The Mirtoa Returns

Too long!

A year? Five years? The weather-beaten sailors at the ship's did not cheer as the fleet sweeps like a flock of bedraggled terns into the harbors of Eldestra. There was no one waiting anxiously, no children waving little flags and no ladies scanning the decks of the incoming ships for their beloved.

There were ships no one expected to return. Those who stood upon the decks heaved a gentle sigh, of those who have seen Death and left scathed but alive. The ships were moored quietly and quickly; now the sailors seemed eager to touch the blessed soil of Eldestra.

How bastardly was that act of defiance - Aranvar thought to himself, as with a practised swing that brought him from deck to shore - how bastardly was that? No, no, not really bastardly; he dug the heel of one boot against the planks of the pier sharply. After all, did he not place a very capable being in charge while he decided to go on his adventures? He shook his head, as if the action would affirm the rather poor decision of departing when his support to the Speaker was the most important.

He did hear rumours before returning, that Lady Stela herself had left - gone on a pilgrimage or a holy venture and left the seat empty without a heir. Aranvar found it absolutely curious that there was no tumult, no jostle, no infighting for the seat - as if, as if the Speaker set a protection spell on it.

Maybe there was something he could do for Eldestra, Aranvar thought. And it did appear that his position as the leader of the Mallen Edaib was preserved.

There perhaps might must be something he could do.

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