Halandor

"You ever heard of a place called Halandor, Sprout?" His voice was soft, jovial, and coherent. The lattermost especially peculiar.

Aeran's head snapped around her shoulders so fast that she felt a sharp jolt in her neck. For years, her grandfather had struggled to utter a single clear word, and now he spoke as he had when she was a child.

"No, I don't think I have." She lied.

Everyone had heard the tale of Halandor. A city behind the mountains where they scooped sunlight from the sea and wove it into gold. Every bard knew a song, every explorer shared a story, and every pauper had a dream of the city of splendour. There must be scarcely a person alive who did not wonder about such a place. But Aeran remembered exactly who had first told her the legend.

"Well then, little Sprout, let me tell you a story that you will never forget." Her grandfather chuckled as he adjusted his posture slightly beneath the blanket. "Far to the north, behind the land where dead gods lie, is a city like no other. In the shadow of the horizon, beneath a sky that droops low, is Halandor - the City of Gold."

She had heard this story, word for word, a hundred times before, but it had never mattered to her as much as it did now. A lump bulged in Aeran's throat, though she stifled her shaking emotions.

"Why do they call it that, Grada?" Aeran said quickly, eager to not let his attention wander for even a second.

"Because twice a day, at dawn and dusk, the people there board their little boats with big nets and sail into the sea. As the sunlight splashes on the waves, they cast out their nets like a fisherman might, but it is not a tasty meal that they hope to find. Oh no, dear Sprout, what they reel back in is something else entirely." He leant forward with a sparkle in his eye that had been dormant for far too long, and whispered "They are fishing for sun rays."

"But Grada, that is impossible! You can't catch sun rays!" Aeran felt like she was seven years old again, for a fleeting moment. He had told this tale so many times that she knew exactly what he was going to say, and what her younger self would say in response.

"You're right, but they manage it anyway!" Her grandfather chuckled weakly.

He used to always bellow that line, though not in a way to scare anyone. She remembered how he used to wear a look of faux-disbelief whenever he said it; eyes comically wide open and arms flailing around in exaggerated disbelief. Memories of the old garden flooded back like a tidal wave. Her grandfather always sat on a large rocking chair, the golden sun making his grey hair glisten like radiant blond whilst he regaled the children with his many tall tales. She recalled herself, her brothers, her sister, and all their cousins sitting on tattered blankets in the grass. Whenever their grandfather would rise to this crescendo, all of them would fall about laughing at his ridiculous performance and would begin to mimic his hilarious gestures.

Aeran chuckled weakly also. Things had changed since then.

"Now, the people in Halandor had so much gold, they used it the same way we use stone and wood." Her grandfather continued. "Their buildings, bridges, walls, and roads were all made from gold. To them, gold was cheap."

"Why didn't they give it to us then, Grada?" Aeran spoke softly, a single tear finally escaping from her eye and rolling down her cheek.

"They wanted to, little Sprout. When our first brave explorers discovered the city, they said the locals found it amusing that they were amazed by so much gold. As a parting gift, the good people of Halandor gave our far travellers as much gold as they could carry. " He remarked, a sense of earnest affection for the Halandori coloured in his words.

"Did you ever go to Halandor?" Aeran asked, stealing a line that used to belong to her elder brother.

"I nearly did. It seemed like a perfect opportunity. I had just completed my service to the Hearthkeepers, and was given a healthy pension for my loyalty. Me and some old pals from the army started arranging a grand expedition in search of this fabled city. All we could think about was coming home with enough gold that our grandchildren's grandchildren could live in luxury. But, in the end, I never went." He said with a sorrowful shake of his head.

"Why didn't you go?" Aeran questioned with a small grin, she knew what came next. The part that all the children loved the most.

"Why?! Well I'll tell you why! Because all of you lot were born, and you needed this old man to stick around for you!" His voice was weak, but enthusiastic and cheerful.

Years ago, when he was healthier, he would lunge forward out of the chair with a playful growl and pounce onto the carpet. He would snatch up whoever was closest and jokingly scold them for stopping him from being rich. Then, all the children would band together to wrestle their grandfather down. Everyone would pile on top while he would pretend to thrash against the horde of youngsters. It never ended there, however. At this point, Aeran's eldest cousins, twins who must have been around sixteen at the time, would rush to their grandfather's aid. Memories like these were bittersweet; she was thankful to have them, but they made her miss how happy everyone used to be.

Of course, her grandfather did not leap to his feet this time. His knees were too weak.

"Do you know what happened to my old friends, from the army?" Her grandfather inquired.

"You said they went to live in Halandor, didn't you Grada?" Aeran replied.

"I did, little Sprout. But you are old enough now to know the truth."

Aeran's heart froze. This was not part of the usual script. He would always say that they had made it to Halandor, despite the invasion and the Blights. He would always say that they went to Halandor to be rich with gold, but that he stayed in Myrengol to be rich with something far more valuable. He would always say that one day he would go to live there too, when all the children had grown up.

"Wh-what do you mean the truth, Grada?" Aeran muttered cautiously.

"Well, Sprout, unfortunately the world is not always kind to good people. My friends, they were strong and brave and tenacious, but the horrors that the invaders brought... well, I don't think anyone besides the gods could overcome them." His gaze sank downwards, as if he was hearing these words for the first time also. "I remember our plans. By the time the invaders arrived, my friends would have just reached the Jhara Steppe. Too far from home to get back safely, and too far from Halandor to go there."

"There is always a chance." Aeran whispered with an empty chest.

"Not this time, little Sprout."

He had not spoken with so much clarity and conviction in years, especially not for this long. Furthermore, when he did speak clearly for more than a few words, it was never anything new.

"You see, when I said that they had gone to Halandor, I did not mean it in the way I knew you would understand it. I don't think anyone really knows if the City of Gold is real." He spoke with a mournful tone.

"It must be, Grada. You said that the explorers came back with enough gold to buy a castle." Aeran responded.

"They did, but besides them, nobody else had ever visited that place. The fact they returned with gold is undeniable, but where they got it from is not so certain."

"Why would the explorers lie?"

"Explorers lie all the time, Sprout. If they don't find anything exciting enough, they will make something up."

"So is that why you didn't go?"

"No, I was telling the truth when I said I stayed for you. And your siblings, and your cousins."

"So when you said that you would go to Halandor one day too, you meant -"

"Yes, I will go to Halandor one day. I will live in a palace made of gold, and I will meet my old friends too."

"But I don't want you to leave, Grada."

"I know, you will not miss me as much as I'll miss you. But it is ok. one day, hopefully a long time from now, you will move to Halandor as well."

His words weighed heavy on her heart. A sullen silence filled the room, as if time had frozen and the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Aeran knew that he would leave soon, but she had prayed to every righteous god that she could keep her grandfather for a few more moments. She felt cruel, asking them to preserve him in this state where his mind, body, and soul seemed so far from one another, but she could not face the thought of him no longer being around. Perhaps the gods had taken pity on her and had given her father a reprieve from the malady; allowing him a few moments to settle her weary heart. Whether it had worked or not, she did not know. There was some solace, however, in that he seemed content with what came next. She walked over towards his chair and knelt down beside him. Gently, she took his hand, noting a slight chill on his skin.

"Maybe I will, Grada. Maybe I will come and live in Halandor one day." Aeran whispered through stifled sobs.

He looked back without expression. Thin grey hair drooped over his vacant grey eyes. The light of the fire was not enough to turn them golden.