Olodan's Farewell to a Father

      In the bright morning, I sit at the kitchen table reading about ships. The odd assortment of mercenaries and freedom fighters I am a part of have been quite successful on land recently and I want to propose that we expand to the sea.

           My reading is interrupted by a knock at the door. I stand and put on my “visitor face” before opening the door to find a stack of letters on the doorstep. Seeing the courier already moving on, I relax my face and pick up the letters.

           I close and lock the door as I search the mail for my name. Upon finding the only item addressed to me, I toss the rest on the kitchen counter. Standing by the table, I realize that the envelope has a small object inside it. Curious, I tear open the seal and dump the contents into my hand.

           My body freezes when out of the envelope falls a ring. An intricate ring made of three interlocking loops. Two silver, one gold.

           Sliding out after the ring is a small piece of parchment. In my brother’s handwriting is a single sentence: Mother wanted you to have this.

           I crumple up the note, throw it towards the wastebasket, and stare at the ring sitting in my hand. My mother had worn this ring for as long as I can remember. When I was a child I had loved playing with it, watching the three rings roll over each other, catching the light.

           When I reached adolescence, there were a few years when I became excessively sensitive to the pressures of life. Whenever I experienced severe stress, my mother would sit with me and let me wear the ring. Rolling it onto my finger and watching the rhythmic rising and falling of the interlocking rings rolling over each other helped me control my breathing and calm down.            Having left my family four decades ago, I had not seen this ring for years and only now do I realize I did not see the ring on my mother’s finger when I saw her in her casket before the burial.

           I had watched the rain fall and listened to the sounds of people crying as a priest droned on. Funerals have always been more burdensome than necessary. Most of the people present were only there by obligation. The ones who genuinely mourned were left outside the gate around our estate. I recall seeing some peasants standing silently beyond the gates that day. Mother was always generous and kind to the common folk, as she preferred to call them.

           My father was sitting on a raised chair on the other side of my elder brother to my left. How he could elevate himself at a ceremony for the woman he killed is a mystery.

           After the priest finished his sermon, all of the attendees were allowed to approach the casket and bid their final farewells to the deceased. When I walked by the casket and looked at my mother’s body, I was distracted by a warm streak running down my face. I suppose it was a tear.

           I close my fist and tightly grip the ring. It has been more than a year since I walked away from that funeral and left my childhood home for what I expected to be the last time.

           I open my hand and again look at the ring before slipping it onto my left index finger, the same finger mother used to wear it on. Perhaps, before looking to the sea, I will return inland and tie up some loose ends.

           A sound from down the hallway signals the end to my peaceful morning. Faelean, an unusually stout high elf, enters the kitchen.

           “What’re you doing up so early?” he starts rummaging around the cabinets for food. “We were up super late celebrating last night.”

           “I awaken the same time every day. Did they not teach you discipline in your time at the temple of Dawn?”

           “Pfff. I left that temple years ago. We’re criminals now, we don’t need to mess with that pious stuff,” he smiles as he turns, eyeing the oranges we bought yesterday.

           “We have not committed any crimes while I have been in here.”

           “Whatever, you live with a drug dealer.”

           “I do not think he counts as a dealer, considering he uses more drugs than he sells.”

           Faelean waves his hand dismissively and brings his orange to the table, where he sees my book about ships.

           “Oh ho ho! You’re thinking about buying a ship! We aren’t allowed at the docks, you know.”

           “You are not allowed at the private merchant docks. That was before my time,” I look at him pointedly. “Besides, there are public docks for civilians as well.”

           “Ooo, a highborn noble like you would use the public civilian docks?”

           “Be silent.”

           Faelean opens his mouth, but can’t speak. He clenches his jaw and glares at me as he peels his orange.

           “You may have forsaken the nobility inherent in your birth, but I have not. I know my worth and act accordingly,” realizing I have been rolling the ring up and down my finger, I flex my fingers and clench my fist. “How disturbing it is that a high elf, the supposed greatest of our race, can fall as far as you.”

           I stride towards my room to prepare and gather supplies for a week’s journey. My grey and blue robes for leisure would not do for a trip across the plains. I change, putting on a chain shirt under a black dueling shirt with gold buttons up the left side. I don’t anticipate needing heavier armor. I put on black riding pants and don a durable deep blue cloak. I attach my rapier in its scabbard to my belt. I almost grab my longbow, then remember that there is a recurve bow for emergencies disguised as parts built into my saddle.

           It is a twenty minute walk from my home to the stable where I keep my horse. I prefer the stables on the edge of town. There are cheaper stables in the town proper, but that is where most travelers leave their horses. The larger numbers of temporary customers make those stable-keepers lazy. The stable-keeper I prefer has space to allow the horses to roam during the day, and is good at not ruining the effort I have put into training my horse.

           There are many people out walking in the streets, enjoying the warmth of the sun after the past few weeks of rain. Few acknowledge me. For those that do, I smile and return their greetings. Upon reaching the stables, I put on my best smile and step in the front gate.

           “Well hello Olodan!” a middle-aged human man steps out of the stable and waves. “Good morning to you! I’d ask if you’re planning on a leisurely ride, but it looks like you’re ready for a business!”

           “Hello Jacob, good morning to you as well,” I clasp his outstretched hand. “You are correct, I am going on a trip.”

           “Well, I’ll certainly miss your patronage while you’re gone. And the other mares I keep’ll miss their friend. But that is the business!”

           I follow him into the moderately sized stable. My horse is housed in the back corner, where she has two windows. She whinnies as we approach. Jacob opens up the stall and I enter. Her hair is deep brown, with some white near her feet, similar to the horse I first learned to ride on. She nuzzles my shoulder gently.

           “Good morning Isabelle, it is good to see you too,” I pat her neck.

           Jacob fetches the saddle and helps me saddle up and attach the bridle, putting the bit in her mouth.

           Isabelle snorts and looks at me.

           “Yes, I am sorry, but we need to go somewhere specific today, so I need to be in control.”

           “You know, sir,” Jacob gives me a sideways glance. “It is strange that you sometimes ride without any bridle at all.”

           “My mother always said that, in addition to standard training, riding, and free space; horses should also have time to be free with their rider. She believed it helped the horses associate the rider with freedom, rather than bondage,” a genuine smile crosses my face as I turn to him. “It is five silver for the stable and closet space per day, right?

           “Yes sir, it is,” Jacob cocks his head. “But you know you pay when you arrive, not when you leave.”

           “You have done such a good job keeping her clean and happy for me,” I pull out my purse and hand him four gold pieces.

           “Oh… oh my, you don’t need t-to—“

           “You must be working so hard, perhaps you could hire some help and get some rest while I am gone,” I put away my purse as he shakily puts the coins in his pocket. He reaches forward and grasps my hand with both of his.

           “Thank you so much, Olodan.”

           It only takes a minute to load my saddlebags and mount up. Heading east, I wait until passing beyond a hill before using a spare water pouch to rinse my hand off. Jacob’s hard work is evident in the dirtiness of his hands, but it would have been unnecessarily rude to refuse his handshakes or wash my hands in front of him.

           After two days of travel across the main countryside road, I arrive at the town of my birth. I find an inn with a stable near my family’s estate and toss the owner a gold piece. I let their stable-boys help take care of setting Isabelle up in her stall, but personally give her a quick brush down before grabbing my bags and going into the inn for a meal and night of rest.

           After I eat breakfast, I put up my hood and walk towards the front gate of the estate. As I approach, I see two guards standing directly behind the gate. Following the same path I took so many times as a young adult, I quickly make sure my belt and sword are secure, ignore a call from one of the guards, and leap. I grab the corner of the stone pillar to the left of the gate, swing up to the top, and push off, jumping over the guards and landing beyond them.

           I spin to face the guards in time to dodge a spear tip heading straight towards my face. I quickly whip my right hand up to grab the end of the spear before the guard can pull it back and spin, ripping the spear from his grip and throwing my elbow in his face for good measure. I jump away from the guards and spin the spear to face the other guard. I manage to get my hood off a second later.

           When the guard sees my face, I can practically see the blood drain from him. The other guard, who had fallen back into the gate holding a bleeding and possibly broken nose, looks up and audibly gasps.

           “You guards are so much more jumpy than I remember,” I smile. “Been getting threats lately?”

           I toss the spear to the ground as the unharmed guard stumbles forward and starts running towards the main mansion.

           “No bow, and now you run to get my father,” I start towards the right side of the mansion, where my mother is buried. “How disappointing.”

           As I round the corner and look to the headstone that marks where my mother was laid to rest, I see a new headstone directly beside it. Numbly, I approach the headstones. The new headstone bears the name of my father. I stare, feelings of anger, disappointment, and curiosity mingling darkly in my mind.

           It is not long before I see my brother in the purple and gold robes of nobility walking around the house towards me. Without looking, I briefly raise my left hand and extend my index finger with the ring on it. He stands beside me and joins me in staring at the headstones.

           It feels like far too long before he speaks.

           “I am glad you finally got the ring,” he shuffles his feet, looking at me, then back to the headstone.

           “It was not too hard to find you, well, after you settled down on the coast, that is. There are plenty of mercenaries with bows and swords, but none quite as well-dressed as you,” he laughs softly and glances away. “I hear you are a champion of the people now.”

           I take a deep, slow breath. My brother shifts his weight. When I do not speak, he clears his throat.

           “As you can see, I have succeeded father earlier than anticipated,” he takes a shaky breath. “After mother died and you left, father was devastated. He was… not feeling well. He made some… questionable decisions. Other nobles started withdrawing support from us.”

           Despite myself, I begin laughing harshly. “Father built himself a platform of crushed enemies and friends. I bet he was surprised no one was there to catch him when he fell. See that you do not follow his example.”

           “How dare you?” my brother says in a hushed voice. “You would insult the honor of a man while standing above his grave?”

           “Yes,” I snap. “He cared only about his image among nobility. He never cared about mother, us, nor the people he lorded over. At least not beyond how we could increase his arrogance.”

           “You abandoned your family and broke your oath with the king’s Holy Army! You think you are more honorable than him?”

           “You do not argue that father did care about us and our mother?” my mouth twists in a smirk. “I left a flawed army supporting a corrupt monarchy. Father killed his own wife.”

           “You know that isn’t true.”

           “He may as well have,” I scowl. “He refused to announce that mother was pregnant, acted relieved when the pregnancy mysteriously ended, then had the gall to expect mother to pretend everything was perfect.”

           My brother stiffens.

           “I came here to accuse father of his misdeeds,” I continue quietly. “I was prepared to kill him.”

           My brother looks at me, surprise and disappointment showing in his frown and furrowed brow.

           “What will you do now?”

           “I will return to my quest to reset the balance and establish a better order with one less problem to worry about.”