Chapter 1:Hilde of Dithmarschen
Some say that the people of the North are resilient. They say that because it is a land of endless winter, one cannot survive without being so. That is half-true.
Admirers of nature claim that it forges humans into stronger beings, but not so in the North. This land offers no quarter. Only those born strong survive in the North.
When it snows, it piles higher than a man’s head, and it is not uncommon for last year’s snow to shift and remain unmelted until summer. Monsters that have existed since before history roam day and night, sometimes even breaching the fortress walls. Weakness cannot exist here. It is synonymous with death.
However, there is a flaw in that saying. Summer does come to the lands of the North. Naturally or artificially, summer does arrive. Even when it does, it only shows its face before disappearing, not even staying long enough for the crops to ripen.
But sometimes, very rarely, on a cycle of once every few decades, a summer descends that is long enough to parch the earth. The last of those years was more than fifty years ago. A lifetime in the past. Yet I remember it vividly.
A memory riddled with holes due to forgetfulness, perhaps even distorted by nostalgia. What is certain is that I was not alone that year, and that she was by my side.
"Ulrich."
She, Hilde, called to me.
"You don't age, do you?"
We were walking through a field.
As the snow that had blanketed the field in white melted away, green sprouts rose from between the clumps of earth, as if just after a morning dew. The scent of grass, a rarity in the North, tickled my nose. The sky, which had been gloomy and clouded all year long, was blue, and the wind that had carried the snow was now warm.
"I do not age."
"And you don't die."
I wondered what Hilde was trying to say. Why was she suddenly asking something so obvious? She knew that I had lived for a very long time, despite not being of mixed human and Elf blood.
"Isn't it painful?"
But that was the first time she had ever asked about my eternal life. I had never considered it a secret, but she had kept silent as if it were a matter of great confidence. Why ask now?
I stopped walking. She, who had been walking quietly, stopped a step later, standing before me. She turned to face me. Her eyes trembled slightly.
"Was that impertinent?"
Perhaps my silence had made her anxious, for she asked cautiously.
"No."
"It's alright if you don't want to talk about it."
"It's not that."
I was simply at a loss for how to answer.
No.
"It's alright if you don't want to talk about it."
"It's not that."
"As you know, I neither age nor die. Time always flows on, leaving me behind. Even the Elves, who seem to embrace eternal life, will one day crumble before the years. All they possess is the right not to age. Thus, they meet their deaths slowly."
"The dragons are the same. When the third human empire arose, the first dragon turned to dust in a distant land. Of course, they were born before me, but... today, I have lived longer than them. And look at me. Is there any difference between the me you remember from long ago and the me of today?"
Hilde shook her head, saying there was none.
"I have bid farewell to many. And I will continue to do so. The pain you ask of must be this: is it not painful to be left alone after sending others on their way?"
"Yes. I—that you—"
"If you ask whether it is painful, then of course it is. This long life is not something I wished for. I am merely... living with it, unintentionally."
I raised a hand to stop her words.
"But life itself is not painful. Fortunately, I too am blessed with forgetfulness. As memories fade, they become recollections. You know what I mean, don't you? The present always becomes the past, but recalling the past is not always painful."
She looked as if she were about to say something, but swallowed her breath instead. After a moment's hesitation, she opened her mouth again. Her voice, like the eyes that looked up at me, wavered unsteadily.
"Someday, I too will become one of your recollections, won't I?"
"Isn't that when you're supposed to say you'll remember me?"
"I see."
"You're a cold man...."
Hilde smiled faintly.
"So? Why did you bring this up?"
"May I ask a favor of you?"
A favor?
"When I die, I want you to take the domain."
"You want me to inherit the title?"
"Yes. You, and no one else."
Only then did I see her true intention. But I feigned ignorance and asked.
"Have you no thought of passing it to your kin?"
"You know what I think of them."
Yes, I knew all too well.
She had inherited the title at the age of eight, and I was the one who had watched over her. I was the one who had protected the young girl from the fiendish hands that sought to snatch her title away, so I knew all too well.
"Please."
Hilde took my right hand with both of hers.
Her gaunt hands, the fine wrinkles—they stopped my words. They made me, who was about to say it was too much to ask, truly troubled. How many times had she ever asked a favor of me?
I understood the intent behind her request. I also knew that her request was no different from a last will. I was not so heartless as to coldly refuse those two things.
The man awoke from his reverie.
The man awoke from his reverie.
What conversation followed that? No matter how he sifted through his memories, nothing came to mind. He could recall even the scent of the grass from the moments just before, yet not a single word of what came after.
Perhaps forgetfulness is stronger than death, he thought. That it should be so difficult to protect a memory.
- Hilde Dithmarschen
As the winter wind blew, carrying snow, he looked down at the gravestone. It was what had trapped him, however briefly, in his reverie. He knelt and swept the snow from the stone, revealing her name.
He was the one who had carved that name. He was the one who had placed her in the coffin, the one who had kept watch at her deathbed, and the one who had inherited her title.
...
Hilde died toward the end of that summer. Like all those with whom he had forged a bond, she returned to the earth. And since then, spring had come and gone three times. Summer had visited several times in those years, but never one as long as that one.
"You never cared for your kin, did you."
He placed a hand on the gravestone and smiled.
The reason she had passed the title to him—she must have wanted him not to forget her. For as long as he remained the Lord of Dithmarschen, as long as he stayed in the manor where she was born, where she grew up, and where she died, he would not forget her.
He was that kind of person. And she had known him well.
The time he spent with her was but a fleeting moment compared to his entire life. A past that was bound to be forgotten someday. For that reason, or perhaps in spite of it, she had wished to be remembered for a long time.
"Ulrich-nim."
Crunch, crunch, the sound of footsteps in the snow drew closer.
"It is cold, sir. You should go inside."
The man called Ulrich turned his head.
An old butler stood behind him. His name was Hohenlohe. Hilde had taken him into her service as a page seven years before she died; now, he was an old man.
He was worried for his master, but it was the old man who needed to be worried about. A face pale from the cold and a feebly trembling form were like a gaunt thornbush.
Once he too is gone, there will be no one left who served her.
When the day comes that everyone who shares these memories with him has vanished, and even his recollections of her have grown faint, he will leave. The promise ends there. It has always been so.
"Yes, I should."
Rising to his feet, he left the cemetery, lost in old thoughts.
He was born when the gods built their palaces in the sky and dwelled there. After the gods departed, he watched the Dwarves build a tower that reached the heavens. There was also an age when the ruined tower was covered in vines and called the World Tree.
Three ages ended, and after them, the age of man collapsed twice before rising again to become the present day. Though the world had undergone such changes, he retained his appearance from those ancient days. His heart, however, seemed to have changed many times. But he himself was unaware of those changes. For they happen gradually, not in a single moment.
He lives in a time that flows on, leaving him behind each day. Since even death passes him by, all he can do is accept life.
Still, he thought, life is not only pain. Though it is sad to bid farewell to a bond and be left alone, in time, another bond is sure to come. Some say death is a gift from the gods and immortality a curse, but that is not necessarily so.
His name is Ulrich, and for now, he is Ulrich of Dithmarschen.
A hundred years ago, he used the name César de Guise, and even further back, he went by Arturus Magnus. But those are only a few of this man's countless names. For now, there is no need to know them.
He thought, some say death is a gift from the gods and immortality a curse, but that is not necessarily so.
His name is Ulrich, and for now, he is Ulrich of Dithmarschen.
They are only a few of this man's countless names. For now, there is no need to know them.
To Live with Immortality
The Fleet of Dithmarschen
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