The Traveller

"Henri! Son, please. Just... just stop. Please."

Henri stops folding the white shirt that he holds in his hands, the fabric creasing in his fingers as he squeezes it before placing it down on the four poster bed in the middle of the room. Slowly, a hand rises slowly to run through his short black hair as he turns to face his father. Emil Fitzroy, the first patriarch of House Fitzroy, stands in the doorway, his exasperation with his son clear as the deep lines on his face.

The years had been hard on Emil. The silence of his house, empty not only of his wife but of his son, had worn heavy on his shoulders. When he was younger, in better days, his fellows would remark how lucky Henri was to inherit his father's magnificent hair; now, only the ghost of it remains. Long strands of white, hastily pushed back away from his face, fall back in front of his eyes once more as his chest heaves.

"Yes, Father?" Henri replies. His arms slowly cross in front of his chest, the fine white shirt he wears shifting with his shoulders as he moves from foot to foot. A single finger, outstretched in a small act of impatience, rubs lazily up and down his elbow.

"Hana has informed me you intend to leave." Emil's chest slows, and he stands up straight, his hands finding their home amongst the edges of his vest. The double breasted garment sits snug on his wide frame, the frayed edges still visible under the skilled work of the tailor. "Again."

Henri's left eyebrow slowly rises just to fall in an instant as the young man turns to return to his luggage. "I'm surprised. She's never told on me before."

Emil crosses the few feet between them, his hand on Henri's shoulder to whirl him back around. A look of surprise crosses his face as Henri places his own hand on Emil's to steady himself, the other hand smoothing his shirt.

"I never let on before." Emil's free hand reaches up to his face, a familiar action of smoothing back his brow before tracing the lines of his stark white goatee, letting out a great sigh. "But before, when she told me of something rash you'd done, you had him."

"I see." Henri's hand slowly raises Emil's off his shoulder, letting it got to fall to his father's side as he takes a step backwards. "And now that dear Gerhard has left me to my own devices, you don't trust me to leave."

"Henri, enough. Yes, I need you here, son. These last few months, with you helping with the business..." Emil trails off, his eyes focusing not on his son but on the middle distance between them. He takes a step forward, gesturing for Henri to join him as he slowly lowers himself onto the bed. "I'm getting old, Henri. The years... they weigh heavier each day."

Henri sits down, his hands cupped in each other as he stares at his feet, listening.

"Henri, I know you can't tell me where you went. Gerhard explained it in his letter, how it wasn't where you were but how you got there. And I know Hana keeps something from me. She may keep me appraised of you, but..." Emil runs a hand through his hair in his frustration, fruitlessly trying to smooth it back. "All I know is that he brought you back from wherever you'd gone. Here, to me. To us." Emil holds out a hand, offering it to Henri. "I lost my son once already. I can't do it again."

Henri's eyes lower to the outstretched hand of his father, and with a slow hesitancy he places his own palm within it, giving it a squeeze. "I'm sorry, Father. But I must go."

The heat rises in Emil's cheeks, his face crumpling as he tries to make sense of his son's choices. "Why? What is out there that you cannot find here? You would be Lord Henri, the second of House Fitzroy!" With each word, his volume grows until it is thundering. Emil pulls his hand back, his brow furrowing as he rises to his feet, taking a few steps forward. "Is that not enough?"

"Why would I want to be a merchant lord in charge of a few fishing boats when I could have so much more?" Henri's reply is slow, measured, his own frustration kept neatly in check by his father's presence. "You have no idea what is out there, Father. What I've been given."

"You're right, I have no idea." Emil pivots on his heel, a finger raised at Henri's face. "Because you won't tell me. You run off without even a second thought. Would you have even come back if Gerhard hadn't found you?"

Henri's eyes narrow, a small snarl rising on his lips. "It is as I said before, Father. My options were limited. Gerhard didn't save me, he just opened my horizons."

"Right. And got dragged into this mess himself, didn't he. That poor boy, always running after you. Do you even think of what you did to him? How he felt? He loved you, Henri. He would have dived into the Abyss for you, and you repay his sacrifices by throwing yourself right back into the hole he dragged you out of."

"GERHARD IS HAPPY ENOUGH WITHOUT ME," Henri shouts, his fists balled at his sides as he stands to face his father head on. The outburst takes his father aback, and a moment of silence passes as the words reverberate around them. Henri breathes heavy, his shoulders heaving. "He's got his happy little family now, and a fancy little title to go with it. Sacrifice? Father, if you had been there..."

Henri's jaw clenches, and he turns away to resume packing his bags. His movements are quick and rushed, his hands no longer taking their time to folds his clothes. "His sacrifice wasn't for me."

Emil's face softens, his hand reaching out to Henri's shoulder, but he pauses with it in midair. His expression changes, slowly, from frustration to sympathy. "I- I'm sorry, son. I hadn't realized... you didn't tell me."

"I didn't think it was worth mentioning."

"Right. I see. Son, I.." He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes; when the words finally rise in his throat, they warble and break. "I've sat at the table negotiating long enough to know when to step away. You're not my boy any more, you're a man, and I- I need to remember that."

He turns and marches forward, stiff, before coming to a rest at the door. He places a hand on the wooden frame, his palm rubbing up against the smooth wood. He lowers his head, sighing, before catching Henri out of the corner of his eye.

"I left this room sealed while you were gone. If- when, you came back, I wanted your home to be the same as it was, even though I would..." His hand tightens on the door frame as he swallows, his lips pursed. "This is your home, my son. So long as I am here, that will not change. You will always be welcome within these walls."

With a nod, he turns away, his hand falling to rest at his side.

"Father?"

Emil pauses. "Yes?"

"One day, I will tell you what kept me away. What kept me from writing. I promise."

Emil nods, his gaze downcast. "I'd like that, son. I hope that it will not stop you from writing this time?"

"It will not, Father. I'll write when I can."

"Good." Emil nods again. "Come see me in my study before you leave. It would be good to see you off."

Henri hoists his bag on his shoulders as he heads out of town, looking back only once to see the peaks of the manors of the North Wards stretching up over the cliff that the city rests upon. The voice had told him to get out of the town, away from prying eyes. The ringing in Henri's head told him that he was moving in the right direction.

To some, the experience might have been surreal. But unlike Gerhard was, Henri is no stranger to walking the Infinite Staircase. As he walks, he relishes the ringing in his mind pointing the way. The pull, the call to adventure.

It points him to a secluded alcove, out of the way of prying eyes. Henri breathes deep, and with a gesture, the flap of his bag opens. Another gesture, and the brilliant silver fabric within begins to flow out. It wraps around his legs, snaking up his waist and torso before settling around his neck, the brilliant silver scarf casting small reflections against the cliff face in the setting sun of the evening.

I don't suppose you'll be opening the door for me? Henri asks with his mind, searching for the voice that spoke to him. No?

Henri breathes deep, rolling his neck from side to side, before flicking a finger out. The scarf around his neck begins to stretch and split, turning into many hundreds of silver threads that shift and move in the light. They shoot forward, weaving amongst themselves as they dig into the ground before rising up, creating an archway of shifting thread. A small breeze catches the fabric, and it dances and shifts. Henri smiles, looking at the doorway that he's created. All that remains around his neck is a silver chain, dangling a silver talisman against his chest.

Now, where to go... He casts his mind back to some of his newly recovered memories. The Pillars of Creation, perhaps. Or...

The guiding voice of Henri's steward speaks, interrupting his thoughts.

A spark appears at the centre of the doorway, a ripping sound filling the air. The spark grows, tearing a hole in the fabric of reality until it meets the silver border of the arch. It latches on to the threads, flexing and shifting in the breeze.

Through the archway, coming slowly into focus, is a city much like Waterdeep. An alleyway, looking into a plaza. Henri grins, and without looking back, steps through.