Sederis remembered the first time he visited the Cloudrend Glades with his father. He used to think that his gloom had painted his memories in hues of greys and dull blues, but now that he was here, the Lordling could finally prove himself that he was wrong. If the Eversong Woods enjoyed eternal spring, the Cloudrend Glades were shrouded in eternal twilight. Sederis began to wonder if perhaps it was the colours that had painted his gloom, and not the other way round.
“Tell me, what makes something yours?” Zarannis asked as they travelled further up into the mist-shrouded mountains on horseback.
“What do you mean?” Sederis replied, his horse following her’s while his eyes gazed out at the dark forests of timber in the distance.
“You claim this blade is yours. What makes it yours?”
“Birthright.” The Lord rode up, keeping pace with her. “It’s a family heirloom. It was my father’s and his father’s before him.”
“That makes it your family’s, not yours.” Zarannis patted the sword on her back, a scratched and battered thing that had a soft green glow of magics about it. “Take this sword for example. It’s mine because I’ve carried it for years, I’ve cared for it, I’ve killed with it and it’s saved my life more than once. Sure I could get a new blade, but I don’t want to. It’s mine. Can you say the same for Zin’jang? You’ve wielded it, what? Once? It wasn’t even in combat, you were a boy.”
Sederis was silent for a long while, but Zarannis waited patiently for an answer. Not that it was hard for the Farstrider.
“What makes something yours? Meaning. Meaning makes it yours.” He answered at last. “The time you spent with it, the experiences you’ve had with it, those are the things that give that give the blade meaning to you. Even if you receive a sword you’ve never wielded before, but the Ranger-Lord himself had given it to you- That’d too give it meaning.”
“What if I told you that I stole it?” She patted her sword once more. “Or what if this hypothetical new blade that I was given was taken from someone else without permission? What makes it mine? What makes it his? Is it mine after I kill him?”
Sederis frowned. He was never a thinking man. If he was, he figured he wouldn’t have been so willing to throw his life away. “What’s your point?”
“The Law. The Law is what decides if something is truly yours. Legal recognition, and enforcement of that recognition. But where we’re going… The laws of Quel’thalas don’t apply there. Their lands, their law. You understand?”
“Their lands?” The Lord of the Emberglades blinked.
“We’re going off the maps, Lord Emberheart. You wanted to know if there are still trolls in these mountains, we’re going to find out.” She led him to the threshold of a mountain pass, beyond which lay the first of many desolated valleys. Sederis saw the ominous outlines of ruins, jutting out of the fog like the black ribs of a dead beast.
“Also, to be
clear, I’m a Farstrider. I didn’t steal my sword. In fact, I kill thieves so
Light help those idiots responsible for this mess.”
(( A Legacy of Blood of Iron is series of stories that’s backdated to long before the Legionfall campaign. The other parts can be found here ))