Stories from RhyDin & The Rings

Rhy'Din has been a bit of a refuge for me over the past several years, an escape from the humdrum of ordinary life and duty that someday would clip my wings. I have split my time not so equally between Kalidar and Rhy'Din, pining for one as I dwell in the other. I suppose that is the way of most humans, is it not? We desire what we do not have and once we have obtained it, the sheen of newness wears off and we find that we really prefer what we had before.

It had been of no consequence to leave Rhy'Din each time my heart sang its melancholy tune of homesickness, though it was much more difficult to leave Kalidar and my family when wanderlust filled me. That was the way of it up until this last trip to this amazingly confounded city. This last time that I arrived there was something of a tournament for warriors taking place. Naturally, I desired to see the testing of talent with their various weapons but what I saw more than any other thing was the radiance of One that stood out from all others. So much so that she won the tournament, against many armed men, to receive an honored spot of tutelage to another great warrior, this one of Elven descent. What happened after that tournament will remain a memory that I am sure will keep me warm for many a Rhy'Din winter.

In my culture, with marriage arranged to benefit families, or the nation as a whole as in my case, rather than individuals, it is common and widely accepted to have a multitude of lovers so long as duty is performed and heirs are produced. I had performed my duty and my life was my own until such a time that my father King deemed I return. My days and nights became entwined with hers and soon it seemed that perhaps I should call Rhy'Din my home for a longer period of time. I entertained the thought of eventually taking this lover, my one and only, back to my own country.

I had not yet spoken with her of this, feeling I had plenty of time in which to do so, nor had I found a way to bridge the communication gap that we shared before a messenger from my beloved Kalidar came to me in the night to tell me of atrocities that had been committed and my return was required. I slipped from my beauty's bed and fled to my realm only to inhale the stench of destruction before I made it through the gates.

I have returned to Rhy'Din but have no words to speak to my lover to tell her of burying my children only weeks ago. The barrier to our communication prevents me from telling her of the wife that had been mine by arrangement. A woman that perished in violence as she held my twin sons to her bosom, knowing the man she did love was likely dead and the one she had married was likely in the arms of another and would not rescue her. A woman I had never learned to love, though I had much admiration for, and for now which I grieve the loss of her young life. She was a good mother and a good woman. She would have someday been an excellent Queen. My sons had not yet reached the celebration of their first year of life. My daughter was three.

I, forever, will wear the stain of their deaths upon my heart, knowing that had I been there I might have saved them or at least ended their lives more mercifully than did my enemies.

I have returned to my Hope a thoroughly broken man hiding behind a false arrogance and a language I cannot speak.

I watch her struggle; seeing what seeps from the corners of her eyes only when she thinks I am not paying attention and hearing the frustration in the frequent, soft sighs. I wonder how much more of a struggle twists within her fiercely independent heart that wishes so much for the freedom of her body and the carefree way that she has always lived her life. In these moments I feel such guilt for what I have done.

It could be argued that it took both of us to create this wondrous being that she incubates within her womb, but I know the truth of this matter and such an argument could never make an honest home within my mind. A child created more by magic than genetics and given a home within her body when she was neither consulted for permission nor given the truth when she shared the news of the pregnancy. I wasn't certain the spell was a success until she'd shown me the paintings, telling me in her own way that the magic had taken root.

If she was given the knowledge now, would she forgive me? Could she? Even with the tutoring, I am not positive that I possess adequate knowledge of her language to express the desperation I felt as I created the life of our child so that he could somehow become the balm to help soothe the wounds that still pain me from the loss of my other children, my other heirs.

I kissed her goodbye yesterday when she told me she needed to take one last trip before our son was born; she needed room to breathe. I smiled at her and gave her my blessing as if I owned the body that protected my son. What sort of man have I become that I feel I have the right to possess this woman that I love? If she feels the weight of my hand guiding her, preventing her recklessness from destroying what I have, quite literally, given my life's blood to create, she offers very little in the way of argument.

I must ask myself, if she fought against this control I exert over her, would I somehow restrain her until the spell was complete and I held him safely within my arms? I wish I were a better man that could answer "no" confidently but I am not that man. I am more so a monster, I suppose, driven by sorrow, desperation, and the sweetness of hope for the future; hope that the two of them can redeem me, that their light will scourge the immorality from my soul.

Until then, I will maintain some distance here in this city called Tokyo that she has chosen to visit, swallowed up by the noise, crowds, and bright lights; ever vigilant in my duty to keep them safe, despite Hope's restlessness. Despite her need to be free.