Humans, however, grow up in a world that ages. Those who are fortunate enough to have known their grandparents watch their elders navigate the last stage of life, some with grace, some kicking and screaming, but knowing that inevitably the end will come. That knowledge is a certainty that can not be changed. Even those who try to fight against it, reaching for dark arts, wind up in their own state of decay. None are spared.
Matilda had grown up in this world and upon meeting Brynloris she’d clocked the greying of the woman’s hair with curiosity and later concern. The more times the two were together the more subtle gestures confirmed nagged at suspicions. Even the woman’s grumpy demeanor, which most seemed to attribute purely to her personality, reminded Matilda of an elder wrestling with fear.
Perhaps that had been why Brynloris had been so kind and patient with Matilda when she arrived in Arandor. A kinship shared between two mortals in the immortal Elven capital. That is why, when Matilda heard the news of Brynloris Kral’s death, there was no surprise, just a great sense of sadness and loss at the woman’s passing and the selfish worry of how her own eventual end will affect those she loved.
Unlike the stoic Elves around her, Matilda let the feelings wash over her like a tidal wave, sobbing openly, tears like blood pouring from the open wound of loss. Matilda grieved for a woman she knew had lived a long life, had loved and fought fiercely, and was loved by her people. She let the sorrow take her now, knowing later she would be able to remember fondly a life that was worthy of celebration.
The next day, wrapped in the silence of a people in mourning, Matilda moved between the buildings, farm to crafthall, gathering and weaving. Cotton became thread which became cloth, and in the late hours of the night she cut that into delicate petals, meticulously stitching the raw edges closed. With each petal she tried to think of another story she’d heard of the great warrior Kral and how she kept her people safe.
When the next day came, the now lone mortal of Arandor made her way to a newly erected statue, stepping up quietly to look upon the familiar face while taking a slow deep breath. Behind her, Whisper and Bastian sat, watching their human curiously. Matilda’s hands wound together, clasping near her heart in prayer.
“Caladria, I pray to you for those here who grieve for the loss of a pillar on which Arandor stood. Please embrace the people here in your light and warmth. Help them find comfort in their time of sorrow and heal from this untimely loss.
Ithoril.. please help us all to remember not just the sad moment of loss, but all the moments Brynloris touched our lives and we were better for having had her there. The care she put into this community and the people she loved so dearly.
Dovarose, help us protect Arandor as it mourns so that those who need time can have peace… and most of all, please look after Brynloris.. I hope she can see how much she is loved.
Let her know.. I'll be writing to her next time I write to my brother. We miss you.
By the time her words were finished, tears fell freely down her cheeks, her eyes still upon the statue as she smiled sadly. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the carefully crafted wreath of fabric flowers, dyed gold like the late magistrate's accessories. Carefully, she placed it at the statue’s feet.
Thank you for all that you did for me, for your kindness and acceptance. One last hug as well…
She hugged herself tightly, opened her arms, and blew into the air as if to blow the hug rather than a kiss. Then with a sniffle, she turned away. Bastian, the giant wolf, whimpered softly at his Human’s distress, moving to meet her only for his giant warm tongue to lap away the salty dampness from her face, making her features squinch as she chuckled. Whisper came up to join the pair, rubbing up against the woman’s leg. Matilda gave them both a scritch, the feline under her chin and the wolf along his flank.
Thanks you two.. c'mon. Let's go home.
Brynloris had lived many times more than anyone Matilda had known before meeting the Elves. Lifetimes longer. And while the younger woman would miss the Elf that reminded her of her grandmother, she also felt a deep sense of gratitude for having the chance to know her. She hoped that one day soon, remembering those times shared would make her smile.
