#mostly impotently existing as a lingering ghost in that persons head with no direct power on the material plane

[luckthebard]

I know the jokes about a level 7 party destroying Delilah when she was once a big bad for epic level play are funny, but like, a barely coalesced shade of a dead woman lingering in a demi-plane is literally a different threat and we all understand that right? Right?

[ahzrenbooks-blog]

The Alves: Chapter 1

Marek was a child who did not sleep easily.  Others exhausted their energy playing and learning during the day, to slip gently into dream once the torches were doused.  They didn’t need to linger awake in the dark, the soft cloth of night lying weightless over their eyes, drowsiness lengthening the scary shadows, the hours dripping by with exaggerated slowness.  It was easier to believe in things the daylight mind scoffed at; easier for tired eyes to see the shadows move in terrifying living shapes.  Ever since he could remember, the ghost would creep near and stand by the headboard.  Its woeful gestures carried no sound and stirred no air, yet were so real that Marek couldn’t convince himself it was only a nightmare figure.  Because it came only to him, he assumed it was his ghost.

“Is anyone else’s ghost this troublesome?” he asked himself nearly every night of his young life.  He wondered how others dealt with such a thing, and whether his parents had any advice.  Although it had never hurt him, it was more terrifying because of the lack of explanation.

He asked his father, the Baron, but Baron Beorn merely scolded his teacher, warning her not to indulge in fantasy during the boy’s lessons.  Then, Marek asked the taciturn court mage and received some chilling news.  She not only believed in ghosts that lingered after death, but had encountered evidence of their presence during her study at the Collegium.  The mage’s school acknowledged such an existence and had been aware of that type of being for a long time.  Then she tried to comfort him.  There was no reason for Marek to have seen one, as the mage had not found any proof of ghosts on the premises before, despite all the battles that had been fought on their land in the past.

“That means I am the only one,” he realized.  No one saw as he did, and no one believed that he could see what he saw every night.  He steeled himself, because this thing was after all not a ghost, according to the court mage.  He could either fear it because it was an unknown, or decide not to fear it.  Was there really any cause to, being that the shadow who wasn’t really there might not even be real?

At night, lost in fear and loneliness, Marek curled up and pretended to sleep.  Night after night, the little shadow who wasn’t there hovered around his room and wept soundlessly before fading away with dawn.

Marek was very young yet when he decided he was too lonely to bear it any longer.  “Maybe I am the only one,” he thought, “but could it be that… you’re also the only one?”  Their situations were different, but perhaps more similar than he had ever given credit to.  Perhaps they were both lonely because no one understood or believed them, and might better be alone together.

Marek hid under a pile of blankets with his eyes screwed tightly shut.  His heart raced faster than ever before as he reached out his hand into the dark-

-And became the first lonely child to have something reach back.

“I am a friend.”

The words were so close it was as though he’d thought them himself.  They lit something warm and needy inside, something delicious and forbidden.

“It’s because I’m a secret.”

Yes, that was it, exactly!  A secret friend no one else could see.  How fortunate!  All of a sudden he was the most lucky little boy!  But he couldn’t see his new friend clearly.  The ghost was but a shadow without visible details, mostly Marek’s size and shape, and vaguely human looking.

“I don’t know what my face would’ve been.  That’s why.  But we’re obviously linked, so I think I’ll borrow yours.”

What delectable fun!  An imaginary friend that looked just like him.  Marek believed, and started to talk.  It didn’t matter what they talked about.  His new friend absorbed everything he said, rabid for information.  All this time he’d just wanted attention.  But where had he come from?  Or did it even matter?

“If you’re going to be my friend, I’ll need something to call you.  You need a name,” Marek suggested.

“A name.  I have a name.  Doesn’t everyone?”

“Who gave it to you?”

“I don’t know, but it’s branded on my heart.  My name is Dayn Ater Beorn.”

Marek let fly more questions.  “Then you’re family?  How old are you?  Are you my ancestor, or yet to be born?”

“Does it matter?  It makes sense that we’re blood if you’re the only one that can see me.  We have a bond.  I don’t need more than that.  I don’t need to understand.”

So they were bonded, the boy and his ever present shadow.

***

“Things were so much easier with my first son,” Hallon Beorn muttered through his gnarled fingers.  His head was heavy against his hand, his elbow on the table, his shoulders unaccustomed to their current slouch.  “Jurick is so much like I was as a boy.  It makes him easier to understand.”

Instead of sitting in the chair Hallon had provided her, the court mage Jona stood behind it.  “Whoever told you that having sons should be easy?”  That wasn’t quite what she’d meant to say, but three decades of magic had done nothing to improve her ability to comfort others.  Even had those sorts of books been written, she wouldn’t have been interested in them.

“Of course not.  I couldn’t have asked for better sons,” the Baron replied tersely.  He shifted, lowering his hand heavily.  “But that little dreamer of mine…  He must need some kind of encouragement that’s new to me.   Lady Yuuna coddles him, her maids coddle him, his sister dotes on him.  He spends far too much time around skirts and not enough time being a bratty boy with his brother.  I fear that the wrong kind of attention is turning him into less than a man.”

“Why not forbid him from spending so much time with them?” Jona suggested.

“And force a wedge between he and his mother?  No, I’m afraid not.”  Hallon rose and began to pace around his stateroom, dragging one foot more than the other.  Jona listened to the uneven footfalls caused by his old knee injury.  “I hate talking like this, but if I were to deprive her of time with any of her children, the Goddess would never forgive me.  Who knows how long she has left?  By the Bleak, I’d never forgive myself.  There’ll be time enough to turn the little goblin into a man… after.  Ah, part of me is eager to help him find his place, and part would rather let him just be a child like any other.”

Jona twisted her quill between her fingers.  Anything to keep her purposeless hands busy.  “Goddess forefend.  Surely My Lady will have years left, yet.”  She knew they both understood how empty a statement that was, but silence could only be more awkward.  “It’s a pity that a Baron’s son doesn’t have that choice.  He must learn to be fit to lead in case he is needed.  For the good of our people.”

“Well, what else do we need to cover?  I believe I’ve side-tracked the original intent of our talk yet again,” Hallon mused.  “You have news of the King’s son?”

“Yes, Baron.  A letter from a colleague arrived this morning confirming the rumors that had circulated to us earlier this month.  The young prince did indeed sustain a grave injury, and though the capital won’t admit it in any meaningful way, it seems he has the worst complications that could be expected.  If the infection were to take him, it would leave the throne in contest, of course,” Jona explained.

“Hm.  The King has the girl child, though.  I wonder if he’s expecting something of that?”

“The Alves haven’t had a female ruler in generations.  Not since Gevruitha Astrazaltr.  It’s been three hundred years since rule turned into a patriarchal monarchy,” Jona said.  “Everyone is used to the tradition of a female goddess and a male king now.  If those other whispers about the king’s impotence are true, we can’t expect any more male children from that line either.  More likely the rule will pass laterally, to the next uncle or cousin in line.  Could you imagine a Queen of the Alves?  None of the southern territories would abide that.”

“Of course not,” Hallon replied, “but they may have no choice.  I’d like to see what kind of mettle the girl has.  We’ve gained more independence in the past ten or so years, but that’s the ailing power of the capital for you.  A weak King whose reach can only extend as far as his army and his big mouth allows.  Incompetence causes the whole country to suffer.  Whether he can sire more children or not, or whether the problem is with the Queen’s womb or not, nothing he does alone will restore the people’s faith in him now.  The core northwestern territories support him because he’s their direct supplier.  The rest of us have been eager for a power shift for years.”

“He’s always been rather more eager to send a warrior where a scribe or healer would do,” Jona agreed.  “That shows lack of character.  He doesn’t understand what his people need, and now he’s drained financially.”

“What it shows is a lack of balls,” Hallon replied, grimacing.

Jona did as well, and arched her eyebrow meaningfully.  “I’d rather a lateral power shift.  Think of how much work needs to be done now, with such a power void in the capital?  Someone like a brother close to power would have the experience and wisdom to lead.  A brand new child on the throne, much less a girl, would simply have too much to contest.  Not to mention, she’s being raised by the same people whose rule we’re currently demeaning.  How could she be any better if she’s got the same education?  How could such a person step first thing into a civil war and hope to succeed?”

“I couldn’t say,” Hallon argued.  “I’m as much an old man as the king is, and I’d just like to see something new for my children.  Whomever rules at the Capital has no great impact on us, other than what they ask as tribute, and how much we pay them in taxes.  They leave our Barony alone and forgotten until they have desperate need of manpower, and it suits us just fine.”

“Hm.  Speaking of which, the letters I received this month weren’t requesting that.”

“Good.”  Hallon’s brows lowered with scorn.  “They’ve taken enough of my men to fortify themselves.  Goddess knows what they do with them.  What they need is more sense, not walls and soldiers to guard the Alvan Capital from itself.  The territories haven’t been this fractured since the last war.  I fear whoever comes to power next will be the dividing line between north and south once and for all.”

“The only way to avoid that would be to marry the next ruler to a leader in the opposing faction,” Jona suggested.  “But the girl isn’t nearly old enough for that, either.  They could promise engagement, but no one would trust the King - not with his reputation.”

“What a fine mess,” Hallon sighed.  “Hopefully the young prince will recover and grow up fine and strong.  But then, that’s never a certainty.  That’s why a good ruler ought to have as many children as he’s able.  One of the batch ought to be able to carry the weight of tradition and wisdom.”

“Yes, Baron.”  Jona watched Hallon’s expression as he grew quiet.  After a moment, the Baron startled in place, and nodded reflexively.  Jona bowed herself out, recognizing his distant dismissal.  Probably worrying about his own wayward son again.

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