Foundling

Eighteen Years Ago

His solo steps echoed loudly along the quiet road leading into the sleeping village. Still-burning torches and lanterns scattered along the darkened buildings cast brief pools of light to illuminate his way home. Not that he needed it. He knew the path well, having traversed it the many times he returned home from the wars. He was weary but eager to reach his family home, the comfort of his bed, and his mother's good cooking. All things he missed dearly as his soldiering days stretched on. However, his visits home were usually filled with his father and brothers trying to convince him to come home and join them in the mines. At the same time, his mother would lament the likelihood of him ever settling down and giving her grandbabies. He chuckled softly to himself, knowing that verbal dance well. His answers never changed: he enjoyed his solitary life too much. 

As he drew abreast of the steps of the temple of Asura, he paused to grasp his holy symbol and bow his head in reverence to his patron Goddess. A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he was immediately alert, his hand instinctively reaching for the great hammer hanging from his belt at his side. A cloaked and masked figure was fleeing the steps of the temple as he had drawn near. Things of horror and danger were becoming more common in the dark of the night, and he stole cautiously forward, listening intently for any sound in the silence. As he reached the bottom of the steps, he noticed a small bundle wrapped in a dark blanket placed at the top. He slowly ascended towards it as he looked around, pausing for a startled moment when it shifted and moved. Stepping closer to the bundle, he readied his hammer and reached down to grasp the edge of the blanket. He raised the hammer and quickly yanked the blanket back, revealing…

Not what he expected to find. 

No evil danger stared up at him in the flickering light. Suddenly exposed to the cool night air, the baby in the basket filled its lungs and cried loudly at the indignity of its warm cocoon suddenly disappearing. After staggering back in shock, he dropped his hammer and knelt beside the basket, reaching in to gently lift the child in his large, rough hands. He awkwardly cradled the infant in his arm, staring down at her, reaching around blindly to find the blanket to wrap her in again. He shushed her quietly as he gently jostled her in his arms and wrapped her again in the blanket. Her cries subsided to sniffles and a hiccup as one of the most beautiful babes he'd ever seen looked up at him. She was almost cherubic, with a halo of blonde curls and bright green eyes that looked up at him trustingly.

"Who was that who just left you here, little one?" he said gruffly to her, and she looked at him almost like she understood what he was saying, bursting into loud cries again. "No, no...it's ok, you're safe, don't cry." 

Shifting her in his arms to rest against his chest, he rubbed her back awkwardly and wondered what to do. He uttered a silent prayer to Asura as he heard noise from inside the temple that seemed to indicate that those within had heard the child's cries and were coming to investigate. He took a few steps across the wide upper landing towards the temple gates as they swung open. Several priestesses poured out of the entrance, carrying daggers and torches, led by the Head Priestess Malva with her heavy ornate staff.

"Who goes there?" she challenged, staff raised defensively.

"Peace, Malva, it's just me," he replied, stepping more fully into the light of the torches.

"What is the meaning of this disturbance at this hour, Flint Brawnhammer?" she sighed in annoyance as she recognized him. "Your dedication to our Great Mother is to be commended, but your devotions really could have waited until morning." 

She paused, suddenly noticing the child in his arms, and fixed him with a stern look. "What is that you have in your arms? Don't tell me you've come home from the wars with a child in tow. I'm sure your mother will be overjoyed to hear the news, but where is the babe's mother?"

He gave her a panicked look, which was ruined by the wince that replaced it as the small child grabbed handfuls of his beard and tugged hard. "Oh no, this isn't mine. There was someone else…she ran off," he tried to explain as he struggled to balance the child and extract the hair from her firm grip.

"Let me see her," Malva commanded as she stepped forward, gently taking the child from his hands while one of the others examined the basket she had been left in. A note within the basket gave no clue as to the child's identity or who her parents were. She looked down at the child with a tender sadness. "Well, little one, it seems you have been sent to us by our Mother to be raised in Asura’s light. You will be safe here." She motioned for the other priestesses to return inside and turned to go herself, carrying the child with her.

"Wait!" he called after her, unsure why he suddenly cared so much about a foundling that meant nothing to him. "What's going to happen to her?"

"Do not fear for her, Master Brawnhammer. She will be taken in and raised here in the temple until someone comes to claim her one day," she assured him with a gentle smile. While she was no seer or oracle, Asura still granted Malva small glimpses of the future from time to time. When she first touched the child, she saw the connection that was destined for this small child and weary soldier. "She will be safe here."

The doors closed with a thud behind her, leaving him in the deepening shadows of the dying torches. Picking up his belongings, he shook himself, feeling like something momentous had just happened, but he was unsure what. He resumed his weary trek towards home, looking back once to the temple before trudging on into the darkness, remembering a set of bright emerald eyes looking at him with knowing trust.

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Fifteen Years Ago

Flint climbed the temple steps, humming a song to himself with a mischievous smile hidden by the bushiness of his facial hair. A small package was tucked under his arm, a present for the child he’d found on the steps of this temple exactly three years ago today. He had decided that the day would be known as her birthday. Flint could never explain it, but he had felt an immediate responsibility and connection to the child the day he found her. As she had no family save for the temple priestesses, he took it upon himself to take up a protective role in her life and considered himself her father figure. He took this role very seriously, to the amusement of most of the village and the annoyance of his mother, who despaired of him ever actually settling down.

A delighted, ear-splitting screech echoed through the early evening air. He let out a small grunt of breath as a tiny body collided with him at full speed.

“Unca’ F’int! Unca’ F’int! You here!”

He looked down at the child trying to climb up him and laughed. She was dressed in a plain homespun gown, her tiny blonde braids messy and coming undone, and she was barefoot with a smudge of dirt on her nose. Her bright green eyes sparkled with mischief as she laughed with him.

“Come here, you little imp,” he said to her, dropping the package and scooping her up in his arms. She threw her little arms around his neck, hugging him briefly before continuing her climb up his torso to sit on his shoulder.

“Arveen Ergoron, you come back here right now, young lady! You aren’t getting out of taking your bath!” an annoyed voice called out from within the temple. A very aggravated-looking priestess quickly followed the child out the temple doors. 

“There you are, you little…..oh, Master Brawnhammer, you’re here. Maybe you can convince this little troublemaker she needs to have her bath.”

“No bath,” came the very emphatic reply from over his head. He cocked an eyebrow and looked up at the child perched on his shoulder. She set her lips in a defiant pout and crossed her arms across her chest.

“Are you misbehaving, mimûna?” he asked her in a serious tone. The wayward child on his shoulder squirmed, not meeting his gaze.

“No bath,” she said again in a quieter, less defiant voice.

“Yes, bath, mimûna, or you won't get your story and present,” he scolded her gently. The mention of a present definitely got her attention. Lifting her from his shoulder, he set her back on her feet and nudged her towards the priestess, who gave him a grateful look.

“Bath then present? Promise?” she asked, looking back at him as the priestess took her small hand.

“Always, mimûna, I will always keep my promise to you,” he replied. He picked up the package containing the doll he had bought for her and headed for the temple gardens to wait for her. A strange warmth was in his chest at his connection to this child. He may never have children of his own, but this one small girl would always be as his own, and he would do everything to care for and protect her.

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Eleven Years Ago

Flint trudged through the bustling village, the scorching summer sun high in the sky beating down on him. Glad he had forgone wearing his normal armor, he nodded at and greeted those he knew, stopping to exchange local gossip and news with a few as he made his way. A sack loaded with goods was slung heavily over his shoulder, things his mother had requested he fetch from the marketplace that afternoon. A conversation behind him caught his attention as he turned towards home.

"I just had to stop my Ian from running off with my best pot lid and rolling pin," an exasperated female voice stated.

"Whatever was he taking those for?" her amused friend replied.

"Something about a battle in the temple orchard to turn away a goblin hoard," she said with a snort. "Told him the only goblin 'round here was him, boxed his ears, and told him to get his chores done instead of running off to mischief."

Freezing in his tracks with a groan, Flint remembered the goblin-heavy tale he'd recounted to Arveen a few days earlier and knew she was somehow involved in this "battle.” He took off at a run toward the temple, the sack bouncing noisily against his back. 

Within a few minutes, he reached the edge of the orchard and spotted two groups of children gathered a short distance from each other. The groups shouted back and forth, each claiming the other was the goblin horde. And at the front of the farthest group, there she stood like a little toy warrior. A washboard hung from a rope around her neck with another rope tied around her waist to hold the makeshift breastplate in place. Armed with a pot lid for a shield and a kitchen mallet in hand for a weapon, she stood with the fierce expression of a soldier about to wade into battle.

Lifting her mallet high, he heard her bellow the charge command to her comrades as she took off at a run towards the other group of children. The opposing group scattered, some running away in fear, some charging to meet her. Dropping the sack, he sprinted through the orchard towards the ensuing chaos, yelling for them to stop. He waded into the sea of brawling children, trying to pull some of them apart, snatching makeshift weapons from others. Getting nowhere fast with that tactic and taking a few hits in the process, he planted his feet and bellowed in his loudest soldier voice, "HALT!"

Immediately, the children froze, and about thirty pairs of startled eyes turned to look at him - except for one pair of emerald eyes that glared up at him furiously as she faced him. 

"Why did you stop us?" Arveen demanded, hands on hips, her shield and hammer dropped at her feet. "We were winning!"

"Nuh-uh, we were!" a scrawny opponent from the opposing side shot back.

"ENOUGH!" Flint bellowed, seeing her reaching down for the hammer again. "Everyone go home! Now!" 

Before Arveen could utter a word of protest or restart the battle, he scooped her up like a sack of potatoes under his arm and stomped back off through the orchard with her. Stopping to pick up the fallen items, he made his way with her back to the temple and entered the gardens. He deposited her on a bench and stepped back, affixing her with a stern look, and crossed his arms over his chest. 

"What were you thinking? Don't you know you could have been hurt?"

"Are you mad at me?" Arveen asked quietly, squirming under his gaze and not meeting his eyes.

"I should be," he said with a resigned sigh. "But I'm not truly angry. You gave me a scare. What if someone had been hurt?"

She looked up at him, the beginning of tears at the corners of her eyes. "I just wanted to be a brave warrior like you! The other kids were teasing me for being so small and said I couldn't fight. I wanted to show them I could be a soldier like you in your stories."

Crouching down in front of her, he took her tiny hands gently in his large ones. "Your destiny isn't to be a warrior or a soldier, little one. You will be a healer and wise woman, representing our Great Mother. Your path will be peace, not war."

"But what if something attacks the temple? Or my friends? I should know how to fight. I can be both, be a warrior priestess."

"A warrior priestess, eh?" he said with an indulgent chuckle. "You won't need to fight. I will always be there to protect you."

"But you aren't always here," she protested. "You go away all the time."

He felt a pain in his chest at her words. Smoothing back a lock of hair from her face, he made her a promise. "When you need me, I WILL be there. I will always be there when you need me most, no matter what. But...," and he held up a hand as she started to protest again. "If you want to learn to fight, I will teach you. But no more running off, planning mock battles, or picking fights with the village children. Promise me?"

She nodded her head in enthusiastic agreement and launched herself at him, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, hiding the tear that slipped down his cheek.

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Five Years Ago

The village buzzed with excitement in the crisp autumn air that afternoon. The entire population was gathered around the temple, as the yearly harvest festival was underway. Merchants had their booths set up along the road selling all manner of goods, and wonderful aromas of all sorts of treats filled the air. Flint absentmindedly took a bite of the apple pastry in his hand, the flaky crust and tart filling making him smile slightly as he chewed. He'd allowed Malva to convince him to act as a guard for the temple during the day’s events, so he was dressed in full armor, gleaming in the waxing sun. Flint was pleased to note that Arveen had done a thorough job of cleaning and polishing it. Usually, it was a task he would have performed himself, but she insisted on doing it as he would represent the temple that day. At thirteen years old, she was changing from the rowdy tomboyish child she had been and was growing into quite the prim and proper young lady under the guidance of the temple. While he sometimes missed the mischievousness of her early years, he was also glad to see her growing and maturing in her role as a future priestess.

This would be the first year she would be allowed to participate in the blessing of the harvest with the rest of the priestesses, and she was taking it very seriously to the amusement of himself and Malva, the head priestess. She had begun to follow Malva around like a shadow, much like she used to do to him, and tried to copy her as much as possible. Gone was the girl with the messy windblown hair, loud voice, and almost permanent smudges of dirt on her face, replaced with a blossoming young beauty who took pride in her appearance and spoke with a gentle, soft voice as she went about her studies and duties. She had fussed over the state of his armor when Malva asked for him to stand as guard today, immediately demanding he hand it over for her to see to. This morning, she returned it to him, looking almost brand new.

The heralds' horns rang loudly over the noise of the gathered crowds, calling them to the temple for the ceremony. Making his way halfway up the temple steps where he could see the assembly better, he watched as the temple doors opened and the procession of priestesses emerged. As the youngest of them, her place was at the end of the line, standing not too far from him on the top step. He felt a swell of pride in his chest as he watched her stand there in her pristine robes, her hair curled and tamed that framed her face. He swallowed a chuckle of amusement as he watched her furtively look down the line of holy women lined up with her and adjusted her stance to match theirs. Back straight, head held high, her hands clasped serenely in front of her as the crowds listened intently to the ceremony.

At the conclusion of the ritual, each priestess picked up a basket of blessed tokens and moved down the steps to distribute them amongst the crowd. He instinctively fell in a few paces behind her as she made her way through the masses. She moved with an effortless grace, greeting each villager with a smile and a softly spoken blessing as she placed the tokens in their hands. A few of the bolder young men of the village were a bit too forward with her, some holding on to her hand a bit too long or trying to invite her for a drink after her duties. Or they did until they met the glowering stare of the intimidating dwarf standing right behind her and suddenly needed to be somewhere else. He heard her small sigh of annoyance underneath the noise of the festivities.

"What's wrong?" he asked her quietly, moving to her side and scanning the crowd for the problem.

"You are," she said back, not looking at him. "I'm not a child anymore. Boys are going to speak to me."

"Speaking with you is not what they wanted," he growled lowly. Two of the village boys heading in her direction heard him and abruptly changed the direction they were walking.

"I would never...I mean...," she stammered, flustered and blushing.

"You wouldn't, but they would. You are still an innocent child and they would take advantage."

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "And if you had your way, I would never grow up. You have to stop being so overprotective and trust me. Malva said being a priestess doesn't mean I can't have a lover and have children of my own when I'm grown." She grinned at the shocked expression on his face at her words, her face then taking on a wistful expression. "I think I would like to be a mother. I wouldn't abandon my child like my mother abandoned me."

"Yes, well, you are far too young for her to be telling you things like that," he blustered, clearly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken in public. "And you are far too young even to be thinking about such things." He placed his hand on her lower back, nudging her forward to resume her duties. "Let's finish handing out your tokens and I can return you to the temple where you can stay out of trouble."

As they wound their way through, he made a mental note to camp out tonight near the temple to ensure she didn't get any ideas about sneaking out later. A lover? At her age? Over his dead body....or the dead body of any of the village troublemaker who dared to touch her.

________________________________

A Few Weeks Ago

For the hundredth time since departing Naporia, Flint wondered how he ended up in the position he was in. He should have put his foot down and made her stay at the temple. But she'd had a mile wide streak of stubbornness lately and Flint knew she would have snuck away with the others if he had forbidden it. So he decided to tag along to chaperone her and the other two troublemakers, Eryn and Nyx. It didn't help that Malva, as head priestess, had given her blessing to Arveen’s ambition to go off to see and experience the world before she made her final vows as a priestess and dedicated her life to the temple.

He had to admit to a small amount of pride as she bravely faced creatures and brigands alike, her skill as a healer and fighter shining brighter with each encounter. He was glad he had taken the time to train her to fight like she had wanted all those years ago. It didn't stop him from putting himself between her and danger, though. His vow to always protect her is what drove him to follow her on this trip, after all.

Glowering, he watched her as she was deep in conversation with the party's newest member. She was listening with rapt attention to whatever Noa was saying to her, reaching her hand out to place softly on his arm. He didn't like how she looked at him, with schoolgirl infatuation. He was going to have to nip that in the bud. She was far too young to be seeking romantic attention. Striding forward, he cleared his throat and fixed Noa with a look that made the swarthy, hooded man take a few steps back, putting space between him and Arveen.

Turning her head to look at him over her shoulder, she returned his stormy look. "Did you need something?" she asked him in frigid tones.

"We need to talk," he told her flatly, taking her arm and pulling her along with him as he walked away. They had only made it a few steps before he felt her yank her arm out of his grasp. He turned to face her and was shocked to see the look of anger she directed at him as she faced him down.

"No, we don't," she retorted, drawing herself to her full height, back straight and head held high. "I know why you were pulling me away. I will talk to whomever I want." She cast another look over her shoulder seeking Noa, disappointment passing over her features as she realized he had slipped away at Flint's interruption.

"You don't need to be talking to....him," he stated emphatically. "He's a scoundrel and far too old for a girl like you. You're still a...."

She rounded on him, her eyes blazing as she pointed a finger in his face. "Don't. You. Dare. Finish. That. Sentence," she spat out, emphasizing each word. "I'll be 18 in a few days. I am not a child anymore! And you are not my father, to be telling me what to do or who I can talk to!"

A wave of pain passed through him at her words, momentarily transforming his features before he quickly masked his expression. He saw a shadow of regret pass her face and knew he hadn’t succeeded in hiding how her words had wounded him. She sighed and softened her tone.

"You have to let me grow up," she told him quietly.

"You're right, you're not a child anymore. You just act like one," he scolded her. "You have been sheltered and protected all your life. By me, by the priestesses. And I may not be your real father, but I have cared for and treated you like my own since the day I found you. You think you know this world and the dangers out there just because of the few adventures you've had on this trip. But you have no idea what is out there, and your naïveté makes you a target for every lecher and con artist you meet. Excuse me for wanting to make sure you are safe and unharmed."

With that, he turned away, eager not to let anyone else see how badly she had hurt him, and headed for the other side of the island village. She watched him go, wiping away tears, regretting her words to him and not knowing how to make it right.