Nerwen the Green and the Search for the Entwives #wattys2019

Chapter L: The Castle on the Island

Chapter L: The Castle on the Island

Aryon Morvacor walked along the crowded street without really seeing where he was going.

That day marked 28 years. So many had passed, since that accursed day when Nerwen and Pallando had vanished without a trace. Many things had changed, in this place, in the almost three decades that had gone by.

The village, born from the military camp that settled there after the disappearance of the king and the Istar, had grown until it had reached, to the present day, 700 inhabitants; they had called it Tarsad, meaning wait, a proper name.

In the area once depopulated, they had built a number of settlements, some on the old ones, which had been abandoned for centuries, other in different places; but Tarsad was the largest one. The creation of this cluster had been unforeseen and sometimes Aryon would prefer solitude, but he had to admit that, instead, most of the time it was a good thing having company.

Often, the inhabitants of Tarsad turned to the prince to ask his opinion; there were a Burgomaster and a Council of six people who assisted him, elected every five years, but instinctively they relied on him and his vast life experience. Several times, he was offered to become himself the Burgomaster, with the prospect of being continuously re-elected, but he had always refused; however, if somebody would ask any inhabitant of Tarsad who was their leader, they would name him, rather than the Burgomaster.

After a while, the need was felt for setting up a small guard corps to maintain order; the Yòrvar were generally quiet people, but sometimes somebody got drunk and began to make a din, or started a fight, or small thefts occurred or arguments between neighbours; given his competence with weaponry, they had asked Aryon to train these guards and to become their commander; as he had anyway the need to make a living, because sooner or later his money supply would end, the prince accepted. Hence, even if in a much lesser form, he had found himself having almost the same duties as he once had performed, when he was the First Sword of the High Sovereign of the Six Tribes of the Avari.

Fifteen years after Nerwen's and Pallando's disappearance, Allakos had died of old age; Aryon had allowed him coupling several times and from his descent he had retained one foal, Riltur, now grown up and looking very alike to his parent, shiny black like him even if his front legs were decorated with a kind of short white socks.

Six years later also Thalion, the faithful packhorse, had died. Now remained only Thilgiloth, Nerwen stunningly beautiful mare, who didn't seem to age, which reinforced in Aryon the certainty that she was much more than a horse, even if of the half-mythical race of the mearas. She refused any rider, even him, even if she escorted him spontaneously nearly always, when he took a ride in the surroundings to keep in shape Allakos and now Riltur.

Derva was by now an old woman well into her sixties; she had stayed in Tarsad, waiting for the return of her king and of Aryon's wife who disappeared with him, but she had almost given up the hope to see them again before her death. At least, through Aryon and his intermittent link with Nerwen in that strange Land of Dreams, she knew they were alive and well, and this comforted her, or at least the prince thought so.

Aryon arrived home. Initially, it had been a simple hut of nailed wood planks, then with the growing of the village, it had been replaced by a real house of plastered bricks, as they used to have in Yòrvarem. It was roomy enough, as he lived in there alone, with a kitchen, a living room, a sitting room, a bathroom and a bedchamber. It was comfortable, but very simply furnished; the only luxuries were the many books he collected and the lute, an instrument he played since his youth. He had left his in Bârlyth when he had gone looking for Nerwen and then, during their journeys, he never had the chance to use one, but now that he was stuck here for who knows how much time, after about 10 years he bought a new one. He didn't play it very often, and when he did, it was always melancholic music.