...BUT ONE, WHICH ECHOES ETERNAL

[LithiumSedai 4837]

 

Spoiler

 

Required reading for additional context: 

 

 

 

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...BUT ONE, WHICH ECHOES ETERNAL

 

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I. DREAMS

 

Spoiler

 

 

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It was like it had always been.

 

For but a fleeting moment, the thought lingered; the memory had faded already when he made the first step. One more, and then another, and his weary gaze lifted from the beaten path, to a scene which filled him with dissonant relief and uncertainty alike. 

 

The village lay before him, upon the slopes of the valley, and where the pines thinned rose high-peaked roofs so customary of Waldenian architecture. The gloom and heavy clouds, joined with the setting, betrayed the scene to be of a Haeseni spring, though no icy chill beset him as he walked on; his leather coat, so ancient and so dear, was soon to be carried across his shoulder. Onward he stepped past the first thresholds, slicking back his copper-hued hair above his torse, and no sounds of a bustling hamlet ever reached his ears. The peace bothered him little, as it always had been, yet deep down the unease persisted. He exchanged the road for an alley, capped boots striking the grounds in a heavy gait. His eyes flicked across the closest homestead, and somewhere in his mind, a whisper came, sudden and unwanted: “Home.”

 

And this time, he froze in his tracks. Against all impulse, and though the scene and the path beckoned him to walk on, he resisted. One gloved hand parted the gate from the wooden fence, and the cobbled walkway led him beneath the sloped roof. Where it extended past the painted wall stood a smithy. Home was elsewhere, protested his inner voice. But he knew by heart where each tool lay, the hammer stands and tongs of all sizes. Chisel drawers, and bins of steel, barrels of water and oil, anvil and the stone-sided forge.

 

Where his coat had gone, how the steel was heated, and how a week’s worth of work ended in a blink, he did not know. What he knew was that he had never lived this scene before; that the beating of the hammer filled his ears, that the work he was born for filled his soul. In his hands lay a tempered blade of steel. And when he turned around, in the smithy stood a figure.

 

“You have done well, Sigmund.”

 

“Ja- Corwin. My name is Corwin,” Corwin mumbled in bewilderment, falling still as the other man approached from the shade. The blade, yet lacking a hilt, fell to his side and faded. His former unease, so easily forgotten, now resurfaced. How could it be?

 

“Whatever name you choose for yourself - you will always be my son,” spoke Wilhelm, the old smith. Gray-haired he was like Corwin remembered still after two centuries, of a stocky build not many men could boast so gracefully. The coat Corwin had brought now graced the shoulders of its true owner. His eyes, always so burdened by understanding, rested on Corwin in anticipation.

 

He felt as if he were twenty-five again, when the man he now faced lay in a grave beside the ruins of the house. In one quick stride Corwin closed in the distance, drawing his father into an embrace. Tears welled in his eyes; he squeezed them shut, holding onto the man before him.

 

“I’m sorry, father,” he mumbled. “I-”

 

“Never should have left? You would have never become the man you are now.” His father returned the embrace.

 

Corwin still held back tears. Shame and remorse overcame him, and not even in this dream he could escape his regret of an empty, violent life once lived, in another time. In his mind where but a few moments ago was purpose, humility filled in the blanks, and he cried out a simple confession which once worried the Pontiff so, and which only his beloved truly understood.

 

“I have done so many terrible things.”

 

Wilhelm nodded. “Your mistakes broke you, my son. And then you chose to put yourself back together. You chose better. You chose to be better. That is all that matters.”

 

“I didn’t mean to leave you.” Corwin pulled back, pleading, parting from the man with his eyes now open.

 

“And for me it’s enough. You lived your life and I lived mine. And then you lived another. Not all are afforded such a chance. Fewer still make good use of it.”

 

Corwin made the nearest barrel his seat then, calmed somewhat. Wiping at his eyes with the back of a gloved hand, he looked to his father. To tempt the fate which altered his dream so, to delay now that his being tethered on the edge of consciousness, was unwise. He wished to tell his father all else that he could not all those years ago - but was there time? And would he know of it once they met elsewhere? Father, I sailed the seas and walked our people’s homeland. Father, I was an anointed knight, and I saved many innocent souls from wolves rabid like I had once been. Father, I was a king, and I saved my people from a fate of servitude to oppressors. 

 

He was halfway awake already when she joined Wilhelm’s side, joining hands with her husband. She never grew old, his mother, and his vision recalled her as she had once been portrayed in the eyes of a child, beautiful and unchanging. Elsa smiled at him. As the dream faded, he uttered to them one final thing.

 

“Father, Mother, there is someone I need to introduce to you.”

 

And it was better than what it had always been. He hoped it would be enough.  

 

 

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II. ECHOES

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

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In an ancient, forgotten realm, the wind blew southward across its vast expanse and over its southern shores. It swept across the narrow sea and its restless, beating waves, and towards the great southern isle, forested and rugged. Its ancient woods, untouched for centuries now, gave way to a wide inlet; ruins that had once been a bustling city raised on stone platforms in its very center streamed from the waters, as the sole reminder that these lands had once housed life.

 

The wind howled over the great stone bridges, segmented and broken, and wailed over palaces of pale marble, now ruined and overgrown; it streamed around the derelict city’s grand landmark. Amidst the city’s heart stood a battered tower, looming over the ruins in its forgotten glory. The great clocks’ mechanisms had corroded since, and the covering plates rested shattered upon the grounds below. But upon the tower’s peak waved a foreign banner, clashing defiantly in its novelty with the decay beneath.

 

Corwin stood on the raised roof platform and watched the breeze lash the flag of Alstreim above. Or, rather, had turned his eyes to its direction. The elder’s eyes were claimed by a cloudy mist, which restricted his view greatly; climbing atop the tower in his state required care and effort that few men his age could command. He had never been one to resist a challenge, however, and claiming the sole spot in the dilapidated city so conducive to introspection, a pastime so favored by old men especially, was well worth the hazard. Besides, knowing that the banner above him braved the whistling winds let the elder carry himself with deserved smugness and well-warranted pride. In another life he had seen the tower’s peak but once; today he was its undisputed master.

 

A pair of ravens, twinned with the crimson figure which lay displayed on the midnight-hued flag, circled the tower. Corwin waved his companions away. In his hand, wrinkled and pale, rested a folded note. Reading it would have required strenuous, yet unnecessary effort. He was its author, and knew its contents by heart. In silence he considered his writings, drawing from him reminiscence of long years past, and in particular one old friend.

 

“...The simple matter is, my friend, that I’ve missed you greatly throughout these many decades, and your presence in all my endeavors since. Already I find my memories fading, and in these years I’ve put to writing most of what mattered in this lengthy life of mine. Fruitless it might be, I know, to address you in this manner, but for the briefest of moments it warms this old man’s soul to have you return to life between these words, that fearsome knight yet the truest friend other than her that I had ever known. By my quill I revive this Tereus that I once knew in Metz and Adelburg…”

 

He could see him clearly by his side as he had been in life, piercing through the mists dancing before his gaze. Tereus de Chambery had seldom smiled, but Corwin saw the apparition of his long-gone friend curl his lips in a wistful grin, in this short-lasting reunion brought forth by the vivid imagination of his mind.

 

“...The truth is that us Horen’s folk were never meant to suffer the mortal coil this long. But I know, my friend, that you will understand. You knew me better than most, and though your ardent faith suffered in the presence of the terrible man I once had been, for me you had nothing but understanding. Did each of us not deserve to find redemption, to command true purpose and master our own fate before God? You, my friend, found your repentance in faith. I had been given this chance to start my life anew even before I was granted rebirth by my benefactor or spared the suffering of my scars, and I know, my friend, as my true final days near, that I haven’t failed your trust…”

 

Corwin squeezed the note in his hand. A recollection of his lives came alive much alike his friend as he progressed through the letter in his mind, the expanse beneath him transforming to images of battles and celebrations, from Elba to the Merryweather War, from the Imperial revival and coronation to the Sutican reclamation.

 

“...It is fitting, my friend, that in Waldenian culture there exists a concept of second birth: that a man lives again once he redeems himself or gains his honor through following the sacred code of our forefathers. I, who was rid of my scars and granted a new body through the wonders of alchemy, perhaps was granted a literal vessel to embody this principle. The honor is mine to have walked the steps of Aesterwald in the dead realm of Athera, to have served faithfully to those values I had sworn to myself to keep on that day…”

 

A sweep of his free hand adjusted the fit of his torse, nested upon his whitened locks. The ceremonies of his first and his second knighthood vividly returned to his memory. Which values were these? I swear to be a good and true knight, to uphold the honors of knighthood… to remain faithful to my king… I swear perpetual fealty and loyalty to House Horen… I shall safeguard the helpless, show vigilance and courage even in the face of death…

 

And an eternal oath to the one who mattered more than all the kings and emperors of the world. I accept her as my wife and swear to care for her. I made a promise that it was forever.

 

“...You would recall with much dismay, my friend, that at the beginning of our companionship you and I, and the others, fought with little regard for honor and merit. We were mercenaries, little above common brigands, and all which distinguished us from those wretched souls was our skill with the blade. We put villages to the torch, and relieved cities of their goods and coffers; slaughtered indiscriminately for coin. It pains me to recall, my friend, with how little honor we carried ourselves. In the Crusades we received our indulgences, but for her and for my own sake, I went a step further: I changed, Tereus. You found relief in your faith, and I found mine in protecting Mankind. We raised the banner of Alstreim on the side of law and chivalry this time, alongside the sacred banner of Horen...”

 

He pressed his eyes shut, summoning the faces of his knightly comrades to his memory. For one brief moment, before returning to their eternal rest, by his side stood all the immortal heroes of Man. Emperors Aurelius and Augustus, Prince Antonius Owyn, Prince Cassius; the Aurelian Four and the Waldenian Circle, Frederick Pius, Carlovac Kovachev, Brand and Robert Denhardt; Godfrey II and the enforcers of the Imperium Renatum, Darius Ault and Prince Martinus, Uthred Gromach and Frederick Baden.

 

“...It saddens me, my friend, that our stories woven together couldn’t have lasted longer; that there had to be an end to our everlasting victories, that those I had served alongside in our sacred duty towards Horen and the Empire could never know my secret. But I am honored that, much like yourself, I’d known them at their best. This is something that no usurper can take, nor a revisionist change, this flame of righteousness that engulfs my heart...”

 

His other hand, rested on the platform’s railing, quivered and grasped the stone. Without prompt, and in a low, mournful tone, the elder began humming the Imperial anthem. In his mind the song echoed high, however, as if it were sung in the square of Carolustadt by thousands. His raven companions, drawn in by the humming, perched upon his shoulders. The sheer emotion of that recollection made his thoughts focus like an arrow on the one who awaited him elsewhere in the ruined city. He knew where that path led, and deep down feared that mentioning it would bring that story closer to its only possible conclusion; that the impaired clock below would, from the void, ring out his last hour. But in his letter, he kept no secrets from his friend.

 

“...Of course, my friend, to omit her from my recollection would have done me no good. You, among the very few, knew her as both Adelheid and Laethesia. You know that it was her who helped me bring myself back from the brink, that without her my bones would have been buried at Jornheim Fields. The borrowed time I lived on after Elba and my gift of rebirth I, therefore, owe to her. There is nobody else I would rather owe my life to, and nobody else I would have rather spent it with.

 

Did you ever know, Tereus, what it was like to love truly and selflessly? To think an eternity is too little time to spend by someone’s side? I was graced, my friend, with a hand that parted the storm clouds and pulled me to safety from my maelstrom of misery…”

 

He breathed in, a sharp movement which unsettled his ravens again; with a sweep of their wings, the pair flew off into the city. It was time to brave the final stretch, so long delayed. After all, could there have been a better time and place than here, a better way than this?

 

“...I await, then, in peace the day you and I will meet again, though I fear it may yet be a short reunion; I have elsewhere to be, and who can say for how long and will it be the place my heart desires? Tell my father that I’m sorry, Tereus, and in my stead keep Ath, Ramsey and Killian company. They were right, but I won the bet, and not even in death will I let them forget!

 

Until we meet again, friend: Godfrey guide you.

 

-Sigmund”

 

On his way back, he parted from the railing, and released the note to the wind.

                  

 

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III. ETERNITY

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

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Some ways from the ancient tower, somewhere within the disorderly ruins, stood a home. And this peculiar and important detail separated it greatly from the townhouses which surrounded it. That is not to say that its facade could boast a particularly differing degree of preservation; its walls lay disturbed beneath a twisted maze of vines much alike the others, its pillars of marble crumbled, and its roof tiles did suffer from a centuries-long state of disrepair - but what feelings slept within its halls at night and then surfaced radiantly, like First Seed flowers in bloom, in the morning made it a home, and this was enough.

 

Therein lived the pair which, as one past acquaintance had portrayed it in his fleeting thoughts, pulled through regardless of city and era; a pocket of peace which made his mind wander and his lips smile. It took no more than a shipment of material, some foraging and handiwork, and that kind of inner peace which seclusion with a loved one grants to transform the crumbling house into their sanctuary once again; in the days that passed, the elder and his elf-wife were serene.

 

This idyllic scene played out as if portrayed by some Orenian painter or playwright, and truly, the pair lacked nothing in their shared dream of Paradise. They began their mornings tangled in each other’s arms, and shared their morning meal. Often, though with care and with slow footfall, they wandered the ruins together. For hours on end they engaged in pleasant conversations of the kind they had indulged in for all of their one hundred and eighty years of marriage, and near-two centuries of felicity in companionship; they had no need of the company of others; their lives, so intimately entangled, required no other experiences left but continued mutual happiness. 

 

In the evening hours, as the cerulean blue gave way to that crimson-hued sky strewn with golden rays, the spouses danced slowly beneath the tree that had breached through the fighting pit’s sands before their abode, in the city’s long years of solitude. With woven hands they smiled and reminisced of their first dance, so many years ago in Linandria; they spoke fondly of old friends and adventures shared until the light paled completely. At night they embraced, and to each other’s ears murmured those tender words of lovers, before slumber. Through pleasant dreams and haunting nightmares they kept each other company. So the days passed, and each was content in their ordinary familiarity.

 

Corwin rested often beneath the tree’s bountiful shade. In brief solitude while his beloved ambled elsewhere, his bushy brows creased in contemplation. He thought of his legacy; the family left back in Sutica thought him their great-uncle, and committed themselves to keeping his memory alive. He thought of his grand-niece - in truth a distant cousin - and though perhaps he regretted not having spent enough time tutoring Lina Johanna, he admired the young monarch nonetheless, and her unwavering resolve and sharp wit; Corwin understood she would do well in her endeavors without him. He thought then of his lives, and lessons learned through his prolonged existence. It was worth it, then, to have suffered in anguish and immorality as Sigmund, to then finally learn of love and adoration; to have served a greater goal in honor and chivalry as Jan Sigmar, to then finally learn of respect and duty; to have been reborn as kingly Corwin, to spend in peace his final days and in the company of the one he loved most.

 

It came to be that his sight dimmed completely, and the ancient was left but blind; it caused him little grief. Laethesia was by his side, and in her care he felt adored though he could see nothing. He was content. It was known that those who are blind and who are loved always feel the blissful presence of their caretakers, and even in their brief absence know their devotion would be reaffirmed by their return. He desired, perhaps on occasion, to look upon her, but in his mind she was always unchanging, and beautiful as the day they met, his kindred soul whose love radiated brightness even in his eyes’ obscuring shadow. This was always meant to be, Corwin was convinced, and by then all his concern had faded. There could be no sin in the purest form of love, and in such contemplations the elder thought himself once more the sure recipient of Divine mercy.

 

With grace Corwin accepted, as days went by, that he must concede the race with time, and at last surrender to that terrible curse of Horen his body. He withered and wrinkled, his hair receded and grew wispy; his proud, streaming height was slowly whittled to a hunch, and to step without aid or a cane became impossible. Unlike him, Laethesia was not blind. Through endearing stubbornness equaling his acceptance she instead ignored this change, and Corwin understood that she saw him in the same light as he considered her own figure. And no matter how deep his devotion to her was, he had not the heart to broach the subject. Instead he conceded this final, endearing hope to his companion, made ever so easier by his own, enduring belief that this dream did not have to end.

 

By the oak’s roots they rested together in each other’s arms when Corwin’s eyes fell shut for the final time. One shadow gave way to another, and then to one entirely foreign, yet so innately known to every mortal, fleeting being. The call was felt, the ethereal hand of passage offered. Yet even in that moment her presence comforted him. He knew no fear, only endless love that he truly, deeply believed transcended eternity. To her ear he whispered lovingly, with the last atom of his strength the first and final thing which crossed his mind.

 

“I made a promise that it was forever.”      

 

 

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IV. CLOSURE

 

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Two letters, presumably, made their way to the intended recipients; one sooner than the other.

 

To Laethesia Thylsealaes Elverhilin von Alstreim: @Areln

 

Spoiler

 

“Dearest!

 

I know that you'll find and read this note because you know I'll have prepared it by then. I know that you'll be reading it by that place we dreamed of, both now and then. I know that you'll remember, Lae, the very spot by that place where we knew our paths would forever converge, where one carved ring showed us that our fate was written in the stars. Therefore I know that all events since that night will have led us here. You trusted the bitter, masked man to trust you to find the best in one another, and have trusted and loved him as much as he trusted and adored you when the mask was shed; will you not, then, trust him again this once - if only because this man is inseparable from my own very being?

 

Trust me, then, with every fiber of your being, not to mourn and cry when you read these words. We've known each other so well and intimately that without effort we could reach the same conclusion. Is death, then, any obstacle or nuisance whatsoever? What is death to a love so bright and pure that it will always transcend eternity? How can a life truly end if this love that celebrates it lasts forever? In your heart I was always with you during those lonesome hours of your travels and trials, and so you were with me. You waited for me and I waited for you always, in those years that we were separated and before that ring was exchanged. Why should it be any different now? To each other we are still what we were, if separated for this short interval. Think of me and my name still as you did through all these years.

 

And as you rejoin our medallion, so will I rejoin you.”

 

 

To Lina Johanna von Alstreim: @Axelu

 

Spoiler

 

“My dearest niece,

 

As you're set to receive this letter with Lorelei's return, I have no doubt that through opening it you will infer my intent and my ultimate fate. Allow me then to say that it was cruel for the two of us to have only known each other for so little time, yet I did not regret a single moment of your company and our exchanges. Before your timely arrival it had been a century since I last saw any of my kin, and I will admit that I feared their state and was doubtful of their resolve. You have dispelled this doubt of mine, and I am proud that the blood of Alstreim flows through your veins like mine. Keep your gaze steered ahead. This old man knows you’re destined for greatness.

 

-Corwin”

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

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Spoiler

There's the ending everyone's been waiting for - this time for real! The actual conclusion to a 200+ year journey on the longest-lasting character of mine. I wholeheartedly apologize to everyone who had left Seven Skies replies on the original post linked above, consider them valid now (hopefully...)

 

Those wondering about the cause of his "revival" and the unnaturally long lifespan will find the answers they seek should they dig through my posted CAs. An apology is also owed to all our (Areln's and mine) friends from whom we concealed the truth for this long - there was a PK clause in effect! Most of you had suspicions anyway, so you're hereby allowed to be smug about your theories now. And for those of you who committed to harassment over your ill-founded belief that Corwin's existence was some sort of ploy to OOCly extend our marriage RP through a carbon copy char, this post is not a justification for you.

 

Naturally, I haven't been able to reference everything in this send off, nor to include mentions of all our characters' friends and notable acquaintances through the centuries. We still value and cherish you (especially you, Corwin's benefactor! You know who you are), and I hereby give you permission to pester me in DMs about it. If there's anything you'd like to know about this character arc, I've no secrets before you. Hit me up.

 

The amount of gratitude I have for Areln for bearing with me over these past four-ish years can't be overstated. We created an amazing, immersive story together and I'm glad to call you a friend!

 

A customary note for everyone else involved in Corwin's journey: thank you for the RP!

 

 

[Bhased 3587]

Ser Conan Vallberg af Morr, Draughtsman of Renatus, welcomes the Dragon Knight into the Seven Skies, clad in his Imperial regalia. Another good man laid to rest. A tragedy in it's own rite, yet life goes on.

 

-

 

Evar'tir Oranor, High Prince of Elvenesse, and a Renatian hardliner from a bygone era inspects the Blood Raven's gift to him from an unassuming day within the Talus Grove. A Renatian Kraken locket, the true name of the Great Deciever engraved in runic lettering upon the steel frame.

 

"Fate claims yet another. What a turbulent life we lead."

[Polysemic 798]

A certain Tilruir'maehr walking the realm by the name of Telos Andria'liene, once known as Ehier, remembered his old friend as he went through pages with names of the people he'd lost. He didn't know this man had still been alive until recently, but he remembered anyway.

[Axelu 3691]

Johanna I had received word of the passing of her grand onkel. It had punctured her like a knife, and for one burdensome moment, she had nearly lost all resolve. Whence she had first arrived to the shores of Almaris, towing a meager brief case, the Queen had not been prepared to undertake the duties of her forebearers. She was but a girl, of fiery ginger hair and chestnut eyes, aged seventeen. 

 

The marionette was idle, untouched, and impressionable.

 

It was Corwin, that afamed puppeteer, who thrust her by the strings and molded her into a mighty woman - one that would uphold the afamed values of the Blood-Raven's creed in perpetuity. Steadying herself, the young woman - armour-clad despite herself - peered unto her son; her heir, and that of Sutica. 

 

Corwin, she had named him. 

 

While she knew he would be a great man - Canonist, valiant, and virtuous - he would ne'er be half the man that his namesake Corwin von Alstriem was.

 

No one ever would be. 

 

[kipps 714]

Fahad greets Corwin as he arrived in the Seven Skies "Akhi..." he murmured softly as he thought about the Sutican war. From the slaying of Peter Amadeus, to the taunting of orenian troops over the Emperor not showing himself in battle, up untill the resolution of the war.