Opeli.” Soren muttered, head hung low. He dragged his feet as they walked.
“Just don’t do it again,” she sighed. “You’re right, it has been a long night. Everyone has their moments of weakness.”
“Not about the… this,” he waved his free hand absently, as though to take in his whole sorry state. “I mean, yeah, this. But… I’m sorry I failed. I’m sorry I let everyone down.”
She pushed open the back door and Soren squinted away from the sudden burst of brightness. She deposited him against the wall of the back garden, out of sight and out of the way. Then paused, looking down at him. She gave a small sigh.
“You did not let everyone down, Soren. You are a good Crownguard. I am sure you did everything you could.”
“Wasn’t ‘nuff,” he muttered.
“Sometimes our best is not enough. It doesn't mean we didn’t try.”
“You make good words, Peli.”
She chuckled, “Never call me Peli again.”
“Got it. No more Peli,” Soren sighed heavily. “Sorry about your wine.”
“It isn’t my wine,” she paused. “We will get more.”
“It’s fine. I’ll clean it up,” she glanced back up towards the castle on the hill above them. “You should get back before they notice you’re gone.”
“The other guards. Your sister. Your father. You may no longer have a king to protect, Soren. But you still have a kingdom.”
He stared up at her, then past her, at the castle. “I’ll do everything I can to protect Katolis. I promise. My very best. Even if- Even if it’s not enough.”
She looked down at him, disheveled and in need of a shave. And a shower. There was a red stain on his tunic, though he appeared uninjured. Not his, then. Opeli didn't know how he could do it.
“I’m sure it will be,” she said, humoring him. She figured he needed to hear it. “You’re a good Crownguard, Soren.”
"Thanks." his head hung low, and she watched as his own eyes fell to the red spot on his tunic. The way the blood covered the gold of his Crownguard sigil. He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Soren," Opeli hesitated, her hand on the door. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," he clung to the wall, using the uneven stones as handholds as he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. "I'm fine."
He flashed her a familiar smile and she turned back to the door. Youth. She rolled her eyes. How quickly they bounced back.
"Why don't you choose another coping mechanism, yes?" she said, opening the door. She glanced back over her shoulder at him. "I've heard that knitting calms the nerves."
She slipped back inside and closed the door behind her with a small sigh, starting down the stairwell and back to the cellar. She had more cleaning to do.
