"The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him. But he answered his father, 'Look! All these years I've been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!' " 'My son,' the father said, 'you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.' "
(Luke 15: 28-32)

The letter arrived in Locke's mailbox sometime last week. He didn't know the precise date that it came in, because, well, he hardly ever checked his mail. He saw most of his friends on a regular basis at the Red Dragon Inn, and hadn't heard from his family since the fall, when they sent him a letter letting him know that their vacation from RhyDin had become a permanent one. He hadn't really expected to hear from them for a while, either. He figured his parents weren't too thrilled at the fact that he had squandered their substantial investment in his future by getting expelled from university. So when he entered the Inn last Wednesday afternoon, after a fairly successful day of gambling, he was surprised when one of the part-time cooks at the Inn called out to him as he entered.

?Hey blue boy! Ya got some mail 'ere!?

?Pardon?? Locke shot his iciest stare to the cook, a short lad of late teenage years whose facial features, prematurely greying hair, and large ears made him look similar to a donkey.

?They delivered some mail for ya a couple of days ago. Ya gonna pick it up??

?I suppose I will. Thank you most kindly.? Before the boy could address Locke further, he was sliding his body over to the mail cubby, a series of slotted shelves that reminded him too much of his elementary school days. He found his box, and pulled out the single, plain white envelope inside it. As soon as he saw the name and location on the return address, he stopped in his tracks, sucking in a deep breath and expelling it forcefully from his lungs. Raina Taylor. Port Leicester. The words slipped past his lips, without him even realizing he was speaking them.

?Mum...?

***

Locke sprinted up the stairs and down the hallway, unlocking his door and throwing it open with a *bang* that echoed throughout the upstairs. His forceful entrance soon had the door swinging back to shut on its own, but he paid it little mind as he sat on his bed, grabbing a letter opener off of the night stand. With a quick flick of the wrist, the envelope was opened, and he flipped it upside down so the letter would fall into his hands. He set the letter aside momentarily, while he removed his leather gloves and laid them on his pillow, before he returned to the letter in earnest. It took Locke a little longer to read the letter than usual; even though the handwriting was flawless, it was in elvish script, and he hadn't found it necessary to read a great deal of elvish recently. In fact, the last time he had read this much in elvish was the last letter he had received from his mother. When he was finished reading, he flopped back onto his pillow with a sigh. ?Bollocks,? he muttered to himself.

Locien,

It has been too long since last we spoke or met, my son. I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. Arnand, Liam, and I are faring well here in Port Leicester. Arnand's business is doing well, and Liam has proven to be a fast student of tailoring, much as you were, lo those many years ago.

I write you not to further chastise you for your past choices or past behaviors. I have already made our feelings on your schooling quite clearly felt, and do not see a reason to return down that road once more. I will say this, though. I am hopeful that you have received this letter, and that in receiving this letter, you have improved your lot in life since the last time I wrote you.

The reason I am writing this letter is to inform you that Liam will be coming to town sometime during the week of April 27, most likely sometime during the evening of April 30. When we left the city, we weren't planning on not returning, so most of our possessions are still in storage in RhyDin. Please assist Liam as much as you can with the removal of these items from storage, as well as preparing them for shipping back to Port Leicester. I trust that you are not too busy with other activities to do so.

May thy paths be white and the breeze on thy back , Locien.

Until next we meet,

Atara

Seventeen Years Ago
WestEnd

((Author's note: Dialogue in this scene is spoken in elvish))

When Raina had told her son, Locke, that he was going to have a new brother, the young elf had been excited. His mum had told him that it would be fun, that he would have somebody new to play with, and that he wouldn't be as lonely when she and his step-father, Arnand, were busy with chores or other tasks. Of course, Locke soon discovered that the truth was more complicated than what he had been led to believe.

Liam was half-ice elf, half-human. His peculiar parentage led to him being a sickly child, among other things. This, in turn, had led to Raina quitting her part-time job helping Arnand at his small tailoring shop, so that she could dedicate herself to taking care of Liam full-time. And boy, was it a full-time job. Between nursing, changing diapers, cleaning up his messes, and comforting him when he was colicky, unhealthy, or otherwise unhappy, there was less time than before to care for Locke. Even when he started to walk and talk, he was still demanding to take care of, as he took ill much more frequently than other children of his age.

Most of the time, this wasn't a problem for Locke. Even though most of the neighborhood kids were humans, and even though he was still learning his way around the intricacies of the Common language, Locke was confident and outgoing enough to overcome whatever obstacles might have stood in his way of befriending the local boys. However, on days when there wasn't school, and the weather outside was bad, he grew bored easily.

Today was one of those days. A cold, rainy Saturday in early March, Locke had quickly plowed through what little homework he had, and was starting to get stir-crazy. Arnand was working at the shop, and Raina was in the tiny main bedroom of their equally minuscule WestEnd flat. With the usual assortment of furniture in the living room (which also doubled as a dining room, and had no wall between it and the kitchenette), there was little room for a energetic young frost elf to run and play. Cabin-fever led the ice elf into his mother's bedroom, where Liam's crib was. Raina was singing to the half-asleep toddler in a soft, soothing alto. Her ice-white hair fell half-way down her bag, her bangs framing an alabaster face. Periodically, she fidgeted with the snowflake ring on her right hand, then the gold band on her left, as she sang.

?Mother?? Locke asked, his own pale white face clearly curious (and slightly mischievous).

?Quiet, Locien,? she replied, putting a finger to lips to shush him. ?Liam has a fever, and needs to sleep.?

Locke didn't lower his voice. ?But mother! I am bored. Bored, bored, bored, bored bored!? The last word was accompanied by a stamp of the snow elf's little foot.

?Locien...? Raina started to chide Locke, then thought better of it. ?You cannot find something else to do??

?No! I did my homework, and I am bored. Play a game with me!?

?I cannot. I need to take care of Liam.?

?But! But you always are taking care of him!? Raina sighed at Locke's words.

?It is because he is ill often. Please, Locien, find something else to do.?

?But I want to go outside!? This prompted Raina to cluck her tongue at Locke.

?You know what your father would say to that. He does not like it when you go outside when it is raining. He is afraid you will get sick.?

?But I know I will not!? Locke said, voice becoming even more high-pitched with frustration. ?I do not care what he thinks.?

?Locien!? Raina said, raising her voice, a rare gesture that had Locke stepping back a little bit. ?Do not talk about your father like that.? For a moment, Locke looked to be apologetic. Then, a wicked grin crossed his lips.

?Why not? He is not my father.? Raina's face immediately fell, and for a long moment, the room was silent. Finally, with a dismissive wave of her hand, and a wounded look in her light blue eyes, Raina responded.

?Go, then.? For a moment, Locke seemed to be genuinely crestfallen by the way his mother had sent him off, but he quickly shook his head. Turning around and away from the crib and Raina, he headed for the front door, not bothering to put on a raincoat or shoes. The cold and the rain had never bothered him before, and he didn't care if his clothes got sopping wet. He knew how angry it would make his stepfather. He headed down the dirty, smoky hallway of their tenement apartment complex until he reached the door that took him outside. He swung it open, craning his neck out to see how bad the weather was. The constant hum of falling rain splashing on the sidewalk was punctuated by the rumble of thunder off in the distance. An impish grin on his face, Locke stepped out from inside, under the leaky and dripping awning, before making his way entirely outside. The rain came straight down in sheets, soaking his nearly threadbare white t-shirt and patched-up jeans to the bone within moments. This brought a grin to his face, as he started to spin around in circles, arms at his sides. With a ?WHEEEE!?, he was off and running down the street, splashing through every puddle he came across. Boy, would Arnand be furious...

July 5, 2001 R.S.C.

It wasn't quite the fast getaway of the action movies that Locke's stepfather had screened for Locke and Liam on rainy weekend afternoons, but Locke's escape from the clutches of the Long Knives was just as effective. Mainly because they never saw it coming.

The deed had been done. Both his fellow assassin and their target had been knocked out and trussed up. The city guards' attention had been garnered by calling in a bomb threat. While the chaos started to slowly spread around the abandoned warehouse their mark had called home for their highly illegal arms smuggling activities. Locke had slipped out through the loading docks, close to the pier, and silently dove into the murky river. He quickly shed every shred of his assassin's gear: the dark, tight-fitting clothing, the belt full of poisons, the hood he'd worn over his head, the curved dagger he'd taken with him in place of what should have been his proper weapon. He even (somewhat reluctantly) slipped off the whisper-soft boots they had given him. As comfortable and sneaky as they were, though, any trace of his involvement at the warehouse was better off being sent to the bottom of the river. Once he was confident the items had sunk, Locke began the long swim up and across the river, towards the Marketplace.

The plan (such as it was) had begun in earnest a few months ago, when the inquisitive elf had gotten a little too inquisitive, and stumbled upon a secret meeting of the hidden assassin's division of the Long Knives. Locke, quickly realizing that he probably shouldn't have seen what he'd seen, revealed himself and offered his services to that more lethal branch of the thieves group he was already a part of. He began his training and indoctrination in earnest, barely managing to resist their attempts at brainwashing. Unfortunately for Locke, though, his plan was a bit incomplete. Sure, he'd managed to avoid having his mind controlled and prevented someone from dying (without having to kill himself). But the escape? Well, that could've used some work. The water was temperate and the weather was warm, so there was no risk of hypothermia, but there was still the very real threat of drowning. He felt the eddies and currents of the river tugging and ripping at his arms and legs, unseen hands trying to pull him beneath the surface and keep him there. His limbs stiffened, became heavy and leaden with each swimming stroke he made towards the river bank near the marketplace. Somehow, Locke managed to force his body to keep moving towards the shore, and it was with great relief that he felt his hands, then his knees, touch the muddy banks of the river. He was sopping wet, his white hair clinging to the side of his head and into his eyes. He lifted a hand up to brush aside the locks on his face, before glancing down at his grey boxer-briefs, the only article of clothing he had kept on while swimming. Soaked. He sighed, and hoped it was late enough that no one would be walking through the city streets. It wasn't the near-nudity that bothered him. It was the fact that he looked like a near-drowned animal, wet and disheveled. He felt the sandy earth cling to his damp feet as he walked up the bank, onto the streets and near the buildings looking over the river.

Unsteady, exhausted footsteps carried him through the marketplace towards the last place in RhyDin that he really wanted to go. The last place, but the only one he had left. It hadn't taken Locke too long to figure out that his stepfather's tailoring shop had moved out of WestEnd, into a northern nook of the marketplace. With a little more research, Locke discovered the location of their new apartment, a building in the Near Marketplace district. Quite far away from where he was, currently. All he could do was put one bare foot in front of the other, keep his eyes on the street names, and stop to catch his breath at intervals. By the time he arrived at the building his family was supposedly living at, he could feel his legs quivering and shaking with each step. He didn't really have a key to the building, and he couldn't very well justify breaking in to his family, so he picked a spot on the outside wall, near the entranceway and sat down, leaning against the siding. He felt his eyes shut and, as hard as he tried, he couldn't fend off sleep.

August 2003, R.S.C.

?Toror'?? Locke leaned against the doorframe and poked his head into his brother's room, where Liam had been sitting on the bed, a math textbooks and a college-ruled notebook in front of him. At Locke's voice, he turned towards the door, looking cross.

?Mani??

?We need to talk.?

?Locke, I'm somewhat...busy right now.? Liam gestured with his pencil towards the paper and book before him.

?That can wait, mate.?

?No, it can't. I am already far enough behind in my studies. I shudder to think what mum and dad might say if...? Liam trailed off, shaking his head, sending a few strands of pale blonde hair dancing across his forehead.

?Liam, no worries, mate. It won't take too long. And I promise I will help you when we are finished chatting.?

?Promise??

Locke clasped his hands over his heart. ?Promise. Care for a constitutional, while we speak?? Locke didn't wait for Liam to reply, grabbing his cloak and jacket and donning them. Liam shut his textbook, set aside the paper, and followed Locke out the front door of the apartment.

***

The pair were a somewhat odd sight, as they walked slowly through the marketplace, making small talk about soccer, pug, the latest crime waves to hit the city. Liam was significantly shorter than Locke, and sicklier, too. In fact, he was the shortest of the males currently living at the Taylor household, and was barely taller than his mother, who was fairly short herself. The blue soccer jersey he wore hung loosely on his frame, and his jeans seemed just about ready to fall off his waist, although by the looks of it, that didn't seem to be a conscious fashion choice for the scrawny adolescent. He was nearly as fair of features as Locke, with wheat-colored skin, steel blue-grey eyes, and slightly pointed ear-tips. Most of Locke's features were swallowed up or otherwise hidden in the black cloak and baggy clothes he was wearing, making him look like a necromancer or, at the very least, some sort of wizard. When they finally arrived in the marketplace square, near the water fountain, Locke suddenly stopped, sitting down on the marble ledge. He slipped off a glove, dipped a finger into the water, and waited for the water to freeze. After a few minutes, once it had turned to ice, Locke grinned and looked Liam's direction.

?You know the guard hates it when you do that.?

?Is it a crime to freeze the water in the fountain? It will melt soon enough.?

?Locke...? Liam looked ready to respond, but instead just folded his arms and looked at the ice elf. Even with arms folded though, the look on the half-elf's face showed that he was clearly intimidated by his brother.

?What??

?You said this was going to be brief.?

?My apologies, mate. Cards on the table.? Locked leaned forward, towards where Liam was standing. ?Do you hate me??

?What?? Liam actually took a step backwards.

?Do you hate me, Liam? Do you despise me? If so, why??

Liam tossed his head, sending flowing locks of light yellow hair from side to side across his face, before running his fingers through his hair, front to back. Finally, he spoke. ?Why-why do you care??

?What do you mean, mate??

? I mean...I mean, when have you ever cared what others think about you??

?I...don't follow.? Liam sighed under his breath.

?Nevermind. Why do you ask??

?I...got accepted to Uni. I'm leaving in a few weeks. I suppose...I want to make sure all the loose ends are tied up, before I go. It's sort of a boarding school, so...I likely won't be coming back until I am finished, savvy? So...it would be nice to know where we stand.? Locke trained his dark blue eyes on Liam then, searching his brother's young face for some sort of a reaction. Liam's irises were a cloudy grey, like storm clouds waiting to rain.

?I understand. Locke...?

The snow elf waited briefly for Liam to continue, but when he didn't, Locke butted in. ?What??

?Do you really want me to answer that?? Locke just rolled his eyes at that, slapping the ledge near where he was sitting with an open palm.

?No, Liam, I just asked it because I am so in love with the sound of my voice. Yes, I want you to answer.?

?Locke...You treated me rather poorly when I was young, vanished when I was 8, came back four years later and tried to pretend nothing had changed, nearly got us all killed for God bloody knows why ? since you won't bloody tell us ? and now you're telling me you're going to go away for another four years?? Liam shook his head furiously, as if the gesture gave him strength to say the words he was saying. ?I don't hate you Locke. I barely know you. I'm not sure I want to. I...don't really feel anything towards you.?

?That so?? Locke's voice was icy, with a poisonous undercurrent. Liam stepped further away from Locke, eyes widening a little bit as he slouched.

?Yes.?

?Fine.? Locke abruptly stood and started walking south swiftly, towards the Marketplace exit and the WestEnd.

?Wh-where are you going??

?Why do you care??

?L-Locke...you promised. My homework...? The former thief stopped, turned around to look at Liam, then shrugged his shoulders.

?I did.? Without another word, Locke suddenly started running, out of the marketplace and down the first alleyway he came across. Liam gave chase, but he was no match. When he peered down the alley he thought he'd seen Locke go down, his brother was nowhere to be found.

May 3, 2008 R.S.C.
Port Leicester

The airship trip north to Port Leicester was rather uneventful, spent mostly in silence by the two brothers. Locke busied himself by practicing card and coin tricks, while Liam read some book of elvish poetry from an author Locke had never heard of before. The flight was smooth, as the air currents and magic that propelled the ship through the skies ran into no turbulence, no fluctuations in mana. The only discomfort came from the rows and rows of wooden benches they sat on, with only some lame fake velvet cushioning for support. They looked similar to church pews, except for the seatbelts spaced periodically across the wood. From the way they were packing in the passengers, though, safety in coach class didn't seem to be of primary concern. Enviously, Locke imagined what it was like in first class, or even luxury class. He heard they received individual cabins to travel in, furniture and all. Of course, he had no way of knowing if that was the truth, or just rumors spread by their fellow poorer passengers.

Port Leicester was located well north and west of both RhyDin City and the Mount Yasuo area, on a coastline dominated by craggy peaks and hills. There was only a tiny beach carved out of the rock, accessible only by a narrow back road that wound down and around to sea level. That, combined with the cool weather that dominated the area most of the year, meant the city wasn't much of a tourist attraction, nor was there much fishing, crabbing, or lobstering. Instead, the economy was dominated by the airship factories that had been built near and on the mountains east of the city. Power was primarily supplied by carefully placed windmills, and a series of dams on a small river that wound a crooked path to the ocean south of the city and the mountains. This was supplemented by magical means, the same ones that made airship creation possible, that made Port Leicester one of the centers of the multiverse for such vessels. No one seemed to know when exactly the floating stones that were mined out of a valley to the northeast of Port Leicester were discovered, save for legends passed down for many generations. All they knew was that some intrepid magician reverse engineered the stones, and discovered how to create the spell that made them hover miraculously. The rest, as they say, was history.

After arranging for the furniture to be moved and delivered to their parents' new home, Liam and Locke headed into the city from the aerodrome, located just outside Port Leicester. Both Arnand's new tailoring shop and the family's apartment were located in the same small three-story building downtown, along with a tiny gift shop. The front walls looked like white stucco, with two windows on either side of the door. A fern sat in the window sill on the left side window, obscuring most of the view of the desk and cash register behind it. In the right window, a torso mannequin could be seen, wearing a black suitcoat, white dress shirt, and red tie. Behind it were a pair of clothing racks, with slacks, shirts, coats, ties, and other garments hung carefully in spaced rows. A green awning hung over the front of the building, torn in a couple of spots, with the shop's name written in white upper-case letters: ARNAND'S ALTERATIONS.

?Liam, I am going to sight-see for a spell. I will be back later this evening.?

?All right. Don't miss dinner, all right?? Locke barely hid the gleam in his eye.

?I wouldn't dare dream of it.?

***

Locke spent an hour or so walking down the streets of brick, mostly bored by the sheer smallness of everything there. He knew there were plenty of people here, if the rows upon rows of houses on higher-up hills, and the large factories still further away were any indication. It took a lot of people to design and build airships. It just seemed that there was little else to do in this town. The people here seemed to lack imagination, or a desire for entertainment. Downtown Port Leicester consisted primarily of gift shops full of knick-knacks, little diners full of (he assumed) retired factory workers and fishermen, grocers and bakers and butchers operating out of storefronts that barely seemed large enough. Except for the diners, all commerce seemed to shut down as soon as the sun started setting. No, that wasn't quite right. The diners and the bars were still open. However, there wasn't too much variety in the pubs present here. They all looked about the same: short, squat buildings separate from the homes, apartments, and other commercial buildings nearby. Some had thatched roofs, others had wooden or slate shingles slanting down. Inside, they weren't too much different either. Dimly lit, smoky, the bars long and scratched up, the stools rickety and packed with rugged looking blue-collar types. Locke didn't even spend a minute at the first two pubs he happened across: he could almost hear the record screeching to a halt, as half a dozen conversations died and a dozen pairs of eyes turned as one to look at the nattily dressed blue-skinned bloke who had just walked in the door.

Locke doubled back on the footsteps that had taken him to the outskirts of Port Leicester, back towards the city's center. I suppose I should bloody well go home now, before everyone gets pissed. Cobalt eyes drifted over buildings that had been closed on his first pass through, then looked west, where the sun was slowly sinking into the ocean, smearing vivid oranges, reds, and purples across the sky. The sun doesn't bloody well set like that in the City. He was so taken by the sight, that he didn't see the sharply dressed couple ahead of him on the sidewalk, stopping to take a look as well. He bumped into the gentleman, who was decked out in a navy blue suit, crisp white dress shirt, and paisley blue tie.

?Terribly sorry, mate.? The man waved off Locke's concern with a chuckle, though the man's date, a pale woman in a little black dress that left little to the imagination, glared at him.

?Don' worry about it.? He smiled affably at Locke, before holding his arm out to his companion, who took it. They had walked a few steps before she glared angrily back at him again. Locke just winked and grinned cheekily. He relished the sudden jerk of her head around to the front, and the way she tipped her nose just a little more into the air. He watched them walk a little further up the road, then disappear into a red-painted building, where a handful of other finely dressed men and women were standing outside, smoking cigars. He snapped his fingers, beaming, as he started to stroll up to the establishment. Suits? Ties? Beautiful birds? This looks like my kind of place.

May 4, 2008 R.S.C.

The four members of the Taylor family, Locke, Liam, Arnand, and Raina, sat silently around the dining room table, slowly eating their breakfast. Locke suspected his mother had decided to make pancakes to get back at him for coming in so late the previous evening, and missing dinner. On the rare occasions when he'd been living at home as a child, pancakes were one of his favorite things to eat. Warm, fluffy, slathered in butter and drenched in maple syrup. And now, as an ice elf, completely inedible unless he was willing to wait for them to cool off. Which, of course, he wasn't. The end result of this was that Locke was stuck eating a bowl of cold cereal and thick slices of cantaloupe, while the rest of his family tucked into tall stacks of buttermilk flapjacks, with links of sausage swimming in the excess syrup pooling on the sides of the plates.

At first, the quiet could've been blamed on the fact they were busy eating, but as the stacks grew shorter and messier, and as the fruit slowly disappeared from Locke's plate, it became quite clear that something was amiss. Before the silence could grow any more oppressive, Locke chimed in, his voice at once playful and with a hidden edge.

?You haven't seen me in five years, and this is all the welcome I get?? There was no response from anyone at the table for nearly a minute, before Locke's mom answered, in halting Common.

?You...you missed dinner. The day before today.?

?Yesterday,? Liam said, trying to be helpful.

?And I'm terribly sorry about that, but it most likely would have been something I couldn't eat.? Arnand stepped in at that moment, his voice only a little less timid than Raina's.

?That is not the point, Locien.?

?Than what is?? Locke watched his mother looked over towards his stepfather, expectantly. He nodded, then laid a hand on her shoulder. She visibly relaxed, before she slipped into Elvish, speaking slowly at first, then faster as she regained her confidence.

?<I will not repeat anything that I have said to you before about your past indiscretions, Locien, except to emphasize this. You said in your letter to me that you had changed, but from what Liam has told me and from what you did last night->? She paused, to point a pale white finger at Locke's cheek, bruised purple and black. ?<I do not believe it.>? There was no accusation on her features, nor malice in her tone, just an overwhelming sense of melancholy and fatigue that contrasted sharply with her beautiful, young face. It was enough to shut Locke up for a long minute. She's-she's standing up for herself?

?<But-but mum! I have changed! I swear it! I have many friends now. I have a job. I have a sweetheart.>? His voice was pleading, partially with his mother and partially with himself. She turned away towards a window for a second, then back to him.

?<If you say so. You have said so before.>?

?<Fine. I see the way it is.>? Locke glanced to Liam, then to Arnand, desperately searching for some support from the pair. Their expressionless features made it clear they fully supporting his mother. With a rattle of plates and silverware, Locke abruptly stood from the table. None of the usual grace accompanied his movement towards the stairs, to where his guest room was located.

?Are you not going to church with us, Locien?? Arnand called to him, in a calm, even tone. Hand on the rail, Locke twisted his body to look back to his family. He studied their faces intently: Liam and Arnand did not betray the way they felt with their faces, nor what their reaction might be if he decided not to go. But his mother was unable to hide her feelings. In that moment, she looked both hopeful and sad. There was a faint smile on her face, but there was a lack of light and warmth in her sapphire eyes that made it clear that, although she hoped for the best, she was expecting the worst of him. It made him pause, then slump his shoulders and sigh.

?Mum?? he whispered, though the words were clearly audible in the room.

?Yes??

?<I will go to church. For you.>?

?<Thank you, Locien.>? Locke dipped his head into a low bow in response, before heading up the stairs.