Varda, Daughter of Autumn (2)
Varda, Daughter of Autumn (2)
The Otherworld and the mortal realm repeatedly drew near and then drifted apart, like the ebb and flow of the tide.
The change was nothing more than waves washing a few steps farther ashore than usual. People's lives would remain unchanged.
Yet even a breeze that seemed eternal could sometimes turn into a typhoon in an instant.
What brought about the end of the 1st Era were beings more terrible than plague or natural disaster.
-The stars have hidden their traces. What in the world lies beyond?
The astrologers trembled in fear. For when night fell and the sun vanished, a grotesque, clammy darkness covered the sky.
Only the moon barely managed to keep the light of night alive. Those versed in astronomy knew it was simply because the moon sat in a place ahead of the stars and the darkness.
-A black seawater approaches. It crosses the sandy shore, climbs the fences, and seeks to enter our inner chambers. Within it shall be countless serpents.
Summoners from every corner of the land also warned with one voice.
-The night sky... feels like it's descending. The moon's height is unchanged, yet something is drawing closer.
Even ordinary farmers and shepherds sensed the world's aberration.
-Great King. The army of evil has swallowed our kingdom whole. Not the royal capital, not knights, not soldiers, not the common folk—not a single shred of flesh remains.
It began when a blood-soaked herald from the frontier came fleeing as the first signal.
-In the King's name I command: armies, assemble!
In the name of Rui Amor, all conflicts across the land were halted. The foe against whom they truly had to raise their weapons had come right to their doorstep.
The Elf King looked down upon the city filled with soldiers.
"Truly the most stubborn lot. I told them time and again to evacuate."
The Elf King grumbled. Among the army arrayed below were the elderly and the weak, those not subject to the mobilization order.
-Even if we die, we die here!
-We will protect it!
They mustered the last of their strength to take up arms, or else remained in the royal capital to assist those who did.
"This living city is like a second mother to them."
The queen spoke as she stroked the terrace railing.
Everything around them was antique timber, yet nowhere could a single trace of a saw or polishing be found. It was as if the tree trunks had grown under the guidance of a master craftsman. The same held true for every building that made up the royal capital.
Grown from a single colossal root, the city itself was a living being.
"A mother who embraced us with warmth and vitality from the moment of birth. A mother who cheered us as we worked and soothed our weariness on the way home. A mother who sheltered us with coolness in summer and warmth in winter. Would you, Your Majesty, be able to abandon such a being and flee?"
Even those incapable of seeing or feeling Mystery could realize, while living in the royal capital, that they were loved by something vast.
The people had no thought of abandoning that immovable mother and leaving.
"When the storehouses are full, pile supplies in the open on the roads."
Under the officers' command, wagons laden with munitions and preserved food raced along the roads.
The roads were made not of stone, but of mycelium. The work of earth-spirit gnomes, they were hard as granite yet their surfaces shone with a luster.
When rain fell, water drained underground through minute crevices, so the royal capital had never known flooding. Even if damaged, like the living mycelium they were, the roads repaired themselves.
Dwarves too paid their respects to these roads, where technology and magic were so brilliantly fused.
The armies drawn up upon them raised their weapons, looking upon their king.
"Long live His Majesty the Great King!"
"All homage to the royal house!"
Husband and wife waved toward their loyal subjects.
As befitted an army of the United Dynasty, both equipment and physique were excellent, yet the soldiers' faces were filled with fear. Their effort to forget it through fervent devotion to the royal house was plain to see.
For the enemy they would face was no band of savage barbarians or monsters. They were horrors risen from hell.
"Every man who can ride has been mobilized, down to the pack horses."
"We shall drive them straight back into the pit they crawled out of."
The human knight commanders knelt on one knee before the Elf King.
While not a few human dynasties had broken their oaths and fled to save themselves, these loyal ones kept their honor and answered the summons.
And when it came to honor, there was one people who could never be left unmentioned—the dwarves.
"Great King. Even now, issue the order to arrest the traitors. We all stand united with one heart against this crisis, yet they dare not answer the king's summons. They must rightly be condemned to death."
So spoke the mightiest of dwarves, the one called King of the Mountains.
It was something unimaginable in the 3rd Era, but in this age, relations between elf and dwarf were bound by mutual respect. They answered Rui Amor's plea for aid without exception.
"Especially those wretches who fled north into the forests! Those scum cannot be forgiven!"
Thus he could not forgive the elven high nobles who, always strutting about as 'grand dukes' in peacetime, had fled in the face of a true crisis.
It was the queen who soothed the stout warrior's heart—a heart even the Elf King would have struggled to persuade.
"King of the Mountains. I understand your indignation, but to fight them now would only spill meaningless blood. We must devote our strength to fulfilling our duty of protection."
In this world, there was none who could refuse her earnest plea.
This was why she was lauded as the 'mightiest of women' though she had never once held a sword. For before her beauty and nobility, all selfishness and rancor crumbled of their own accord.
Her golden hair, rippling in the wind, shone so brilliantly it seemed to swallow even the sun's light. The King of the Mountains bowed his head and withdrew.
A moment later, only the king and queen remained on the terrace.
"It is not too late even now. At least you alone—flee."
The Elf King, ever fair, broke his own rule in that moment and urged his wife to escape.
"I too am a member of the royal house. How could I flee to save my own life while our vassals stake theirs in battle? Though I cannot fight, I can tend the wounded, so I shall remain to the very end."
At his wife's resolute answer, the king could say no more.
"But one thing."
The queen cradled her belly with both hands.
"Your child—our daughter—dwells within this womb. Even now, I feel her dividing with every moment."
A mystical art whispered by magic and nature. It accomplished what even the advanced sciences of a distant future could not.
The spirits who rested in the queen's body, making her flesh their sanctuary, had informed her of the unfamiliar guest who had entered their mistress's womb.
"She will not even have taken proper shape yet."
The Elf King counted backward, recalling the day of their last union.
"You needn't bother calculating that, you know. It spoils the mood."
Though he was a born mathematician, his wife smiled wryly at him carrying on so even at a moment like this.
"This child need not share our fate."
The Elf King laid his hand upon his beloved wife's womb. The queen took that hand and nodded.
"Grace."
At the queen's call, the dryad waiting at the terrace entrance approached. A maiden composed of tender new sprouts and fresh branches.
"I awaited your summons."
The dryads were the gardeners and architects in service to the royal house. Their contributions to cultivating the living royal capital were immense.
And the dryads possessed one more special ability.
"I am sorry to lay so heavy a burden upon you."
"A burden? Great King, please, I beg you, take back those words. I fear the princess might overhear."
"Her ears haven't grown yet, so it's all right."
"..."
"Were it possible, I would rather she could hear. For this child too should know your noble devotion and sacrifice. If ever she throws a tantrum, use this to spank her bottom."
The Elf King unfastened the sword from his belt, scabbard and all, and handed it over.
"A sword I had forged in readiness for the child who would one day be born. It will likely be the last Etherje sword."
"Last Autumn."
Grace read the characters engraved on the lower blade.
"We march toward a dark winter, but I would have autumn always accompany the child who is to be born. Let her cut away all the oncoming cold with this blade."
"With so fine a sword beside her, the princess's fate shall surely be one of tranquility."
"If she lacks the aptitude for the sword herself, then her guardian knight shall have to wield it. I cannot bestow it in person, so I must entrust the matter to Grace's discerning eye."
"I shall ensure it is passed on only to one who possesses the rightful qualifications."
Grace vowed never to surrender this treasure to anyone lacking martial prowess, mystical vision, and divine conviction—not even should the princess insist.
"I did so wish to see my daughter wearing this."
The queen removed the tiara she herself wore. And her green-crystal earrings and brooch as well.
"Grace. This child's name is Varda."
The dryad, who would now become the wet nurse, focused her entire consciousness on the queen's pronunciation.
So that she might convey that resonance, that exact pitch, to the child without missing a single inflection.
"I grant you full authority to wield the switch, so discipline her strictly."
"So that she grows into a young lady fit to be presented before the world."
The king pantomimed swinging a switch through the air, the queen mimed rapping a knuckle on a head. In this moment, they were not august sovereigns, but simply a father and a mother.
"As the daughter of you both, she will be thoughtful and brilliant without any need for such measures."
Grace resolved to fill, with all her might, whatever love these two could not give.
Around twilight, the wet nurse, bearing her final mission, departed the royal capital. Within her body slept the fertilized egg transferred from the Elf Queen.
"It is yet too soon, my princess."
The cells that had been furiously dividing in their yearning for birth were halted by the dryad's magic. For the world was still far too perilous for her to sprout.
Grace hid herself away within a small forest at the southernmost edge of the land.
Until that place would one day flourish and be called the Emerald Forest, both Grace and the embryo she carried evaded the storms of time and fell into a deep slumber.
Waiting for the warm spring days to come after the terrible cold spell had passed.
And so the 1st Era met its end.
Much was lost and forgotten, so that the people of the 3rd Era came to regard the events of that age as something between history and legend.
* * *
3rd Era, Britannia.
Having heard the whole tale from Varda, Eugene was silent. He was weighing whether now was the moment to offer comfort, or whether to declare that he would protect her so that such sorrow never repeated itself.
So he resolved to do both at once.
"Oof!"
He pulled the delicate elf princess into a tight embrace.
"Lady Grace has certainly lived a very long life."
"Though she bears the body of a tree, she is a being closer to a spirit. And she had been asleep for a very long time."
The two of them, locked in each other's arms, whispered quietly.
Varda buried her face against the nape of Eugene's neck. Her long lashes rested gently against him in the comfort of the moment. Each time she blinked, it tickled Eugene's neck pleasantly.
'This is maddening.'
The brush of her lashes against his neck, the sensation of her chest pressed against him—it was all too intoxicating. Even the way the princess clung to him with all her might, without the slightest rejection.
Eugene desperately suppressed the desire raging within him like a beast. The time was not yet right.
"Why did she wait all the way until the 3rd Era?"
"The world was far too dangerous. To the Elf Archduke who fled to the Great Forest, my existence was the very symbol that proved his crime. The Ancient Kingdom that dominated the 2nd Era was excessively violent. And at the time, the forest was still too small to hold back the wicked."
Grace had continued to wait, holding Varda in her crystalline egg state all the while.
She waited for many things to be forgotten, for the world to settle, and for the Emerald Forest to flourish until it claimed a vast domain.
And so, when a forest sufficient to protect the two women had finally been completed in the 3rd Era, Grace emerged from her hibernation.
Releasing their embrace, Eugene looked down at his companion.
Hair of gold that could even break the stubbornness of the Dwarf King, long and delicate ears that never missed the petitions of the people, and golden eyes that could make gold and jewels seem dull, quenching the greed of kings.
The treasures inherited from her mother were the finest tools for assisting a husband who was a monarch.
"Lady Grace was not simply a nursemaid in the literal sense."
"The Elf Royal House of old was the crossroads that mediated countless races. Neither the king nor the queen had any time to rest, so devoted were they to their duties. Let alone indulging in the joy of feeling a child grow in the womb—that was a luxury."
"A... luxury?"
"They were a king and queen who possessed everything. Must they not surrender at least one great happiness to maintain the balance?"
Varda taught him the forgotten laws of Rui Amor. That the king and queen could only produce offspring through dryad nursemaids.
It was a law established by the first king, she explained, to ensure the rulers never forgot they existed for the people and to bestow their love equally.
Grace was a true godmother who had bestowed not only the affection of raising her, but even the affection of bearing her. There had been a reason why the Varda of the past had pleaded for salvation so desperately.
"Varda-nim."
"Hmm?"
"Surely Varda-nim does not also consider that law to be just?"
"I have never given it deep thought. I could never have imagined a day would come when I would need it."
"It must absolutely not be so. To be unable to touch this swelling belly and press my cheek against it—as a husband, I could never, ever tolerate—"
"It is embarrassing, so stop. We have not even held the ceremony yet."
Varda's index finger stopped Eugene's lips. Her flushed ears kept twitching repeatedly.
"That aside, we were nearly in grave trouble."
"Trouble in what way?"
Eugene knelt before the puzzled Varda.
Even in the relationship between a king and knight, it was custom to kneel on only one knee. A noble touching both knees to the ground was reserved only for the moment of surrender after losing a war, or when praying before a god.
But Eugene, having no such concept ingrained in him, felt no self-consciousness whatsoever about kneeling on both knees before Varda.
Of course, it was an attitude he never showed before others, one reserved solely for Varda and Homi.
Gulp.
And precisely because of that, Varda swallowed hard, feeling both pleasure and a shiver of thrill.
"Eek."
A cute shriek escaped her as Eugene's index finger touched her navel through the thin fabric, as if poking into it.
"Wh-what are you doing?!"
"It is a matter of the utmost importance. You see, you were nearly born without a navel."
In some respects, Varda had been born as if from an egg.
"Ovoviviparous creatures lack navels, do they not? A precious pleasure of the husband was nearly lost. It is fortunate indeed that the ancestors of Rui Amor were people who understood such things. Truly! A navel is absolutely essential."
"...If one must be particular, was she not closer to a fruit?"
"Ah, that is true. Even apples and plums have navels, after all."
"I feel a headache coming on, so let us stop here."
Watching Eugene chuckle, Varda found herself, for some reason, seeing the shadow of the father Grace had told her about, overlaying his image.
* * *
Eugene's army crossed the border into Cornwall, in the southwest of Britannia.
"Your army is powerful, but fighting alone is unwise. As it happens, I possess the right to demand oaths from my vassals."
The region of Cornwall held the strongest loyalty to the old Elf Royal House in all the world.
"Geographically, it is not a bad move either. Having a secure rear is far more comforting than a war on two fronts. But will they recognize Varda-nim?"
Her towering renown as a mage of the forest and her nation-toppling beauty certainly made Varda special. Yet the nobles would not move their armies for those things alone.
"As you know, the ruins of Rui Amor have almost entirely vanished in the present day."
It was a kingdom where corvée did not exist, for the people moved nature itself to shape their buildings. At the same time, they could construct the warmest, most gentle cities in the world.
The drawback, however, was that without constant maintenance, they would quickly return to nature.
"They were a contrast to the Ancient Kingdom in many ways."
Their stonework was magnificent, but it was unnatural. It was built upon massive forced labor and sacrifice. It could never come close to matching the structures of their predecessors in scale or in warmth.
But in exchange, the footprints of the Ancient Kingdom still existed even now, unchanging, in the forms of ruins, fortresses, and bridges.
For even when they passed into a world not of this one, they had steadfastly maintained their forms.
"The royal capital built in the center of the continent has vanished without a trace amidst countless wars, but Britannia is different."
Varda pointed to the opposite direction from their line of march. Toward the central-southern region of Britannia.
"It was the residence of the half-elf family who once governed this land in proxy for the royal house. The grounds are preserved even now."
As befitting a household born of the union between elven royalty and a human grand noble, it was a place built in the style of the 1st Era Elf Royalty. The entire structure was a single living creature.
"Can that prove your identity, Princess?"
"...It has withered now, having lost its master, but it is not dead."
Varda wore an embarrassed expression at being called princess to her face. Yet she did not seem to dislike it.
"When the descendant who carries the blood of the royal house sets foot on that land, the wilted flowers, trees, roads, and walls shall rise once more."
"It is a miracle now possible only for one person in this world. But even so, the path to it will not be smooth."
Varda nodded, her face tinged with melancholy.
The region where the half-elf family had resided was now occupied by a grand noble who proclaimed himself the King of Britannia. A man of great violence and insatiable lust for power.
And even aside from him, over the long ages, most lords' loyalty toward the Elf Royal House had grown weak or had been outright forgotten.
-What era are you even talking about? It is we nobles who rule this land now.
-Being grateful when you wash your hands of a matter is enough; what more could they possibly want?
In truth, it was only natural. Too much time had passed, and it was an era closer to legend than history.
In this world, it was not uncommon for vassal relationships sworn only two or three generations ago to be overturned. The Cornwall region, which still honored the royal house, was the exception.
"First, let us attempt to persuade the noble friend who has come out to greet us with words. If we explain things well, he will surely understand."
Eugene spotted the fief in the distance and the group of lords standing before it. Dressed finely as befitted a noble who ruled a barony, the baron had come out accompanied by knights and soldiers.
All the same, the disparity in strength was such that Eugene's army could scatter them with nothing more than a sneeze.
Before riding forward, Eugene checked the state of his attire. This was his debut in Britannia, and a meeting with a noble he intended to make an ally—he could not afford to show any opening.
Homi, who had flown over at some point, landed on Might's back and stood behind Eugene. With skill no less than a head maid, she neatly smoothed out the hair that had been pressed down by his helmet.
"Do I look presentable?"
"Do you ask because you truly do not know? I can only hope that baron comes from a knightly household. Your bearing will aid in persuasion far more than my blood."
Clad in new armor crafted from the by-products of the Hydra, Eugene's appearance was truly magnificent.
Wrapped from head to toe in the finest leather, it was both light and left no openings. Even the weak points of all armor, such as the armpits and the backs of the knees, were protected without hindering movement.
The gauntlets were based on Hydra leather gloves, with bone fragments laid over them along the finger joints. They were masterpieces that secured defense, flexibility, and a sense of intimidation all at once.
Might, already massive in size, now reached the realm of nightmares with the addition of barding etched with a viper pattern.
"If Your Excellency the Viscount and we were to charge as one body, no army would dare stand against us—they would only retreat!"
The knights following behind could not withhold their admiration, and it was not merely Varda's own infatuation speaking.
When they finally stood face to face, the baron, fortunately, proved to be from a knightly household and a loyal retainer to boot.
"Your name is...?"
The baron looked at the elf standing side by side with Eugene. His rigid expression was a complex storm of shock, hope, and joy.
"I am Varda el Philamor. The daughter of Lamazu, the last Elf King, and the one to whom you owe your loyalty."
At her calm words, the baron dismounted.
"In my household, there is a heirloom passed down since the 1st Era. Even as we suffered plagues and invasions and our genealogy was set ablaze, it is a treasure we somehow managed to preserve."
"And what might that be?"
Varda was intrigued, and the baron answered.
"A portrait of the Queen. It was granted to a certain forebear, whose name has been forgotten alongside the burning of the records, when he visited the Elf Royal Capital."
"The woman in the painting would not be my mother."
"Of course not. But the tiara and the jewels are exactly the same. They are the symbols of the royal house, passed down through the generations to the princesses who followed."
The baron, the knights, the scribe, the priest, and even the soldiers—all their gazes were fixed upon Varda.
Radiant golden hair, just like the woman in the portrait, and the tiara resting atop it.
Green crystal earrings harmonizing with eyes that gleamed like yellow gold.
A dress woven in the style of the Elf Royal Clan.
"She looks exactly like the lady in the painting."
Someone among the baron's party spoke, as if in a trance. That single phrase captured the thought shared by all of them.
The beautiful figure they had seen countless times in the lord's manor, having been born and raised on this land, had become reality and appeared before them.
There were only two differences.
Whoooosh.
Her locks, fine as threads of gold, fluttered beautifully each time the wind blew. It was a fragrance more august than any shower of blossoms.
End
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