Post by Glade on Sept 28, 2022 17:00:35 GMT
Co-written with the wonderful Riah
As the sun basked the city, its rays forming a golden blanket over rooftops and streets of Daring Heights, as her adventuring friends parted ways, Glade remained behind. She was standing in front of what remains of fiore popolare, not wanting to leave Leona alone, not after she lost her little corner of solitude along with her person most dear.
Glade opened her mouth, wanting to speak, really wanting to help, to comfort Leona, but her lack for words made her close it. What can she say to someone who lost so much. When she left her grove, when she ran, she always had the comforting thought that it will always be there for her to return to. But this was different. What remained for Leona to return to? “I’m… I’m sorry,” is what finally came out after a long pause.
The young… witch? Changeling? Dryad? She wasn’t entirely sure anymore… Leona looks back over her shoulder to Glade and says, “Dragonfire really does a number on things, huh? I’ve got my work cut out for me. Might take a bit longer than I thought to get everything rebuilt but, hmm…” She brings up a hand to tap her chin. “Yes, I’ve got a friend or two elsewhere I can call in a favour to help me rebuild. I wouldn’t worry about it, Glade. Come on, let’s see what’s left of the foundations!”
She remembers the day after the invasion when she came here, of the dreadful sight that lay before her and of the overwhelming thoughts that she lost her dear friends. Without a word she follows Leona, part of her admiring how she can appear to be this in control of everything in the face of such a sight knowing what was before.
“Careful where you step, Glade. There’s some melted glass there,” Leona says pointing at the ground.
As the two enter the bones of the cocktail bar Leona does a slow spin her eyes flashing with a hint of magic. “Seems like the foundations are alright- oh!”
She is suddenly moving towards the left side of the building. Her body blocks Glade’s view of what she spotted but Leona appears to pick up something before letting out a delighted laugh.
“Would you look at that! I should have known this one would survive.”
Presenting a bottle as she turns around, Glade reads the label: Cinder King Bourbon.
“I got this at a mixologist convention when I was in Sigil. Paid more than this shop’s worth for it! Haven’t had a chance to use it yet but loved the way it looked so kept it on display. Unsurprisingly, no one has ever ordered a glass. I hear it really burns.”
If it would have been her, if it was her who would have lost this place and her dear mother, Glade would have keeled over with grief. Something which she almost did that day after the war. But Leona… Glade was surprised by how she seemed to takes this so well.
But before she could look closer, try to understand how much this entire scene affects he dear friend, her focus was broken by Leona’s laugh. It was something she hadn't heard before, something she found it rather pleasant. It was fairly contagious, especially when people's positive attitudes always seemed to rub on her the quickest.
“If you wish… we could… try it. Although, if it’s that expensive, wouldn’t it be more wise to use it to help rebuild your shop?” she asks, staring at the beautifully crafted bottle encasing a liquid of an amber colour that almost seemed to have a faint glow. “Th-that’s not- I-I’m not saying w-what you should do with your wares-” she quickly interjects, blushing in embarrassment.
“No, it’s a good idea. I have some people in mind who I know will be interested in it – and pay me for it’s worth. That’s a good idea, Glade,” Leona says.
Just before she turns away, the druid swears she sees sadness colour her friend’s face. But then her ginger plait swings over her shoulder and her face is hidden by the large, wide brimmed purple hat she wears.
Leona walks further in, muttering to herself in a mix of different languages, some Glade knows, others she does not. She seems to be very focused on checking the foundations as she called it. Carefully walking along the perimeter of the building which really was quite small without the magic Leona must have built into it to allow for more space inside before.
“Hmm,” she intones, frowning. “Looks like I spoke too soon. I’ll have to change the layout of this place a little I think. Which will work a lot better, since there won’t be any… there’ll be a big space in the centre and I cannot have that.”
A flash of guilt washes over Glade, feeling bad for suggesting selling the bottle, probably one of the few, if not, the only item remaining after the shop was burned down.
But then another thought came to her, looking at the empty spot that once belonged to a beloved willow tree, remembering the care and kindness she was given.“What… happened? I’ve heard many things about Ulorian, most of them unpleasant. He didn’t seem the type to care much about others and yet you’ve told me how he saved you… both of you. Why?”
Leona goes very still at the turn of conversation. There’s a long moment where Glade wonders if she is purposefully going to ignore the question. Then she sighs, looking up to open air and a cloud filled sky.
“The thing about the Fey you must remember, Glade, is they have long memories. For every hurt, every slight, every flippant word and every betrayal. They can also be quite… territorial isn’t the right word. Similar to protective with a pinch of proprietorial of the things or places and sometimes people in their purview. There is a reason why The River King is one of the strongest Archfey in the feywild and it’s a history that is too long to tell… but suffice to say he would do anything in order to protect his people.”She finally turns to look at Glade. Leona’s movements are careful, contained, and measured, almost like she’s not sure how to move or act.
A blush flushes over her face once more, but this time of guilt and panic that her sometimes blunt and direct way of speaking with people may have upset Leona. She takes a few steps towards her, but stops herself, thinking, worrying that she may make things worse.
“Will you be safe? Will he come for you, to take you back?”
Leona sees how her answer distresses Glade and takes a tentative step forward, drawing the druid’s attention.
“But if he were to come I would make a case for staying. He is not an unreasonable monarch and can be bargained with.”
“How?” asks Glade almost instinctively before she could think more, also taking a step forward, mirroring Leona’s. But she catches herself, thinking over her words. Maybe it’s an irrational panic, the fear of losing her again after just finding her and bringing her back, but she felt that she couldn’t just sit this one out.
“Is there… anything I can do to help you with that? To have him see reason if that time comes and you wish to remain?” “Glade…” Leona frowns. “I appreciate your concern for me. I don’t want you to think that I don’t, but… I wonder if you’re misunderstanding me. I stayed away because I had just lost my mother again. Despite her best intentions, her body would have become the coffin in which I suffocated, getting burned alive had not The River King been there.” Her warm dark amber gaze shifts, almost like leaves dancing in the wind with sun shining through them. “Despite what some people may say about them, my king really cares for his people. A lot.”
She shakes her head, looking down to the bottle in her hands. A finger traces the snarling maw of the ancient red dragon depicted on it, the movement drawing Glade’s attention in a way that is almost mesmerising. Then, out of the blue, Leona looks up and smiles.“I think I will sell this. I’m done with fiery drinks for the next little while.”
Then she turns and begins to pick her way further into the remains of her shop.
As Leona walks further in, she can hear a set of footsteps picking up pace, getting closer. Soon after, she feels a thud as Glade suddenly wraps her arms around her in a warm hug, followed by the low soft tone of her voice.
“I’m sorry. I’m… I’m sorry for what you have suffered.” There are no words strong enough or big enough for Leona to say, so she doesn’t. Instead, a hand comes up to cling to one of Glade’s arms, at first gently, then tighter. Glade feels the woman encircled in her arms begin to shake but she doesn’t make a sound — after all, trees do not cry when they weep. They sway.
That’s exactly what Leona does until the torrent of emotions passes, until she can pick herself up to keep moving. For life goes on, as it ought to.