The Daughter of Valancaire

(Veronica Valancaire - The Mother)


(Alaric Valancaire -- The Father)

The cold breeze that swept over me felt foreign, chilling my skin even though the room had been warm. I shuddered instinctively, and then the sensation of a hand—strong, yet gentle—pressed against my mouth. My breath hitched as a warm liquid flowed into me, its heat seeping down my throat like fire, easing the ache that had consumed me. The warmth spread quickly, radiating through my chest and limbs, bringing with it a strange sense of calm.

My body relaxed as the pain started to ebb away, but my mind remained clouded, still tangled in confusion. I felt the weight of someone’s gaze on me, a silent plea hanging in the air. 

The woman—*my mother*—her hands were trembling against my skin, her voice strained as it broke through the fog. “My love, shhh. Breathe slowly. Don’t. Don’t close your eyes, please. Not again. Please…”

Her voice was raw with emotion, the kind of desperation only a mother could carry. And suddenly, I recognized her. The green eyes, the golden hair—the soft, ethereal beauty that had once filled my childhood dreams. This was my mother. *My mother*. 

A strangled sob escaped her lips, and the sound lodged itself in my chest, a painful reminder that something was wrong, terribly wrong. 

I turned my head slowly to the man beside her. My eyes flickered to his face, and the recognition hit me like a sharp, unexpected blow. His broad features, his thick beard, the dark, stormy blue of his eyes—all of it crashed into me at once. 

My *father*.

"My Lord Father," I whispered in my mind, as though the very phrase was etched into my soul. The strength in his frame, the way he knelt beside me now, his face twisted with grief—it was him. *It’s really him.* 

I wanted to say something, to reach out, but the pain in my body was still too much, and I couldn’t move my arms, couldn’t push past the fog in my mind.

“I am here! I am here, My Lord! My Lady!” came a new voice, loud and urgent, cutting through the room like a blade. 

A figure appeared at the edge of my vision, rushing forward, and I could make out the soft sound of footsteps and hurried breaths. 

“Hurry! Check her!” my father’s voice boomed, rough and panicked. “Don’t let her sleep again, please. Please.”

A mixture of fear and frustration vibrated in his words, as though he had experienced this before, something I couldn’t yet understand. The room swirled with tension, and again, the cold breeze whispered through my body, tightening my muscles.

But it was the next moment that broke through the haze. I felt another cold sensation against my lips, another liquid—cooler this time—pressed into my mouth. I swallowed instinctively, and once again, the pain began to recede, but this time, a foggier sensation took its place, like my thoughts were wrapped in layers of cotton. Still, through the haze, something inside me stirred—an urgency, a question that had been pushing at the edges of my mind.

“Mother? Father? What happened?” The words came out hoarse, almost unrecognizable. But they were the first words I had spoken in what felt like an eternity, and they hung in the air like a plea, a desperate search for clarity.

The moment I spoke, both of them froze, their breath catching at the sound of my voice. The tension in the room thickened, a deep silence falling over us.

For a long time, no one said anything. It was as if they were unsure how to respond, unsure whether to give me the answers I so desperately needed or to shield me from them. 

My mother’s voice broke the silence first, trembling. “Oh, my love…” She sighed, her breath shaky with relief, but also with something darker, something that lingered in her tone. “You’ve been so lost, so far away. I—I couldn’t bring you back…” Her words faltered, and she had to pause, swallowing a sob. She sounded as if she had been holding on to something so fragile, so delicate, and now, the thread was beginning to snap.

Father’s voice followed, steady but thick with emotion. “You’ve been…” He stopped. “It doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you’re awake. You’re with us again.” But his words, too, trembled. His hand, still holding mine, squeezed gently, but I could feel the tremor beneath it. 

My head spun with questions. *What do you mean, “again”? What happened to me? Why can’t I remember?* But my lips wouldn’t form the words. Instead, I stared at them both, searching their faces for answers, any kind of clue to the emptiness in my mind.

The figure who had rushed in—whoever they were—stepped forward and placed a hand on my mother’s shoulder, as if to calm her, but also as though offering some kind of unspoken support. The warmth of the liquid still lingered in my mouth, and I could feel the fog slowly begin to lift, but not entirely. Everything was still fractured. 

“Your Ladyship,” the newcomer spoke softly, their voice low and reverent. “You must take care. She needs rest, not more excitement. You know how fragile her state is.”

“I—” My mother’s breath hitched, and she nodded, biting her lip. Her gaze returned to me, a mixture of love, fear, and something else—something darker. “We thought we lost you,” she whispered. “We thought…” She paused again, her voice trailing off as though the words were too painful to speak.

I struggled to sit up, my body resisting, but the urge to understand what had happened—to understand *why* I was here, in this strange place with people who were so familiar, yet so unknown—was overwhelming. My throat burned as I tried to speak again.

“What happened?” My voice came out clearer this time, though still fragile. “Why… why can’t I remember anything?”

Father’s face hardened, his jaw tightening, and for a moment, I thought he might break down again. Instead, he squeezed my hand tighter, as if grounding himself.

“We will explain everything, my daughter,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “But not now. You’re not ready. Rest. Rest first, and then we will tell you everything.”

I wanted to protest, to demand the truth right then and there. But my mother’s eyes were pleading with me—her face so full of love and exhaustion. I could see the weight of something heavy hanging over her, something *unsaid*. 

“I… I don’t understand…” I whispered, feeling the last vestiges of consciousness start to slip away from me. “Please, tell me…”

But the last thing I saw before the darkness took me again was my father’s face, his expression set in a mask of grief and concern. And my mother’s hands—so warm, so comforting, but trembling ever so slightly—as she whispered the words that haunted me:

“Not yet, my love. Not yet.” 

And then, everything faded.