The Alfather
A Christmas Tale
I wanted to sing a sunlit song
I dropped the sails on the masts in the air.
I released tigers and lions in our backyards
But the people in the dining room...
They are busy, borning and dying
I was just another rustling child running through the properties Erik had acquired in Sirion after diligently serving Dolmbar and Trinbar for so many years. He was Duke of Avamar now, even more rich and powerful. Echtelion could rule there, but when the Judge de Sirion came to recruit in the Capital, he was the star. People came from everywhere to see him, for the most part, his families scattered, but always close wherever he was. In addition to his many legitimate and bastard children, throughout his life and with the growth of his possibilities, Erik had adopted and embraced many others less fortunate, anyone who had the slightest chance of crying out for his help. The wings of the Silver Dragon of Sirion were large enough to house the children of those who had died in the war in his name. Those who would live in the alleyways, in misery. Under his aegis, everyone had at least a worthy opportunity. A name to cry out in a moment of despair. A great family to provide when he was no longer there. But while he was there, he was the world for them.
I remembered how Erik arrived with gifts, treats and toys. A huge circle of children of all ages, colors and shapes. An idea so adverse to aristocratic rigor that it certainly had offended many nobles. Sometimes he would appear in full armor, or with a regalia and turban, or a pristine religious mantle. He was a character for us, always different. Sometimes furious with his servants, sometimes gentle from the start. Didn't matter, when Erik turned to us, he was just smiles, music and commitment. On each occasion he had a different tale, a legend, a theatricality exaggerated by bards, buffoons, dancers and musicians. Everything had a magical, edilic, grandiose proportion. In Avamar he would parade with us on elephants, giving fruits to the giraffes while his young children played with tiger cubs. In Sirion we participated in races mounted on huge turtles, because that amused the childlike humor of our father. In Trinbar we had training swords and shields to stage the defensive battles against the entire world. And we ran along the fortifications 'cause Erik had left the region safe with conquest after conquest. In every part of Sirion, in every cultural niche, in every little aspect; Erik had infiltrated all of them and fertilized them so that they can grow vigorously. Yet, they died.
***
Hrafn: "... and then, he left us..."
The children looked at Hrafn with a deep disappointment. Angry eyes and a few mumbled grunts of rebelious children pretending to speak low. Where were the damn presents? Why weren't they rich as before? Why didn't anyone look at them like they used to? Why did they have to pay for the failures of the past without earning anything in return? Hrafn felt his throat tighten. How could he tell them that all that was dead? That Erik was no longer there and that now they could not even count on the gifts of a Serpentis Duke in Sir Temple? Duchess Luci thought she had a problem with his pessimism. Well, she didn't have to deal with a handful of angry and ferocious children. He had to improvise.
Hrafn: "... but I have heard that he will come back in the Avamarian holydays on a flying wagon guided by two elephants, two tigers, two otters, two lions, a deer and an auroch, two giraffes and a sanguinary wolf named Gormok on their heels. He will come back dressed in Avamarian red and Dolmbarian green, flying over the East Continent as the Silver Dragon of Sirion. All he'll ask for is an offering of bread, beer and a prayer. Do this and you will hear his laughter echoing in the night like a fat thunder... and in the morning your gifts will be there."
The tale was so fabulously unbelievable that the children grabbed it as if it were the last piece of blanket on a cold night. The Alfather would return, even for a single night. Hrafn would only need to get elephants, giraffes, gifts and everything else. Fortunately he knew some places to look in, where his father had buried what had not been given willingly to those who had forgotten him, his name and what he did for a realm that forgot its culture in a blink of an eye... for a single city, for a single old man. If there were no more temples, perhaps it would be easier to go back with a flying circus and meet those who cried for him door after door.
