No Retreat

It was a rather ordinary day. Arthon kept himself busy with his responsibilities and routines. He realized, however, that it was anything but an ordinary day when he came out to the main courtyard and saw the collection of horses and carriages. When he went to the main hall to start preparing for dinner, he could hear Seaoth speaking to someone, but this was also unusual for it was not in his normal, booming authoritative voice but rather in a near-quiet, almost reverent tone. And then he heard,

“Yes your Excellency, of course.” and Arthon’s heart quickened. He turned the corner and entered the main hall to find Seaoth sitting across from Hellarthis Breasciousous, bishop and Speaker for the Western Star. His attendants and guards were scattered through out the hall, and one or two took notice of the young soldier in the doorway. Arthon was very, very confused as he cleared his throat, straightened his back and began walking across the hall.

Both elves rose as he approached and Arthon went just far enough before dropping down to one knee and lowering his head.

“Your Excellency, this is such an honor.” He said, looking at the floor and wishing he would have swept up better this morning.

“Please, my son, rise.” As Arthon did, the priest turned back to Seaoth, “Thank you for waiting with me Sergeant. I will only take up a minute of his time and then will return him to you.”

Bowing deeply, Seaoth replied, “No rush at all your Excellency. None at all.” and then he turned and left.

Arthon couldn’t help thinking something along the lines of, ‘Oh crap! What did I do now!’

The bishop pointed to the seat that Seaoth had been using, “Please son, sit.”

“Thank you, your Excellency.” Arthon replied as he waited for the bishop to settle before taking the offered seat. “I must say that I am a bit shocked to be sitting across from the Speaker for the Western Star.”

The Speaker smiled and then was silent for a few minutes before he finally spoke, “I have come here, young Arthon, to extend my deepest apologies to you.”

If he wasn’t befuddled before, he was completely lost now, “Your Excellency?” was all he could manage to ask.

The bishop sighed and then rose, “On second thought, let us walk.” without a word, Arthon shot up from his seat and stood rod stiff until the Speaker started walking. The young soldier fell into step beside him. After a moment, the priest continued,

“I have come to hear the tale of Hernalphys and how he has betrayed my house. I have heard it told that he traveled to Myth Alos and committed an act of the highest insubordination in order to be reassigned to a temple in Evermeet.”

He paused long enough for Arthon to feel compelled to speak, “I was so horrified to hear of this betrayal to you and the Hall of the Western Star myself your Excellency.”

“As we all were, my young soldier,” he replied reflectively, “As we all were. ” Then he turned to the young elf, “But that is neither here nor there. Such things as those have a way of working themselves out. It was because of another part of the tale that I felt compelled to call on you this evening, Arthon.”

It was almost a shock to hear the Speaker of the Western Star speak his given name, “What was that your Excellency, if I may ask?”

“It was the fact that I was told that Hernalphys invoked my name and presumed to speak for me as a way of enticing you to do his bidding.”

Suddenly, Arthon felt terribly, terribly uncomfortable. “Your Excellency…” he started, but was cut off.

“Do not fret. I am confident that I have a reasonable understanding of what transpired and I can assure you with all my honor and the honor of my position that I hold you at fault in no way or form. ” He looked at the young elf to make sure he had his attention, “This is not at all to say that I was not hurt and somewhat offended that you felt my message to House of St. Herarie’s Wisdom was not of significant importance,”

He could see that the young soldier was almost ready to burst in the desire to defend himself, and was also impressed at the boys discipline when he remained quiet.

“That being said, I would never have desired that my name or the name of the Western Star be used to manipulate or deceive you and I am highly offended that it was.”

Arthon could take no more, “You Excellency, never for a second have I even considered that you should feel anythin-” but again he was cut off by the bishop raising his hand to silence him.

“As I said, Arthon, these things have a way of sorting themselves out and I do not wish you to be concerned over this. I simply wanted you to know that this was done without my knowledge and I was highly displeased when I learned that it had taken place.”

The young elf didn’t know what to say.

Then, the Speaker of the Western Star asked him an unfathomable question, “Would you accept my blessing? It would do much to ease my heart of the ill will that has been done in my name.”

Arthon was absolutely stunned. There are two kinds of ‘blessing’ one can receive from a priest or cleric. The first is your garden variety, “Good god, please watch over this poor soul as he charges off into battle” that are common on the battlefield and elsewhere. The second variety of blessing was entirely less useful…and universally, massively, unimaginably more significant. This was the type of blessing the Speaker was offering to him now. It is when a priest of significance carries out an entirely meaningless ritual of granting favor and calling upon the god’s blessings for one of their followers.

For the normal elf, such an honor is a significant event. For a soldier in Aerun’s Army, there are few honors that are more important. For a soldier of Aerun’s Army to receive the personal blessing of the Speaker for the Western Star…Arthon was literally lightheaded. It was actually too much for his mind to process for several moments. It took nearly a minute for his vision to clear enough and his senses to return sufficiently for him to realize that the bishop of Western Cormathor was staring at him, patiently waiting for a response.

“Your Excellency. You…I…I mean, you…” he couldn’t even think. “Your Excellency, I certainly do not deserve such an honor. I certainly don’t deserve anythin-”

Again, he was cut off, “You, corporal of Aerun’s Army, would dictate to the Speaker for the Western Star to whom he should and should not impart his blessings?”

Arthon was sure he would die immediately, right on the spot, “Your Excellency!! I never mean-”

This time he was cut off by a wide smile and a soft chuckle. , “My son, in my name you traveled to Myth Drannor and thoughtlessly threw your life between one of my priests and certain, obvious destruction. In the spirit of regaining my favor, you sacrificed your innocence.” He looked intently at the young soldier, “It is my blessing to give and I know of no one within my realm more disserving.”

Arthon was frantically trying to find anything to say, some argument to make some sense to the elder priest when the Speaker gently laid his hand on his shoulder, “Kneel my son.”

Like a rock, Arthon slammed down onto one knee and lowered his head as far as it would go. He heard the bishop’s attendants begin to shuffle over as the Speaker raised his head skyward and began,

“Corellon, mother of Tel’Quessir, I humbly call out to you this day to look down upon this young…”

Arthon listened with absolute attention, holding his breath on every word. He could not even truly comprehend what was occurring, but was absolutely in tune with everything that was happening. For the most part, anyway…a small part of his mind, the part of anyone’s mind that is responsible for dealing with that which the mind cannot handle, looked on as if watching the scene from afar. Silently the other priests, acololytes and deacons fell in around the Speaker as he continued to call on the great Elven deities. There were generals of Aerun’s Army, elves who had spent near millennia in the highest and most honorable service who would be lucky to be given the blessing of their local cleric, and here was Arthon being awarded arguably the single highest honor a soldier could ever hope for.

And a strange thought struck him. He had no idea why, but his father’s image shot into his mind. His father, who having never once spoken a discouraging word to his son, had been utterly and thoroughly shattered when his boy had chosen to follow the obscure war goddess Aerun. His father, while having never given any indication of it, Arthon had no doubt was wholly disappointed in his son. His father who had gone on Retreat with a sad and lost look in his eyes as he bid his son farewell.

Then suddenly this part of his mind fell back into the rest of his consciousness and he was no longer an outside observer. He was kneeling before the Speaker of the Western Star, the bishop’s hand on his head as he intoned the blessing. He was staring at the floor, listening to the words and thinking of his father. He was still staring at the floor when the first of the few tears splatted on the stone floor and made a tiny puddle near his foot.