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[Eclyse Christian]

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The summer days in Ashencrosse had seemed to drag into years, over the past month. Eclyse was still getting used to the emptiness of her cottage, and the long nights of silence without the sounds of deep and restful slumber emanating from her husband’s bed. She still left a lantern sitting on the dressing table at night, though she had given up leaving it lit in expectation of his return.

On this sleepless night, her thoughts turned to the joust, and the preparations that she had put off for far too long. She slipped out of the bed and padded barefoot across the room, the lace of her white nightgown brushing the warm wooden floor as she moved. She unlatched and opened the door where she closeted her lances. One, a pristine silver Luna Lance, gathered to itself even the moonlight and starlight that streamed in the window, and seemed to emit its own light in reflection. The other lance was stately. Heavy. Ceremonial. Copperish in hue, and weathered faintly turquoise, bearing the inscription that named her champion of the Magincia tournament.

She reached for the Luna Lance, and lifted it from the velvet-covered wooden cradle that had been built for it. But something fell from the hilt and landed with a light clatter at her feet. Eclyse reached down and lifted it into the moonlight, gasping lightly at its sparkle. From a black satin cord hung a silver filigree heart with a hole in the center. Inside the cutout dangled a heart-shaped ruby that caught every sliver of light and splayed it across her face and the walls around her in a crimson splash, gone amethyst in the blue light of the moon.

One last favour. Eclyse smiled and slipped the pendant over her head. She adjusted it so that the double heart lay against her own, stealthily, beneath the silver ankh that had been given her by a gypsy, in her first joust. She hoped that, wherever her beloved husband was now, his endeavours brought him joy. As she was sure he would hope for her. With a resolute sigh and a renewed smile, she removed the Luna Lance from its cradle and took up a polishing cloth, carrying both back to the edge of her bed. And, looking forward instead of back, a shining bubble of hope finally began to lift up inside her as she set about the task of making something already beautiful look new again.

[Kaylor]

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Kaylor lifts the lace trimmed linen cloth accepted with mistaken trust from Everthorne's elven queen and brings it to his cheek with gentle dignity as he wipes a tear at memories of love sown sweetly, softly, slowly between a knight and his squire - love so reassuring in its strength as to break through fiercely forged walls with tenderness triumphant. Would that whispered thoughts received upon a ruby's radiance leant themselves less leaden within the dividing darkness.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*