These Hands That Are Holding You ((Solo))

[Eruvilui]

When you're an alcoholic, the only passage of time you ever seem to notice is how long it takes to open another bottle of the local elvish wine and begin drowning yourself in the rich, exotic flavor of artificial amnesia. Every drunk has their reason, mine isn't that much different from everyone else's I suppose. It really takes a drunk to understand another drunk. To everyone else, my problem might seem something that requires professional attention and a good potion brewed by a talented apothecary, but to a drunk I am a brother in the endless pain that every draught we swig helps to dull. Normal people are just selfish, they don't understand my problem, they just judge me. How could they know how I feel, when I can barely feel anything at all? I suppose I prefer it that way... Oryl thought hazily to himself as he reached for yet another bottle of wine brewed from the vineyards of Scara Brae. Despite the fact that he was so drunk he couldn't taste the intricate flavors of the vino, the fey elf appreciated the fact that the island at least had a local brew.

Imports were just too expensive for a man living off odd-jobs.

If Oryl ever bothered to clean himself and stand upright he would have appeared quite handsome, even noble. This was, however, not the case for the sullen elf. Greasy, dirty, messy long blonde hair cascaded down to his shoulders, obscuring his lightly tanned face and purple eyes. His dirty green tunic reeked of booze, though if you wanted a more concentrated stench you needn't go further than his disgusting breath. As usual the tear in his brown slacks remained, unmended, despite the several resolutions to stitch it 'with the next job'. The drunk elf was practically bent over the table reaching for the last bottle he had.

"Uh oh...looks like it's time...to go find some...work...I hate work," he said in a stupor.

Wasting his many talents, Oryl typically took jobs cleaning up in taverns. He did this because it often meant he didn't even have to leave his current location, as he favored taverns when he looked for a place to go for the day. Additionally, he could always trade his services for food and wine instead of gold. Besides, he couldn't think of a single thing he needed money for, as he was usually too drunk to listen to the voice in his head nagging him about the rip in his pants.

"But first...a little nap," Oryl whispered, yawning. After all, as drunk as I am, I won't have to worry about any nasty dreams, he thought with a stupid smirk befitting a drunken baffoon. With that, he stretched and laid his head on the table to nap. It was only about one in the afternoon, and when he woke up the tavern owner would probably need help with dishes from the lunch rush...

So the "Everything You Need to Know" thread doesn't make any mention of vineyards or local wines, so I apologize if it is a stretch, but there has got to be a local source of cheap wine.

If you wish to leave comments, criticisms, etc. on this thread: "These Hands" OOC Thread - THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!!

[Eruvilui]

Oryl found himself standing at the edge of a misty forest. The trees themselves gave off a soft glow, as if their bark was merely a thin sheet obscuring the light within each towering sentinel. Everything seemed so familiar to the fey elf, but at the same time eerie and foreign. Another lifetime ago, perhaps, he might have felt at home in these strange woods, but Oryl was not that person anymore. Magical woodlands filled with strange and exotic creatures were not his sanctuary, no, not anymore. He had long ago given up those things in favor of the bottom of every glass bottle in Scara Brae.

Despite himself, the fey elf pushed forward, further into the mysterious forest. He could hear something now, shouts and the clashing of steel. A battle? Oryl thought, perhaps. Frigid tendrils of hesitation began creeping slowly outwards from the base of his neck to the far extremeties of his body. If there was one thing the drunkard of an elf wanted to avoid more than anything, it was battle. Turning to flee, perhaps the only action the cold, gripping fear inside him would allow, Oryl stared in horror as the woods began to close behind him into a solid, verdent wall.

His only choice was to continue.

As he pressed in, further down the proverbial rabbit hole, the fey elf could see streams of light pouring in through the treeline. A clearing must lay ahead, he thought, and the battle as well. Oryl could feel the thick, heavy feeling of dread beginning to spread out from his core; it was a familiar feeling, one he'd felt intimately embrace his heart many times.

He hated that ugly feeling.

Oryl finally broke into the clearing, and there the battle raged on! Handsome, galant Eladrin Warlords, Wizards, and Armathors were locked in combat with fierce, devilsh warriors with pale green skin and greasy black hair. Every fiber of the fey elf's body began to scream in anguish, anger, fear, and all the other black emotions that haunt a man and cause him to lose himself. The flood of emotions was cauing the poor drunk to feel more in a few seconds than he usually was able to muster in a week.

Why wouldn't it? After all, this was the day he lost everything...

Oryl awoke, shaking and soaked. His heart was thumping so loud he couldn't hear the thin girl holding an empty bucket in front of him. The fey elf was so utterly disturbed by the image that his first reaction was to start reaching for the nearest bottle, but there was none to be found. Frustrated, the young brunette girl grabbed hold of Oryl and tried to steady him.

"Knock it the fuck off already, you damn lunatic!" she scolded, "You were only having a fucking dream. Bein' quite a pansy about it too, waking up screaming like a small child and disturbing my customers."

By the way she talked, she must have been the wife or oldest daughter of the tavern's owner, but Oryl really wasn't paying attention. "Get the hell out of my bar, you damn fool," she said in tradespeak, the fey elf finally coherent and calm enough to recognize the language. The brunette pointed towards the door, and the alcoholic began to move towards it hesitantly. There was still daylight outside, and Oryl had a massive hangover in addition to the night terror he'd just suffered through.

He put a weak hand on the table to help lift himself out of the booth. Taking one unsteady step after another, he finally got to the door. Pushing it open the light shined on his eyes, and he recoiled in pain. Looking back, the brunette shoved her finger in the direction of the outside world and, with a sigh, Oryl left the tavern...

[Eruvilui]

Oryl's eyes stung dully now, having had a few moments to adjust to the vicious sun. If the drunkard was capable of coherent thought he probably would've wondered what his wood elf mother might have thought of her son thinking so poorly of the life-giving sun. No, it was best that Oryl didn't think about her, as it was best that Oryl didn't think about anyone from his past. After all, the only reason he drank all the time was to forget.

Regardless, the fey elf was broke and desperately craving some more wine to ease his throbbing head. The veins in his temples pulsed furiously in defiance of the drunkard's poor choices, and, if he could feel it, his liver and kidneys were in desperate need of some clean water. Oryl couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so miserable, but, again, remembering isn't exactly the specialty of someone who would prefer to live life minute to minute and bottle to bottle.

"Ugh, I need a fresh bottle," the elf said under his breath, which he soon regretted because even he knew how foul that was.

"What you need is a bath, and a good slap in the face. My problem is I can't tell which you need more, and which you need first," came a smooth voice from behind him.

Turning, the fey elf was greeted by what must have been his antithesis in life. A female elf stood behind him, staring at him as Oryl turned to meet her gaze. Well, as best as he could meet anyone's gaze.

She was breathtakingly beautiful with her healthy tan and smooth, angular features. Her eyes were a vibrant, primal green and she had full lips. The woman had no make-up on whatsoever, and she still was a wild, enchanting visage. Her face was framed by long hair that cascaded below the shoulders. It was a stunning mixture of autumn colors. Her shapely body, with excellent curves that were wasted on someone as utterly clueless as Oryl, was garbed in forest green regalia befitting the wood elf, neither gaudy nor homely.

"Do I know you?" he inquired.

"Ugh...you know you should warn people before you speak to them," she said with a cringed face, "That, and you should probably register that breath with the town guard as a potentially lethal weapon," the pretty woman finished with a subtle laugh, probably trying not to inhale too much.

"That doesn't answer my question," Oryl said just after turning his head slightly. He couldn't help being polite, despite the fact that courtesy wasn't exactly in his nature. Honestly, he probably did it more out of embarrasment than charity, or at least that's what he told himself.

"I've seen you around town several times. You're not too much different from the other drunks in town. No, what really gives you away are those purple eyes of yours," the woman replied with an odd look in her eyes, not so much attraction as the interest a laboratory mage would show in a new specimen.

"Yes well...I'm a little unique you could say," Oryl said, "However, I had better be going, I need to go work and earn some money for lodgings tonight," he said, trying to change the subject, and even more so trying to keep his mind of his 'unique' eye color.

"Well, you see I know for a fact that you just got thrown out of the Lonely Bard over there," she said, pointing to the tavern Oryl had just been kicked out of,"I probably would've never followed you if you'd left peacefully, but all that screaming just caught my attention. I started telling myself, 'Sheila, that there is a distraught creature if there ever was one, and you should go see about helping that poor man,' so here I am."

Oryl was quickly becoming annoyed. Impatience was tugging at his mind and heartstrings like an excited child would their parent's pantleg. "There's nothing you can do to help me, Sheila, unless you want to buy me a drink," he said gruffly, trying to get her to leave by being rude. He was sorely disappointed when the jab seemed to have no effect on the young woman.

"Uh huh, and dark elves dress up in little red and green outfits and play in the snow. You're coming with me," Sheila said, grabbing Oryl by the arm and dragging him with her. The fey elf tried to protest, but the female merely gave him a solid whack to the head and all Oryl could see were stars...

[Eruvilui]

"Ooohhhh," Oryl said hazily as he became aware of himself again. "So I guess you decided to go ahead and give me the slap first," the fey elf muttered, unsure of where he was or if Sheila was even in the room.

"I'm over here," Sheila said in elven when she noticed her guest wasn't really aware of her presence, "You don't have to speak that common tongue here. Speak naturally, I can tell your first language is not Tradespeak," she said in their native elven with a gentle smile. She slinked silently towards Oryl, each movement was elegant and alluring and now that Oryl wasn't hammered he could truly appreciate her beauty.

"Don't worry, I didn't give you a bath while you were out," Sheila said playfully,"That aura of stench protected you from my wicked work."

"Well I'm glad to see it was good for something," he replied with a small chuckle. It had been a long time since he'd been around a woman, and even longer since he'd had a pleasant conversation with one.

"Not such a grump when you're not drunk. Still, you're going to have to bathe yourself. The water's ready if you want to," the she-elf said, beginning to leave the room.

"Speaking of being drunk...you wouldn't happen to have any wine I can enjoy with the bath," Oryl asked hesitantly.

Sheila turned around and had a sour look on her face. "No wine for you, bub," she said, "What you need is water, and there's plenty of that." Turning around she began to saunter off again.

"Wait," the fey elf called out, causing her to look over her shoulder,"you never told me why you're doing this. You don't even know my name."

The woman waved a hand in front of her nose in effigy of the drunkard and pointed to the room with steam coming from it. "All good things in time, Jhyr Tor," she said with a wink and a maternal tone in tradespeak, calling him 'Lost Child' in elven. Without waiting for a response, Sheila quickly headed down the stairs of the two story house. Discomfort began to spread from his chest to his appendages like a painter spreads oil on a canvas, covering every inch with thick, colorful paint.

The fey elf began to wonder what she knew about him.

Shaking his head, Oryl reminded himself that thought was not his specialty anymore, and he resigned himself to accepting the offer for a bath. Entering the room, the fey elf's body responded pleasantly to the increase in temperature and humidity. Taking in a slow breath, the sense of discomfort was replaced by a calm serenity that was wonderfully infectious. Slowly, he began to remove his clothing, once again noticing the rip in his pants.

"I really should mend those with my next job," he said rhetorically.

Oryl couldn't help but feel the creeping sense of disgust slowly crawl up his chest like a spider as he stripped and examined himself. He was made of dough. The fey elf couldn't recognize any of his old self under the fat he'd gained from drinking too much and, in general, being utterly lazy. There were, however, a few light scars marring his overweight body. The sense of serenity, however, did prevent him from thinking about it.

Dipping into the warm water, the once clear liquid instantly became slightly darkened as the grim began to melt off his body. Taking the washcloth next to the tub he began to use it to scrub himself. Oryl was shocked at just how much dirt came off his body. The cloth was stained brown within a few passes over his chest and face!

The elf hadn't even realized just how disgusting he'd become...

Suddenly, Oryl felt a tightening in his chest! Desperation, anguish, and a sense of panic began ringing in his mind. The serenity evaporated faster than the filth had been wiped from his body. Wine, I need some wine! his mind screamed. Thoughts and images from within the confines of his mind began to smash at their cages like an enraged animal held prisoner in a zoo when they wished for freedom and the hunt!

Forgetting he was in a bathtub full of water he began to flail about wildly screaming! Murky water splashed about, spilling forth from the tub onto the floor of the bathing room. Some of the water splashing into the fey elf's mouth and he began choking on it. As Oryl began to lose conciousness, he thought he could hear Sheila's velvety voice shouting for him...

[Eruvilui]

Oryl opened his eyes, and again he was on the familiar field of battle. Frantically, he looked about as the fight raged on about him. The fey elf shivered as the icy tendrils of terror crept up his spine in anticipation of his impending doom. When Oryl starred at himself, he was as he remembered years ago. The drunkard found himself clad in the decorative leather armor produced by eladrin leatherworkers for the city of Ellicia's militia, and in his hand was something he hadn't held in years.

The feel of the leather grip was so familiar and friendly. Its weight was hardly noticeable at all, as the blade was something akin to an extension of his arm. In his hand was his implement, the weapon he'd bonded to his very soul as an Armathor. Gripped firmly in his right hand was Celestel, his longsword whose name translated to "Silver Hope". Suddenly, he was shaken into 'reality' by a hand grasping his shoulder.

"Eruvilui, no time to stare about like that!" the voice said in his native dialect, addressing him by that most hated of names.

Eruvilui, oh how Oryl hated that name. A name that means "God is gracious" didn't belong to someone like him. Not someone who lost everything truly dear to him. No, "god" was truly a hateful, wicked being as far as Oryl was concerned, and this was the day that proved it all...

"Wake up, dammit! Breathe!" Sheila screamed, pressing her lips to Oryl's in an attempt to revive him. He'd swallowed some of the murky bathwater and fallen unconcious, but thankfully his heart was still beating, if irregularly. With one final breath, Oryl began coughing up water and taking in fresh air. Relieved, Sheila slumped over him and let out a sigh.

"What...happened..." Oryl asked hazily.

"You tell me," she said softly, "You suddenly started having a seizure and took in some water. I got in here while you were losing conciousness and then I managed to bring you back with rescue breathing," she explained, sitting up.

"I don't know what happened. One moment I was cleaning myself, and then...I just don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know!" the she-elf screamed in displeasure.

Looking resentful, "I just told you, I don't know what happened," the fey elf responded.

Sheila stared into Oryl's eyes with a mix of concern and frustration, only the latter was an emotion that the drunkard elf was familiar with. "Fine, if you say so," she said. The woman had saved Oryl's life, and he couldn't even thank her. At this point, she wondered if she had made a mistake bringing the stinky, crazy elf into her home. After all, she was banking on an old story that had no proof to support it. No proof other than the elf with purple eyes...

[Eruvilui]

After drying himself, Oryl was about to put on his stinking clothes when he heard the door open a little bit. Looking over he observed Sheila's graceful arm holding out a forest green bathrobe. Walking over to the generous hand, the fey elf took the robe from it and donned the covering. When he'd tied the knot in the cloth belt he said, "Alright, I'm all covered up," adding with a whisper,"not that it matters since you've seen me naked now."

Sheila opened the door the rest of the way, her autumn colored hair drawing Oryl's attention more than her shapely body. "I use a special combination of dyes to get it this color. Usually it's just a drab brown, but I prefer the colors of the autumn leaves," she said in velvety elven. A tiny smile graced Oryl's lips, and he wanted to say something complementary but didn't. After all, the two were complete strangers so it wouldn't do to be so bold as to offer compliments.

Sheila was a complete stranger who'd saved his life, though.

"I didn't...thank you earlier," Oryl said looking down with dejected purple eyes.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Sheila said, still standing in the threshold.

"Yes, I do. One should never go about letting their life be saved without offering thanks," uttered the fey elf, seeming to be far away.

Sheila looked upon the poor man and, without warning, compassion filled her heart to the brim. Society often said ill things about drunks and sloths, but they often ignored the root of the problem. Something in Oryl's eyes told the elf maiden that the source of his demons lay far, far from where he stood now. Sauntering up to the fey elf, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was the first compassionate touch Oryl had recieved in a long time.

"Hey, you're welcome, okay? Now, come back to me from wherever it is your mind is wandering," she said smoothly.

Looking up, the clouds began to part for Oryl and he once again stood in the same room as Sheila. Shaking his head slightly, he looked at her and smiled. "Thank you. Now, I have to ask, do you have anything to eat? I'm starving!" he said sheepishly. Giggling, the woman nodded her head and, taking Oryl's hand, led him downstairs to the kitchen...

[Eruvilui]

Sorry to all the people who've been following this quest. I ran into a series of unfortunate events that led to this being the third time I've written this post. Finally, I managed to actually complete the thing without losing my work, and to be honest this is the best version I have done in my opinion.

It was a struggle for Oryl not to smile as the warmth from Sheila's hand encricled his own. The more herculean task was to avoid squeezing her hand, and expose what he was thinking. Her words were still ringing in his head, come back to me, she'd said. The very thought of the words and their kind tone fueled a fire that flickered to life inside Oryl's heart. When Sheila finally looked forward to lead the pair downstairs, he finally cracked and let his joy turn his lips up in a smile.

Who would've thought that happiness could be more intoxicating than imported wine?

However, his brain decided to play devil's advocate and ruin the whole mood. Come back to reality, Oryl, he lectured himself, She still hasn't explained anything to you. The smile deflated back into his normal disinterested look. Sheila finally sat him down on a firm oak chair that matched the wood of the fairly well-sized table. She gave him a look that indicated she wanted him to stay put while she served the meal.

Obliging her, Oryl decided to occupy himself by observing the decore of the room. Everything was made out of sturdy wood, the only colors coming from the differences in the types of lumber used to construct everything. There was a bench covered with wolf and rabbit pelts, a table made from dark cherry wood, and a few decorative pelts here and there. The fey elf wondered if Shiela had been the huntress, or if there was someone else who had done the work.

Oryl couldn't stop himself from hoping there wasn't anyone else.

Coming back from behind the counter, Sheila had a tray laden with two plates and two mugs. The meal was a combination of mixed berries and what smelled like rabbit meat accompanied by water. Smirking, Oryl remembered the elf maiden's comment earlier about needing to drink water instead of wine. When the fey elf took in a whiff of the meat, he involuntarily groaned with delight.

Smiling, Sheila said, "Sounds like you haven't had a home cooked meal in a while."

Shifting awkwardly, Oryl grabbed a strawberry from the platter, "Um...no, I haven't," he said before popping the fruit in his mouth. The sweet red juice from the berry had a tangy twinge to it, but he enjoyed it nevertheless. Sheila gave him a quick sideways glance and decided dinner should be left to silence. Her guest seemed to appreciate that.

The meal progressed quietly. The only sounds were those of eating, and the occasional groan of delight from a delicious bite of rabbit or tangy berry. However, both eaters were guilty of stealing glances at one another when they thought the other wasn't looking. It was the kind of scene you expected adolescents to engage in rather than full grown adults, the humor in the awkwardness of the participants.

When the meal was finally over, Sheila rose and went to collect her guest's plate. As she reached down, Oryl apprehended her by the wrist. It wasn't a rough grasp, but rather a gentle, staying touch. "You're going to have to answer my question sooner or later, Sheila," he said, unable to look her in the eyes.

"Let me finish clearing the table. You wait at the bench, and once the hearth is lit, I will tell you anything you want to know," she said, also incapable of gazing at him directly.

Acquiesing the request, the fey elf went to the bench and seated himself. Tension knotted itself tightly in his gut, aprehension digging its putrid fingers into his shoulders. The wait was killing him, but the thought that he might dig too deep and ruin everything was a far worse torment than death. Oryl knew he was being juvenile, but the conflicting messages from his head and heart remained in spite of his understanding.

As the beautiful woman returned and lit a few logs in the hearth, the firelight outlined her gorgeous visage. He definitely wished he was too drunk to appreciate her figure now. Sheila turned and looked directly at him, crossing her arms under her bosom. She almost appeared as uncomfortable as Oryl, maybe even more so.

"Well, go ahead and ask away," she said, trying to control her lips from frowning.

"Well, I would ask why you are helping me, but for some reason that seems like the wrong question to ask first," Oryl said, looking to the side in hopes of relieving the anxiety that looking upon Sheila caused him.

"So what is the right question?" she asked, sounding a little course.

"Why does it feel like I know you?" he asked, more to himself than to her. The fey elf said it on accident, but the fact was that exact feeling had been gnawing at him throughout dinner. At this point, the gnawing sensation had grown into an all-devouring curiosity that finally escaped its prison behind Oryl's lips.

Sheila looked up, her green eyes, usually so vibrant, starred, surprised. Her throat tightened, but she managed to say one thing, "Because you do."

[Eruvilui]

This post is dedicated to my character, Oryl. I'm sorry I didn't understand what writing was when I started this. I get it now, and I promise to write well for you from now on.

Oryl felt as though her words took on a force of their own, striking him at his core and knocking the wind out of him. Confusion twisted his face, clearly showing the shock of the statement. Sheila's apprehension was obvious, as she appeared to regret having been so forthcoming with an answer to what she should have recognized as a rhetorical question. The tension in the air was palpable, but the fey elf's shock didn't allow it to be lasting.

"How could I possibly know who you are? I'm not even from around here," he said, eyes wide with disbelief.

"We met a long time ago, when we were very small. Please, calm down and I will explain," Sheila said with her soothing, velvety voice. Her hands were raised, as though trying to smooth out the tense air. Oryl responded with a deep breath and an uncharacteristically intent gaze. His eyes were no longer the unresponsive, disinterested eyes of a drunk, they had been replaced with a careful, measured stare.

"My father raised me by himself in this house after my mother died," the wild-looking elf maiden started saying, "It was always just the two of us. He was a wonderful man. He embraced a life among nature, and shared his passion for it with me. Because of this, it was always a very rare and special event to have guests.

"One night, years and years ago, we had a very special visitor. My father looked as though he'd seen one of the good spirits in flesh when he opened the door. It was a woman whom I had never seen before. That had to be the first time I had ever seen my father not know exactly what he was doing.

"He stammered for a moment, but the woman quieted him and asked if she would be allowed in. My father caught himself and brought her in. That was when I noticed she wasn't alone. She had a child with her, hardly more than a toddler. I hadn't been able to see the babe behind my father. When she entered with the child, my father introduced her as an old, dear friend of his named Lyra."

Lyra, Oryl thought with a start. That was his mother's name. His mind began to race, wanting to ask so many questions, but instead he remained there, spellbound, as Sheila continued her story.

"She had disappeared many years ago, before I was born, my father explained later that night. My father told me that he and Lyra had been close friends before that. She came to me and greeted me, telling me how I was the spitting image of my mother, whom she had also been close to," she said, her throat tightening a bit as she remembered the moment, "She then introduced me to her child. He had thick blond hair and purple eyes. It was his eyes that mesmerized me, as I had never seen such a color for eyes. Until today, I haven't since." As she finished, it seemed as though Sheila made an extra effort to stare into Oryl's eyes.

Oryl stared right back into her eyes. The fey elf felt as though he were being drawn into them. Her verdant eyes shimmered like a fresh cut emerald in the firelight. They were beautiful, curious, sad, but most of all they were intelligent. Oryl felt a slight pang of shame in his chest, a feeling of being unworthy of holding the gaze of such a woman. At the same time, though, he could tell there was more to the story.

He could also tell that it was his turn to respond.

[Eruvilui]

Oryl chased after the words running around in his mind, trying to corral them long enough to put them together into an utterance. He knew that the child with purple eyes had to be himself. It only made sense. Oryl had always known that his mother wasn't from the Feywild, that she had been born in another realm entirely.

It wasn't uncommon. The Feywild was an unpredictable demi-plane that surged independently through space, an echo that existed between worlds. Through eldritch forces, explained only as being part of the nature given by the creator god to their home, allowed it to mingle with the worlds fully existing within the vastness of the multiverse. During these times, occasions of people from one realm or another crossing into the Feywild would result in them being trapped when the fickle echo-plane ended its contact with that world. These people would either be killed by one of the wild fey beasts or rescued and brought into the fold of the Eladrin, Oryl's people.

A sense of dread rose within Oryl. The anxiety rearing its head like a beast having sighted its prey. Ever since crossing into this world, the fey elf had been running away from the beast. It gave to a relentless chase which only ended with the dulling effect of drinking. That had been his response, his very way of life for years now.

Not today, though.

Knowing that answers about himself lay not with running away, but with facing his fears. He couldn't hide forever. The name Sheila had called him came to mind, 'Jhyr Tor' which mean 'Lost Child'. Oryl was lost in many ways, some of which were his choosing. The beautiful woman sitting before him was offering him answers to some of the ways he was lost that were not his choosing.

"Sheila," he said looking into her dazzling green eyes, "While I do not remember the event of which you speak..." pausing, trying to find the right words while seeing the sort of desperate look in her eyes, "My mother's name was Lyra, and there is the most distinct possibility that child all those years ago was me."

"I knew it," Sheila said softly, almost choked.

"Sheila, why is this so important to you? Assuming I am the child whom you met all those year ago, why bother with me as I am now?"

Oryl could see tears held back in Sheila's eyes. He looked down, ashamed of his blunt question and that he questioned the motives of someone doing a kindness. "I'm sorry, it isn't my place to question your kindness," the fey elf said looking up at the beautiful woman.

"That night long ago, Lyra and my father spoke at a great length. They had both thought I'd gone to sleep for the night. I heard them speaking, and one thing in particular caught my attention. She asked my father if anything ever happened to her or her husband to look after her child.

I didn't know how such a thing was possible if she lived so far away, but I remember the look in my father's eyes as he promised he would look after the boy should the occasion arise."

Oryl was dumbfounded. Sheila wasn't even aware of how convoluted the idea seemed. Lyra was a resident of the Feywild. The idea of naming a guardian in Althanas for a child living in that chaotic, magical realm was simply illogical. However, what was even more disturbing was the fact that the visit was made at all. The fickle nature of the Feywild made it so that only in the rarest of cases did the echo-realm ever meet with a certain plane for a great length of time, let alone meet with that same plane again with any frequency!

His mother wandering into the Feywild and being stranded was one thing. For the two planes to link up once again only about a decade or so later? That seemed quite a stretch of the imagination. However, for there to be a third meeting, the one which brought him into Althanas all within the span of a handful of decades was practically impossible. Oryl ran it over several times in his mind, but couldn't put all the pieces of the puzzle together.

"I loved my father so much," Sheila said, calling his attention back to her, "I miss him so much. He died, you see, about ten years ago. Some corrupt officials had been in power at the time, and my father was the kind of man that refused to cooperate with wickedness. Because of that, a fight broke out in the streets of the city one day and..."

"I understand. You don't have to say it Sheila," Oryl said softly, attempting to comfort her. The poor woman seemed so alone, isolated. Empathy resonated within the fey elf for the elf maiden's loss.

He too had lost those most dear to him, after all.

[Eruvilui]

Oryl moved to sit next to Sheila, but as he rose she lifted a hand to stay him. Sitting back down, the fey elf waited for his friend to speak. Oryl suddenly felt an odd swimming sensation in his chest when he realized that he had come to see Sheila as just that, a friend. He couldn't seem to recall having ever had a friend in all the years he had been in Scara Brae. The thought gave him enough pause to wait patiently for the elf maiden to speak.

"My father was taken to a healer, who said he could do nothing more than make him comfortable. As I waited at his bedside my father gave me a soft smile," she said, her eyes were lost in the recollection of the moment, "We whispered to each other, speaking of loving memories. He told me lots of things that made it so hard for me to keep the tears back. Then he finally told me one other thing.

"My father reminded me of the night Lyra and her child visited. He told me the truth about his relationship with her. She had been more than his friend. In fact, they'd been betrothed. He told me that he'd waited for years before his heart could heal and the love blossomed between my mother and himself, but that their love was his greatest joy."

Oryl's purple eyes were wide with shock. He'd never known that his mother had been betrothed to another before she was lost to the Feywild. It made sense to move on, though. A strong person would move on with their lives. They would live in the present, not the past. His mother was a strong person.

Without bidding it to mind, a memory wriggled free from the fey elf's subconscious.

He had been but a young lad when he was off in the woods one day with his mother. She was looking off into a patch of glowing trees related to Althanian oak. Her soft green eyes seemed to be gazing off at something distant, unseeable. As a curious boy, Eruvilui had been concerned for his mother. Walking up to her, he'd asked if she was alright. He remembered clearly his mother's tight-lipped smile, one she gave him from time to time.

"My beloved little one," she had said, "Do not worry after your mother. She is merely taking a moment to stroll down memory lane."

He remembered thinking that the phrase had been strange. It wasn't a term that was used among the Eladrin people. She had explained to him that she was from another land, and that it was far away. The young boy knew the story of his mother's arrival to the Feywild and her eventual romance and marriage to his father. The young Eruvilui had then reached up, taking his mother's hand and said to her, "Do you miss where you used to live, mommy?"

She bent down, stroking his silky blond hair. "Eruvilui, all living things which are mortal are transient. You may not understand what I say now, but you will understand this. We live in the present, not the past. What is, is. It is the future that is important, and you are the one who shapes your future." He had thought his mother very wise in that moment.

Sheila's voice brought him back to reality, "Taking a stroll down memory lane?" Oryl locked eyes with her for a moment. Staring into Sheila's gaze was an intense experience. They were green, like his mother's. They also shared those same qualities he'd seen in his mother's eyes. Valiant, intelligent, and kind.

"You're a very strong woman, Sheila," Oryl said.

"Thank you. My father told me the same thing the day he died," she replied.

"I'm sorry," he said, averting his gaze, breaking the intense link.

"Don't be."

"So, did your father say anything else?"

"Well when he brought up Lyra, he mentioned the promise he'd made to look after you. He knew that you'd be a grown man by then, but he asked me to watch out for the man with purple eyes. He said he wanted me to be sure he'd grown up to be a fine man."

Oryl felt slightly guilty hearing that someone he'd never met cared how he turned out. He suddenly felt like he knew why Sheila had pulled him out of the gutter. "I'm sorry to have disappointed your father," Oryl said.

"Don't be silly," Sheila replied instantly, "Lyra's son or not, I can tell one thing. You're not done growing up."

Oryl could see that the fire had returned to Sheila's eyes. The certain spark of life he'd noticed back in town before she knocked his lights out. She gave him a grin, which brought a smile to his own lips. "I suppose not," he finally admitted.