Chapter 6
The Calm
Alron slowly opened his eyes, his vision hazy with remnants of sleep. The first faint rays of sunlight were peeking through the window, signaling the arrival of morning. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes to fully wake himself up. Alron, despite being physically exhausted, found it difficult to get a good night's sleep. Last night's events had left him lying awake in the dark, his mind still occupied by the mysterious elf and the enigma of the amulet. Alron lay in his bed, his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling above him. The soft morning sunlight streamed through the window, but Alron's mind was still preoccupied with thoughts and questions about last night's unexpected encounter. Alron's contemplative silence was suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice coming from the windowsill.
Startled, he turned his head to see who it was and found himself looking at Freya, her head peeking through the window. Freya's silvery hazel eyes were filled with curiosity as her head poked through the window, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Morning," she greeted Alron, her playful tone breaking the morning silence. Alron, still slightly disoriented from being woken up, shook his head sleepily. "No, not yet," he replied, his voice groggy as he sat up in bed. "I was about to check on him," he added, rising from the bed and stretching. Freya, always the early riser, shared her intention to tend to the cows. "I'm going to milk the cows," she said, a hint of tiredness in her voice. "I figured I should wake you up before I go." Alron, still half-asleep, gave a small smile in response to Freya's thoughtfulness. "Thanks, Frey," he mumbled, his voice still somewhat hoarse from sleep. "Appreciate it." Freya chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "No problem, sleepyhead," she said, her playful tone betraying her amusement at Alron's grogginess. With a nod and a smile, Freya left Alron's presence, presumably to go and attend to the cows, having fulfilled her task of waking him up before starting her early morning chores. Alron, feeling a bit fuzzy from sleep, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and planted his feet firmly on the ground. He gave a quick jerk of his legs, attempting to restore some sense of wakefulness to them. The coldness of the floor only served to further jolt him awake, and he stood up, ready to start the day.
Alron walked over to his clothes shelf and perused his selection of daily attire. He picked out a simple yet comfortable outfit, consisting of a shirt, pants, and a pair of sturdy boots. He quickly changed into his chosen clothes, feeling more alert with each passing moment. As Alron finished dressing, his mind was still preoccupied by the thoughts and questions that had kept him up the previous night. The mysterious elf, the amulet, the broken armor – all these riddles danced around in his head, refusing to let him find peace. Alron exited his room, and the comforting smell of baking potatoes wafted into his nostrils. He followed the scent to the firepit, where he found Beor busying himself with baking a batch of potatoes over the crackling fire. Beor, noticing Alron's presence, paused in his potato-baking endeavors to greet his brother. "Good morning," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion from the early morning work. "Maa's out tending to the sheep, she'll be back soon." Alron, curious about the Elf's whereabouts, directed his question at Beor. "Where's the elf?" he inquired, his gaze shifting to the spot near the firepit where they had laid the wounded elf the previous night. The faint memory of tending to the elf's injuries flashed through his mind, as they had done their best to provide makeshift medical care by covering his wounds with wet towels. "He started stirring in the night," Beor said, pausing to emphasize his point. "I had no other choice but to take him to the healer." Beor then posed a question to Alron, his tone reflecting his curiosity. "And where, in Set's name, did you even find an elf?" Alron responded to Beor's question with a question of his own, "Maa didn't tell you?" He then proceeded to explain how the elf had appeared out of the woods while they were making their way back home, mounted on the majestic horse. Beor listened as Alron recounted their unexpected encounter, his expression a mixture of surprise and intrigue. "He just appeared out of nowhere?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. Alron nodded affirmatively. "Yeah, he just came out of the woods on a horse, as we were headed back home," he confirmed, still a bit puzzled by the event himself. Alron's words carried a hint of concern as he mentioned the elf's injuries, speculating that it was likely the work of bandits. He then brought up the strange amulet that Maa had taken a note of, mentioning the presence of runes similar to those at the old Set ruins where they used to play. Beor, listening patiently and mid-way through devouring a roasted potato, halted his munching upon hearing a knock at the door. He glanced at Alron, a puzzled look on his face. "Now who could that be?" he wondered aloud, as they both looked towards the door.
Alron, anticipating the identity of their visitor, suggested that it might be Freya. "Probably Frey," he mused. "She mentioned she would come later to check on the elf," he added, recalling their earlier conversation. He then mentioned that she was currently holding onto the horse the elf had been riding. Alron walked over to the door and carefully pulled it open, to see who was standing on the other side. The sight that greeted him was indeed Freya, her silvery hazel eyes sparkling with anticipation as she stood there, a hint of eagerness in her expression. Without warning, Freya lunged forward and wrapped her arms around Alron, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Caught off guard, Alron stumbled slightly, surprised by the sudden display of affection. Alron, slightly disoriented from the sudden embrace, managed to regain his footing and ask, "Is everything alright?" Freya's voice wavered as she struggled to speak through her tears, managing to say, "It's Uncle..." Her words were choked with emotion, and Alron's heart sank at the sight of Freya's distress. He quickly asked, his voice filled with concern, "What about Uncle? Is he okay?" Freya continued to sob, her tears now flowing more freely, unable to form a coherent response. Alron gently held her, doing his best to soothe her as he waited for an explanation. After a few moments, Freya finally managed to regain her composure sufficiently to speak. She looked up at Alron, her eyes red and watery from crying, and managed to get a few words out between sobs. "He's sick... He's really sick..." Alron's heart twisted in his chest as he listened to Freya's words. He could see the worry and fear etched on her face, and he knew that this was no ordinary illness. "How sick is he?" he asked, his own voice laced with concern. Freya's voice trembled as she replied, her eyes downcast. "It's bad... He's very weak... And he's burning up with fever..." she said, her voice cracking with emotion. Alron, feeling a pang of guilt for not having known about the situation earlier, quickly reassured Freya. "Come on, let's take him to the healers," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. Alron then questioned her, "Why didn't you tell me about this in the morning?" Freya's voice trailed off as she tried to explain. "I don't know," she muttered, her voice filled with confusion and worry. "He was fine earlier. He just fell, and then..." Her words were cut off by a fresh wave of tears, and she buried her face in Alron's shoulder. Alron and Freya quickly made their way towards Freya's house, Alron's arm around Freya's shoulders in a comforting gesture. Their steps were brisk and hurried as they navigated through the familiar paths of their village. They didn't exchange any words during the short walk, the urgency of the situation and their shared concern for her uncle weighing heavily on their minds.
Freya's aunt was busily tending to her husband's fever, placing cool, wet cloth over his forehead in a vain attempt to reduce his fever. The room was filled with an air of worry and concern, the atmosphere thick with tension. Alron and Freya entered the house, their presence unnoticed by Freya's aunt, who was completely preoccupied with caring for her ill husband. Alron stepped forward, addressing Freya's aunt with a firm and confident voice. "We will take him to the temple," he stated, a determined look in his eyes. Freya's aunt, still focused on her husband, cast a brief glance in Alron's direction, acknowledging his words before returning her attention to her ailing spouse. Freya's aunt gingerly removed the damp cloth from her husband's forehead, the cloth now warm and saturated from the heat emanating from his feverish brow. Meanwhile, Alron stepped forward, carefully crouching down and preparing to lift the ill man from the floor. Alron crouched down, carefully adjusting his grip under the man's limbs. With a firm yet gentle grasp, he lifted the ailing man from the floor, supporting his weight and positioning him in his arms. The man's limp body sagged against Alron, feeling surprisingly light and frail. Alron, surprised at the man's light weight, couldn't help but voice his surprise. "He's so light," he said, his tone tinged with disbelief. "What could have happened to him so quickly?" As he held the ill man in his arms, he couldn't shake the feeling that something about this sudden illness was deeply troubling. With the man securely in his arms, Alron gingerly carried him towards the door, his steps slow and measured to avoid jolting the ill man. The room was now eerily silent, the only sound being the soft creak of the floorboards under Alron's footsteps. Freya and her aunt followed closely behind Alron, their footsteps quick and urgent as they made their way across the small village. The villagers, going about their day-to-day activities, cast curious glances towards the small procession, their work momentarily forgotten as they watched the three make their way to the temple. Beor, finally caught up to them, his cheerful demeanor rapidly fading as he comprehended the gravity of the situation. "Hey, what happened...?" he began, his question dying on his lips as he discerned the severity of the events unfolding before him.
Alron, carrying the sick man in his arms, led the way into the temple, the others following closely behind him. The cool, dim interior of the temple wrapped around them like a comforting embrace, starkly contrasting the tense silence of the group as they entered. The building was grand in stature yet dimly lit, with the flickering light from the torches and candles barely illuminating the vast wooden structure. The air within the temple was thick with an aura of reverence and quietude, its stillness only broken by the soft footfalls of the group making their way through the shadows. A tall, elderly priest appeared from the shadows, his robes and garments a simple and unadorned white fabric that seemed to glow softly in the dim lighting. The priest's gaze fell upon the ill man in Alron's arms, his face betraying a mixture of concern and mild surprise. The priest, his voice deep and heavy, uttered, "He's sick?" Without further ado, he reached out and picked up a dusty tome from a nearby pedestal. With a solemn expression, the priest motioned for them to follow him as he turned and walked towards a small chamber at the back of the temple. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from a few carefully placed candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows upon the stone walls. The priest strode into the room, setting the book down on a stone workbench and gesturing for the group to place the ill man on a stone bed. Alron's gaze inadvertently fell upon the nearby stone bed, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw the familiar figure of the elf lying upon it. A flood of questions and concerns welled up within him at the sight, but he pushed them aside, focusing on the immediate task at hand. The priest settled himself beside Freya's uncle, a reverent look in his eyes as he slowly opened the tome. The pages crackled softly under his touch, their ancient paper fragile and delicate. As the priest chanted the words from the tome, a faint glow of lime green light began to flow from his hands, dancing over the ill man's body as if seeking out his ailment. Alron watched the scene before him, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and awe. "Magic," he whispered quietly to himself, the word falling from his lips like a reverent incantation. The sight of the glowing light flowing from the priest's hands to Freya's uncle was a sight he had never witnessed before, stirring a sense of wonder deep within him.
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