So why now?
Her legs itched to pace, to move, to urge some great revelation into her uncooperative mind, but that would indicate unease, and she could not afford to show her agitation. Not to these men.
If she believed them.
It was one man, one attack. Easily outfitted with deceit so that she would... what?
Urge them over the Wall?
Allowing more weaponry, more warriors across under the promise of aid, only to find themselves bearing the brunt of the assault, the enemy they thought never having existed?
She wanted more than anything to blurt out that she was unprepared for this, that she would appreciate council on how to proceed, but she could not. They may look much the same as the sages in her Keep, but their interests were with their kind. Not hers. And she was the only one to speak for her people.
Keep the peace. She was to do that, first and foremost. Keep the accord, and maintain the line of Lightkeeps that would follow.
And then, although the task was generally one and the same, she had to make sure that the Lightkeep to follow would make it safely through once more.
The thought of that, of another poor soul subjected to the same life that she had lead thus far, filled her with dread. She did not want that for another, but the thought of enduring the same, only to be met with violence and death once free of the Keep’s reaches...
That was far, far worse.
They were looking to her for some indication of where the talks should lead next. No one else offered a possible explanation, and the silence was a tense, oppressive thing that hung between them all as they waited for one another to speak first. It made her skin prickle, made the lump in her throat meld and tighten, threatening to choke her even if she dared be the one to attempt it.
How long could they keep at this? Speculating and debating recounting histories and experiences that could no longer be verified.
Their faith was being tested, in each other and in the system that had been created long before any of their births. They might not like it, Penryn least of all, but she did respect it.
Although even that was difficult most days.
She shook her head, standing from the table and going toward the document held behind her. A lantern illuminated it well, hanging on a bolt deep within the stone, similar to the one she had carried from her own keep. The treaty itself was held against a swathe of blood-red cloth, embroidery of flames and starbursts adding pinpricks of light in golden threads.
For all her imaginings, she had thought little of the treaty itself, worn and old, but she could feel its weight all the same just by looking at it. The words themselves were tightly written by a careful hand, ancient and formal in their language, her eyes squinting as she tried to read it for herself. The vellum was well cared for but the ink had been replaced in areas that necessitated the endeavour. There were other copies of it, that she knew, if time proved the ultimate enemy and destroyed the physical treaty even if the intention of it lived on.
It was the bottom that intrigued her most. There were no names, no written record of what monikers had been used by those before her. Only the constant repetition of the Order from whence they came, and the year they had refreshed the alliance.
She wanted to touch it, to feel some connection with those who had come before, but she was certain the oils of her skin were not good for a document so old. She felt Henrik come up behind her, and although she did not feel he was the best one to sign, it was not her place to argue the point. “I almost feel that an amendment should be made,” Penryn mused, staring down at the words, some faded, others crisp in their newness. “Some sort of acknowledgement for what we—”
“Presume,” Henrik interjected. “We do not alter an agreement such as this for what we cannot know for certain. If there are specific alterations to be made based on any outcome on your side, that will be for the next Lightkeep to bring to us for discussion.”
Penryn glanced at him from her peripheral. “Not you,” she reminded him. “You will be long gone by then.”
A bark of laughter, harsh and unexpected, but he nodded all the same. “As will you,” he reminded her. As if she needed it.
This was supposed to be it. The finishing of a lifelong work, the protection and resolution of any possible wrongs to a people that were not quite hers.
Then why did it feel so empty?
The nervous tension still coiled in her belly, insistent that there was more required of her.
She had always imagined that dread was all she would feel when she at last added her contribution to the paper. When she could pretend no longer that her life would be spent in seclusion, away from all others, a being to be whispered about and eventually, forgotten.
It was a kindness, she supposed, that the sages from this keep would provide her a home at all, deep within the woods, patrolled by the same guards who kept the Wall free from curious youths or any other foolish enough to attempt to scale it.
Food would come weekly, a bundle left at the end of the path for her to retrieve, but the rest...
That was all for her to attend to herself.
She did not imagine that many Lightkeeps lived long, whether by choice or by design. If Grimult had not taught her, she would not even know how to start a fire in the grate of the cottage, and the cold would certainly have overtaken her before long.
But her future did not quite look the same any longer. The sages would send word
