Legends of Lasniniar Bond Forger Collection

Mum’s the Word Barlo hoisted his pack and steeled himself before entering Melaquenya. Even though Lady Iadrawyn had made it abundantly clear he was welcome within the Light Elves’ wood, some of her subjects tended to forget the fact. Although many still remembered how he and the rest of the dwarves had stood with the elves and humans against Saviadro and his dark army, most younger Light Elves had never seen another dwarf besides Barlo, and the older ones clung to the unwitting betrayal the dwarves had dealt their people thousands of years ago. He could feel their gazes on him as he passed, watching, and considering. Those who had fought in the war gave him friendly waves of greeting, but he wondered how long it would be before they, too, fell back on the ancient prejudices of their insular ways. It made him uneasy to think about it. If not for his friendship with Iarion, Barlo would have had little to do with Melaquenya or its inhabitants. In fact, he was hoping to spend less time in the Light Elves’ wood going forward if everything went according to plan. His only potential stumbling block was Eransinta, Iarion’s overbearing, overprotective mother. I suppose I can’t blame her for being a little clingy. She and Iarion did used to be twins, after all. Barlo shook his head. Elven relations were so confusing. Light Elves were reborn with the memories of their previous lives. Iarion and Barlo had become close friends during Iarion’s previous lifetime, but in the life before that, he had been Alfialys, Eransinta’s twin brother. Saviadro had murdered him, and Eransinta went mad with grief, spending thousands of years wandering Melaquenya, searching for her twin’s lost soul. Now that Iarion had been reborn as her son, she seemed to have regained most of her sanity, but she was a little irrational where Iarion was concerned. In the fifteen years since Iarion had been reborn, Eransinta had refused to let him leave Melaquenya. That meant if Barlo ever wanted to see Iarion, he had to spend time in the Light Elves’ domain. Barlo had tried to make the best of the situation. He visited as often as he could, and even brought Narilga with him on occasion. His wife didn’t leave Dwarvenhome often, but Iarion was a close friend of the family. Barlo knew Eransinta’s restriction chafed at Iarion as well. In his previous life, Iarion had wandered most of Lasniniar on his own. He was unsuited to being pinned down in one place. He was already a competent warrior and more than capable of taking care of himself. If Eransinta didn’t let him out of the nest soon, he might just run away. Barlo wouldn’t put it past him. Perhaps that would make a good argument when he confronted Iarion’s mother... Barlo caught a glimpse of a white and gold blur barreling toward him from the corner of his eye. Before he could think to move aside, it slammed into him, knocking him from his feet. He landed in a heap on the soft grass. Some of the elves walking the forest paths nearby gave him disapproving looks. Barlo glanced up to see Iarion rising to his feet, dusting off his breeches. He took in Barlo’s accusing glare with a laugh, tossing his white braids over his shoulder. “You weren’t paying attention,” he said, his voice stern and mocking at the same time. Barlo rose with a grunt, glaring up at him. Even though the elf was several hundred years his junior, Iarion was still a foot taller than Barlo. “You should have more respect for your elders,” Barlo grumbled. He smoothed his long, brown beard and lifted his pack back onto his shoulders. “And you should be watching where you’re going. You can’t just tromp along with your head down like that.” Iarion’s golden-flecked sapphire eyes sparkled. “Why you little—” “Look, Father, Barlo is here!” Iarion draped his arm across Barlo’s shoulders as an older elf with white hair and golden skin to match Iarion’s stepped out of the trees. Barlo casually brought the heel of his boot down on Iarion’s toes as payback for the tromping comment and gave Curuadil a smile. He hadn’t even heard the other elf approach. Clearly, Iarion had, with those overly clever pointed ears of his. Iarion’s father raised an eyebrow and shook his head with a tolerant smile. “I am glad you are here, Barlo,” he said. “Iarion has talked of nothing but your upcoming visit for days.” Barlo gave Curuadil a measuring look. “Maybe the lad needs to get out more.” “Perhaps,” Curuadil said, becoming serious. “But certain elves might not agree. After all, the world is a dangerous place.” Barlo snorted. “Iarion can handle himself well enough.” “I am convinced of Iarion’s competence.” But his mother was not. Curuadil’s unspoken message was clear. Still, it seemed Barlo might have an ally in Iarion’s father. “What if he had a trusted companion to watch over him?” Barlo asked. “Someone who could keep him safe?” “That would certainly merit consideration,” Curuadil said with a grave nod. “Um, hello?” Iarion gave them both an exasperated wave. “I’m right here, you know.” Barlo reached up to give him a pat on the back. “Not now, Iarion. The grownups are talking.” Iarion shot him a murderous look, and Barlo had to struggle to keep the smirk from his face. “Now,” Barlo said, “why don’t we discuss this with your lovely wife? I’m sure she’ll be wise enough to see the merit in a perfectly reasonable plan.” “Absolutely not!” Eransinta crossed her arms over her chest. “I forbid it.” “But Mother—” Eransinta silenced Iarion with a glare of her deep blue eyes before turning on her husband. “How could you even listen to such an idea? It’s ridiculous! There is no reason for Iarion to ever leave Melaquenya.” “Don’t you think you are being a little overprotective?” Curuadil said in a soothing voice. Barlo winced, knowing the elf had made a mistake. “Overprotective?” Eransinta’s voice rose another octave. “I am his mother! I already lost him once. I have no intention of losing him again.” “Excuse me,” Barlo said, coming to Curuadil’s rescue. Eransinta turned her gaze on him, and it took all his determination not to step back from her irrational fury. “You can’t keep Iarion here forever. You would have to put him in chains. If he really wants to get away from Melaquenya, sooner or later, he’ll do it. Now, he can either run away on his own, or you can let him come on a safe, supervised trip with me to Dwarvenhome. He won’t be in any danger there, and it would only be for a few days.” “How do you know he will be safe?” Eransinta said, her anger turning to pleading. “The outside world is a dangerous place, and he has never been outside Melaquenya.” Barlo stifled the urge to throttle the impossible elf woman. “You can’t say he can’t go because he’s never left home. By those rules, he’ll have to stay here forever.” “Would that really be so bad?” Eransinta asked in a soft voice. “Maybe not to you, but to Iarion, it would be like being a prisoner.” Iarion nodded his agreement. Barlo held Eransinta’s gaze. “Don’t you trust me?” Eransinta closed her eyes and looked away. “Of course I trust you.” “Just not with your son’s life, is that it?” Barlo allowed some of his frustration to creep into his voice. “Do you have any idea how many times I saved his life before he was reborn into this one? Don’t get me wrong, he’s saved mine too. My point is, I can take care of him, and he knows how to take care of himself. If you really trusted me, you would let me take him. Or are you just like the other fools in your village, who can’t see past the fact that I have facial hair and stand a bit closer to the ground?” “You know that’s not it.” Eransinta’s voice broke. “It’s just...” Barlo approached her and gave her hand a squeeze. “I know. But you have to let go sometime.” A tear slid down Eransinta’s golden cheek. She raised her head to look at her son. “Would you really run away?” Iarion sighed. “Yes.” Eransinta began to sob. “I had even thought of it before Barlo arrived and brought it up. I don’t want to, but I’m afraid you will never let me leave. It’s not that I don’t love you, Mother. I just need to have a life of my own.” He and his father put their arms around Eransinta’s shoulders. “Fine,” she said. “Take him.” Her gaze fell upon Barlo once more. “But if anything happens to him, I swear...” She shook her head, unable to continue. Barlo swallowed. “Nothing bad will happen. I’ll take good care of him; I promise.” Barlo and Iarion wasted no time making their escape once they had Eransinta’s permission for fear she might change her mind. They practically ran from Melaquenya, leaving the safety of the golden-skinned trees behind for the sprawling grassland of the Adar Daran. “I can’t believe you convinced her to let me go!” Iarion said for the third time. Barlo gave a nonchalant shrug. “What can I say? I have a way with words.” Iarion stuck his tongue out at him, provoking a grin. “I can’t wait to get you back to Dwarvenhome! Narilga and the children will be so pleased to see you.” Iarion grinned back, unable to contain himself. “I’m finally free!” “Only for a few days,” Barlo warned. “If I don’t take you back, your mother will kill me.” “I know,” Iarion said. “It’s just so good to be out in the world again. I feel like nothing can dampen my spirits. Not even those rainclouds rolling in!” “Rainclouds?” Barlo squinted at the western horizon and began to curse. Sure enough, the clouds were roiling. An ominous rumble sounded in the distance. “Those are coming in fast. It’s a good thing I thought to bring a tent. You never know when one of those autumn storms will hit. We’d best make camp now.” Barlo dug the tent out of his pack and handed it to Iarion. “Here, help me with this.” Iarion nodded and began unfurling the fabric while Barlo rummaged around for the poles. “Uh, Barlo?” Iarion asked. Barlo grunted and kept rummaging. “When was the last time you used this tent?” “Hmm... Not for a year or so. Why?” Barlo looked up. “Because it’s riddled with holes!” Iarion stretched the fabric in front of his face, which looked like it was almost ready to crumble. Barlo could see Iarion’s eyes peering through a pair of ragged holes. He started to curse. A few gray shapes fluttered into the air. Barlo mistook them for pieces of fabric at first before he realized what they were. “Blasted moths! How did they get in there?” “I don’t think it matters now,” Iarion said. “Is any of it salvageable? The only shelter nearby is Melaquenya, and I don’t think we want to go running back there just yet.” Iarion inspected the fabric, frowning. “There might be enough for a lean-to, but that’s it.” Barlo sighed. “Well, it’s better than nothing, I suppose.” They barely managed to set up their shelter before the storm hit. The wind tore at the rather sorry-looking lean-to and blew the pelting rain inside. Both Iarion and Barlo were wet in a matter of moments. All they could do was sit with their backs facing toward the elements and try to ignore the long grass whipping at them. “Still glad you got out of Melaquenya?” Barlo asked with an apologetic smile. “Well, I wouldn’t mind better accommodations, but it won’t be the first time I can remember having to sleep in the rain.” “We should probably just eat and try to get some rest,” Barlo said. “Hopefully it will blow over soon. Either way, we’re not going any farther today, and I doubt anything will bother us in this weather.” Iarion nodded, digging into his own pack to pull out some dried fruit rations. Barlo gnawed on some dried beef, which he kept to himself. Light Elves didn’t eat meat. When he finished, he looked in his pack for something special he had brought along. He found the wrapped packet he was looking for and pulled it out. “What’s that?” Iarion asked. “Just a little something I made.” Barlo unwrapped a small cake. “I thought maybe I would surprise Narilga with it, but I wanted to test it out first to see what you thought.” “You baked something?” Iarion gave the cake a dubious look. “Yes, I baked something,” Barlo huffed. “Narilga’s birthday is coming up, and I wanted to give her something other than jewelry for once. You’ve got to keep the relationship fresh.” “Fair enough. What’s in it?” “Sugar, spices... You know, cake things.” Barlo shrugged. “There’s no meat in it, if that’s what you’re asking.” Iarion gave him a level look. “Cake things.” “Yes, cake things! Are you going to eat some or not?” “Have you tried it yet?” Iarion cautiously broke off half the cake and placed it in his lap. “No, I wanted to save it for when you tried it. I would have brought more, but this was the only one I didn’t burn.”