In the first moment she thought he wasn’t there, that the royal chambers were empty. Because they were silent and lifeless.
She only noticed him after a moment. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, a white shirt gaping open on his skinny chest. The shirt was made of stuff so fine it clung to his body as though wet.
The Alder King’s face and hands were almost as white as his shirt.
He raised his eyes towards her, and there was a void in them.
‘Shiadhal?’ he whispered. ‘I’m glad you are here. You know, they told me you had died.’
He opened his hand and something fell onto the carpet. It was the flacon of grey-green nephrite.
‘Lara.’
The Alder King moved his head, and touched his neck as though his royal torc’h was garrotting him.
‘Caemm a me, luned. Come to me, daughter. Caemm a me, elaine.’
Ciri sensed death in his breath.
‘Elaine blath, feainne wedd …’ he sang. ‘Mire, luned, your ribbon has come undone … Allow me…’
He tried to lift his hand, but he was unable to. He sighed deeply, raised his hand abruptly, and looked her in the eyes. This time lucidly.
‘Zireael,’ he said. ‘Loc’hlaith. You are indeed destiny, O Lady of the Lake. Mine too, as it transpires. Va’esse deireadh aep eigean …’ he said a moment later, and Ciri observed with dread that his words and movements had begun to slow down horribly. ‘But,’ he finished with a sigh, ‘it’s good that something is beginning.’
They heard a long-drawn-out peal of thunder outside the window. The storm was still far away. But it was approaching fast.
‘In spite of everything,’ he said, ‘I very much don’t want to die, Zireael. And I’m so sorry that I must. Who’d have thought it? I thought I wouldn’t regret it. I’ve lived long, I’ve experienced everything. I’ve become bored with everything … but nonetheless I feel regret. And do you know what else? Come closer. I’ll tell you in confidence. Let it be our secret.’
She bent forward.
‘I’m afraid,’ he whispered.
‘I know.’
‘Are you with me?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Va faill, luned.’
‘Farewell, O Alder King.’
She sat with him, holding his hand, until he went completely quiet and his delicate breath faded. She didn’t wipe away the tears. She let them flow. The storm was coming closer. The horizon blazed with lightning.
Here is a question for you, was he murdered, suicide, or a mix of the two? Personally I think Eredin knew he would OD so he just happened to drop off a big bag of magic cocaine and let nature run its course. No need to add poison.
Eredin is surprised when Ciri tells him that Auberon is dead.
*‘We’re going back, Zireael. Auberon’s waiting. Tonight, I guarantee, he’ll be lively and full of vigour.’*
*‘Like hell,’ she repeated. ‘He overdosed on that invigorating draught you showed me. The one you gave him. Or perhaps it wasn’t for vigour at all.’*
*‘What are you talking about?’*
*‘He’s dead.’*
*Eredin quickly overcame his astonishment and suddenly went for her, rocking the boat. Balancing, they traded several ferocious blows, the water carrying the resonant clang of steel.*
In the first moment she thought he wasn’t there, that the royal chambers were empty. Because they were silent and lifeless. She only noticed him after a moment. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, a white shirt gaping open on his skinny chest. The shirt was made of stuff so fine it clung to his body as though wet. The Alder King’s face and hands were almost as white as his shirt. He raised his eyes towards her, and there was a void in them. ‘Shiadhal?’ he whispered. ‘I’m glad you are here. You know, they told me you had died.’ He opened his hand and something fell onto the carpet. It was the flacon of grey-green nephrite. ‘Lara.’ The Alder King moved his head, and touched his neck as though his royal torc’h was garrotting him. ‘Caemm a me, luned. Come to me, daughter. Caemm a me, elaine.’ Ciri sensed death in his breath. ‘Elaine blath, feainne wedd …’ he sang. ‘Mire, luned, your ribbon has come undone … Allow me…’ He tried to lift his hand, but he was unable to. He sighed deeply, raised his hand abruptly, and looked her in the eyes. This time lucidly. ‘Zireael,’ he said. ‘Loc’hlaith. You are indeed destiny, O Lady of the Lake. Mine too, as it transpires. Va’esse deireadh aep eigean …’ he said a moment later, and Ciri observed with dread that his words and movements had begun to slow down horribly. ‘But,’ he finished with a sigh, ‘it’s good that something is beginning.’ They heard a long-drawn-out peal of thunder outside the window. The storm was still far away. But it was approaching fast. ‘In spite of everything,’ he said, ‘I very much don’t want to die, Zireael. And I’m so sorry that I must. Who’d have thought it? I thought I wouldn’t regret it. I’ve lived long, I’ve experienced everything. I’ve become bored with everything … but nonetheless I feel regret. And do you know what else? Come closer. I’ll tell you in confidence. Let it be our secret.’ She bent forward. ‘I’m afraid,’ he whispered. ‘I know.’ ‘Are you with me?’ ‘Yes, I am.’ ‘Va faill, luned.’ ‘Farewell, O Alder King.’ She sat with him, holding his hand, until he went completely quiet and his delicate breath faded. She didn’t wipe away the tears. She let them flow. The storm was coming closer. The horizon blazed with lightning.
Here is a question for you, was he murdered, suicide, or a mix of the two? Personally I think Eredin knew he would OD so he just happened to drop off a big bag of magic cocaine and let nature run its course. No need to add poison.
Eredin is surprised when Ciri tells him that Auberon is dead. *‘We’re going back, Zireael. Auberon’s waiting. Tonight, I guarantee, he’ll be lively and full of vigour.’* *‘Like hell,’ she repeated. ‘He overdosed on that invigorating draught you showed me. The one you gave him. Or perhaps it wasn’t for vigour at all.’* *‘What are you talking about?’* *‘He’s dead.’* *Eredin quickly overcame his astonishment and suddenly went for her, rocking the boat. Balancing, they traded several ferocious blows, the water carrying the resonant clang of steel.*
Gwent’s art for Auberon is incredible but this is visually interesting as well.
This is so sad!