Menedlum

         The world was cold around him yet no winds blew. The air still but with the slight archaic odour, things that had long passed and even forgotten. The buildings of stone left and neglected, remaining to crumble away with the splendor they had once known. Ripped and tattered banners fallen and strewn upon the unkempt grass bearing the faded emblem of the silver wolf though all its glory had rotted away now only to remain in stories told by the fireside and saved in mere memory to the elders of the world.
         Crisp leaves of autumn, golden and red, lay scattered, almost left on display, upon the stone paved paths laid throughout the outer sections of the once grand and majestic palace. Broken statues all in resemblance kept watch, observing all with their unseeing eyes and guarding a hidden treasure, locked within the cold trappings of its sepulchre. Following the paths so many had done so before him, his footsteps echoing until becoming absorbed by the silence, Paran made his way to the courtyards and continued walking still. Where he did not know but a wind blew suddenly and swept up the leaves, allowing them to gracefully dance upon the breeze in time to some silent melody unheard in the world.
         The atmosphere, though seemingly empty and still, retained an almost bitter sweetness of familiarity; memories etched on the walls reflecting lives long passed. Finally, as though he had never left, Paran came upon the hall of king’s, the final resting-place of men who bore the burden of a crown. Through the towering arch of crafted stone, small vaults, each magnificent in its own individual splendor, led off from the center hall where stood a large stature of Thenolses. The silver wolf lay at his feet with the sword, carved into exact detail, gripped firmly in the human’s hands, the tip of the blade piecing the ground.
         Moving around the stature, showing his respect for the ancestor of his dear friend whose soul now walked in the afterlife and deeds remembered in song, he firmly kept his gaze from straying to his right, knowing the tomb of his friend resided there. But that was not what Paran had sought time after time. Immortality was a curse and he wondered why it was only in this place that he felt so.
         At the back of the hall another open arch was carved with steps that led out to the luxurious gardens where the bodies of other members of the royal household lay. The gardens remained perfect still, though no care had been offered. The grass neat, lush and green, flowers blossoming with bright colours, the trees old and ancient though held a youthful appearance. More statues of those remembered stood before where their tomb lay.
         Slowly with the wind whipping across his face Paran descended the stairs cursing silently as his heavy footfalls seemed to soil the ground with unworthiness and the wind seemed to whisper the same questions his heart asked. Why did he deserve such life? To live without fear of losing time knowing he would only die when he chose to fight a foe he could not defeat. Why did he deserve to watch as the years passed without fear of old age when others died? There were many, he knew, whose deeds though never told, out rivaled his own and yet they knew what awaited them with no fear in their eyes even though no knowledge of what lay for the soul would or could ever be known to those of the living.
         The sun’s light seemed to brighten for a single moment, the rays playing upon the dew tipped blades of grass making the ground appear to shimmer and he was reminded of the splendid finery he had seen in the days of old. Feeling as though he had been walking for an eternity Paran finally stopped and looked upon the grave he had sought time and again, the carved tombstone wrapped with twisted vines almost covering the name inscribed. As though hesitant to touch it he gently ran his fingers over the cold stone brushing aside the ivy growing there. Satisfied at last he sank to his knees as his own grief washed over him, a hundred memories swarming his mind all reminding him of the one fact he didn’t want to be believe, she was truly gone.
         With the greatest care he withdrew from a small box a single flower, it’s petals silver and sparkling like a star brought down from the heavens. Menedlum it was called and the jewel of Caerna it was known as. Such rare a jewel as not to be found within a king’s possession yet he had crossed the world in search of this gift and now it would lay beside his own precious treasure. The woman he would have given anything for yet was destined to never have called his own.
         Trumpets sounded in the distance, summoning him to once again draw his sword and fight for his king and he knew his time had finally come. Whispering his farewells, he placed the flower on the grass then stood swearing upon his honor that he would find her once more. Then, as the cries of war reached his ears, he sorrowfully left trudging back to where the army waited. And the gentle breeze blew whispering a single vow from a woman who would be waiting.