Desreal: United we stand;

“mos nunquam operor quisquam huic universitas vacuus virtus. Is est maioribus species of mens tunc ut veneratio"

I have been here a thousand times, and I don’t know why.

The Knight presses himself into the bark of Hawthorne’s tree (given by Formaldehyde), his eyes closed tightly as Andraste finds a perch among the thickly laden branches. He plants a soft kiss to the bark then, still never opening his eyes. Andraste smiles for him, her heart truly torn for him. She had been with Nicodemus for a very long time, and it was that which told her that he would never truly get over Hawthorne. She knew that even in death he would carry the burden that he could not save her, that he should have tried harder. It was a part of him, and it made him the man that he was today.

Something, however, kept calling him back to this place. As though something was unfinished. He felt Keir’s claws as the wolverine leapt from his back, weaving about the grand tree a few times before digging his claws into it and climbing up, finding a spot beside Andraste. Lately the two were rather peaceable, a strange thing. Perhaps it was the impending doomsday that they faced. Andraste unfurls her wings, encasing the wolverine about her in flames.

There was a sudden vision that took him then, back in a day when things were too wonderful. Hawthorne and he stood beneath the oaks of Wolfrange, Andraste’s song enclosing them in her flames just as the wolverine now. It was only them, and that was all that mattered. Nicodemus breathes slowly, contentedly with her head tucked beneath his own. The smell of his cinders and the fresh baby soft scent of her takes him, and he closes his eyes, lowering his head so that he could plant a gentle kiss upon her neck. The softness of her pale skin make him smile then….

The day turned to night, and the Range was silent save for the gentle hum of Andraste’s song. The lovers are together, and then it seemed that they would always be this way…

Knight, Oracle shakes, pressing into the bark once more, finding himself in the memory. That was before she was stolen from him. And back then it was an afterthought, something so natural it wasn’t any more special than all of the other times they had been together. Then…why would you think of something like that after what had happened? Hawthorne was dead. And Skylar, his only daughter, was all that he had left of her. At first it was that knowledge that made him hate Skylar. The fact that she too was beautiful and pale, resembling her mother too much for him to bear. Nicodemus had denounced her, denying her the only thing that she had left of a parent. It took a long time for them to finally seal the wounds of their broken little family.

And tonight it seemed that it would take another hit.

It was late, and soon the morning sun would come to greet another day, solemnly, for these were soon to be the last that the Element would ever see. Nicodemus stood there, watching, waiting. For what? He didn’t know, but he did know it was for something, someone. Because of that the sudden rustle from behind made him jump when it shouldn’t have. The girl and he were bonded even more tightly than before because of her rebirth. He knew she was coming before they had even arrived at the tree, but still, Nicodemus was on edge. She smiles, coming to lean upon the side of her father gently.

It was a long time before something came to disturb them.

The sound came first low, a bare rustle in the dusk. The two barely noticed it, though it was the girl who would note it first. Her wind carried the sounds to her, and her head raised gently, her eyes opening softly. “Father…” Then it was that memory which flooded the Knight so harshly. From the shadows he came…a stranger to them and yet so tightly woven. He was dark, barely discernable from the shadows that he stood before. A stallion, his mane a wild mess of tangles woven with the brambles and burrs. He seemed to the world a feral thing, mud caking his sides and face, his body handsomely carved with muscles that even Nicodemus lacked. It was this boy which made the Knight seem so miniscule, so old. Only this boy.

The boy smiles to them, the girl tucks herself behind the warmth of her father. The father stands, staring, not believing and yet knowing all at once.

“You are my son.”

The boy nods, his dark eyes only for him. In the night, Nicodemus cries, stepping forwards to embrace that which he had never known. His son, the one he had mistaken for dead….

“Tristan.” The boy does not move, his eyes fixed now upon his sister, who was now staring back at him, her eyes disbelieving, her heart leaping. Finally, they were together again. Nicodemus and his broken little family.

A KNIGHT,
A GIRL, AND A BOY

To acquire knowledge, one must study; but to acquire wisdom, one must observe.

Picture Copyright to Blinck at Deviantart