It was in the afternoon, and Arthon was almost caught off guard. It was so difficult to stay focused and alert at an abandoned fort, in a vast mostly-empty forest in the center of an abandoned nation. There were numerous things Arthon would do to keep his mind busy while going through the utterly mindless routines Seaoth insisted they keep up. This afternoon, he was playing with his shield, trying to come up with the best method of removing it and getting at his backup sword as quickly as possible. It seemed like a useful task and far more interesting than simply watching the forest creatures go about their daily activities.

The rider was still no closer to the keep than he should have been before Arthon noticed him, but it was still with a bit of alarm that he dropped his shield with a large clang and picked up his bow. A instant later, he had an arrow knocked and aimed at the rider. It took another minute for him to come close enough for Arthon to recognize him. With a mental roll of his eyes, the soldier returned his bow to its place and put his arrow away.

“Another attack averted.” he muttered to himself.

While he would have liked to go down to the courtyard and welcome Maiaryum, the end of his shift was still several hours off. And so, for now he would simply have to contemplate the reason for the mage’s visit.

When his shift did finally end, Arthon went off looking for the mage who he was beginning to consider more “friend” than “associate”, knowing that he was still somewhere in the keep. He found the wizard and his commanding officer sharing a glass of wine in one of the two libraries (completely empty these days). They looked up when he entered, and Maiaryum rose,

“Arthon, my boy! It is great to see you well.” They embraced and exchanged short pleasantries.

“Well,” Seaoth said, rising with a groan from his aging knees, “I will leave you two alone.”

As he turned to leave, Maiaryum asked him, “So, we are in agreement?”

“Yes,” the soldier said over his shoulder, “we are.” And he left.

Maiaryum pointed to a chair, “Please, sit!” and he poured the younger elf a glass of wine. Politely, Arthon declined,

“I am on-call and cannot partake.”

Maiaryum gave him a “not even one drink?” look but said nothing about it. Instead, he took a long deep drink from his own glass, and when he had made enough room, poured the contents from the glass Arthon had just declined into his own, raised the chalice in a silent salute and took another sip.

“Well then, unfortunately I only have a few more minutes before I must leave.” He sighed, “I did not realize that Aerun’s Army was keeping such a stringent vigil here and did not appreciate that I should come at a specific time in order to speak with you.”

“What did you want to speak about?” Arthon asked, trying not to stare at the sweet, ruddy liquid.

“This.” the mage answered as he produced a small pouch from beneath his robes. It was a about a foot tall by about half as much wide and it had a drawstring top that the mage loosened. Looking inside, he said mostly to himself, “Now where is it?”

And to Arthon’s astonishment, he thrust his entire arm into the bag. The illusion was dizzying as the mage’s arm disappeared up to his shoulder.

“How did you…” Arthon started but stopped when the mage said,

“Here we go” and pulled from the small bag a sheathed short sword. While no stranger to the arcane, Arthon was still highly impressed by these types of things and hoped his face did not reflect how amazed and stunned he was. The mage handed the sword to Arthon, who took it with a confused look.

“I spoke with Seaoth and have gotten him to agree…” the mage trailed off deciding to change his tack, “I am most impressed by you my boy, and felt compelled…how one could go to Myth Drannor and bring home an ancient relic only to give it away to his temple. Or, to travel to a place like Ashabenford with no intention of benefiting himself at all, but only to arm his fellows.” The mage smiled, “Most impressed am I with someone so young.”

Still utterly confused, Arthon looked at the sword he held. The sheath was obviously made for this particular weapon and both were of the highest Elven craftsmanship. The swooping lines faded into and out of the swirling decorations on both the hilt and sheath. Slowly, drawing the blade out, he saw that the same dancing geometric patterns decorated the glimmering blade as well.

“You deserve to be awarded for the elf you are becoming. Having given yourself so completely to your cause, you need others in your life to look out for you as you ignore your own benefit for that of the many.”

Starting to realize what the mage was saying, Arthon quickly returned the blade to its sheath and started to hand the weapon back to Maiaryum as he tried to find the most polite way to refuse the gift.

“Oh by the nine hells, no boy!” the mage exclaimed, “Truth be told, I have never in my 930-something years in this world heard a more tenacious and utterly annoying din as I had to endure on the way to Myth Drannor! I swear if I heard you ask one more creature if they had an enchanted short sword, I was going to go mad!” he smiled to let the young elf know that what he said was in jest…for the most part.

“As I said…” but he did not repeat what he had said, “…in this day, every last elf is a treasure to Tel’Quessir, and it is absolutely essential for us to be as close to one another as possible. You have a wonderfully symbiotic relationship with the churches, and this serves you very well professionally. Personally, however…an army has no place for any “personally” and I feel it is my obligation to Tel’Quessir and all that I hold dear to my heart to do what I can for each of my brethren.” He leaned back and took another long drink of wine before continuing. “Throw in the fact of my relationship with Ardinia and your relation to her, and you are even more crucial to me.”

Pushing the sword back into Arthon’s lap, “I have no need for sillyness like swords, even one so fantastic as this. I have gotten Seaoth to agree that Aerun’s Army will refuse to accept this blade from you when you go to him tonight and try to donate it to your cause.” He smiled as the boy’s face took on a look of ‘am I that obvious?’

“Not to mention you are doing me a favor. That damn thing,” he said pointing at the sword that Arthon was now again inspecting, “has been getting in my way for years. It already feels good just knowing that it is out of my way and I won’t have to deal with it anymore.”

Arthon looked up and began to say something, but in the wizened mages eyes, he saw…’I know you don’t want it boy, I didn’t ask if you did’…’I know that you have no worldly desire, boy and I don’t really care’…’I know that you have given up all possessions, unfortunately for you I did not take such an oath’…and finally…something very close to, ‘please boy, I am very close to the end of my time on this world and it is more and more difficult with each passing day for me to feel useful and needed, yet in this act I can feel both’…

So finally, the young soldier simply said, “Thank you Maiaryum. This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.”

Almost relieved to have it over with, the mage quickly changed the subject to be done with it. They sat for awhile and spoke of current events. After awhile, Maiaryum took the blade back to look at it while he gave Arthon a quick history lesson on the weapon. It was nearly 2000 years old, having been forged after the first Drow War by a very powerful wizard as a gift to an elven warrior who had gone out of his way to protect the mage during the end of the war. “Rumhalthi’s Gift” was also as powerful as it was beautiful. Arthon felt even more guilty about the gift when the wizard was done. And, just as Maiaryum had predicted, later that evening he went to Seaoth and begged him to let him donate the blade to the church.

“Fah! Silly little short sword anyway. ‘Tis a dwarf’s weapon, at best, and ye can keep it less our armory start to look like we are preparing to arm the wee-folk.”

But only a few seconds later, friendship beat out gruffness and Seaoth turned to his young ward before retiring for the evening, “Just as that sword was originally created to gift to a soldier, it is not uncommon or unheard of for warriors to be gifted items. And while you took an oath to serve first the gods and second your unit, your unit has decided we have no need for such a weapon. As such, its yours and yours alone boy…and ye should wear it with a damn bit of pride too, if ye asked me.”

And with that, the matter was dropped.