Chapter 122 – Homecoming (2)

He grasped the front of the saddle as the vision faded. His gaze shot up, towards the skies above the Vermillion Keep. Rare clouds hung over the keep, dyed in crimson as the sun began to set. Dusk was fast approaching, and soon the stars would reveal themselves. Or at least they should.

“Midhir?” Arwen rode next to him, matching her speed to his. “Your eye, it’s bleeding again. What did you see?”

Only then did he notice the warmth of blood slowly running down his cheek. He quickly wiped it with the back of his hand. “I’m not sure…” he muttered after a moment’s hesitation. How had she noticed he saw something so quickly? “I’m fine, you needn’t worry about me.”

Arwen scowled. “You’re clearly not fine,” she retorted. “You’re white as a ghost, and barely holding onto the saddle.”

She wasn’t wrong. The rhythmic shaking of the saddle was usually something he was comfortable with. Now though, he needed to put in effort not to fall off. He desperately needed to rest and recover. “I’m tired,” he coldly replied.

Arwen narrowed her eyes but remained silent. She was clearly not satisfied with his answer, but short of insisting for an answer, there was nothing she could do.

Midhir took a deep breath, then lightly tapped the sides of his steed with his heels. He rode past Arwen and Ilya, stepping off the bridge before anyone else.

A stone paved road led from the bridge to the entrance of the Vermillion Keep. The tall, metal gates were wide open as they always were. As he rode past the gates, he spotted one of the helpers at the stable. Without hesitation, he dismounted, handing the reigns to the young woman. While she quickly led the horse away, Ilya caught up with him.

“What happened?” She shot a glance over her shoulder, towards Willow, Arwen, and the soldiers accompanying them. Then, her gaze lowered towards his bloodied hand. “Your hand-“

“I need to talk to mother.”

Ilya’s eyes widened. Her lips parted in surprise. “Alright,” she nodded a moment later. “Let’s go to her then.” She only paused to pull one of the soldiers aside. “We have guests, make sure they are cared for.”

“Yes, your highness!” The soldier bowed.

Leaving the others behind, Midhir followed Ilya into the Vermillion Keep.

No matter how much time he spent here, he simply couldn’t help but feel so small whenever he walked the halls of the keep. The ceilings were high, decorated with depictions of starry skies. Tapestry hung from the walls, finely crafted and well cared for. Each of them were the masterpieces of different craftsmen from different times.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Crystal lights illuminated the Keep’s hallways, either hanging from the ceiling or attached to the wall columns decorating both sides of the hallways. Statues depicting historical figures were placed into indents, with small name-plaques.

A part of him wanted to see Arwen and Willow’s awe they would surely feel when they stepped into the Keep. But a bigger part of him was filled with doubt and distrust. He couldn’t help but constantly reimagine how Arwen was healing Lord Aulorn. There was no crystal in sight as she healed him – her staff was stashed away in her holding gem, and she wore no augmented rings or bracelets.

“Once you’re rested and recovered, we need to have a talk.” Ilya spoke softly as they approached large, ornate doors. About half a dozen imperial guardsmen stood by the doors, weapons in hand and eyes locked onto them.

“Princess!” One of them stepped forward. “Her Majesty the Empress is currently in a meeting with a guest. She has instructed not to be bothered by anyone but you or his Majesty the Emperor.” The guard’s eyes shifted towards Midhir for a split second. “My apologies, my lord.”

A faint smile flashed across Midhir’s lips. “No need to apologise, Lieutenant Jordan.”

“Who is this guest?” Ilya questioned the Lieutenant, not even bothering to hide her annoyance. “Is he a lord of one of the great houses?”

Lieutenant Jordan shook his head. “No, you highness. It’s a historian with no notable background. He had been requesting an audience with her majesty for weeks. His request was finally granted today, not hour before you arrived.”

Midhir tilted his head. A historian – it couldn’t be Lonan, could it?

“Then he can wait a little longer.” Ilya breathed out. “Wait here, brother. I’ll be right back.” She marched on through the doors two of the guards quickly opened for her.

Midhir couldn’t help but sigh and shake his head. “Apologies for the trouble, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Jordan chuckled. “Please don’t, my Lord.” He glanced around before stepping closer with a somewhat more relaxed expression. “If you don’t mind my asking, are you alright?” he glanced at Midhir’s bloody hand, then pointed at his own cheek.

Midhir awkwardly shook his head. “I’m fine, it’s been a tough and… weird day.” For the first time since he arrived, he forced himself to look at his old mentor properly.

Chiron Jordan was an older man with greying hair. There was a thin, yet clearly visible scar stretching from his chin to his left ear. His brown eyes were surrounded by wrinkles and smile lines.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Lieutenant Jordan chuckled. “A few months, yes. Looks like they were difficult months for you.” He gestured at him broadly. “You look healthier than when you were just a little kid, but you aged a decade it seems.”

Midhir couldn’t help but chuckle. “It feels like it, yeah.” He brushed his hair back. “Chiron, I’d like to speak with you before I return to Solus.”

The older man nodded with a knowing smile. “Of course.” Before he could speak any more, the doors to the throne room swung open.

“Midhir!” Ilya called out to him. “Come,”

He took a deep breath in an attempt to summon his courage before walking towards the throne room. A lump formed in his chest as he stepped through the ornate doors.

A woman sat upon the bejewelled throne, her chin high with pride, and her eyes glimmering with intellect. Her gaze focused on him, and her crimson lips curled up ever so slightly.

“Welcome back, my dear son.”