Page 19 of Wed to the Dark Elf

I descend the tower steps swiftly, mind churning over unanswered questions. Why has Vamen concealed some project requiring such cumbersome materials? And why the hushed urgency so early on a day of rest and reflection for our people? For the first new moon hence begins the Twelve Days of Renewal, the yearly festival to purge grief's shadow and kindle hope's flame in every hearth. Songs and feasting mark its joyful span...but today heralds the solemn Day of Remembrance before those bright celebrations can commence.

Skirting along the colonnade overlooking the rear courtyard, I spot Vamen directing servants as they unload the pine trunk into a wagon hitched for travel beyond the walls. Perhaps he makes preparations at some village whose own Yule chandlers suffered loss during the war. My initial unease fades at this reminder of my husband’s enduring care for his people, even depleted as our resources remain. Whatever urgent errand calls him, compassion must guide his course.

Satisfied with this deduction, I am prepared to leave Vamen to his work and seek my own tasks that might brighten this reflective day. But as I turn for the hall, I glimpse a basket of pine cones and bundles of bare sticks among the discarded lumber. Intrigue roots me in place. Why such humble materials, if this venture serves some grandly solemn state function?

Before my curiosity can override courtesy and send me prying into the full mystery, hurried footfalls sound on the passageway stones behind me. I spin around to see Vamen approaching, looking equal parts amused and annoyed at my discovery. I dip my head demurely, clasping my hands.

“Apologies, my husband. I did not mean to intrude on your preparations...”

But Vamen waves aside my contrition, taking my chilled hands between his own gloved palms. “No matter. I had hoped to keep your surprise intact a while longer, but I suppose you would have unraveled it eventually.” His exasperated tone holds an undercurrent of fondness that warms me more than any brazier could.

“Surprise, husband?”

He presses a finger to my lips before I can question further. “All will be revealed tonight. For now I ask only for your patience, curious wife.” His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes as he draws me close, brushing a kiss over my brow. I melt into his sturdy frame, comforted as always by his nearness. This past year of shared confidence has seen the last walls between us crumble to dust. No secrets exist to blight our union now.

Which makes his evasiveness all the more perplexing...but I set aside my doubts and return his embrace, relishing the feel of his heart beating against mine. This fleeting moment of affection steels me for a day of sorrowful remembrance ahead.

Too soon Vamen draws back, expression solemn once more. “Now I must see to preparations. Will you join the procession to the memorial cairn?”

Sadness creeps back around my heart’s edges at the thought of the duty ahead. So many yet mourn those lost in the bloody clashes of the war now one year past. No healing comes without lancing old wounds first.

“Of course. I will gather with the other women there.” Peering up at his beloved face, I brush the back of my fingers against his chiseled cheek. “Do not carry every burden alone today, husband. Loss haunts us all.”

Vamen turns his head to press a fervent kiss against my palm. “We will remember together, as we do all things now.” With a lingering caress of my shoulder, he strides off to attend his mysterious errand. I watch until his tall form disappears around the barracks corner, warmed by the knowledge that light still prevails against cold grief in both our hearts. A rare blessing, in such dark recent times.

The mournful procession to the Ring Hills begins at mid-morning beneath iron gray skies threatening snow. The wind keens a dirge through naked branches to accompany the solemn drums as we walk the winding path to the memorial cairn atop the tallest hill. There the bones of the fallen rest, honored by immense carved stones. Their names will be read aloud before their spirits receive the ritual farewell until next year. Just one small comfort for those left behind.

I take my place beside Althir’s widow, blinking back tears as the honor guard begins the recitation. So many voices I knew and loved lie silent now forever, my world emptier for their absence. But when little Filora, Althir’s precious daughter, toddles up to me, I gather her close, letting her giggle and pull my braid. Life continues on, whatever the cost. We only fail when grief stops our hearts. I fix this truth in my mind like a lit candle as we make our way back through the rustling dry leaves of the necropolis path.

The day continues muted and gray, all tasks and conversation subdued in deference to this solemn time of reflection. I yearn for the bright ceremonies tomorrow that will rekindle mirth and hope. But even after shadows comes dawn. We need only hold fast until then.

I spend the late afternoon with the other noble ladies, stitching memorial silks and baking spice bread for tomorrow's feasts. Simple tasks soothe my melancholy spirit. But Vamen remains absent from both the midday and evening meals, increasing my earlier curiosity. Whatever covert project so preoccupies him must be vital indeed to demand such unceasing industry. When I inquire of the guards at the barracks gate, they only smile knowingly and assure me all will be revealed tonight. I huff in good-natured frustration at being so excluded. But I cannot begrudge any sincere effort that might lift our people's spirits in this grief-stricken time. Vamen guides his domain with deep love; I must only trust in his vision.

My patience meets its final test after supper concludes and still Vamen does not appear. The feasters begin dispersing to mourning vigils or home hearths, ready to lay this bleak day to rest. But all know tomorrow's dawn heralds glad tidings. I tamp down my simmering inquisitiveness and make my way toward our bedchamber to await Vamen and demand an explanation for this very irregular secretiveness.

But when I reach the corridor holding our quarters, the elf captain Tarath stands sentry outside the double doors. He thumps a fist to his chest in salute. "Good eve, mistress. I am bid to keep you company a short while longer." His tone brooks no disagreement. I peer over his shoulder at the closed doors, chewing my lip.

"Has the lord not finished his mysterious work yet? I will rest before the late hour..." It comes out more petulantly than intended. But Tarath only smiles, unbothered by my impatient foot-tapping.

"Soon, mistress. Patience but a few minutes more."

Sighing, I force genteel stillness and ask Tarath about his new baby son to pass the time. But my thoughts keep returning to the closed doors behind him. What could Vamen possibly be arranging that requires such privacy?

After an interminable wait, hurried footsteps finally echo down the empty hall. Vamen appears around the corner, looking endearingly tousled from his extended labor. He nods thanks to Tarath, who marches smartly off to leave us alone. As soon as his rangy form turns the far corner, I round on Vamen, swatting his shoulder.

"Now will you explain this vexing mystery, husband?"

Laughing, he captures my hands and brings them both to his lips. "Peace. Your curiosity will be relieved anon." With a playful wink, he places himself behind me and lays his hands over my eyes. I stiffen in surprise but do not resist as he guides me forward slowly. His warm breath tickles my ear.

"Just a few more steps...there. Now, look." His hands lift away. Blinking, I find myself in the center of our modest living area. My jaw drops.

Garlands of pine boughs and glittering silver tinsel drape every door and sconce. The vaulted ceiling beams have been strung with ribbons and...candles? Dozens of fat tapers blaze merrily in polished sconces above the room's main feature.

Before the great window stands a towering evergreen, branches laden with gold nuts, strings of beads, and tiny lit candles nestled on the boughs. Beneath its fragrant boughs lie colorfully-wrapped parcels and cunning straw ornaments. I stand stunned, overwhelmed by this spectacle from faded stories of my childhood.

"Vamen...a Yule tree?" I turn to find him watching me anxiously. At my breathless delight he sags in relief.

"The oldest carols spoke of them. I wished to surprise you." Taking my hands, he guides me closer to the magnificent fir. I breathe deep its exhilarating scent.

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