The Past is Never Dead

Chapter One

Kissos brings ale to the table, laughing with an acquaintance he inevitably made. He begins strumming on his mandolin as he takes a seat on the wooden bench, becoming immersed in his music. Macsen stands a good distance away from the table, unashamedly flirting with a pair of women who both have a red blush on their cheeks. The shorter, slender one looks up through her lashes, dwarfed by his height. He politely excuses himself, walking quickly over to where the rest of the party sits.

"Finding more people to sate your desires with, Mac?" Kissos teases from where he sits, sipping from his mug. Macsen rolls his eyes lightheartedly and seats himself beside Kelric. The elf scoots closer, only by an inch, until they're nearly touching.

They all get immersed in their own distractions. Phigalia and Kissos bicker back and forth and Arken tinkers with a new invention of theirs. Kelric turns to Macsen, who was already looking at him. A playful smile crosses his lips as he stares at the elf.

"Wanna get out of here?" His deep voice is easily heard over the buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses. Kelric nods and Macsen gently grabs his wrist, pulling him off the bench and toward the door. Phigalia throws an unseen glance at the two, a smirk playing on her lips.

The winter air washes over them as they step outside. The two wordlessly follow a path toward the river, the water calm and glistening. The icy grass crunches under their feet as they step toward the bank, and Macsen's eyes land on Kelric as they walk to the pier. They trek along the wood and Macsen stops to lean against the railings. Kelric comes to stand beside him, breathing in the slightly fishy air of the river.

"Do you remember when my mother would take us out to fish?" Macsen says, looking down into the water fondly. Kelric follows suit, watching as fish skitter along the surface of the glittering water. Kelric recalls what he can of Macsen's mother, a tough woman indeed. Her arms were hard and lean, hands calloused and rough. She was always smiling, something playful and childish. Macsen looks strikingly similar to his mother, or at least that smirk he commonly sports does.

Kelric tries to imagine his mother as well, but it seems as if he's blocked his parents out of his mind. His hand grips the railing, sharp nails digging into soft wood. Which parent resembled him more closely? What were their favourite colours? What did they do for work? He should know these things.

A faint vision flits in his mind, and he feels the ghost of a woman's hand holding his. Is that my mother? The images in his mind are blurry and faint like he was looking through frosted glass. Birds chirp quietly, almost inaudible, as if they were carried by the wind. Trees surround them on both sides, and he's just as tall as the woman's stomach. He can't see her face, but he can see the white curtain of hair that falls just below her shoulders.

"Kelric," It's light, distantly registering in his mind, "Kelric!" He startles out of his stupor, met with the concerned hazel of Macsen's eyes. He's holding the hand that was gripping the wood, massaging it gently. His eyes scan up and down the elf's frame, searching for something unclear to Kelric. When he concludes his friend as well he makes eye contact once more.

"What was that?" For a second, Kelric doesn't know how to respond. He just stares blankly at Macsen, whose brows furrow the longer the silence continues.

"I saw a woman." Macsen's eyes widen, his fingers against Kelric's hand tightening their grip.

"What did she look like?" His voice is edging on frantic, and Kelric nearly backs away from him.

"I did not see much, except that she had fairly long white hair." Macsen stares incredulously at Kelric.

He opens his mouth multiple times before he can settle on words, "Let's get back to the others." He squeezes Kelric's hand again before letting it fall, staying limp against the elf's sides. He nods slightly and follows Macsen, who leaves after another concerned glance his way. Kelric grabs onto the leather strap against Macsen's bicep, letting the man guide him back to the inn.