The love of Ezedrin

“If love condemns me to die, it will do the same for you.”

Ezedrin met Rowen by happenstance. He was selling leatherworks on a wintry day when the winds blew sharper than swords. His shop wasn’t much to look at. Little more than a hastily constructed wooden stand with a variety of leather gloves, bags, and sheathes nailed across its frame.

He wore a black leather apron of his own design, an elegant golden R sewn onto the front. Beneath the apron sat a lean but muscular frame. No doubt from the hard work his profession demanded. Long legs and dangly arms led to brown curls and jade eyes. Though he lived in the northern part of Faulton where the sky seemed perpetually filled with dark gray clouds, his nose and cheeks contained the freckles of someone who bathed daily in the sun. Despite his business’s meager appearance, word of his skill had spread around the port town of Seacrest.

It was that skill that brought Ezedrin to Rowen’s stand. Her favorite pouch, a small but reasonably sized brown leather bag with a long strap worn across the torso, had finally endured one too many winters. She’d replaced the strap more times than she could count, and now the bottom of the bag itself had torn. Her father and friends proclaimed there was no sense in holding onto it any longer and that she should give it up for the thrill of something new.

Ezedrin had never quite understood that. Something new was liable to disappoint. Acquiring something new meant struggling through the painfully awkward experience of building a new relationship. She would miss its familiar scent of lavender, a trait the old bag had acquired soon after it was gifted to her. She’d not properly fastened the stopper on one of the perfumes and spent an entire night out dancing before realizing her companion was soaked through with the flowery liquid. She’d miss the crinkling sound it made when she grabbed hold of it. A feature it had earned over years of servitude in winters like this one. If she got a new bag, it wouldn’t be the one her mother had given to her. The last gift she ever gave.

Rowen’s top lip curled into an awkward but charming half smile. Ezedrin had been standing in front of him for quite a while, lost in her own thoughts. She clutched the bag with both hands, struggling to let it go or even speak.

“You all right, Milady?”

Ezedrin’s embarrassment barely overpowered her sentimentality.

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, long day. I need a new pouch, and I would like it to be as close to this one as possible minus the hole at the bottom.”

Rowen chuckled.

“I assumed so.”

Ezedrin smiled shyly, racking her brain for a proper response, but before she could, the leatherworker’s warm hands wrapped around her cold ones and gently pried her beloved bag from her.

“I’ll do my best, milady. I promise.”

His words rang with earnest determination.

“Thank you,” she said.

Her cheeks flushed a bright crimson. She turned on her heel and sparred the bag one last parting look before briskly heading back to the small castle her father kept as lord.

Ezedrin spent the next agonizing week walking the castle halls like a sailor who’d returned home after years on the sea, unbalanced in both body and spirit. The servants in her keep exchanged concerned whispers. They’d never known the young noblewoman to be irritable nor restless. When it was a week from the day she’d given the young man her bag, she returned for the new one.

“I’m sorry. It’s not ready,” Rowen said, bowing his head and clapping his hands together.

“Oh, I see. Well, I will come back later then,” she said in a daze.

Frazzled and unsure, she turned to leave but was called back by Rowen’s voice behind her.

“My apologies, my lady, but it won’t be ready today,” he said.

Ezedrin could not help but look at him as if he’d cursed her. The offense she felt would have been the same.

“I’m sorry. I..I..I don’t mean to sound rude, but it’s been a full week now. I was told that was the normal time for a job like this. Do you think it will be ready soon?”

“I do. it’s just not ready yet. It’s not quite…there.”

A glint sparkled in his eye as his half-smile returned in full force. He worked the air with his hands as if he was going to craft the new bag with magic. Ezedrin didn’t know what to say yet again, so she thanked him again and left.

she gave him another week, another long and excruciating week. At that time, her father informed her of the distressful news he’d received from his scouts. In this age, the ruling powers of Faulton, specifically the hills of Burkley, separated the land between different high lords and ladies. Her father, Lord Errington, was given dominion over tiny Seacrest, whose size made it more akin to a village. Lord Errington had received news that the Frost Trolls were seen traveling south from the dreaded Malpeaks, a range of untamed mountains covered in ice. If this was true, they’d come across Seacrest first before reaching the other villages of Burkely. Her father worried for the safety of their people.

“Remus says they were first spotted as close as sunrise hill. That’s practically on the border of our lands. He suggested I tell the people, but I’m not going to have them panic until we have reason to. I’m going to secure our defenses out there. Double the border patrol by sending our village guard.”

She listened to her father speak and acted as an echo for his thoughts. She had taken over the role when her mother died. She would listen to his decisions, find the faults in them, and then repeat them back to him as questions. This allowed his self-doubt to lead him to the right conclusion without undermining his authority.

“So the guards who normally patrol the town would suddenly be gone? Would their families know why they were sent to the border?”

Lord Errington snarled and shifted in his seat. Ezedrin quickly adorned a vapid smile in the hopes it would mask her inquiry. The only voice Lord Errington could hear comfortably was his own. Back then, Ezedrin forgave him for it, dismissing it as a regretful burden of ruling. She would not do so forever.

“Obviously not, then everyone would know something was afoot. I would only send a few guards, and they’d be sworn to secrecy,” her father said, leaning forward and throwing each word at her.

“I understand now, father.”

the gray-haired man’s brow relaxed, deciphering whether his daughter's earlier question was meant to patronize or merely a result of my own ignorance. Both were true in some ways and false in others. Her intent was not to patronize him, but she did find her father to be a dull narcissistic control freak. She was just too afraid to admit it back then.

“Of course, not actually double them, Ezedrin. I meant only to strengthen. If we sent enough to double our border patrol, it would be the same as telling everyone trolls are invading. Think!”

Lord Errington tapped the top of his head with his finger and continued to defend himself. Ezedrin turned her thoughts to the leather boy and the new bag that awaited her, gently nodding for the rest of the discussion on the matters of state, along with her father's insecurities.

Finally, the end of the week came. She rose early and made her way to Ron’s shop, arriving at the same time as he. The young man staggered back as she marched through the snow toward him.

“Good Morn, Milady.”

“Good morn, Ron. Is my bag ready?”

“I am pleased to say it is. Just finished last night.”

He retrieved the old bag that he’d taken for reference and handed it back to her. Ezedrin thought about keeping it, but what use was a torn bag. Besides, Father would only ridicule her for it. The did not have a sentimental bone in his body.

“You can throw this one away.”

She struggled to choke out the words. She held the bag back out to him. Every second it stayed in her hands was a struggle between what must and want.

“That is your new bag, Milady.”

Ezedrin squinted at him. He opened the clasp on the top, revealing a smooth violet fabric on the inside, a fabric the old bag did not possess. Just under the rim of the opening was a golden R identical to the one on his apron.

“The new lining is lavender-infused silk. It will mimic the lavender smell the old one had. I’ve distressed the leather a bit to create the illusion of age. If you squeeze…”

Again, the warmth of his hands came over the cold of her own, like the sun melting the snow. They pressed down on the leather producing a familiar squeak. It was indistinguishable from the original. Tears swelled in Ezedrin's eyes. She willed them to stay unfallen.

“The strap is double worked, so it will feel thicker than the original. I am sorry for the failure of illusion here, but the thickness will ensure it lasts longer.”

“Ron, what you’ve done…”

She struggled to keep her voice even.

“…I can never, never, thank you enough for this. It is incredible. Incredible.”

His half smile returned with newfound vigor. That smile found a home in her heart. What fear had been laid there by her mother's death subsided; the warmth in his hands spreading to her heart.