Comes in Pieces
Weapons lined the wall, standing on blades and hafts as the clatter and hiss of stone to steel filled the guest room. The sharpening stone slid across the blade with a sharp final slice before Weleria set the sword aside. It was one of the older ones in her collection, a curved sword with dilute motes of fel settled into the blade which emitted a fearsome glow of dim green light. Her eyes drifted over to another nostalgic piece; a black-hafted spear with a red and yellow blade, its edge waved and notched symmetrically and settled between wing-like prongs. The blood-tempered ransuer shimmered with a dim glow as an out-of-place addition rested in the blade's center. A crude socket was fitted around a misshapen pebble of a stone which was opaque and a dull gold in color. Its edges were irregular and inelegant, unlike the rest of the well-crafted weapon.
Weleria gripped the shaft and gingerly lifted the old blade of her days as an Adept of the order, twirling it at her side and switching it between hands. She stopped the spear upright, setting the diamond point at the rear end onto the opulent marble floor of her room. Her feet came together, soft soled shoes having a notable lack of the satisfying thump of boots. She pinned her shoulders back, hand on her weapon with her stance at attention. A fist raised to her chest in immitated salute. Her held her posture for a moment, letting out a slow breath with muscles aching at the stiffness.
She finally relaxed her stance, lifting the weapon to hold in both hands as she glanced over its surface. It had been so long. So many years since this spear was forged; a symbol of her commitment to war and duty. The strange radiance gleaming off the alien stone filled her with a sense of purpose, of duty, and of fulfillment. This blade, she resolved, would taste blood again. It had grown stronger. It had been broken and reforged, almost entirely destroyed- and so had she.
A knock against wood interrupted her thoughts. Valarice cracked the door before she could answer, peeking in cautiously. She stepped inside with Veran in her arms, Weleria greeting the bpth of them with a smile.
"Hey, Veran," she chimed in a high pitch, prompting a giggle from the infant as he nestled into his mother's arms.
"I heard you were leaving," Valarice's soft voice rang. Weleria lifted her head, peering down at the younger Elf with a blink of her eyes.
"Oh... right, yeah. I'm going on a war campaign," she answered dismissively.
"A war campaign? Weleria, it's peacetime." Valarice's tone was skeptical, brows knit together over the striking intensity of her fel green eyes.
"Under Ven'torum's banner. One of my friends invited me, she needs help." Weleria simply dismissed her further, holding the spear horizontally as she offered the haft to the infant boy. His hand uncurled from where it restednon hia chest and reach out to touch the blessed weapon. His face lit up into a tiny smile, and one formed of Weleria's lips as well, gazing down into the child's golden eyes.
Valarice quirked a raven brow, discomforted further by the answer.
"Well, who are they?" she questioned further.
"Who's who? Ysrathil is a close friend, and I've met the Liege-Lady, like... once. Her son's a knight." Her tone was growing more defensive than dismissive.
"And you're just going to pack up and go fight for this family you hardly know? In the swamp?"
Weleria drew her spear back in, close to her chest, turning a harsh gaze down toward the woman before her.
"You almost sound jealous, my lady," Weleria taunted.
Valarice scoffed in derision.
"I'm not jealous, I'm worried. What if we need you?"
"You're homebodies! The both of you," she retorted. "You never go anywhere, let alone get yourself into the kind of trouble you'd need me for. And when you do, your handmaid can take care of Veran like she always does. I won't be gone long."
"Unless you die," the smaller Elf retorted with an uncharacteristic bluntness.
"I'm not going to die," she replied with certainty. "Do you forget that I'm a soldier?"
"I remeber you saying you were tired of war and wanted to see peace."
"I did," Weleria admitted with a sigh, "I did want time to rest, and now that I have it, I don't know what to do with it." She tossed the ranseur onto her bed, moving to the window with arms folded defensively.
Valarice remained silent for a moment, hefting the babe up into her arms to settle against her.
"Do you even know what you're fighting for?" she questioned, peering over at Weleria with a skeptical gaze.
"The interests of the nation," the knight replied tersely.
"In the south? What interest could we possibly have in the south?"
"I didn't bother to ask," Weleria mumbled.
"You don't know the people you'll serve or their goals... How can you be sure their intentions are honorable? Does it even matter to you?"
"Ysrathil wouldn't serve a liege without honor." The knight's tone carried a hint of uncertainty. Her cousin's prodding was gaining more ground than she wanted to allow. He had trust in her brothers- and sisters-in-arms, but the moment of doubt forced her to realize that despite their raucous night out on the town, she didn’t actually know much about the Champion’s character.
“Can you leave me... for a bit?” Weleria interrupted as her cousin was about to speak further. “I need to write the Captain.”
“Very well. I’ll see you in the morning before you leave.”
(mentions: @dawnsteel-wra @scarletlioness)