The two were packing for our trip tomorrow, and I was as relieved to help as they were to have the help. Flendreir was sent to retrieve things and Tavorwen had me holding bags and helping her get tight folds and anything else that needed manhandling.
“Are you… happy? Being here?” Tavorwen finally asked while Flendreir was off fetching extra undergarments to pack for each of the matrons and maidens.
“Yeah. It’s pretty much a dream come true here. Why do you ask?” I replied without really thinking.
“Being tossed into a racial war between factions of a people you know nothing of is ‘a dream come true’?” She pressured.
“Well, we’re working on that part,” I admitted. “But any of the guys back home would take that in a second if it meant they’d get magic powers, a household of se-… beautiful matrons, and everything else.” I pointed out, squeezing down a bedroll to be as small as possible before tying it into a bundle.
“What do you mean?” Tavorwen pressed. “Is not war a form of hell?”
“I’m a soldier. Have been for almost half my life. Yeah, war is hell. But it’s a hell I’m used to. And frankly, the worst parts are all… taken over, by whatever forces were involved in my summoning.” I informed her.
“Oh, how so?” She wondered.
I explained about the calming whatever came over me any time I would otherwise have gotten depressed, anxious, or any other form of traumatized. I had to explain what PTSD was when I told her it really wasn’t even a worry for me.
“The hauntings of battlefields past.” She acknowledged. “Many elves feel them. But we adapt, we endure. It is how we were created. And the priestesses help a great deal as well, it almost sounds as though you are regularly aided with magic much like a spell our priestesses use.”
It was somehow a relief to know that the same peace and calm I was regularly afforded could be enjoyed by my matrons too.
It was nice just sitting and talking with Tavorwen as we prepared the packs. It had only been a few weeks, but already it seemed forever ago that I had landed naked in front of her at the Temple of Ages. If I’d known we’d basically be married and she’d be getting to do a lot more than see me naked, it might have been less awkward.
With a start, I remembered the Angel that had spoken to me, prior to my summoning. “You will find meeting a member of the opposite sex you enjoy spending time with would not be hard.” I wondered if she knew… okay she definitely knew she’d be dropping me, naked, in front of what was at least a high likelihood of a sexual partner.
I almost laughed. The Angel had likely known the elves would want to give me matrons. What had she said? “Nor would it be hard to find lovers.” She’d fucking put a plural on it and I hadn’t even noticed. “And I think you will find having children a realistic possibility.” Now I’d knocked up three lovers, so yeah, that was looking really possible.
“… So, any regrets about me being what showed up at the Temple of Ages?” I asked.
“No… Master, I am quite satisfied. Given the potential variance in the summons, finding one as good and noble as you, capable as you are, and… an admirable lover… well, you exceed my expectations regularly.” Tavorwen assured me.
I laughed. There was a reason, I think, that she had been the first to be chosen as my matron. And why she’d been placed in charge of my other battle matrons. She was beautiful, capable, and intelligent. Traveling with the rest of my household had made me realize just how hard she’d had to push herself to get to the temple and summon me, only to turn around and double the effort to get me back to Ealphamir safely. Hell, she’d been willing to freeze to death in the cold mountain nights to make sure I got back. That was the kind of sacrifice a leader made.
Then I remembered something.
“Hey, Tavorwen, you hold the rank of Guardian, right? What ranks are the rest of my matrons? And I guess the maidens too.” I asked. “I don’t know a lot about your military structure here.”
Tavorwen looked away. “Yes, I am a Guardian. Though I should not be.”
She folded some extra undergarments and packed them into one of the chests.
“A Guardian is an elite warrior, usually excelling in multiple fields: close-range combat, long-range combat, offensive combat magic, defensive combat magic, healing, tracking, wayfaring… While I am qualified as a veteran in close-range combat, long-range combat, and wayfaring, I am not skilled enough to qualify for the rank of Guardian.” She explained. “And three qualifiers would be questionable in ages past to obtain such rank.”
“So how many Guardians are there in Ealphamir, not including you?” I pressed.
“There are only four individuals who have obtained that rank and have not retired from active combat… though General Jakarah would return to the field if needed. She held the rank.” Tavorwen explained.
“Then why… would they give you such a prestigious rank if you don’t qualify?” I wondered.
“Because… only a general may issue orders to a Guardian. And only a General may overrule the orders of a Guardian.” Tavorwen explained. “As a Guardian, I was assigned to keep you safe. Nothing was to interfere with that.”
That made sense.
“None of your household maidens, or matrons, hold active military ranks… as is the case with Narusil. She was stripped of her rank for insubordination, then desertion. Having spoken with her, the chaos of combat was too much for her, and she panicked. Then when the realization of what she’d done was too much, she teleported herself home. Her commander tried to ease the sentence by claiming she ordered the return from the front lines… but it made no difference.” Tavorwen recounted.
That pretty much was what I’d heard.
“But… she never seemed to have that issue in my experience,” I noted.
“Oh, the reason for that is simple. She fears losing you more than she fears death or anything else in this, or any other world. So the fear that she might be harmed, or perform poorly, is consumed by her fear of losing you. Or at least that was how she explained it.” Tavorwen clarified.
I couldn’t believe that. It wasn’t really how my mind worked, but if Tavorwen believed it, it sounded plausible enough for me.
“Among the rest of your matrons… Creadean holds the rank of Captain. Flendreir and Anbethir were recently promoted to Corporal. The rest are Specialists, or simply Blades.” She finished.
I had to catch myself. “And where do those ranks fit in your structure?”
“What rank you hold may mean widely different things depending on your Order and your designation. For example, as a captain, I would command a unit of 20 to 65 battle maidens. While Creadean held the same rank, she would normally command no one and perform her missions alone. This is because as an Order of the Blade, with a combat designation, I was a battlefield soldier, while Creadean is of the Order of the Map, with a scouting designation. But as an equal rank, she could not order me, nor could I order her.”
Man, this reminded me of working in a Joint Task Force with the Squids (Navy), the Navy Sandbags (Marines), and the Chairforce (Airforce).
“Damn. How many orders and designations are there?” I asked.
“There are ten orders today, but… before the Massacre, there were 24, with deliberations about the formation of a 25th. Only the most vital are still supported today. For example, the Order of the Lark was, doubtlessly, a powerful order, but the ability to inspire greatness on the battlefield wanes in priority when you lack battle maidens to be inspired. The Order of the Phoenix was likewise declared ineffective, as only five to ten in a generation could learn the skills of a Phoenix Blade, and those who failed were left poorly prepared to fill standard roles.” Tavorwen explained, finishing a pack.
“As to designations, there are ten standard designations. If you include the non-standard designations… oh, by the Host, I forget how many non-standard designations there are. Since the Massacre, I believe only two non-standard designations have been used… unless they created a designation for those serving in your house. I’d have to check the official records to see if our designations have been changed.” Tavorwen thought out loud.
“Fuck.” I breathed. I may have been in the military, but I hated memorizing ranks and such.
“Regardless, Master, you have been granted a position of great authority. Though, I do not know if you have been granted an official rank as of yet.” Tavorwen noted, as Flendreir walked in.
“Last I heard, they were still assessing to see what rank was most appropriate,” Flendrier explained.
“Ah, I suppose that makes sense.” Tavorwen acknowledged. “It usually takes at least two years to properly determine a new Blade’s capabilities. If they are to remain at the rank of blade, or if they will be advanced to a higher rank.”
I shook my head. I didn’t like the bureaucracy. All I wanted was the freedom to do what needed to be done.
The rest of the packing was spent with small talk. Flendrier was only 137 years old, having been born after the Massacre, she had no memories of life before. I wasn’t sure if she had said it before, but Tavorwen was 291 and had been 141 when the Massacre had happened. She had seen the Peak of High Elf society before it crashed. She had seen the aftermath of the destruction as a society of plenty with hands for every task suddenly had far more tasks than able bodies to handle them.
From the sounds of it, as wondrous as Ealphamir was, it was a shadow of its former self. I had seen a touch of this in the ruins of the neglected parts of the city where the ship was being built (grown?), to hear her talk, even the parts of the city I had thought were full and beautiful were considered neglected. In years gone by, every tree would have branches grafted in so that year round there were fruits and flowers everywhere. Then once the fruits were collected, the branches were returned to hardy trees to fill them with vigor for the next flowering and fruiting season. This was accomplished with magics that strengthened the host trees with each grafting.
Once the packs were ready, we moved the conversation to the seating room. Sadly, I started to see the history of humanity in what I learned. Elven society, almost free of the struggles of daily life, had begun separating itself into racial groups, far more than it previously had. Discontent grew between those that ruled and those outside that group. Then, with context, the Shadow Elves had emerged, sabotaging already struggling relationships until civil war ensued.