Monday, January 31, 2011

The black cloth slides across the table to Erik. Keon caresses the cloth gently, a mere kiss of the fingers. There is a sadness in his eyes as he lifts them to Erik.

"What lies within this cloth is a set of matched daggers, perfectly balanced, gifted to me in friendship and trust by someone I lost to human death a few centuries ago. Cameron was a fine smith, gifted with a talent for metal sculpting. The blades are Cold Iron, seated in hilts of Elven Wood. Silver designs chase the grip and guard. They are as beautiful as they are deadly."

He unties the cord holding the cloth closed. Erik opens them slowly, peeling back the cloth as if opening a rare treasure. The arm sheathes have the oiled sheen of well tended leather, but it is the daggers that draw the eye.

"They were Cameron's truest defense against the Realm he joined for love of Our Queen. When Mab's eyes found another more comely, he chose to return Earthwise, knowing it would be his death. He gifted these to me because I never followed another's choice of friends. He was a good man, and I miss him dearly."

He touches one of the hilts carefully.

"May they serve you, Erik, as truly as they served my friend." He gives a small twist of the lips, "As long as you don't give them a home in me, I wish them a proper fit in your hands."

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