The New Dawn

Arrow's Watch 


 * ''Moving past the base of Arrow's Watch, one enters the ruins themselves and thus the outer-ring of the one daunting Watchtower: the eight columns that once supported a sturdy rooftop, which has since weakened, and some walls between, little of which remains today. Ornate lettering and symbols were once inscribed into the pitted stone, and so carefully was the craft completed that many of the ancient messages and lore are still readable to the keen of eye. The remains of stairs wind upwards to a mysterious destination. Those who dare to walk them now risk the peril of tumbling down.


 * ''Stepping through the gaping maw between one of the many columns, one can see a broken iron hinge or two, suggesting that doors may have once shielded the interior from view where walls had not been erected. Faded colors of stone smoothed by centuries of pacing feet welcomes you inside with cool serenity.


 * ''At the very center of the ruins, a tribute to perhaps the founding Emperor stands with his right hand clenched around a now invisible sword to point it skyward, though remaining a venerable figure all the same. Behind this statue, one can find a more recent edition: The Shrine of the Horsemaster.


 * ''Because I could not stop for Death,
 * ''He kindly stopped for me.
 * ''The Carriage held but just ourselves
 * ''And Immortality.

It is the Tenth hour by the Shadow on Idleforge, the 28th day of Shadowreach in the year 626 After the Aegis, and the night is as cold as the shadows are dark. Cold enough to bring vision to breath, manifesting as it does as warm huffs of steam that contrast against the otherwise perfect umbra of the terrain. Arrow's Watch is no exception from that darkness - for the night touches all, and hides many secrets. It might be fitting, therefore, that one of the greatest enigmas of Fastheld can be found here upon this algid night: Serath Kahar, a penumbra of life sat upon the very memorial that was supposed to hold his very soul. Arrow's Watch is haunted, it seems, by a spirit of perplexity. His gaze rests upon the heavens; ice-blue eyes looking upon the puffy white clouds that sail upon the dark ocean above. Clad in obsidian ringmail, and shrouded by a cloak of black leather, he blends in well to his environment. Or would do, had he not offered a hint to his location to a certain Duchess.

The distant sounds of a horse's whinny waft in on the gentle breeze, stirring past rusty hinges and decayed stone until it betrays the presence of the one whom the enigmatic spirit sought. A second shadow moves of its own accord through the darkness, passing between shards of stone on with a measured, jerky step. Two hoof-stomps here, one side-clomp there...and so the seemingly awkward dance of horse and rider weaves through the outer ring of ruins, nearing the hill's base. An ebony horse, a black-clad rider, all well camouflaged were it not for the tell-tale orb of the Ring's glow that bobs eerily along. And so her path was lighted. The moon above, the ring before, each illuminating the earth beneath just enough to venture forward. "We are nearly there...but I shall leave you to rest here lest I press my fortunes too thin," Instructs the cloaked rider with a murmur as hushed as night commands. The hoof beats halt, followed by several steamy snorts and rustle-clanking dismount of one who fears not to reveal her whereabouts. Still, the curvaceous gleam of an ornate hilt catches the mixed light at her hip, testament to the faith that caution is always wise.

As for the contemplative shadow within the center of the ruins, nothing but quiet and darkness surround his form. The old statue of Talus Kahar - weathered and time worn - looks on with eternal silence, offering no answers to the unspoken questions, nor shedding light upon the silent enigmas. The steel longsword he clutches glimmers as shards of moonlight chance upon it, softly refracting the small sheens of light that airily caress its blade. The Prince looks towards the sound of the approaching rider and waits, though makes no effort to move.

A game of cat and mouse it would be, decides the rider as she ties her horse to what was once perhaps a...something. Whatever it was in its past life, its mangled and twisted form serves well to loop the reins through. A kiss upon the white starburst muzzle and Rowena bears away from the mount and stalks warily in the direction of the monument stairs. "Where now is this wildcat, of whom so many rumors were born and profound truths revealed..." Inquires a melodic taunt as it floats over broken ground and through pitted columns. The velvet cloak whispers behind her step, threatening to snag on this and that. A pair of patient eyes gaze with sage-like assurance through to the interior, scanning the shadows that dwell. "A little quill writ me an invitation to catch this man called Serath... his living flesh atop his mournful tomb."

"Waiting for a Mongoose while lounging on that tomb." The Wildcat purrs in return to the inquiry, a soft smile promptly caressing his features as Rowena's somewhat shadowed form wanders into view. "It's not what I would call the most comfortable of places *to* lounge, but..." Serath rolls his shoulders in a gesture of helpless pragmatism. "I've sprawled on worse before."

"Fortunately I've sprawled on only better. To my knowledge." Never say never, they say. Squinting in efforts to distinguish one shape from another on his black-on-black form, Rowena braces her weight against a pillar with one hand and climbs up a particularly uneven stair of grand proportions. It's because of ventures like these that she is grateful for trousers and even more grateful for the cover of darkness. Or at least *partial* darkness. The Ring of the Stars beams cheerily in the direction of its bestower, paving her path in a seraphic hue. "How long have you been at rest here? In present form, that is." The warmth in her eyes speaks well enough that she could not be more content to see him whole, but the smile is greatly subdued by a cruel raking of chipped marble across her palm. The pillars demanded a toll, it seems.

"Just a few hours, truth be told." Serath answers, the tone switching from resigned matter-of-fact to concern as his Mongoose scrapes her paw on the marble. He pauses, waiting for some hint of pain but... with none forthcoming decides not to suddenly play the comforting knight in onyx armor. Rowena is, after all, Rowena: More than a match for mere marble. Thus, the concern melts away into general affection. "Enough time to contemplate the answers to everything you no doubt finally need to know. Things I owe you an answer to." A pause, "Need a paw?"

Rubbing her palm against her hip in surrender to the marble, Rowena declines the offering with a small shake of her head and finishes the trek with a much more steady pace to join him at the shrine. "Questions did spring to mind when the first decree was launched from His Majesty's fortress of closed doors. A part of me was put to peace to know that you had confronted him at last. Your brother would be content with that, I think." Reaching out, she grabs hold of a lofted foreleg of the bronze horse and cups her hand firmly around the hoof before ducking beneath it to crawl onto the obsidian surface.

"It needed to be done." The Prince states, neither pride nor regret within his voice. A soft, gloved hand seeks through the dark to find a feminine counterpart as Rowena takes up position upon the flat surface of the memorial, attempting to find that spark of warmth through longing touch that not even the deep chill of the night can penetrate. "If not for Fastheld then for us. As much as you were probably fond of the idea of having a pet Serath around the place, you probably would have grown tired of it after a while."

A flash of something wicked crosses through Rowena's eyes as the touch is granted and she finds a more or less tolerable position atop the stone. "Only if he took a fancy to the den in the wood more so than the nest inside. Zareef, of course, may have become entirely too jealous to contain himself. I've neglected him of late in favor of riding to warm my blood rather than partake in our usual rendezvous with a tea and a hearth." The mirth slowly fades, features settling back into the softness of sober innocence as she returns attention to his former statement. "Then it is done? Were you permitted to see your brother's son?"

"It's done." Serath affirms with a solemn sigh, locking his hand around Rowena's as if he never intended to let go again. Apparently, it's a touch that's been missed *far* too much as of late; though, given the Wildcat's devotion to the Mongoose in question, understandable all the same. "Zolor isn't going to risk a conflict with House Kahar over a child who won't dethrone him for another decade. If anything, Fastheld Keep if the best place he could be right now. The healers there are familiar to him, and they're all used to his condition. The surroundings, too. That Keep's his home. Taking him from it just wouldn't be right. Besides, there's no safer place in Fastheld."

Rowena lowers her eyes with a humbled nod. "I did not ask if you had removed him...only if you had seen." She quickly loses interest in studying the wrinkles of his glove and lifts her chin to delve into the ice with a pressing stare. "And where does that leave us, then? Free to acknowledge one another in the public eye, I'd hope." She tips her head gingerly aside to rest her temple against one of the spaulders. A precarious perch, but it would suffice. "If I'm to be no longer courted by a ghost."

A soft sigh caresses the respectful silence of the old and tranquil ruins; as ominous and comforting in equal measure as they may be, they still harbor guests within their walls with proud acceptance, it seems. The spirit of the Watch Tower living on deep within the stones. "I know you didn't ask." He softly purrs, not meeting her gaze as a twang of guilt envelops him in the wake of how his unrequired elaboration must have seemed. "I just... I know you worry. I don't want you do. If anything happens I'll bring the very walls of Fastheld Keep down myself if I have to, with Vhramis loosing away behind me at anyone that stepped over the rubble, no doubt." The Wildcat smiles once more; a tender expression at that, ice-blue gaze finally falling upon gingerly tipped hair of chocolate, and the slender owner beneath. "I think the Empire is finally ready to deal with us." Affirmation runs freely as he gives the hand within his own a little squeeze. "However, there's more you need to know. Things with Zolor are done, Row, but things with us, they're-" A pause: Tight and awkward as previously planned words flee in the face of actual use. "They're just beginning, I think. For the best."

Brows furrowed in deciphering of those words, Rowena waits silently for elaboration before daring to question the meaning behind them. Her head just shift just slightly on its perch, tensed more so than before. Her hand deadens its grip, curled motionless within his own. The concentration thusly seeps from every bit of her posture and pools instead into listening intently to any words that would follow. And, somewhere in the darkness, a watery pair of blue eyes are watching with tired indifference to the human affair, concerned more with how far the lead will stretch and how worthy the sprouts of grass may be to his nibbling.

"Well, this is going to be difficult to explain, because even I didn't understand it until recently." The Prince softly notes; the squeeze upon Rowena's hand not faltering in the slightest as he attempts to elaborate, gaze cast back upon the lazy spirits of white that drift upon the obsidian canvas above. "I think we should merge what remains of House Mikin with House Kahar, for one." he notes. An important point, but his tone suggests that's the least of it. "Light's Reach was a major blow, and what with Orell and Alieron, and Sophia..." The Wildcat's regal purr trails away, filled then with silence, and soon replaced by uneasy warmth once more. "But that's not pressing. I may also have made a pact that will help rebuild Light's Reach, too, but that's not the heart of the matter at all. Row, I-" He abruptly stops there, falling silent once more. Then, after a few moments more of watching those clouds, finally places his full attention back upon his beloved Duchess, and with a smile leans a little closer to where her head is nestled against him. "Do you think I'm the same person I was before everything happened with Kas'arath and Light's Reach? Not literally different, of course, but..." He leaves that part unspoken.

Dark lashes fall, concealing a sigh behind a veil of secrecy more commonly know as the eyelid. "There is something that drives you...it has marked you course each step of your way during this darkened era. The gravity of the situation, the urgency of calling to arms against an enemy unknown, these things have driven you...but they have not led you to question me such." Lifting her face, just slightly, and adjusting her head to peer at his neared face, Rowena whispers, "What then, Serath Kahar, puts these thoughts to your head? What is it that leads you suspect otherwise? You may possess a few more marks of arrow than before... but you are still my Serath, are you not?"

"I am, and always will be, your Serath Kahar, Rowena Mikin." The Wildcat notes with all sincerity, pulling the Duchess close for a moment. "Forever." He falls silent once more, debating how to best elaborate further, or get to the heart of the matter. Finally, he decides on the most direct course of action: "Maybe I should just show you." he offers.

Rowena's face screws into yet another degree of perplexity and she braces both hands against his chest to 'push' herself back a little and face him more forwardly. "Show me that you'll not be changed or that you have been so?" A nervous sound of laughter touches her lips. "And just how does one show what is not a 'literal' difference? You cannot give me your thoughts."

The Wildcat tilts his head a little to the left, offering Rowena a quirky little smile and a look of utmost sincerity and love as he offers the most direct answer to her question. "Row," he sighs, "I don't /need/ to give you my thoughts. You already know them. You already know me, as much as I know myself. I am what you see before you now. I don't have wings, so I haven't become a dragon. I'm lacking a bushy tail, so I don't think I've become a wolf. I'm certainly not as beautiful as you, so I'm fairly sure I haven't become a women."

The quirky smile melts away into an expression of sincere affection and an internal conflict brought about by the merciless truths that follow a revelation. "I am that which you know, and that which I believe you love. That's a promise, but the problem arises when things occur that I've hidden from you. Hidden because they were hidden from me, or hidden because I didn't want you to know because of fear, or to protect you, or to protect us. Things like the Wildlands, before we found each other."

"But.." Flattery aside, Rowena is clearly not quite following. "But I know all that now. I've seen it. What else then has occurred to make you question yourself so?" Confusion has spurred on towards worry, knowing that even the most complicated men don't verbally brace or give such a paramount introduction to mundane topics like weather or sport. Something more intricate was at work here.

Her right hand utilizes its freedom by quelling the sense of insecurity with a squeeze to the hilt while her left hand returns to life to return the grip over his. "Of all times to be forward with what it is you mean, now would be perfect opportunity."

Serath nods, draws his left hand free of any entanglement, places it to the side, and then - offering one last glance of sincerity and affection towards Rowena - shows her.
 * And where once the shadows ruled the darkness within the walls of Arrow's Watch, now only light remains. Pure, untainted, holy light at that. Light that burns away the umbra of the ruins with the revealing truth of illumination and splendor. The source? A sphere of divine purity within the palm of that left hand, conflagrant with immaculate radiance. Not blinding, but clean. Sunkissed.

"There's a certain perspective you gain when you die." Serath notes as he watches the orb, his voice the very definition of honesty and trust, "Or, when you think you die, anyway. When the spirits of Dragons get involved then that panorama of revelation only seems to widen."

"Eventually you're given a cryptic message from this Ghost Dragon about restoring the Light to keep the real Darkness at bay. Duality takes on a literal meaning, and then you find yourself questioning everything you've come to learn about just about everything. It's a clarity that burns, Row, smoldering to ash that you dismiss until months later when something seems to take root in the soil and blossom into existence as a part of you that you weren't aware you had, but seems to now make up a large part of who you are. A sigh, a smile, and a worried glance fall back upon the Duchess. "Apparently, I'm Sunkissed, and part of some Dragon’s agenda for the Greater Good to keep Chaos and Darkness in check."

And in all the splendor of this holy revelation, in the presence of this enlightenment that sheds answers aplenty over past impossibilities and fears...There is only one word deemed appropriate to describe the creation of the little light beacon, or only one word Rowena is capable of uttering when bathed in this sudden absence of... "...Shades."

The word is hardly breathed - hardly gasped - before the Duchess finds herself very much abruptly sprawled, or crumpled, atop the discomfort of their afore mentioning.

And so it was that "never say never" had been the perfect philosophy all along.

''Return to Season 5 (2007)