Of Dreams and Memories
by Xothen
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The little girl stepped across the threshold of the cottage and into the perpetual warmth of her mother's home. A myriad of tapestries hung upon the walls, each one a testament to her mothers skills as a weaver. Tucked away in the corners of the main room were a few old banners her father had obtained during campaigns with the Militia, the brilliant colors and strange designs half hidden in the deepening evening shadows.
She removed her sandals and stood for a moment on the thick sheepskin rug that was strewn across the back hall, wrinkling her toes in the soft fur as she always did when coming in through the back door. She had spent the afternoon digging up the yard, trying to find the perfect place to plant the apple sapling her father had brought home the other day. As a result the back yard was now a garden of small holes, and the little girl was quite thoroughly covered in dirt. Walking down the short hallway, she stepped into the kitchen where her mother was busy baking tarts. Standing on tip-toe she peeked over the ledge of the long counter that sat central in the kitchen, and her eyes were greeted by rows of freshly baked pastries.
"Hello Dove." Her mother said without turning around.
"Hello Momma." The little girl replied.
"Did you plant your tree?" the woman asked.
"Yes Momma, I did. I found this, too." The girl said as she took an egg sized lump of mud-covered rock from her pocket and set it on the counter beside the tarts. "I think it's magic."
The woman chuckled and continued to roll out pastry dough with a heavy wooden roller. "Are you hungry Dove? Supper won't be for a few hours yet."
"No Momma." The child said, her eyes still glued to the tarts. Her stomach rumbled loudly to give away the lie and her mother turned to smile at her daughter. The smile slipped into a scowl as soon as the woman's eyes fell upon the little girl standing in the middle of her kitchen.
"Teirin, you're filthy!" she exclaimed. "And what's that pile of mud doing on my counter?"
Teirin pulled her thoughts from the tarts, glanced down at her dirt covered petticoats, and then tried to roll her eyes upwards to see her own head. "I'm sorry Momma. I didn't mean to make a mess of myself." She replied. She reached up and removed her magic rock from the counter, carefully tucking it back in her pocket.
"Go on out to the bathhouse, Dove, and draw some water into the tub." Her mother said.
"Aww Momma, do I have to have a bath?" the child complained.
"Yes Teirin, you do. You're dirty." The woman set down her rolling pin, removed her apron, and disappeared down the hallway.
"But Papa comes home dirty all of the time and you don't make him take a bath every time." The girl called after her mother.
"That's different." Her mother's voice called back.
Teirin set her jaw stubbornly, but didn't argue further. She was quite sure that it wasn't different at all, and didn't understand her mother's strong dislike of dirt on little girls. It's not like the dirt hurt her, or even smelled bad. It was just dirt. Resigned to her impending bath, she shuffled out of the kitchen with one last wistful glance at the tarts.
Later that night Teirin lay in bed only half-listening to her Papa recant a tale of dragons and heroes. She had one hand tucked under her pillow firmly clenched around the piece of rock she had dug up earlier. Cleansing the mud from it in the bath had revealed a smooth, rounded piece of gold veined azurite and she was thoroughly convinced that such a pretty rock must be magical in some way. Tomorrow she would polish it, to make it shine like all of the other pretty rocks she had seen around the city. Burrowing against her pillow she closed her eyes and let her father's voice lull her to sleep.
That night she dreamed about the great adventures in her Papa's story, except in this version she was the heroine, older, strong, and beautiful. With her Papa's sword in one hand and her magical rock flaring brilliantly in the other she beat back the fearsome fire-breathing dragon to save the tiny village from destruction.
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The girl stepped across the threshold of the cottage, into the effortless comfort of her mother's home. The click-click sound of a loom could be heard, and Teirin smiled inwardly at her mother's obsession.
Removing her calfhide boots, she paused and wrinkled her toes in the thick fur of the sheepskin rug that was strewn across the back hall. Unbuckling her sheath and quiver, she set them down against the wall and propped her bow case up beside them. Walking down the short hallway, she paused in the kitchen to grab an apple before heading into the front room where her mother was busily operating her loom.
"Hello Dove." Her mother said absently.
"Hello Mother." She replied. She leaned over and kissed the older woman on the cheek, and Teirin's breath caught as she saw the tapestry her mother was working on. It was a perfect replica of her apple tree in full fruit, with delicate pink blossoms being strewn about by an unseen breeze.
"That's beautiful!" she exclaimed.
"It's for you." Her mother replied. "I wanted you to have something to take with you when you leave with the Legion. If you didn't get accepted today, you will eventually, and I thought this might help you not miss your home so much when you leave." The woman paused in her weaving and turned an expectant eye to her daughter.
"Well, did you?" she asked.
With a smile, Teirin took a piece of parchment from her belt, unrolled it, and read the contents aloud.
"'From the Office of the High Command
Attention: Teirin Delandir
You have been accepted into the elite military fraternity which is the Legion.
On behalf of the Legion High Command, I would like to take this opportunity to congratulate you and to..."
Teirin trailed off as she noticed her mother's tears.
"What's wrong? I thought you would be happy for me. You know this is what I want to do, Momma, and they won't let me join the Militia here so long as Papa is serving."
"It's not that, Dove. I am happy for you. It's just that your father and I will miss you terribly and I won't have this tapestry finished before you go." Her mother replied, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her shawl.
Teirin sighed and sat down on the bench beside her mother, placing a comforting arm around the woman.
"Don't worry, Momma. I'll get to visit sometimes, and I'll write you all of the time." She said. She kissed her mother on the cheek again and hugged her tightly before standing.
"Besides," she said as she took a bite of her apple, "I have to leave something of myself here, so I won't be totally gone."
Her mother raised a questioning eyebrow at her daughter, and in response Teirin gave the thick brown braid hanging over her shoulder a tug.
"This thing." She said. "I have to cut it off for training. The Recruitment Officer said it would only inconvenience me, especially during the desert exercises."
"Oh my goodness, Dove. Are you sure you want to cut all of your hair off?" her mother asked.
Teirin nodded. "Not all of it, but most of it. It'd be nice if I still looked like a girl when it's gone."
After her mother cut her hair Teirin set to packing. She would be leaving at first light and only had a few hours left of the day to get everything together. She bundled up her clothes and stuffed them in her pack, along with an extra pair of boots and her rain cloak. The wooden box containing some tinder and flint went into her belt pouch, while the box of extra bow strings and a piece of ochre she used to dye the fletching of her arrows went into a pocket on her backpack.
She paused to survey her small room, going over the contents of her packs in her head as she did so, and her eyes settled on one of the shelves against the far wall. She walked across the room and picked up the small hand mirror her father had bought her for Festival that year, and examined her reflection in its shiny surface. Her hair was shorter than she expected but looked much better than she had feared it would. Curling slightly around her ears, it seemed to accentuate her cheekbones and make her eyes appear larger than they were.
With a sigh she put the mirror down beside a piece of smooth azurite and picked up her whetstone and polishing cloth instead. She wouldn't need anything as frivolous as a mirror in the Legion, but she would need a sharp blade and clean armour.
Once she was satisfied that everything was packed, Teirin climbed into bed and shifted about until she was comfortable. It took some time for her to fall asleep as she couldn't stop thinking about the changes that were taking place in her life. Tomorrow she would leave and this wouldn't be her home any longer. When sleep finally overtook the young woman her mind was too exhausted to dream, and so she slept undisturbed through the remainder of the night.
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The young woman stepped across the threshold of the small cottage, into the tantalizing smells of her mother's home. Taking care to be silent, she slipped off her boots and hung her cloak on a peg, then paused for a moment and wrinkled her toes in the thick sheepskin rug that was strewn across the back hall. With a suppressed smile, she tiptoed up the hallway and peeked into the sitting room, and winked at her Papa when he smiled. With a finger to her lips to signal for silence, Teirin crept up the rest of the hallway and into the kitchen, and slipped around the central counter to stand just behind her mother, who's attention was given fully over to the sourdough in front of her. Hesitantly Teirin reached out her hands, intending to cover her mothers eyes.
"Hello Dove," her mother said calmly.
Teirin leaned on the counter and gave her mothers back a rueful smile.
"You know, just once, you could pretend to be surprised. Just once!" Teirin said, "Is that really so much to ask?"
"Absolutely." Her mother said, turning herself and her attention to her daughter. "I already know you think I'm getting incompetent in my dotage. I'll not have you thinking I've gone dumb and deaf, too." The woman replied with a glare.
"I never said you were incompetent." She replied stubbornly.
"You as good as did by suggesting we get extra help to live in with us and help out around the house." Her mother said. "I see your hair has finally grown back all the way. It looks better like that, Dove, don't cut it off again."
Teirin smiled and patted the thick braid that hung nearly to her hips then turned a serious gaze upon her mother..
"That's not what I meant at all, mom." She said. "You and Pop are getting old, whether you want to admit it or not, and I know it's not as easy for the two of you to keep the house up and to have time for yourselves. I was just suggesting you have someone else help with the work, so you have more time for yourselves. That's all I meant by it."
She rolled up her shirt sleeves and took over kneading the dough while her mother began banking the coals in the bread oven.
"You know, Teirin, you're right." The woman said. "But your father's too proud to have someone help him with the house, and me... I... the only place someone could stay would be in your room, and I just can't imagine anyone but you sleeping in there."
"You're a pair of sentimental and stubborn old fools." The girl said to her mother.
"Yes, and we're your parents, Dove, so you have to love us either way." The older woman replied.
They both laughed at the sentiment, and as they finished with the bread and tidied up the kitchen, the aging woman put a hand on her daughters arm and her expression turned serious.
"He won't tell you," she said with a nod towards the sitting room, "but we can barely afford to keep this place up as it is, let alone to hire someone to help us. The only reason we're still here is because of your fathers influence with the Council. They've waived most of our taxes for the past five years, Dove, but without either of us working our savings are disappearing quickly."
"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" Teirin hissed under her breath.
"Because your father didn't want you to worry, and I didn't want you to worry. You have enough to worry about with yourself as it is." The woman replied.
With her jaw set in a stubborn line that her mother was all too familiar with, Teirin stalked out of the kitchen and planted herself firmly in front of her father, hands on her hips and eyes flaring.
"You stupid old fool!" she blurted angrily.
The man looked up at his daughter in shock and confusion, and looked to his wife for an explanation but was met with a blank expression.
"Wha...?" he stuttered in surprise. "Teirin, what's got into you?"
"You're going broke, you're on the verge of losing your home, and you didn't tell me!" She had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming, for as angry as she was she'd never forgive herself if she yelled at her Papa.
"But I..." he began.
"No buts!" Teirin interrupted. "Why didn't you tell me, Papa? Why didn't you tell me so I could help?"
He spread his hands helplessly and looked up at his daughter.
"Dove, I didn't want to worry you is all. You shouldn't have to look after us with money. I didn't want to ask you to give any more than I thought you should be giving." Her father said.
"That's not good enough, Papa, and it's not fair either." She said. "I'm going to start sending you two money. Every month, at that, and I expect... no, I demand that you get yourselves out of any debt you've put your fool selves in and keep this house." The girl said to her father.
"Now listen here, Teirin. I may be broke, but I'm still your fa..."
"I don't recall giving you a choice in the matter." She interrupted coolly. "I'm going to send you money and you're going to take it. Is that clear?"
He turned a helpless gaze to his wife, hoping to find support. "Elison, talk some sense to your daughter!" he pleaded.
"Oh, don't look at me, Raishon. She's always been your daughter too." The woman said, then added with a smile, "Quite obviously your daughter now."
Glaring at the women around him, the man rose to his feet and stalked out of the room. His footsteps could be heard thumping down the hallway and were cut off abruptly by the slamming of a door.
"Insufferable!" Teirin said, throwing her hands in the air.
"Now, Dove, calm yourself. You're only here for tonight, so why don't you relax a bit and let him calm down too. He'll come to his senses eventually."
With a sigh Teirin conceded her mothers request. She kissed the older woman on the cheek, poured herself a mug of wine, and then walked barefoot through the yard to sit beneath a blossoming apple tree.
It wasn't until some hours after sunset that a lantern bobbed its way across the back yard.
"You know, you're too much like me for your own good." Her father said, lowering himself to the grass beside his daughter.
"I'm still angry with you, you know." Teirin said.
"Yes, I figured you would be. That's why I brought a bottle of wine with me." He said. Teirin looked over at the shallow outline of her father to see him grinning at her like a fool. She couldn't help but smile.
"You don't need wine for me to forgive you." She said quietly.
"I know. You're much too good for that. I was thinking more along the lines of just apologizing, and then getting drunk to help me forget what a fool I've been." He replied.
"So you'll accept the money?" she asked.
"Aye, child, I'll accept everything you want to give me, be it money or a kick in the arse, which I rightly deserve at this point." He chuckled ruefully.
"Don't tempt me." She replied without smiling.
His eyes opened wide with indignation. "You wouldn't!" he gasped.
"I might. You never know. It's hard keeping parents in line these days, there's no telling what measures I may be forced to use." The young woman said.
They sat in complete silence for a few minutes. She in carefully disguised mirth, and her father in seething indignation, until they both burst out laughing.
"Come, Dove, have a drink with your old man. I know you're out of here in the morning again, so lets not make this visit a complete waste, shall we?" he said to his daughter, and gave the jug of wine an inviting shake.
"Oh alright Papa, but just one. You're too old to drink too much." She said, and held out her empty mug from earlier.
With a smile as broad as the horizon, the man poured them a round of drinks.
"You planted this tree in a good place, Dove. It's done nothing but grow since I brought it home for you."
She smiled at her father and sipped at her wine. "You know, I remember the day I planted it. I dug up the whole yard trying to find the perfect spot, and when I dug up that piece of azurite I thought to myself 'That hole must be special to hold such a pretty rock' and so I planted the tree right where that rock came out from."
"You mean your magic rock?" her father asked.
Teirin laughed and nodded. "Yeah, that silly old thing." She said. "I wonder what became of it."
The man turned his head to hide a smile. "I don't know, Dove, I haven't seen that silly old thing since you stopped toting it around when you were eight." He replied.
They talked of little things for a while, reminiscing on inconsequential details of a past that seemed another life in another lifetime. It's not clear how many drinks they had that night, or how late they sat up talking, but it's quite clear neither of them made it to their beds. Either exhaustion or drink stole them away to the land of dreams, out there beneath the apple tree, and as the first tendrils of dawns grey mist rose from the ground, Elison Delandir stood at the back door and smiled out at the sleeping mounds in her yard. So different, and yet so alike, she thought to herself. "They've always had the same dreams and goals in life." She mused quietly. "I wonder if they dream alike while sleeping, too."
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The woman stepped across the threshold of the cottage, into the cold remains of her mother's home. A thick film of dust covered the floor and her boot heels echoed loudly as she walked down the hall, away from the Council Woman that had taken the time to unlock the cottage and who now waited patiently outside the front door.
At the beginning of the season Teirin had been sent to the far north-eastern reaches of Baul in a seemingly futile campaign against the plagued inhabitants of A'krel. No sword could battle the evils that tormented those lands, and so the Legion relied on sending information gathering parties along the borders to monitor activity in the region. She had been in one such party when the news of her father's passing had reached her. Upon returning to Baul mid-season there was another letter with a key tied to the parchment, informing that her mother had passed on as well.
As she passed through the main room old memories flooded back. There was a half-empty basket of arrows beside the fireplace, and Teirin remembered the hours she had spent with her Papa, learning how to fletch them properly. She recalled the hunting trips he had taken her on, and the look of pride on his face when she made her first bow. Clear as if it were just the other day, she remembered her first painful lesson with the sword, and unconsciously winced at the memory of old bruises.
Making her way into the kitchen Teirin was startled at how bare it was. She had never seen her mother's kitchen without hot embers in the oven, fresh bread sitting on the counter, and the smell of something sweet drifting through the air. Now the counters were bare and all of the shelves and canisters were empty. It seemed unnatural.
She walked down the hallway towards her parent's bedroom. Taking out the key that had been sent to her, she kneeled down and unlocked the chest at the foot of their old bed. She flipped open the lid and ran her eyes over the contents of the chest, suppressing a laugh and trying not to cry at the same time.
There, sitting atop a burlap wrapped bundle, was her old magic rock. She recalled vaguely, during a visit nearly ten years before, that her father had said the old rock had disappeared. Poking out from beneath the bundle was the scabbard of her father's sword. She picked up the gold veined azurite and set it down on the bed before lifting the burlap bundle from the chest and carefully undoing its ties. As she unwrapped the bundle she was surprised to discover it was the tapestry her mother had began making for her nearly twenty years ago. The apple blossoms were still as pink and lively as the day they were woven, and barely identifiable from the brown thread of the tree trunk Teirin could see strands of hair had been woven into the picture. Her mother was blonde, and her father had always had stark black hair, so it must be her own hair, she decided. Her mother had most likely saved it from when she cut off her braid all those years before.
Chuckling at her mother's sense of justice Teirin fetched up her father's sword and buckled it to her waist before closing the chest. As an afterthought she took the key from the lock and placed it atop the chest.
Teirin carefully re-wrapped the tapestry, removed her shoulder pack and tucked it inside, then slung the pack back over her shoulder. She picked up her magic rock and headed back outside to speak with the Council Woman, bouncing the pretty stone in the palm of her hand.
"All finished, Centurion Delandir?" the woman asked.
"Aye, Madam, you can lock it up again." Teirin replied. She stopped bouncing the stone in her hand and absently stuffed it in a pocket.
"What would you like us to do with the house?" the woman asked after locking the front door.
"Take the house apart, sell the contents, and use the funds to turn it into a garden or a park for the city." Teirin said. She had given that question some thought on her trip from Baul and had decided it wouldn't be right for someone else to live in her parent's home.
"As you wish, Miss Delandir." The woman said, smiling. "May the Gods bless you for this gift to our fair city." With that, the woman turned and left, leaving Teirin staring at the only place she had ever called home. 'Home' she thought with a laugh.
"Nothing but old ghosts and memories live here now." She said to the empty street.
Teirin walked around the side of the house, climbed over the high stone fence, and dropped lightly into the back yard. She made her way through the overgrown garden to her apple tree and sat down between the graves of her parents. A simple granite plaque marked each grave, and although the inscriptions were done in elaborate script the words themselves were simple. Leaning forward she placed a single kiss upon each plaque, then lied back and watched the wind carry apple blossoms across the yard as it did in the tapestry her mother wove. Smiling, she closed her eyes and let the sounds of her childhood wash over her.
"Sleep well, old ghosts." She whispered to the wind. "And safe slumber through the everlasting dream."
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