The Sword

Arancon Firewind packed the long box with clean straw. He had decided it would be best if he paid to have the sword delivered to his son. If he showed up on his son’s doorstep by himself, it was likely the door wouldn’t be opened for him. He could have asked Ty or Sunashe to deliver it, but even then, his son, or his partner, might figure out the package was from him and refuse it. Paying someone to take it there was the best way.

He didn’t think his son would refuse the gift after he knew what it was. Aeramin had always displayed an interest in the sword when he was younger. Arancon felt he must still want it, though they saw each other much less frequently now. The last time they had discussed the sword in any way, Aeramin had told him that he didn’t deserve it. He held the blade up, inspecting it one final time. It was a fine sword, imbued with magical properties centuries ago when it was made. It had been in the family the whole time, passed down through the generations from father to son. Its first owner, Arancon’s great-great-great-grandfather, had been a mage, or so he had been told. His great-great-grandfather had been as well, though his great-grandfather had stopped his studies before becoming a mage and had taken off to Eversong with some girl who became Arancon’s great-grandmother. From there, the next few generations became farm workers. A local militia was formed to help deal with nearby troll villages, and the sword was used to help repel the trolls more than once. Arancon himself had fought them with the sword, many years ago. He had been taking it now on patrol, feeling more comfortable with it than the bow, but that didn’t change the fact that it was a mage’s sword. It belonged in a mage’s hands, and his son had become a mage. He knew it hadn’t been easy for him. Lessons in magic were expensive and they had been poor, especially after moving to Silvermoon. The sword would be more suited to Aeramin now. He laid the sword down in the straw-packed box.

He penned a quick note to include with it.

Dear Aeramin,

I know we haven’t been on the best terms with each other, and I know you may never forgive me for the things I did and said to you. Saying I’m sorry isn’t enough, and I know that. I do hope that we will be able to talk someday, but I know it may be difficult for you. If you ever want to, you know where I am.

I’ve been sober for a while now, and it’s kind of put things into a better perspective. I’m sorry, not only for the way I treated you, but also for not being able to help you when you needed it. You’ve gone so far on your own, and I did nothing but try to hold you back. I’m very proud of you for overcoming the obstacles, and becoming who you wanted to be, even when the obstacles were of my making.

I thought it was time to pass the sword on to you. I thought you might not answer the door if I was there, so I’m having it delivered.

I wish you and Imralion all the best and a happy Winter Veil.



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Filed under Aeramin, Arancon, Story, World of Warcraft

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