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One Last Journey
Posted: 20 Mar 2005 05:25 AM |
“Gods… will it never end,” she thought, brushing the hair from her eyes and leaning back from the desk littered with parchment. Casting a rueful eye over them she smiled wryly, “Never complain you have too little to do again, Elvalia,” she muttered.
Training reports and schedules for the archers, petitions, supply quotas, indeed it seemed never ending. And among them all the most worrying, the sighting reports from the patrols, including Calia’s from but a few days ago of the fight within the Slyvian Forest, but a day after a smaller attack in Latonei.
She sighed softly, resting her hands on her swelling stomach and looking over at her bow, “and I can do nothing,” she said, more than aware that she was unused to trusting in others for her own safety.
She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, more than aware also that such attacks were only keeping in her mind what her mother had told her, not that she could forget it.
She stared down thoughtfully at the papers on her desk for a while, then pushed them aside and pulled out a rolled piece from a locked draw and began to write….
”Vmaaanelvla child, it is some time since I have written, and for that I apologise but much also has weighed upon my mind. I have learned much since last I wrote, this also has caused me to examine myself, examine my very nature. I do not truly know how it is that I am able to speak with, to touch, to hold the mother who died so long ago… any more than I understand why it is that she alone is able to see, and indeed touch me.
First, I am not who I thought I was. I, who more than any am associated with Our Lord, am the daughter of an enemy, one long dead but an enemy nonetheless. Does this change who I am? Who you are?
In the course of my duties I have thought long and hard on this, she said it was important that I make my own choices; that I learn from Arod’s example. I have searched through my memories many times in the last few days and there is one that is clear above all others, one that, apart from a short while, I have followed all my life. There is no need to kill for killing’s sake, that much Arod told me. I fell, it is true, and for a time – bent on revenge – I ignored this, but once more was told the same, by My Lord Aros.
Even so, I was not made to hold true to this, it was my choice. Whoever my father may have been, whatever his name, I chose to live by the ways of Aros.
I made the right choice.
Daughter of a hunter I may be, but I will be a follower of My Lord until the end of my existence, nothing can change that.”
She leant back from the desk with a happy smile and rolled the parchment, locking it carefully away once more in the desk
“And now,” she said softly to herself, “there remains but one decision to make. Weeks are like years, mother said. If that is so the attack will soon take place and I mean to be there.”
For an hour or so she sat, working through the parchments on her desk until at last everything was complete and placed them in a bag, intending to hand it to a Warrior for delivery to the Council.
She slung the bag over her shoulder and stood looking at her bow for a moment, “Idle for so long, but it may be you have your most important task to do in but a short while,” she muttered as she took it in hand.
She stepped outside and, bow at her shoulder, gazed up at the statue for a moment, eyes shining with respect and adoration, bowed low and walked silently off towards the steps. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Death Revisited
Posted: 22 Mar 2005 07:29 AM |
She woke from her reverie early, partly by design, partly as a result of her restlessness, disturbed by both what was to come and the almost imperceptible, but now noticeable, movement of the child within her.
She rolled onto her back within the bivouac and stared out at the sky above the clearing, still dark as there was no moon, nor any hint of pre-dawn light. The lodge was quiet, had been since her arrival the night before, like it occupants – save the child – awaiting what the day was to bring.
She dressed quickly, gathering together her belongings and breaking down the small shelter so no sign remained of its presence, then slipped noiselessly into the trees to work her way around the edge of the clearing, stopping when she could see both the lodge, and the hollow log on the clearing’s opposite edge. There she sat and sorted carefully through her quivers, painstakingly checking each of the arrows, discarding any which showed the slightest imperfection. Satisfied at last she quickly checked her bow, the ebony sheen offset by the mithril gleaming softly in the now dim light, the phase spider silk string as ever winking in and out of existence.
Her preparations complete, she stood, leaning back against a nearby tree – perfectly motionless and invisible to all who might think to look.
The sky above brightened slightly as dawn approached, and within the lodge faint sounds of movement could be heard, muffled conversation as Arod and Elmirie began their own preparations. Her green eyes glazed over slightly as she searched her mind for her own memories of this time – there were none, none at least until…
The door of the lodge burst open and she heard the girl, voice raised, “But father, I can help! I have my bow and knife!”
There was no need to hear Arod’s reply, his last words to her, they were imprinted indelibly on her mind, “No Elvalia, this day’s work is beyond your capabilities, but your day with the bow will come. Now go, quickly!”
She watched as the child burst from the house, shortbow in hand, blonde hair shining clearly even in this light, and ran quickly over to the hollow log, checking her leggings for her knife before crawling inside it.
Soon now…
She could see the child as she lay within the darkness of the log, staring back at her home, waiting. Arod appeared then, checking the clearing briefly before beckoning to Elmirie, who followed from behind.
Elvalia closed her eyes as the memories of the day washed over her, tilting her head to one side as the hunters appeared and gave Arod the ultimatum, as he refused to leave. All senses alert, she could hear in the forest the goblinoids speaking among themselves, orc voices, heavy footsteps, the soft sound of gutteral grunts and barks. As she opened her eyes to take in the scene once more as Arod argued with the humans, she wondered whether he too had heard them, whether he knew now what he and Elmirie truly faced as he told the humans he would allow no further desecration of the surrounding forest – as the human leader gave his sarcastic reply and the goblinoids began to pour from the forest behind him.
At the leader’s harsh, “Kill them,” and the feral howl of the orcs and goblins Elvalia nocked an arrow, drew the string of her bow slightly and waited, watching as Arod began to fight, supported by Elmirie’s casting.
In truth, she could have closed her eyes once more and missed nothing, so vividly were the events embedded in her mind even after all these years, but still, eyes blazing, she stood ready… and watched… and waited.
Arod’s bow sang ceaselessly, the sound mingled with cries of dismay, of pain, of fear, of death. All sounds which had become so familiar to Elvalia’s ears since that day. Tearing her attention from the battle she focused on the log, aware that the time was approaching, and drew her bow to it’s fullest extent.
She watched as the lone shaman began to creep around towards the log unnoticed by her parents, the arrow she had nocked beginning to glow, the light increasing until it was almost incandescent as the moment approached. At last she could see movement as the child began to move from her hiding place, nocking her own arrow and taking aim at the shaman’s back.
Now was the time. Elvalia took aim at the leading orcs and, as she heard Arod cry out to the girl, fired. Arrow after arrow began to blaze from where she stood as the Bow of Aros began to sing, scarcely aware as she fired at orc after orc.
Then her arm dropped to her side, she stood stunned as the arrows she had fired passed through their targets to disappear into the forest. Dumfounded she slumped against the tree in shock as Arod was once more cut to pieces in front of her. The bow fell from her hand as she sank to the ground, scarcely aware as the orcs and humans debated the fate of Arod’s bow, as the orcs left and her mother was dragged inside the lodge by the humans.
The screams began, and, tears pouring from her eyes, Elvalia watched as the little girl opposite followed the shadowy figure of Aros into the forest. She listened as the screams continued along with the scuffling inside the lodge, covering her eyes in grief as silence fell at last.
She curled herself into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably, oblivious to all as the humans finally left, leaving the bloodstained and magic-scarred clearing to itself. Elvalia had never cried so much as she did now, all the years of pain, of loneliness, returning to haunt her in a single moment.
For some time the sound of her grief was all that could be heard around the clearing apart from the usual sound of birdsong and the breeze through the trees, until that too at last began to fade and she fell silent.
She sat up at last, the dark puffiness around her eyes the only evidence of what had occurred, and stared numbly at the lodge, the fire and passion which normally lit her eyes nowhere to be seen.
At last, she stood, gathered together her things, and slung the bow over her shoulder.
“I am sorry mother,” she whispered, “I have failed you once more.”
She turned then and, head bowed, walked silently off into the forest.
...............................................................................................................................................................................................
Elmirie sat against the wall of the lodge, her gaze fixed on the spot where Arod had fallen, too stunned to speak, too shocked to weep. She scarcely heard the debate taking place over her husband’s bow, aware only of a chasm in her heart, that part of what made her complete had gone.
Then rough hands had grabbed her arms and pulled her roughly to her feet and she began to struggle, screaming out in fear and anger as she was dragged into the lodge. She could not be certain how many there were but as she screamed and fought, biting, scratching, she was aware only of her desperation, of her helplessness. Much of her power had been exhausted in the fight outside, she was reduced to what she could do with hand and tooth and for what seemed like hours, fought alone against a group of men who were, in strength at least, far more powerful than her.
Her strength ebbed until at last she was overpowered and thrown onto the bed. Still, however, she was not finished, and as the leader approached slipped the dagger from her leggings and drove it deep into his chest, causing him to fall across her in his death throes, pinning her down. The yells of those in the room battered her ears then, dulled only by searing pain as a dagger was drawn swiftly across her throat and her life began to drain away. The curses of the hunters faded as her senses dulled, though she was still dimly aware of their departure.
As silence fell within the lodge she gathered what strength and power she still had and, barely able to whisper, muttered a brief elven prayer to the Mother. The curative powers she was still able to muster were not much, but sufficient at least to close the wound before she at last lost consciousness.
It was dark when she awoke. The same day? She had no way of telling, aware only of the blood that stained her clothing and the buzzing of the flies that surrounded both her and the dead human. Weakly, she pulled herself from beneath him and stood swaying for a few minutes.
Then at last, gathering what strength she had, she withdrew her dagger from the humans chest and reached beneath the pillow on the bed. She cleaned the dagger on his clothing, slid it back into her leggings, then stood looking down at the token which lay in her hand. Brushing the blood-matted hair from her eyes she looked down on the leaf and golden petal, tied with the strand of golden hair.
“I will find you, Acelilceil, both of you… Bronwyn too. I will find you…” she whispered. Then, gathering her cloak she turned and slipped from the lodge into the darkness outside. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Ana's tidings
Posted: 30 Mar 2005 10:37 AM |
The green eyes opened and looked blearily around the room as if she were unsure for a moment of her exact whereabouts. She sat up on the bed, rubbing her eyes which still showed dark shadows around them and evidence of recent grief. She looked around her home, still not exactly sure how she had come to be here, having walked back from the clearing in a daze, still unsure of what had happened or how it came to be. One thing only was certain, that her mother and Arod were dead, despite her efforts.
Staring up at the sky through the leaves of the tree, she gathered her thoughts; perhaps after all it was for the best. Who knew what may have changed had they lived, apart of course from the obvious – a childhood and adolescence among a family, rather than a desperate scrabbling for survival alone.
She climbed from the bed, grimacing slightly at her swelling profile in the mirror, and washed and dressed. Quickly rolling the scattered parchments on the desk she stowed them in a bag, gathered her bow and stepped out of the house, intending to deliver some papers at the palace before joining those archers she was training.
Bowing before the statue, she walked through the gardens past the pool, smiling briefly at the stag as it drank, then paused as she caught sight of a form nearby.
Ana, propped against a rock and by the looks deep in her reverie. With an amused, and yet intrigued look, Elvalia laid her bow and bag on the ground and sat nearby, watching the other elf. As Ana began to stir, Elvalia’s smile broadened, “Hello Ana.”
Ana blinked for a few moments, looking around in surprise. “Is something wrong?” Asked Elvalia, tilting her head enquiringly.
“No... no,” said Ana, obviously still a little confused, “just... I can't believe I fell asleep.”
“Well it is peaceful here,” said Elvalia, looking around as she laughed softly, “I almost fell over you.”
“Yes, but...“ said the other elf, shaking her head as she reached into her pack and drew out a small fabric wrapped package.
“But?” Asked Elvalia, now more intrigued than ever.
Ana smiled gently, looking into the cloth. “But I was not alone,” she said.
Elvalia surveyed the gardens quickly, satisfying herself that no other was present, “Well whoever else was here has gone now,” she said.
Ana shook her head and opened the package fully, cupping it in her hands and holding it out carefully so that Elvalia might see what lay within. Elvalia peered at it curiously then looked sharply at Ana with a slight frown, to find that the other elf was watching her expression carefully. “Where did you find that?” Asked Elvalia.
“I did not find it,” said Ana, “I was given it. She said she will see you soon… that you might find her at the Grove.”
Elvalia stared at her for a few moments then looked down once more at the object she was holding out, “Who?” She asked, “I do not understand.”
”I do not understand it at all either,” said Ana, “your mother spoke of things I can't begin to imagine or piece together.”
The look of confusion on her face was replaced by one that clearly showed Elvalia thought the other insane, “My mother? Ana, my mother is dead.”
“She…” Ana said hesitantly, “she feared you might think as much... but she would like to see you and your sister again.”
“But… but I saw her die, I heard her screams,” said Elvalia softly with a slight shake of her head, staring down at Ana’s hands once more.
“She said you gave this to her...” continued Ana, no less confused than Elvalia, “you as you are now... it's quite confusing and I do not think I should be the one to tell it... but I can assure you she is not dead.”
Still staring at the token which Ana was holding, Elvalia brushed the hair from her eyes and said softly, “I… I did give it to her, not two weeks since.”
“And you spoke with her... “ said Ana, nodding slowly, “she is happy for you.”
“Indeed... “ said Elvalia, “she told me, but I... I saw her die again not three days ago”
“I tell you I was with her,” said Ana, shaking her head, “we travelled here from in front of the Four Winds not but…,” she looked up questioningly at the sky through the trees, “I'm not sure how long I slept… perhaps a day ago.”
“I do not understand any of this....”said Elvalia, shaking her head, “even how I have seen and spoken with her, felt her, touched her. But yes I saw her, I saw myself being born, and Bronwyn. I saw myself at five years old, again at the age of eight, and again when Aros led me away.”
She stared at the token Ana held once more, “But she still died, I tried to stop it but I could not - it still happened the same way.”
Ana stared at her, “At eight... she said that was how old you were when you last spoke with her.”
Elvalia reached up and held a lock of hair considerably shorter than the rest and nodded towards the token, “And that is my hair. “But if she lived... why stay away? Where has she been?”
“Away from Ferein...” said Ana, still staring at her.
Elvalia sat looking at the other for a few moments before nodding slightly and saying softly, “Because of my father.”
“Aala…” said Ana, “aala, because of your father.”
Elvalia closed her eyes briefly before looking at her friend once more, “She told you then…”
Ana smiled sadly, “Aala…it was actually during her telling that I must have fallen asleep...”
Elvalia looked over at the huge statue of Aros and smiled briefly, “A little ironic, wouldn’t you say?”
As Ana looked at her questioningly she laughed softly, “Aros' Chosen and Ferein's protector the daughter of a hunter.”
“I suppose it does make one step back and wonder if all things touched by him and his kind are really so evil as people think,” said Ana smiling slightly.
“They can,” said Elvalia, staring at her for a moment, “I suppose at times I am.”
“To me...” said Ana, “Arod was your father, not the hunter whose blood you share.”
“I was a hunter,” said Elvalia, smiling slightly, “for a time, until Aros stopped me. I hear people speak of Iretya, Macha and others but there was a time when I was far worse. In truth.... they have not killed many, I did.”
“Was this shortly after your father... after Arod died?” Asked Ana.
“Not long before I came here,” answered Elvalia, looking over at the statue once more, “He stopped me. But the blood is still there, and the cruelty, and the instinct.”
As Ana frowned slightly and looked once more at the token in her hands, she continued softly, “And I killed them all because I thought they had both died. But you need not worry,” she smiled broadly at Ana, “It was done whoever my father might have been. I am still his Chosen, I haven't changed, nor will I.”
“I was not worried of that,” said Ana, shaking her head, “more that with knowledge of her life you might feel more guilt than is needed.”
Elvalia thought for a moment, “They still killed Arod... who I saw as my father, whatever guilt I felt is long gone, was gone when Aros caught me. It is behind me now.”
As Ana nodded slightly, she continued, “Bron… Bron of course is a different matter, she does not know… it will be different for her.”
“What do you mean she does not know?” Asked Ana, “Know of your father?”
“She never knew Arod,” answered Elvalia, “never knew our mother, it will not be easy for her... and yes, about our father.”
“I can't imagine any of this being simple for anyone...” said Ana, looking at her with concern.
“No...” said Elvalia thoughtfully “no I should imagine not.”
Ana gave a small wry smile and gestured with the hands that held the token, “Am I going to have to hold this for an eternity?”
Elvalia laughed and took the token, tenderly cupping it in her hand, “I’m sorry.”
“Your mother,” said Ana, “she is very strong and wise... I'm sure there are reasons she had to wait until now to show herself.”
“Indeed,” nodded Elvalia, “I hope she can tell me when we meet.”
“I am sure the two of you will need to spend many hours together,” said Ana, “I am happy for you Elvalia, not many have the chance.”
“Aala,” said Elvalia, smiling slightly, “I suppose that is true, I at least have spoken with her, I hope Bron can accept it.”
“I can't begin to imagine what it will feel like to her,” said Ana, quietly.
”Nor I...” said Elvalia as she shook her head, “it has always been difficult for her to understand why it should be that she was sent away.”
“It was for her safety,” said Ana, “and the safety of the rest of you.”
“Aala,” said Elvalia, “we have always known that, or known since Aros told us... but I think still she could not understand why it was her they gave up and not me. I at least know – my mother told me, but even so... I wonder if Bron will understand.”
“Perhaps in time,” smiled Ana, and stretched, “for some reason I still feel fatigued, you wouldn’t mind if I rested here a while longer would you?”
“Of course not,” smiled Elvalia, “I have business at the palace, but I shall go first to the grove and see if I can find her... fa lalloa, Ana.”
“I will, look to the waterfalls, she likes them apparently,” said Ana, already closing her eyes, “and tell her I would like to finish the tale sometime... when I am more alert.”
Still clutching the token, Elvalia laughed softly and walked towards the stairs. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Plans Afoot
Posted: 04 May 2005 04:55 PM |
She had stood there for hours now. Dimly visible through the driving snow, the diminutive figure silhouetted against the red glow, which could be seen to the south, even through the blizzard.
The archer cleared his throat quietly, slightly nervous, as were most when approaching her – never quite sure how she would react. Never quite sure how to read the mind behind those glinting, deep green eyes which all to easily could light up with a passion; one which was usually a sign that not all was well.
“My lady,” he said softly. Then, as there was no reply, repeated the words slightly louder. She turned towards him then, eyes ringed with fatigue, the blonde hair framed by the hood of the cloak she wore against the snow. Wordlessly, she raised an enquiring brow, as if wondering why she should be the object of anybody’s attention, on this night at least.
“Should you not rest, my lady?” He asked, glancing significantly at her bulging cloak.
“How can I Rufil?” She replied, turning away once more to look towards where the burning Inner City lit the skies, even though it now lay on the floor of the valley far below, “How can I rest, when this is happening?”
“My lady, all is being done that might be, there is nothing you…” he began, pausing as the head swung round, the eyes blazing in his direction.
“You think I don’t know that!” She hissed, “I stand here and watch part of my homeland burn, be destroyed. Part of the homeland I have given my oath to protect! You think I do not know how helpless I am?”
He stood, as many had before, momentarily dumbstruck by the flash of anger, “I… I meant no offence my lady,” he stammered, “I merely…”
Then it was gone, the temper disappeared in an instant as she relaxed, even smiled slightly, “I know…” she turned to the glow once more, “but I am fine and I will be fine. This, however,” she gestured with her hand, “this I want to remember.”
“Aala,” he said softly, in truth wondering how anybody could possibly forget, but biting his tongue. One flash of that temper was enough, at least for him.
“How many?” She asked, “Is there any word?”
“No exact figure my lady,” he replied, “many among those who escaped are injured, badly in most cases, it will be some time before a full count is known, but many hundreds… perhaps more.”
She nodded, fists clenched, “We should be grateful at least that most of our archers are abroad in the Slyvian. What of Aeladhrial? Is she well?”
“She is my lady,” he replied, “she was leading training in the grounds of the Palace, all escaped save three. I last saw her at the temple, assisting with the injured.”
“Thank Aros,” she muttered, before turning to him, “Rufil, go to her. If she can be spared ask her if she would come to see me. I have something in mind.”
He stopped to stare quizzically at her for a moment, surprised by the change of mood, then nodded, bowed and ran towards the stairs.
Elvalia turned once more towards the city, watching as gradually the red glow began to dim, and the patches of clear sky above the Grove nearby, and the Temple to the southeast, began to brighten as day approached.
“No… “ she murmured, “I will never forget this.”
For long minutes she stood watching the scene until at last a soft footstep approaching from behind disturbed her and she turned too look at the woman she had summoned.
Standing no taller than Elvalia, who was herself not known for an exceptional height, the woman stood and flashed her a brief smile of greeting, which she gladly returned.
Though she had hardly known of her before accepting her position on the Council, Elvalia had come to value and respect the talents of her second in command. Rosy skin, now smudged with soot and dirt, black hair which hung down either side of her face and eyes which were so pale that the green was almost imperceptible. A frame which, like Elvalia’s in normal times, spoke of a litheness and incredible agility, yet displayed a strength beyond its size.
“Bad?” Asked Elvalia softly.
“Aala,” nodded the woman quickly, “the Council is safe but there are many dead, many injured. The one blessing in all this is that at least most of our forces still remain intact, should the worst happen…”
Elvalia nodded and gently took the woman’s arm, leading her towards her house. “Come,” she said, “some refreshment.”
Once inside, Elvalia quickly made drinks for both and led the other to sit by the fire. “Tell me,” she said, “if it were necessary, who else would you trust among our people to command?”
If she were surprised, Aeladhrial did not show it, but merely thought for a few moments, hands clasped around the hot drink. “Glorwen,” she said at last, “he shoots with the best, I would trust him with my life.”
As Elvalia nodded in agreement the other grinned broadly at her, “In fact, I would trust him with yours, even better.”
The pair joined each other in laughter, forgetting for a moment the events which had brought them both here.
“Good enough,” said Elvalia, “Glorwen it is then. I have a job for you.”
Once again, no surprise was expressed by the other, who merely nodded and waited for her to continue.
“You have… shall we say, talents,” continued Elvalia, “ones which few of us do.”
Aeladhrial acknowledged the point with a wry grin and a soft giggle, allowing Elvalia to continue, “I want you to get out there, ask around, seek out your old contacts, sources of information. You know what we look for. I want them found. Others are already out there looking, join them, travel with them. If you find any information at all send word to Nariel, she will know what to do.”
Aeladhrial’s expression became serious as she realised the importance of her task and she drank thoughtfully, watching the flames in the fire for a few moments before turning back to Elvalia and replying in her low, husky voice. “Of course, we’ll find them. You can rely on me, I will gather what I need and leave at once.”
“Good,” said Elvalia, watching as she rose from her seat, “I will inform the Council what we are about.” She reached out a hand and grabbed her friend’s as she passed, “Aeladhrial…” the other woman looked curiously at her, “be careful. There will be other battles to be fought. When they are, I want you here.”
Aeladhrial clasped her hand tightly, giving another quick grin before turning towards the door, looking over her shoulder as she walked away, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Awakenings
Posted: 11 May 2005 09:07 AM |
She swung the axe again, cutting deeply into the ice, smashing it as best she could and clearing it to expose the water below, then turned to the stag, slipping easily into the tongue of beasts, “There Cloud, drink.”
The stag glanced at her gratefully then moved to the edge of the pool, dipping it’s head to the spot she had cleared. She watched for a few moments, shaking her head slightly, still bemused that the stag hadn’t given up completely on the blizzard and winds that still affected her garden and moved to the Grove or the Temple Garden. “I suppose like me,” she said, reverting back to Elven, “you just won’t give up.”
With a soft laugh she pulled her cloak around her and trudged through the snow back to the house, slipping through the door and closing it against the weather outside. She threw the cloak over a nearby chair and moved towards the desk, intent on clearing some of the papers that had built up recently before she rested.
As she began to work she was interrupted by a soft knock at the door and, not altogether ungratefully, pushed the papers aside and moved to open it. She stood for a moment as the cold hit her, blinking in surprise – not at the weather but at the large figure that stood outside her home, looking around at the snow, his eyes glowing blue in the darkness.
“Luther?”
“Elvalia,” he said, turning towards her, “I come bearing news that may be of great concern to the people of Ferein.”
Her head tilted curiously as she looked at him for a moment before speaking, “You’d better come in then… out of the snow,” she said.
As they moved inside and she once more closed the door against the wind, she smiled slightly at him and gestured towards the fire, “Have a seat.”
As the monk made himself comfortable, she watched him silently, wondering what it could be that had brought him here to seek her out, she had not seen him now in… she thought back… two, maybe even three months.
“The Atalan,” he said at last, “there has been a change in power.”
Of all possible things that he could have said, given what was already going on around Ferein, this was the least expected, but any surprise she might have felt was carefully concealed. “A change?” She said at last, “How so?”
“Apparently the Queen is deposed,” said Luther, “she is not dead, but it seems her daughter now rules in her stead. She seeks a foothold on the surface it seems… in Minyaren.”
She stared at him silently for a few moments before speaking softly, “Minyaren.”
Luther nodded, “I joined an Elf yesterday in Undreath, seeking another of your people who had fallen while looking for one of these shards, the Atalan were out in unusual numbers searching.”
“Searching for what?” Asked Elvalia.
“I am not sure...” said Luther, shaking his head, “but now that I think about it, I wonder if they were not searching for the old Queen. We rescued the Elf, but were then captured.”
“Are the Elves safe?” She asked quickly, before shaking her head a little apologetically and smiling slightly in his direction, “Of course, you would not have left them.”
The princess, daughter of the queen, somehow knew me,” he said. “She let the others go, and kept me in exchange for information. “She wanted to know of the surface… politics, groups, people.”
“And information on Minyaren, I take it,” she said, raising a brow.”
Luther nodded, “I gave her information any could find easily, then she asked me to take her there.”
Elvalia nodded slowly and gestured for him to continue.
“I did, by way of Fenghuul,” he said, “I had hoped that some of Malakai’s creations could make the trip impossible for her, but her escort was too strong.”
“So they are already installed there?” She asked.
”Perhaps not yet,” he answered, “but if not, then soon. She also asked me to say… they would leave others alone if they are left alone. Words I believe she would keep for a short time at least, until they strengthen their position.”
Elvalia watched him silently for a moment or two, as she thought before speaking, “Aala… but then Minyaren means little to us… not now.”
“Another reason for her selecting it, perhaps,” said Luther, “but if the seek the surface, how long before they seek dominion?”
“Is there any word of the old Queen?” She asked.
“None,” said Luther, shaking his head, “the princess said her mother preferred to stay underground, and that is why she was deposed.”
They fell silent for a few moments, both thinking on the development, before Elvalia spoke again, “So we are either committed to a war.... or forced to aid the Queen. If she still lives.”
“The devil you know against the devil you don’t,” said Luther, “either that or fight them all.”
“We would lose,” said Elvalia, shaking her head, “we do not have the numbers. Luckily few of our forces fell when… when the city fell, but those we have are largely busy on the Slyvian, protecting us against the followers of Tarik.”
“If they are left alone, the will gradually seek to divide and conquer,” said Luther, “so it would be best to do it to them first, assuming the old Queen does still live.”
She looked at him for a moment, blinking slowly, “I for one would not wish to search Undreath for her, not without an army.”
“I think this is a matter that the leaders of Ferein should be aware of,” said Luther.
“They are now…” she said, laughing softly as he looked around in bemusement, “one of them at least.”
“You?” He asked at last, “I was unaware… I must congratulate you.”
She studied him briefly before giving him a wry smile, “Well, I have to do something while I cannot fight. I would sooner be out there, but thank you I suppose.”
“What can I do to help Elvalia?” He asked, “I would imagine that few would want my help, especially considering my ‘friendly’ relationship with the Atalan.”
“I shall tell the other members of the Council of course,” she said thoughtfully, “but I don't see why they would refuse your help. “I will send word to Aeladhrial also, it may be that she can learn something.”
“The elves have been more insular of late. Elvalia,” he said, “perhaps to their detriment.”
“I know,” she nodded, “but then we have concerns of our own. You have seen how it is. Then there are the problems along the Slyvian. Calia also is missing, she has not been seen since the City fell.”
“Then perhaps she is amongst the fallen,” said Luther, “grave news.”
“I do not know,” said Elvalia, looking into the fire, “but if she was, then she is gone.”
“My skills, such as they are, are at your disposal Elvalia,” said Luther, “even the fallen I can attend to if you allow me.”
Elvalia glanced at him with a quick smile before returning her gaze to the flames, “I know you would help, old friend, but the fallen are gone,” she said softly, “those who could be reached or dragged clear before the city fell are dealt with. The others who lie below simply cannot be reached.”
After a short pause, Luther nodded, “Very well, I shall not keep you any longer, Elvalia.”
“Of course,” she said, “thank you Luther, you are always welcome old friend, you know that. I will speak with the rest of the Council and see what may be done, though we are stretched thinly at the moment.”
“It is enough that you are aware,” he said, as she accompanied him to the door.
“Your new position…” he said, as the stepped outside, “it requires you to act ‘properly’ now? Don’t let them do that to you.”
Elvalia looked at him for a moment before giving a wry smile, “I always act properly Luther, you know that,” she said, then gestured to the nearby statue, “besides… I answer to Him, not them.”
He looked at her seriously for a moment, “Those poor Council members,” he said as she grinned back at him, “be well Elvalia. I shall return when I have news.
“And you old friend, I shall send what word I have,” she replied, then stood for a minute or two as he disappeared from view through the snow.
With a slight frown she turned and went back inside, sat at her desk and quickly wrote down a report for the Council of what Luther had told her. “I should take it now,” she thought, “but perhaps a little later.”
She leant back in her chair and ran her hand over her swelling stomach, “I must rest,” she said softly, speaking as much to what was within as herself, “you tire me.”
She looked at the bed briefly, but decided against it, grabbing her cloak from where it lay she curled instead on one of the soft couches and, quicker than she thought possible, entered her reverie.
::Mother?::
The voice, when it came, surprised her even in her sleep-like state and it was some moments before she gathered herself sufficiently to reply.
”Aala…” she replied in her thoughts, “I hear you, vmaaanelvla little one.”
::You are troubled… I feel it… why?:: Asked the voice, whispering softly in her head.
”I worry for our people,” she replied, ”it is my way, do not be disturbed by it, you are safe. You always will be while I live. Feelings are part of us, what makes us live, you will grow used to it in time.”
There were a few moments of silence, accompanied by the feeling that the child was considering her words, seeking to understand. There was also a feeling running through Elvalia’s mind that she was being watched, listened to.
::Very well, it is good that we can speak now::
”It is,” said Elvalia gently, ”there is much to learn before we meet, and I shall do my best to teach you.”
Again, the pause, the time spent considering.
::Aala::
”Rest now though, little one,” she whispered, ”we will speak again shortly.”
::Aala, mother, we will::
::Aala:: said another voice, ::We will speak soon, mother::
Elvalia’s eyes snapped open and she lay frozen in shock, staring at her swollen stomach for what seemed like an age.
“Gods…” she whispered, “two!” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Malakai
Posted: 02 Jun 2005 12:23 PM |
She closed the door tiredly behind her and sank wearily into the chair… it had been quite a day. Her surprise at the Atalan attack on Eleanor in Latonei had been swiftly replaced by a determination to make sure that whatever happened Eleanor would be safe during the day and reach the meeting – should the bid be won – in one piece. The swift deployment of archers in Eden had ensured that, as the members of the Hand had found during their unscheduled visit.
But Eleanor had left some time ago, perhaps an hour, to meet with Aeladhrial who – at Elvalia’s request – would ensure she managed to place the revised bid in safety and protect her while the meeting took place.
She brushed the blonde hair from her eyes and leant back in the chair, reaching for a glass of juice. As she picked up the glass the pain hit her and it fell to the wooden floor, smashing on impact..
Elvalia curled herself up in the chair, holding her head in agony as her head flooded with information.
The question… Eleanor had obviously asked the question Elvalia had almost forgotten and hastily written on a parchment as she left. Her head felt almost as if it would split as her mind struggled to comprehend the answer and failed, then seemed to search for alternatives, or terms she would understand. At last, the pain began to recede and she gasped with relief as her mind accepted what it was being told.
She straightened in the chair and sat, stunned. She sat for some time in a daze, staring into space, shocked by the burst of pain but even more so by what she had learned.
The first thought that entered her head was that no one would know, no one should know. There was no reason for them to find out – if indeed they were interested – and nor would they. In a virtual trance she roused herself and tided the broken glass, not particularly aware of what she was doing, or even where she was.
How long she sat in thought she had no idea, but was dragged back to reality by a hammering on the door, which she opened to find Eleanor, looking ghostly white, the stains from her tears still marking her cheeks. The halfling hurried past her into the house and sat quickly, leaning back against the pillar with a soft sigh.
“Not a pleasant experience by the looks,” said Elvalia softly, sitting nearby and studying her expression as the halflings shook her head in reply.
“I have learnt…” said Eleanor, looking dismayed and in truth a little sickened.
“I think we both learnt things tonight,” said Elvalia, looking at her closely.
“We have,” nodded Eleanor, “something about you – yet I have learnt other things.” Her voice dropped to a whisper before she continued, looking away, “Things I didn’t want to know.”
“Do you wish to share them?” Asked Elvalia, tilting her head.
“You can’t tell anyone,” said Eleanor, “I don’t want people to know. It is enough for you to know far too many of Malakai’s secrets. I know why he has done these things… and I know how he did it.”
“Gods…” whispered Elvalia, watching the halflings sympathetically, “I’m not sure I wish to know how… but can you tell me why?”
“The quicklings, the dark quicklings, the giantlings…” said Eleanor, “they are his weapons against demons. They can kill demons. As can you. Everything… almost everything he has done, is to fight demons. He hated them, but he could fight them, and he did.”
Suddenly, Elvalia became aware of where the conversation was leading and carefully got to her feet, pacing the floor distractedly. Eleanor looked up from where she sat, watching the elf, then whispered, “I don’t think we can leave him dead.”
Elvalia walked over to the fire and stared into the flames, not really listening as Eleanor continued, “Two hours ago, to leave him dead was right. But now…”
For long minutes the room fell silent as Elvalia stared at the fire, before at last turning to look over her shoulder resignedly, “If he were to die completely…” she said, “that would leave me alone.” She shook her head. “I cannot fight them alone.”
“I have his knowledge,” said Eleanor, “everything he ever knew about demons. My head, it feels… I can feel it, a thousand years of knowledge, twisting, pounding, writhing in my head.”
Grasping now at straws, Elvalia looked at her sharply, “Would that help fight demons? Create weapons?” She asked.
“No,” said Eleanor, shaking her head, “not yet. He needs to live.”
Elvalia remained silent for a few moments hen closed her eyes briefly before nodding, “Aala… he does,” she said softly, “which means that until we ca resolve this we need to decide on where he can remain hidden while we speak with him. He’ll need a place of safety at least, others will certainly not be so keen to let him live. What condition is he in?”
“Dead,” said Eleanor bluntly, “in my mage tower.
“If he is restored to life, will he know all he did?” Asked Elvalia.
“I cannot say,” answered Eleanor, “can you restore him? We need to speak to him quickly… Johe will not last much longer.”
“I cannot aid him in that way,” said Elvalia.
“Then come to the tower,” said Eleanor, “we shall see if a prayer may help.”
She stepped to the centre of the room and muttered an arcane incantation to summon the portal before stepping quickly through, to be followed a little reluctantly by Elvalia.
As they stepped from the portal within the tower Eleanor moved quickly to kneel beside the body, as Elvalia stood staring down at it distastefully. As she knelt beside Eleanor, she couldn’t shake the feeling from her mind that Aros would approve of this no more than she did. As Eleanor began to pray to Theus Elvalia shook her head and stood once more, backing away.
“I cannot ask him…” she whispered, “not for that. He must live… I do not deny that but I cannot ask My Lord for this. I pray that Theus may aid you Eleanor. It is the most I can do, I am sorry.” As Eleanor continued to pray she turned her back on the scene, clenching her fists, hardly listening until at last she heard a familiar – if older sounding – voice, and turned to look at him with disgust.
“Am I to be tortured further then?” He asked with a dry, rattling sigh as he looked blearily around the tower.
“No, tha’ is no’ my plan at all,” said Eleanor, almost in tears as she looked up at him.
“You are to live,” said Elvalia softly to an accompanying nod from Eleanor.
“I spare you, Malakai.” Said the halflings, “You will no’ die this day.”
Malkaia watched her for a few moments, to Elvalia’s eye almost seeming to recognise her. “You know me… don’t ye lass…” he said softly.
“I know you better than I e’er ‘ad ‘oped to,” said Eleanor, “Bu’ tha’ knowledge means you mus’ live.”
He smiled slightly, “I once had ideals lass… sometimes sacrifices must be made.”
“I know…” said Eleanor beginning to weep again.
Elvalia staggered, quickly regaining her balance as the Tower shook, under assault by some unseen foe and means… then abruptly faded from view. She and Eleanor stood within Elvalia’s home looking at each other in surprise, Elvalia’s eyebrow raised questioningly.
“Demons…” said Eleanor, “demons, somehow they knew the second he was raised. He has gone back to his tower. I must go, quickly, Johe has to be rescued.”
Elvalia nodded quickly, “Take Aeladhrial again. I will try to contact Camthalion, it may be that he can somehow get me there before Malakai has a chance to put his wards in place once more.”
“With a hurried nod and “Be safe, always,” Eleanor ran through the door towards the steps.
Elvalia passed a brief message to one of the archers then walked thoughtfully inside, standing before the fire while she waited. Too much to take in, too much out of her control, and still Johe and the other halflings were not safe.
She stood there for perhaps half an hour, alone with her thoughts until suddenly she heard the familiar voice in her head, “Lady Elvalia, the wards are not yet in place, it should be possible to get you to Malakai’s Tower, are you ready?”
Hurriedly she grabbed her bow and a robe then spoke aloud, “Yes, Camthalion, I am ready.”
The room blurred and faded from view, to be replaced by the scene in Malakai’s laboratory.. Doing her best to ignore the paraphernalia scattered around she smiled briefly to Eleanor then focussed on the mage who stood leaning on a plain looking staff, wearing his usual robes – albeit rather tattered looking. He smiled tiredly, looking older and weaker than normal, but more like his usual self.
“My mind and body are weary,” he rasped.
“You do look a lot better though,” said Eleanor coldly, “You ‘ave to release Johe or he’ll starve.”
“He’ll never forgive, nor forget I fear… though I have never seen a meal finished faster,” wheezed Malakai, “he is fed, and released ladies. It took you some time to get her after all. I never truly meant him harm you know. In my way I care a lot for him, and yer kin Lady Eleanor.”
“I know,” said Eleanor flatly, staring at him.
“So what would ye have of me?” He asked, leaning heavily on his staff.
“I ‘ave requests,” said Eleanor, “which you mus’ honour I think.”
“I still remember a little of honour,” he smiled slightly, “speak yer terms.”
As he watched her she continued, “No more children please. No greater good is worth more corruption as such. I know what they do… an’ there is enough of them to do it as it is.”
He nodded, “As I tried to tell ye last time, I have enough for now. You have my word… yer people will be safe.”
Eleanor waited as he watched wearily, biting her lip as she continued her next question, “I wan’ to ‘elp you with your research regardin’ demons ‘owever,” she said at last.
“Are ye sure ye have the… stomach for that?” He asked, lifting a brow slightly.
“It would seem a fair price for your life,” said Elvalia softly, “and may perhaps… temper your experiments.”
“I have not had a worth apprentice in some time,” he mused, “but your morality may not mesh well with what must be done. I know what you took from me… and in the process I came to know a little of you. Perhaps we can find a middle ground together.”
“Tha’ is wha’ we mus’ do,” said Eleanor with a soft smile, “Wha’ I fear you a’ times forgo’… is tha’ if you create a monster, which kills a monster… you still ‘ave a monster in the end.”
“My children are not monsters,” he said, offended.
“I know you do no’ see them as such,” said Eleanor, “bu’ they were also once people. On tha’ note… please release to us the giantlings the spells ‘ave no’ taken full control over.”
“Ye will release them?” He asked, surprised.
“You have been shown mercy today, Malakai,” said Elvalia, looking at him intently, “a little in return is not much to ask.
For a moment he looked about to argue before being overtaken by a harsh, wheezing cough, then at last giving a resigned nod, “It will be done, where do ye wish them to go?”
Eleanor glanced at Elvalia, “Ferein firs’,” she said, they ‘ave priests there for the divine spells. I can do the arcane ones. We will need demon blood though.”
Malakai turned and busied himself for a while before handing her a sealed urn containing some sort of black ichor, “That should suffice,” he said, “it is the main ingredient in most of my research. Now… if ye wish I can transport ye there, I will even transport ye and the halflings to their home once the ritual is complete. Doubtless we shall meet again.”
He turned to a tome… obviously to tired to use the spell from memory, and the pair found themselves within the gardens of Ferein Temple where, with the aid of Liana, the giantlings were dealt with.
Once done, they quickly found themselves transported once more and stood tiredly in the inn in Brandibuck as the halflings rushed to rejoin their friends and family.
Watching them and noticing Johe busy eating at a table surrounded by others, Elvalia smiled tiredly and began to consider once more the decision they had taken. As Johe looked up and called out to her with a full mouth, she decided that what she had decided, what she had learnt of herself, could wait – like the consequences. For now, she thought as she walked towards Johe with a smile, it was enough that they had achieved their aim… whatever the price. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Acceptance
Posted: 04 Jul 2005 12:06 PM |
The tears had ceased long ago now; tears of sorrow, tears of anger, despair and frustration. Sitting here by the pool now for what seemed like hours, it would be true to say she had wept herself dry.
Sitting idly by while others decided the fate of the home she had dedicated her life to was not something which came easily. Even now, after six months… longer… inactivity was a difficult thing to come to terms with.
The scatter of official parchments which lay in the grass around her were proof enough that she was still busy, but not active as she would like. They were also proof of a change that had hit her as she stood not long ago on the Tears, shortly after the destruction of the shard in Nethar’u.
She turned and looked at the darkness which still hung over Ferein, the green eyes ringed with fatigue, hollow with the fear that it may now be that way forever. Her eyes blazed briefly with a flash of the anger that had possessed her at Elbereth’s Tears. That an elf, of all people, should be the one to condemn Ferein to this. She had been closer on that day to
killing somebody through spite than she had been in many years, and yet the voice within her had held her back. That and the knowledge that while deep down it would have been the action of the real Elvalia, it was not the way of the Elvalia she had become.
And so instead she had banished him, declared him an Enemy of Ferein despite the wishes of some of those who had been present. They did not understand, most of them, would never understand why she had done so. Why she had inflicted further punishment on one who suffered already from the blindness inflicted by Calia. They did not understand that if she hadn’t done this, she would have killed him and become what she most abhorred in
others and herself.
Then there had been the reaction, the dismay among the others that she should refuse to back down even after Solitaire’s questioning had implied some outside agency had used him. But the Mother had spoken, the skies had darkened and stormed, rain had fallen, beasts had fled in fear.
Whatever others said, the Mother’s anger was proof enough for her.
She had returned to Ferein and reported her actions to the rest of the Council and, in truth, been as surprised by the reaction there. Silent acceptance and agreement; no dissent, no argument. Alongside the dismay and the sorrow there had been, in their reaction to her, a new feeling. A feeling that she now belonged among them, that she had at last done what
was expected… that she had finally accepted what she had fought against for so long. That she had power.
She sighed and rested her hands on her swollen stomach as the twins moved within her, a bemused expression on her face as she considered where life had led her. The young, immature Elven girl sent among others from where she had hidden so long. Always there; mostly silent, speaking little but watching and listening. Learning all the while but content to be on the periphery, to walk in awe of the places she saw and the people she met. Then, with others, she had been named a protector of Ferein, singled out perhaps but still one of many, still perhaps not understanding her place in the world. From there to becoming alone, named Chosen of Aros and perhaps – in her eyes – condemned to a life of being set apart merely for what she was. She had felt adrift even then, different, honoured but not
belonging. Even though she had sworn an oath to her Lord himself to protect Ferein and the Elven way of life, she felt apart from both.
And now, from plain Elvalia Mellebin she had become the Lady Elvalia, addressed as such by all of her people who approached her, even by those among the highest – people she had once looked upon with awe herself. Her fear of power had become acceptance, and with it perhaps a sense of belonging at last.
She stared once more at the dark clouds, the green eyes attempting to pierce them, see through them to Mystic Wood and Latonei, where even now her people lay in wait for what might come. Many of them known to her, trained by her, and now sent at her bidding to possibly fight and die in the name of the home she had come to love. In the name of the people and the way of life she had learned to place above all else, even herself and
her own feelings. At the cost even of friendship. “I’m sad cus I lost a frend miss Elvalia,” Johe had said. So was she, but she doubted if he would understand or appreciate that. She doubted if he would ever know that the Elvalia within her agreed with him, but the Lady Elvalia without could not. “You are a fool, Johe Jaxon,” she had said. Was he? She had
asked herself that many times since and couldn’t escape the answer that Elvalia, fool or not, would most likely have done the same. Lady Elvalia could not.
She sighed, gathered the papers around her into a neat roll and leant back against the tree as Cloud dipped his head to drink from the pool. “All will resolve itself in time,” she thought, “but for now, I am tired.”
She sat watching the stag, closing her mind gradually to all outside sensations, until at last her eyes lost their focus, even though still open, and she entered her reverie.
“Mother?”
(Gentleness, warmth, protectiveness) “Aala, I am here child.”
(Watchful)
“You have been weeping? Why?”
(Quiet curiosity)
(Openness)“For Ferein, for my people… for myself.”
(Fear, concern) “For yourself? We are in danger?”
(Alertness, defiance)
(Warmth, reassurance, certainty) “No child, not while I live, never while
I live.”
(Relief, thanks, caring) “Then why, mother?”
(Quiet curiosity)
(Silence)
“Mother?
(?)
(Reluctance) “I feel alone.”
(Concern, sympathy) “Why, mother?”
(Acute interest)
(Resignation) “Because of what I am… there are times when I believe that
no other feels as I do, feels what I do… believes what I do. It sets me
apart.
(Confusion) “Are you truly alone? What of father?”
(Continued interest)
(Thoughtfulness, sorrow, reassurance) “He lives… aala, he lives, I know
it. I would know if he did not, I am certain of that, but where…”
(Silent consideration)
(Silence)
(Smile, hopeful curiosity) “But you will have us, aala?”
(Wary watchfulness)
(Happiness, warmth) “Aala, I will have the two of you. You do not realise
how happy that makes me”
(Happiness, returned warmth)
(Grudging acceptance)
(Unreadable communion between the children)
(Curiosity, slight trepidation) “Mother?”
(Watchfulness)
“Aala?”
(Displayed, vague image) “What is this?”
(Avid interest)
(Fear, shocked silence)
(Concern) “Mother?”
(Avid interest)
(Reluctance) “I… I do not know, not truly”
(Confusion, fear)
(Disbelief)
(Replayed images, Malakai’s answer, confusion, pain) “He gave it to me.
Why, I do not know. Nor do I know what it does, (evasive) not entirely.”
(Joint consultation, study)“It does not feel dangerous, we
do not feel it will harm us”
(Reassurance) “No, it will harm no one, you need not fear it.”
(Renewed consultation) “This is what makes you different”
(Consideration, then finally… agreement) “Aala”
(Thoughtfulness, slight fear) “I would ask something of you… both of you.”
(Joint surprise and anxiety)
(Firmness) “You must promise me that you will never mention this. Never mention this at all, to anybody.”
(Unequivocal agreement) “Of course not, I will say nothing.”
(Complete frankness) “Nor I, it must remain hidden”
(Warm embrace, gratitude) “Thank you children… (thoughtful pause) There is one more thing I must do.”
(Joint surprise and curiosity)
(Warm smile) “It is time you were named.”
(Surprised happiness)
(Guarded pleasure)
(Patient explanation) “You may change them in time, of course, if you so wish. But for now they are my gift to you.”
(Burning curiosity)
(Guard drops) “Show us!”
(Soft laughter) “Very well”
(To the first) “You… (gentle smile) You are my Qillasela. All will hear your name and think of Ferein, your home.”
(Pleased smile)
(To the second, lovingly) “And you, (wry smile) my watchful, wary one. You shall be Cileleil, in honour of a promise I made to one I shall always call friend.”
(Pleasure)
(Joint curiosity) “Your name, mother. Is it your choice?”
(Wry smile) “No, it is that I was given. (Snatches of song). I knew no better since I was alone… but it is me, no other would suit.”
(Joint agreement)
(Warmth) “But my loneliness will soon be over.”
(Joint smile)
(Warm, loving embrace) “Rest now, we will speak again.”
(Agreement, silence, sleep)
(Sudden burst of warmth, protectiveness) “Mother?
(Surprise) “Aala?”
“Thank you, be safe”
(Broad smile) “And you child, I will”
She blinked, looking up as the sun appeared over the horizon and played through the trees into Eden. Resting her hands on her stomach she watched the stag grazing nearby. “Not long now,” she smiled, “not long.” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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The End of the World
Posted: 04 Sep 2005 07:26 AM |
((OOC – This particular Tale is dedicated to somebody to whom Elvalia and I owe a great deal. Without him in large part I would probably no longer be here. She grew up largely due to him and was set on the way to where she stands now. Thanks Sean, for everything. Enjoy. NB: The events related below took place a week ago in game terms))
So quiet.
After the events of recent months it was a pleasure to be able to walk through Ferein, even that part still in darkness, in the knowledge that all was well.
She sat carefully in her usual spot alongside the pool in Eden and, for the first time in what seemed an age, relaxed. There were concerns, of course. Midor still occupied Icy Vale and while that was true the forces of Ferein would remain in Latonei and Mystic Wood, ready for anything that might occur. Aeladhrial would know what to do if that should happen, or if the Hunter should move from the Slyvian. Thorfin was still missing and this worried her more than she was likely to admit to most, if not all, and yet she knew – somehow – that he was alive, wherever he was. There was what Malakai had revealed, but that… that could wait.
For now, in many ways, it was enough that Ferein was safe, untroubled. Even the Council sessions of late had seemed relaxed, unhurried, more an excuse for conversation than stress or wrangling over decisions. Ferein had survived and in many ways was a better place. A more beautiful place. Even those parts that remained in darkness had a beauty and a magic of their own.
She brushed the blonde hair from the green eyes and smiled happily as she watched Cloud grazing at the edge of the pool. There was much also to look forward to, her daughters for one thing, and all that would be involved in that. Bron had returned from her wanderings, and though they had only met and spoken briefly she was at least back, so one gap in her life was filled.
“Aala…” she said softly to herself, “that’s it I think I’ll pay her a visit.”
She stood, picking up her bow from where it lay on the ground beside her, and walked down the rough hewn steps to the Path of Aros, calling her greetings to the Warriors as she passed and headed for the shore. She spoke briefly with Lomyril and hopped on the barge as it docked to head for the Aegea.
As it set sail towards Buckshire she leant back against the railing and breathed deeply, watching her home as it faded into the mists over the lake. It would be good to speak with her sister; it had been so long without somebody who could almost understand how she felt without words
Lost in her thoughts as she was, she didn’t at first notice the raised voices from the crew, the slightly alarmed tones in their voices, but as one yelled out her head snapped round in she looked up to follow their gazes and stared in astonishment at the skies above. The dark clouds were forming almost quicker than seemed natural and as usual in such situations she took a tighter grip on her bow, continuing to stare as they seemed to gather to fill the skies above, lightning lancing down now to be joined by rain which quickly became torrential, the winds rising to whip up the waters of the Inner Sea and begin to throw the ship around. She turned quickly as a heavy hand fell on her shoulder and brushed the soaked hair from her eyes as Valien yelled, struggling to make himself heard above the noise around the ship. “Ye’d best get below lass… we’re goin’ to make a run for Ladriel an’ shelter!”
She nodded, and with a last concerned glance at the weather moved quickly below deck and sat leaning against a bulkhead listening to the fury of the storm outside and the barely heard calls of the crew as the ship was thrown around crazily.
Mother?
The voice when it came made her eyes widen in surprise, they had never spoken with her outside of a reverie. She tried to make her voice as reassuring as possible, “Aala? What is it Quilasela?”
What is happening? You are worried
“A storm,” she answered gently, “we will be fine soon. I just prefer to be in control.”
*doubtful tone* You are sure mother? It is just…. Look, it has changed *crude image*
She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the sounds around her and concentrate on the image and gasped in surprise, opening her eyes to look down at her bow, which was beginning to glow in the gloom of the Aegea’s under deck. “I… I don’t know, Cileleil” she said softly, “something is happening. Don’t worry, I will protect you. Rest easy we will soon be on shore and find shelter.”
A few moments of thoughtful silence until at last the single word of reply came from both.
Aala
Having reassured them she stared down at the bow as it continued to grow in brightness, to the point where she almost had to turn away to shield her eyes.
The ship gave a lurch, as with a crash it ran into something solid. From outside the urgent shouts of the crew could be heard as the wild motion eased a little. Valien’s head appeared briefly through the hatch above, “Quickly lass!” He said, eyes widening as he saw the bow, we’re tied to the dock but ye’d best get ashore while the moorings hold.
She nodded and climbed to her feet, thankful for once that her agility enabled her to stay easily on her feet where most would struggle. She ran quickly from the dock through the torrents of rain and paused briefly beneath a tree to stare up at the skies. The cloud was darker now but streaked occasionally with sheets of flame, the rain occasionally switched to hail, then snow, then back once more to rain. The whole world seemed to have descended into madness.
Battered by the winds she wiped the matted hair from her eyes and looked down at her bow, which was by now almost ablaze. She needed shelter, that much was clear, but where? “The tower…. The tower should be safe”, she thought and ran as quickly as she could down the road towards the lake. The skies were now so dark and the rain, snow, and hail so heavy that she could barely make out the form of the tower as she approached. None of the guardians were in sight, which given what was happening was hardly surprising, and she ran up to the door to find it locked. After a few minutes of hammering on it to no response she stood, drenched, and looked around once more. “Brandibuck… it will have to be Brandibuck,” she muttered to herself and once more broke into a run. She had not gone much further when the earth began to tremble, the flame and lightning in the skies above joined now by bursts of arcane energy, as everything around her seemed to awaken at once.
She fell to the ground, almost as if she had been knocked from her feet, pain coursing through her as the bow, if possible, began to flare even brighter. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Even during the months of uncertainty as to Nethar’u, the months of being hunted across the land wherever she went, she had never experienced anything like this. She curled into a ball on the ground as the weather and countless forms of energy lashed at her, as the ground beneath her jumped so that it almost seemed she were back on the Aegea, being tossed around by the waves.
The she heard voices, shouting, panicking, among them his… the one she knew so well, crying out to tell all to cease. As suddenly as it had begun, the bow ceased to glow and became its usual colour, and she was aware amidst the agony of something lost, a connection severed. The turmoil eased somewhat, as did the pain and she lifted her head to see the great winged forms circling everywhere above in a blaze of colour before disappearing who knew where.
She took the opportunity while things seemed a little calmer to get to her feet and ran groggily and painfully towards the bridge over the stream. Around her, the earth still shook, the skies still writhed in turmoil and yet there was a sense that something had passed, that somehow a catastrophe had been averted.
As she reached the bridge, however, she doubled up once more in pain. “Gods no… not now!” She gasped, clutching her swollen stomach, “Not here… not like this…” she panted and looked around desperately as the wave of pain eased for a few moments, only to be followed by another. Somewhere, anywhere…
Again the wave of pain ran through her, causing her to almost double up.
MOTHER!
A joint shout of fear and anxiety.
“It’s… it’s alright…” she gasped, “do not worry, it is time.”
Then she spotted it. So many times she had passed here and wondered at its purpose but at least now it could be a refuge. It would have to be. Slowly, as the waves of pain washed through her and all around, though somewhat eased now, the storm raged and ground shook, she staggered towards it and at last managed to duck inside, dropping her bow to the ground and leaning against the wall, panting both from the pain and also a sense of relief from what was happening outside.
The relief though was temporary as once more the regular waves of pain began to course through her. Gritting her teeth she sank to the floor and readied herself for what she would have to do… |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Companions
Posted: 21 Feb 2006 07:36 AM |
((OOC - usual disclaimer, some are aware of parts of what follows, though truthfully not much - some are aware of aspects that are related to what happens here. If you haven't been told, most likely by one of the protagonists, you aimply don't know. Please RP accordingly. As a side note, for those interested who may have missed it, the events immediately preceding the account in Elmirie's reverie can be found Here ))
She climbed the stairs and strolled out into the familiar gardens, relaxing as always, and smiling as she saw the familiar forms by the pool. She paused to watch as her mother held one of the girls on her lap, attempting to make sure at the same time that the other crawling infant stayed away from the water.
Laughing softly Elvalia walked over and picked up her daughter, “You seem to have your hands full, mother.”
“Aala,” Elmirie smiled, “they are growing fast and seeming to find more methods of tormenting their grandmother every day.”
“Not too much for you, I hope,” you have only to tell me and I’ll try to spend more time here, perhaps get some help if that can’t be managed.
“You dare,” smiled her mother, “I enjoy it. It brings back memories.”
“Good ones I hope,” smiled Elvalia.
“For the most part,” said Elmirie softly, “though there are times…” her voice trailed off and rather than press Elvalia just held her own daughter close and waited for her mother to continue.
“I saw her you know…” said the older Elf, “Bronwyn.”
Feeling somehow that she could guess what might follow, Elvalia merely nodded.
“She just stared,” said Elmirie, “and then ran away.”
“I’m sorry,” Elvalia intoned, “she…”
“It is not your fault,” smiled Elmirie, “in some ways I expected it.”
The two fell silent for some minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.
You have had time to consider what we spoke about, mother?” Asked Elvalia, “You will go?”
Elmirie nodded, “Of course, it should be interesting to say the least.”
Elvalia grimaced slightly, “Well, interesting is one way of describing it, but take care… I doubt it will be easy.”
“I will,” smiled Elmirie, “come, let’s get these two settled down,” she smiled, handing Elvalia the second child, “you can deal with that while I prepare a meal, you look hungry.”
Once the children were settled Elvalia joined her mother at the table, eating silently but on occasion pausing to watch her for a few moments until at last Elmirie laughed gently, “Well Acelilceil, are you going to tell me what is bothering you or not?” She asked.
Finishing her meal, Elvalia smiled, “Am I that easy for you to read? If so you’re probably the only person I’ve ever met who can.”
Elmirie smiled back silently waiting for her daughter to continue. “It strikes me at times,” said Elvalia, “that we have spoken little since… well since I discovered that you were still alive. One thing or another drags one of us away so that we seldom seem to get a chance to just speak as most would do.”
Elmirie smiled, “And you have a question, something that is bothering you, aala?”
Elvalia hesitated. “I do,” she said at last, “I need to know why… I need to know why you did not come for us, look for me, for Bron.”
Elmirie drank deeply from her goblet of juice, watching her daughter over the rim before placing it back on the table then nodded slowly. “That is understandable,” she said quietly, “I would imagine the same question is uppermost in her mind.” She smiled sadly, “In many ways I am surprised it has taken you so long to ask… and then again perhaps not so surprised, you always did keep much to yourself.”
She watched her daughter, who merely sat in silence, “Or perhaps…” she continued, “Perhaps you are unsure whether you wish to hear the answer.”
“That is… a strange thing to say,” said Elvalia.
“Is it?” Elmirie smiled, “Can you honestly say that all the questions you have ever asked have given answers you expected… or even liked? I would say by now you have learned that sometimes you learn something you would rather not have known, or even been left with even more unanswered questions.”
Elvalia looked away thoughtfully, “Aala,” she said, “that is true enough.”
Elmirie stood slowly, “But you need to know, I think…” she said softly, “I think it is time. Let’s go outside, we can speak there and still hear the children.”
Elvalia followed her mother outside and sat beside her near the pool, and together they merely sat in silence for a few minutes watching the moon’s reflection in the waters.
“So then,” said Elmirie at last, “perhaps it would be better to show you than tell you.” She smiled and held out her hand, “Join me in my reverie, you will get your answer.”
Elvalia hesitated, looking down at her mother’s hand, keenly aware of the feelings she had experienced before the children were born, and certain above all that there were things she would rather Elmirie did not know. Elmirie, noting the doubt in her daughter’s eyes, laughed gently, “You needn’t worry, I could never read you as a babe, I doubt very much whether I would be able to now. Join me, Acelilceil”
Doubtfully, Elvalia reached out and took her mother’s hand, closed her eyes and relaxed.
It was night, the almost full moon reaching its zenith as the elf stepped soundlessly from the forest’s edge and stood, leaning on her spear as she studied the moonlit clearing. As she waited and watched two further forms appeared beside her, low-slung, dark, their green eyes flashing in the dim light from above as they stood beside her panting silently.
The elf pulled back the hood of her cloak but otherwise stood motionless. Her eyes travelled swiftly but carefully over the scene before her, the trampled grass, the dark shapes here and there where bodies had fallen. A brief flicker of hope seemed to appear in her green eyes as they moved towards the lodge, studying it carefully, her head tilted slightly as if in hope of catching some slight sound, perhaps a glimmer of light that would show her daughter had returned home.
Nothing, nothing but the sights and sounds one would normally expect of a forest night.
Beside her the large panther growled low in her throat, signalling to her cub to stand as she began to inch forward across the clearing. Elmirie held out a hand and shook her head, her voice taking on the same timbre and sounds as the panther’s as she spoke to her.
“No Kria, we will rest until dawn, you have good senses but I need my eyes at their best. I do not wish to miss anything.”
The panther looked at her for a few moments before emitting a soft grunt and returning to her cub’s side. With a last look, Elmirie moved back a short distance into the forest and sat against a tree, the spear propped over her shoulder. The tow panthers lay a short distance away, watching the elf as she pulled her cloak around herself and settled to wait for dawn.
As her cub slept, the panther watched Elmirie, sensing the elf’s concern and at the same time understanding it and her reluctance to speak of it. For her part, the elf sat considering the phenomenon of the panther’s attachment to her, almost as if the beast sensed her need to have someone close by. Or perhaps, she thought, it was the case that they were both in need of it, both in need of replacements for their recent loss.
So, the hours passed in silence, broken only by the usual night sounds of the forest and the occasional mewling of the cub in his sleep.
As the skies, which could be glimpsed through the thick canopy above, began to lighten Elmirie stirred at last and looked over at the panther with a smile. “Your cub, Kria,” she asked, “how old?”
The panther glanced at the still sleeping cub before turning her gaze to the elf, “He is almost of an age to hunt alone,” she growled softly, “though he does not yet know, it will soon be time for him to leave.”
“Aala,” said Elmirie softly, a slight frown crossing her expression, “they all must leave in time, it is the way of things. What will you do after?”
“Live,” growled the panther after a momentary pause, “survive. That also is the way of things. Time will bring what it may.”
Mulling over the words Elmirie nodded then glanced up at the ever-brightening day through the trees. “It does,” she said, and a new day is almost upon us… let us see what this one brings. Will you join me?”
With a soft growl of assent the panther rose to her feet, butted the cub with her head to wake it and padded off in Elmirie’s footsteps as she took a firm grasp on her spear and headed back towards the clearing.
The sun had risen above the trees by the time they arrived, and even this early the bloated corpses lying around had begun to attract clouds of insects as the rotted in the growing temperatures.
The panther stood surveying the scene silently, then nudged Elmirie’s hand with her head. “You did this?” She growled.
Elmirie stood motionless, lost in hr memories and barely under control, but shook her head in reply to the question before whispering, “No, my mate for the most part.”
Whatever the panther thought she kept to herself as all three stood looking at the carnage, the cub growing skittish at the scent of blood until silenced by a warning growl from his mother.
At last, shaking her head as if to clear it, Elmirie strode resolutely towards the lodge, glancing back towards the panthers briefly, “Inside first,” she said softly, “she may have returned.” She paused on the threshold, listening at the open door for any sound from inside. Kria turned to her cub and grunted, “You will stay here and watch,” before following Elmirie inside. The elf stood in the main room, surrounded by shattered furniture, smashed utensils, food strewn around on the floor; seeming to Kria’s eyes at least strangely emotionless as she surveyed the wreckage of her home before moving towards what had once been her bedroom.
After a rapid but careful look around the room she stood staring dispassionately at the body of the man who had attacked her, still sprawled face down on the bed but now – like those outside – surrounded by a cloud of insects as it began to decompose. Beside her Kria’s nostrils twitched and she rumbled low in her throat, “There is the blood of another here also.”
“Aala,” said Elmirie quietly, “mine. I was fortunate.”
Once more the cat gave no reaction other than silence and without a further word Elmirie turned on her heel and walked towards the remaining room, Elvalia’s. Like the others it had been ransacked, though in truth the child had owned little of value. Clothing and the young girl’s meagre possessions lay strewn around the floor among the shattered remains of her bed. The panther moved towards the clothing, sniffing and memorising the scent of the child as Elmirie stood among the debris.
“She is not here,” she whispered and turned to leave the house, standing numbly on the threshold beside the two panthers. Kria nudged the elf’s hand with her head. As Elmirie looked down the panther growled softly, “If she is not here, then we will look elsewhere. Where did you see her last?”
Momentarily taken aback by the animal’s assumption of the lead Elmirie thought for a moment before pointing across the clearing. “The log,” she said softly, “he sent her there to hide.”
Together they left the lodge and walked over to Elvalia’s hiding place, followed by the cub, which was clearly still distracted by the number of dead lying around. As they reached the fallen, hollowed tree Kria cast around for a few minutes before heading slowly off towards the forest’s edge not far away. The panther paused doubtfully as Elmirie watched, but then the dark head turned towards her. “She went this way,” came the deep rumbling communication, “unharmed.”
Elmirie’s relief was obvious, “Then we follow, if we can.”
The panther grunted softly, “The cub leaves little sign if any,” she sniffed the air, “but we can.” With that she loped at a steady walk into the forest.
Elmirie was no newcomer to the art of tracking, having had occasion aplenty to practice her skills, but as she followed the panther through the ever-thickening trees she marvelled at the animal’s ability to remain on a trail that to her was for the most part all but invisible. At the same time the thought came to her that it was her daughter they were tracking, a ten-year-old child who had seemingly passed by and at the same time left virtually no sign of her passage. “Arod of course,” she smiled to herself, “bless you, you taught her well.”
And so it continued, ever deeper into one of the most primal forests in the land, stopping on occasion to lie silent as followers of the hunter passed nearby, and once to kill a lone Tarikian who stumbled upon them. Five days and nights they travelled, resting only when the panther or her cub reached exhaustion, the forest now devoid for the most part of even the folk of the Hunter, but perilous nevertheless. There were still wild beasts aplenty to fall victim to.
And still the trail continued, somehow her daughter had managed to pass through unscathed and walk on untroubled in lands that, in Elmirie’s view, would have challenged a war party. She was perplexed, how had she done this? Weariness was beginning to affect her also, though in the way of her folk she needed little rest even Elmirie was beginning to feel fatigued, her eyes beginning to display rings of tiredness around them.
Kria stopped suddenly, her head raised as she sniffed the air. Behind her Elmirie and the cub paused, watching silently. A low growling came from the larger cat, barely audible, “She is close.”
Elmirie remained motionless, listening. The forest around was almost silent, but a short way ahead could be heard the faint sound of a deep stream running over rocks, and also, on occasion an intermittent splashing.
As quietly as she could, Elmirie walked past the panther towards the noises, peering through the trees ahead. The panthers followed silently behind, making no noise at all as they slipped easily between the trees. Elmirie stopped and crouched, laying the spear on the ground as the stream came into view, looking upstream to the source of the splashing about fifty yards away.
The stream ran crazily around and over a number of rocks which lay in it’s centre, the water foaming in miniature rapids. Crouching down among the rocks, her hands deep in the water, was a young girl, her shift as soaked as she was, her blonde hair hanging wetly to frame her face as she frowned in concentration.
Elmirie watched open mouthed at the sudden burst of motion as her daughter grasped at a fish, desperately attempting to cling onto it as it fought and wriggled to free itself, then falling face down into the water as the trout at last gained its freedom. Elvalia disconsolately swam to the bank and sat, head in hands among what Elmirie recognised were the remainder of her clothing and belongings. The shortbow she had made herself, her jerkin and trousers, leggings and the small dagger Arod had given her, along with the quiver containing a few hand crafted arrows.
It was then that Elmirie noticed her daughter’s slightly haggard appearance, the pinched flesh of her face, the scratches on her arms and legs, and the trembling of the little body as the girl began to weep.
With a soft gasp, Elmirie began to move towards her but stopped in mid stride as a soft voice spoke behind her.
“Do not approach.”
She swung around in shock, noting from the corner of her eye that the panthers had been caught as unaware as she and were now growling softly at the figure which stood in shadows beneath the trees, its features indistinguishable. As the panthers prowled towards it a slender hand motioned briefly and the stopped, the growling ceased and both animals lay on the ground, watching silently.
At last, Elmirie recovered from her surprise and whispered, “Why not? She is my daughter, hungry… alone. Who are you to forbid me from going to her?”
Blatantly avoiding the question the figure’s head tilted briefly, “She is beyond you now, has been set apart. To go to her now would mean danger for you, and for her.”
Still whispering, though why she could not quite fathom, Elmirie gestured at the forest around her, “Then I am to leave her here alone, out here? Surely you know the dangers of this place?”
“Aala,” came the reply, “better than you know. But it is done now. She must grow alone, that was the intention.”
“Whose intention? Yours? How can you expect a girl of her age to survive this?” Asked Elmirie.
Again, the question was avoided, “She is being watched over, unknown to her, she will survive. Look.”
Her confusion apparent on her face, Elmirie turned once more to look upstream. Elvalia had ceased weeping and sat now on the bank with a thin length of timber she had picked from the forest floor nearby. As her mother watched she finished sharpening the end to a point with her dagger then, a few inches back from the tip, cut into the wood on either side, carefully fashioning a pair of barbs.
The child laid her dagger back among her possessions and once more walked into the stream, balancing carefully on a pair of rocks and peering into the waters. Then once more, in a blur of motion, she struck, laughing happily as the spear impaled a fish, which she quickly carried to the bank before returning to repeat the procedure.
“You see?” Said the voice, “You need not worry, he taught her much. She will learn more of her own accord.”
“But… so lonely,” breathed Elmirie.
“Aala,” said the voice with a hint of sadness, “and that will be the hardest yet most important lesson for her to learn. What she does, what she will do, will have to be done alone. She will fight against it, seek companionship, have friendships, love as any other, but in the end she will need to accept that ultimately she has been set apart and is alone.”
Elmirie turned once more to the figure, her expression displaying her anger despite her softly spoken words, “Why have you done this? Am I just to accept it? Is she just to accept it?”
Again, the figure seemed to avoid the main question, and again there was a hint of sadness about the voice when it spoke, “You have no choice, and nor does she. Try to alter it and you will die, so might she.” Elmirie clenched her fists, fighting the rising anger within her as the speaker continued, “But she will need you, in time. Keep yourself safe until then child; I will help if I can though like her you must do this alone. In time though, you will meet again.”
Elmirie stood, speechless, not sure of anything but the fact that as the figure had said, she had no choice, nor did Elvalia.
From the corner of her eye she caught a movement and looked down to see Kria, who until now had remained silent, nudging her cub. The cub got to its feet and began to move off upstream to where the small figure now sat on the bank, cleaning the fish she had caught. As it neared her Elvalia suddenly jumped to her feet, dropping the fish and in one smooth movement grabbing her bow, swiftly nocking an arrow. Now armed she merely watched as the cub moved closer still until it reached the opposite side of the stream then simply sat, watching the young elf.
Then, from Elvalia’s side of the stream came a series of soft mewling, growls and purrs. Elmirie gasped softly, “Goddess! Arod had taught her the tongue of beasts too…”
“What do you want?” asked her daughter, “are you lost too?” As she spoke she scanned the forest behind the cub. “Perhaps like me you have no parents, aala?”
She smiled then and released the tension on the bow, laying it on the ground and picking up one of the cleaned trout, “Come,” she said as she held it out, “are you hungry? We can be friends if you like.”
Warily at first the cub entered the stream, slowly approaching the young girl, who threw the fish at its feet as it reached the bank. “There,” she said, “eat as much as you like, I can catch more.”
She laughed as the cub picked up the fish and moved to lie beside her before beginning to gnaw on it.
“Bravely done,” said the voice behind Elmirie. She turned to not that the figure spoke not to her but to Kria. “Perhaps you are right,” the figure continued, “perhaps they need each other as the two of you need each other.”
“Either way, you have linked your fate and his to theirs.”
The large panther merely grunted, turning to watch her cub who was now starting on his second fish, watched all the while by the grinning child. “Well,” said Elvalia, “it seems you want to stay. If so you will need a name.” She thought for a few moments then rested her hand on the cub’s head.
“I shall call you Trin,” said Elvalia softly as she opened her eyes and looked at her mother.
Elmirie smiled, “So you see…” she whispered, “I did come for you.”
Elvalia merely nodded as she looked across the garden at the large dark figure which as so often these days lay sprawled on the grass.
“I remember it,” she said, “I remember him appearing from nowhere, eating my fish. He was Kria’s cub then?”
“Aala,” said Elmirie gently, “all that remains now of her.”
Elvalia watched her mother sadly, remembering the death of the panther at Jubei’s hands a few months ago. She gave a low whistle and looked over as Trin climbed lazily to his feet and padded over.
“You are growing fat, boy,” she growled, then looked at Elmirie, “I seldom travel with him, I’ve always hated the idea of putting him in danger. All he does these days is lie around here, when he’s not raiding the pool for fish.”
Elmirie laughed and stroked the panther’s head, “He is very like her,” she said.
“Trin,” growled Elvalia, “you remember my mother?” The panther nuzzled Elmirie’s hand, panting but clearly recognising the older elf. “She needs you more than I now, you will travel with her… do you understand?”
She silenced her mother’s protests with a glance as the panther growled its assent, accepting the instruction without question and lying down next to the older elf.
Elvalia smiled briefly then gave thought to what she had so recently seen.
“Mother,” she said softly, “as they both stood and began to walk back to the house, “did He ever speak with you again?”
Elmirie looked back at her daughter quizzically, “He?”
Elvalia nodded, “Aala, the voice, the figure.”
Elmirie paused, studying her daughter’s face, still looking slightly confused herself, “No… never again,” she said softly as she turned and entered the house, the remainder of her words trailing behind her, “but the voice was female.” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Funeral
Posted: 03 Mar 2006 12:40 PM |
The brisk breeze blew in from the Inner Sea, catching the trees along the shoreline and carrying the low mournful voice further than it might otherwise have been heard as the strains of the song died away.
Those gathered at the edge of the lake watched in silence as Liana and Nariel between them scattered the ashes upon the surface of the water, heads bowed in utter silence.
The figure standing alone further up the slop stood equally silent, her eyes as usual missing little as her hair was blown about her face.
Hopefully now, she thought, this will bring closure to a particular episode that had brought, it was true, a certain amount of satisfaction - even pride - but little pleasure.
It was done now and the clergy and numerous watching Elves were walking quietly away from the shore towards the hill and the trail that led through Ferein's gates to the Path of Aros.
The figure on the hill remained motionless, staring at the water's surface and lost in her own thoughts. Not so lost, however, that she did not notice nor recognise the footfalls behind her.
"Master Camthalion," she said coolly without turning to face him.
"Celebrating your victory no doubt, Lady," replied the harsh voice of the archmage, "gloating over the victims of your scheme perhaps? Or is it remorse that brings you here?"
Slowly, her head turned slightly towards him, her voice replying in a soft, measured tone, "Remorse? Remorse over what? I am here to show respect for fellow Elves."
"Remorse over their deaths, what else Lady?" Said Camthalion, "Others might have actually pulled the bowstrings but you are the one responsible for their deaths."
Turning to face him fully, the diminutive figure lifted her head, her face expressionless as she looked back at him.
"That is something I am well aware of, without needing you to point it out to me," she said, "but whether I am directly responsible or not, I will still show my respect."
"How gracious of you Lady," Camthalion almost sneered, "yet... I wonder, have wondered ever since the decision was made... I wonder why."
"Why it was done?" She asked, a brow arching slightly upwards, "You truly have to ask?"
"Aala, Lady. Why?" He hissed, "Why serve the interests of the humans, why abase yourself and Ferein before Midor, why use Elves as scapegoats for some mad scheme to avert a war?"
"You truly do not understand, do you?" She asked quietly, shaking her head, "You truly do not see why it had to be done."
He began to speak but was cut off by a quickly raised hand, "How would you have done it Master Camthalion? How would you have acted? No... you need not answer, I can hazard a guess based on past experience." She said, her voice still low and carefully measured, "Watched, waited, reeled off pointless words, but in effect done... nothing."
He began to splutter and she quickly continued, "Do you not see that sooner or later the time comes when watching and waiting are not enough? There comes a time when in order to make your message clear you have to act."
"BUT THEY WERE ELVES!" He shouted.
"Aala," she said, unfazed by his loss of temper and aware of heads turning towards the raised voice among the Elves passing nearby, "they were Elves, Elves who had they lived and learned would have taken as much satisfaction from killing you or I or any that we care for as they did in killing those in Paws. Elves they may have been, they were also killers Master Camthalion; something you seem to have forgotten. Need I remind you that they also killed folk of Ferein in their attempt to get home? What else would you have had me do? Imprison them? Convert them? Ask the families of those they murdered in Paws and killed in Latonei, ask them."
Making no attempt to lower his voice he drew closer, his face reddening in his anger, "I would have you do other than Midor's will, than the will of that abomination that styles himself Bishop! Instead you take them to Midor, do their work for them!"
Elvalia's eyes flashed dangerously, "I did what I must, did what I had to do to protect Ferein. They were tried and found guilty by US, by Elves not by Midor. It was done there to show Midor and others that we would not tolerate either those who commit such acts or those who would accuse us wrongly of either carrying them out or aiding them. Ferein tried and executed them, Master Camthalion, not Midor. What was done there was for Ferein and no other, for those who dwell here... even for you."
"But you..." he began.
Finally her temper snapped and her eyes blazed as she shouted at the older Elf in return, "I did what I had to do! This is our home, both yours and mine as well as that of others. Tell me.... I would be most eager to learn, tell me how one protects that by doing NOTHING!"
Her voice dropped once more as she became aware of those nearby who had in some cases stopped to watch the exchange, though her anger was more than apparent. "I was asked and swore an oath to protect Ferein and those in it, protect our way of life, yours and mine. This is my home, the home of my family and countless others and I will do anything, ANYTHING to carry out my oath. I hardly think at the time that either He or I took that oath to mean the inclusion of the Hunter’s followers! Nor, I would hope, did it include a provision where I am to stand idly by and watch while all that I care for, all –who- I care for is destroyed!"
Aware now of the witnesses, and still more of the fact that Nariel had left them and was rapidly approaching, Camthalion lowered his voice a little though it was still audible enough. “You have made a mistake Lady, shamed us before all.” He said, “I only hope that in time you do not have cause to regret it.”
The younger Elf drew herself to her full height, though still quite a number of inches shorter than he, “If that is the case Master Camthalion, let my lord Aros be the judge of it. Until then I am afraid you will just have to accept what is done because I stand by my actions,” said Elvalia softly.
Camthalion turned as Nariel approached, looking on her with no less venom, “I suppose you too are of that view?” He asked.
Nariel leant calmly on her staff and glanced at Elvalia before answering, “Aala… I am. As is the Princess.”
Without a further word to either Camthalion turned abruptly, pushing his way through the watching Elves.
“Unpleasant,” breathed Nariel in her usual very soft voice, “I am concerned as to what he might do.”
Watching the departing figure, Elvalia merely nodded silently.
“More so,” continued the druid, “since I somehow think he is unlikely to approve of what I feel we should do next.”
Elvalia tore her gaze from the departing archmage and looked at her elder curiously.
“Come to the Grove,” said Nariel, “we will talk there.” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Revelation
Posted: 12 Aug 2006 07:41 AM |
Inside the house it was quiet, though through the open door could be heard low-pitched, husky laughter interspersed with the sound of much younger giggles.
With an almost unconscious smile at the sound the figure curled on the couch resumed her studied perusal of the scrolls and books that lay scattered around. Amid official reports and minutes, which formed the larger part of the muddled collection, were others, collected over the years from various sources. Books also, though fewer in number.
The Elf brushed the air, which as always fell forward to shield her face, from her green eyes that had fallen upon a particular volume. Thin, though exquisitely bound in a manner she had never seen elsewhere, the soft grey leather of the cover cool to the touch. Other than that the outside bore no other marking or hint as to what it contained.
She knew though. It was some time since she had read it but she remembered the contents all to well, almost by heart. Knew also that the bulk of them were something best kept to herself. Nevertheless she reached for it and opened it, her eyes running sightlessly over the elven characters inscribed on the fine parchment within, lost in the memory of how it had come into hr hands.
So it was that she scarcely noticed the gentle tug on the sleeve of her robe, at least not at first, and it was with some surprise that she looked down at the small figure standing beside her; looking up with outstretched hand and a guarded smile on her face.
“Cileleil!” She smiled, jolted as she was momentarily by the child’s appearance, the green eyes that stared back into her own, framed by the unruly blonde hair.
“What do you have there? Let me see…. Oh! A leaf.”
She lifted the child onto her lap, as they studied it together, Elvalia becoming lost in her explanation of the veins within it, of it’s form, what kind it was. She looked down at last to realise that her daughter was not listening but was intent instead on the book which still lay open… running her tiny finger along and tracing the Elven script.
Elvalia watched for a while then, smiling, took the hand I her own and continued to draw the finger along mimicking the strokes that the quill had made so many years before.
“It is writing sweetheart,” she said, “part of the history of our people. It helps us remember.”
“See this word here?” She continued, tracing her daughter’s finger over the ink strokes, “Il m e la, it means Aros. This one here…S e l a il m a l … Minyaren, the place where many years ago our people lived. You see how the letters join to make words? In turn the words are put together in sentences… see.”
She read aloud, still tracing each letter and word as she went, “And with this, Aros spoke the names of the five elves who would occupy the council, bestowing upon each a blessing of courage. Unto this council he named Neek and Daeron, the two remainders of the first seven. Also he appointed Eärang, from the house of Nim, Elreldur, from the house of Itarillë, and Tang, from the house of Zardoz.”
She froze, staring at the page before her.
“Gods…” she whispered, “how could I have missed it? Of course!”
Clutching the child to her she jumped to her feet and ran to the door, “Mother! Mother?”
Elmirie looked up curiously from where she still played with the other twin as her daughter ran towards her.
“I have to go,” said Elvalia breathlessly, “you will be alright with the children?”
“Aye, of course,” nodded her mother, “but go where?”
Elvalia kissed her daughters, handing Cilaleil to Elmirie then ran back into the house for her cloak and bow. “There is someone I must speak to,” she said as she ran back out, pausing once more to kiss and embrace the two little girls, “I won’t be gone long, I will tell you when I get back.”
Elmirie stood holding the hands of the children as she watched her depart rapidly through the trees running towards the stairs and frowned slightly before turning to her granddaughters, “Now then girls, who would like to play catch?”
“Me! Me!” Giggled Quilasela, jumping up and down, Elmirie though bent to the other as she tugged gently at her hand.
“Mama is worried,” whispered Cilaleil.
Elmirie straightened, looking at the child curiously, but could do little else than agree.
“Aala,” she intoned, “she is.” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Elbereth's Dream
Posted: 12 Aug 2006 01:27 PM |
Resting by the side of Lake Ladriel, Salt suddenly snapped into the moment in the way one does when danger is present, or when one is at court.
Salt’s mental architecture includes many rooms, such that he can leave portions of it to operate on several different problems unmanaged, the way a laborer might forget what their hands are doing. It is not a memory palace as might be possessed by the great mages of Vives, not disciplined like Solitaire, no stillness as with Shihaya’zad, and yet not contorted like the genius of Xaranthir. A confusing worry of mist and shadows… a thin-walled vessel containing unfamiliar things. He does not know where the limits of his mind might be found, nor what exactly is contained in all its parts. He lives on the verge of realizing that there are no boundaries, which is the lethal trap within divination. Memory for instance is governed by different rules with a seer. Everyones’ memories have rules dictating the organization of moments between the present and the past. Everyone needs a system. For a seer divination is the system.
In Elvalia’s presence Salt would not leave any part of his mind outside of the moment. Not any part that he could fully govern…
“Elvalia… I was just thinking of you!”
“You were?”
“Yes yes, it’s right here in my notes…” Salt had withdrawn a folded paper from his sleeve and read aloud: “ ‘Did Aros really slay Gukathul? Ask Elvalia’.”
“Gukathul…” Elvalia repeated.
Salt looked up from his notes. “It is said there will be war, Elvalia.”
“Aye,” she said. “So I am told.”
“So I am told. A war that will swallow the land. Lucius hears this, from the writings of Frobozz. Gukathul is to war against Syn.”
Elvalia frowned on hearing Lucius’ name.
Salt looked at the paper and considered that the inscription of Elvalia’s name might have acted like a summons. Could Elvalia have known that she had been inscribed thus?
“Do you write, Salt?”
The seer paused. Then he said deliberately, “I think it is likely that I misapprehend your question.”
“I don’t mean as in can you but… If necessary, can you record speech with accuracy?”
“With accuracy, yes. Without writing, in fact. But I can prepare a document, if need be.”
Good, Elvalia said. She had need for a scribe, she said, one that she could trust. One who could be “discreet” if need be.
“I would be very pleased to serve. And I would pledge to keep your confidence. Though… it is not usually my way to hide things.”
“I am not even sure yet that there will be any need for secrecy.”
“As you will have it, ma’am.”
“Some years ago,” Elvalia said abruptly, “a book came into my possession. Given to me by a friend, who in turn received it from Aros himself. Until a short while ago I had all but forgotten its contents, or at least the specific wording. The contents are… They are not the sort of information I would care to see generally circulated.”
“I can keep this in confidence.”
“At its beginning… There is a passage, which runs as follows.”
Elvalia quoted the passage effortlessly.
“Unto thee I proclaim today to be the first day of the elven council, five whom I shall proclaim to lead thee, be it in times of strife or calm. These five shall guard the elven way and see that the elves of Fenghuul, in all their actions, strive to maintain it.”
“These five shall serve as council to all of thee, should the need arise, for each shall place the good of all above the good of themselves. Each shall forsake any personal gains for the gain of all. Unto thee, I give this gift.”
“But, be forewarned, shall this council fall, through might or mischief, or lust for power, I shall not point the way to others. This I warn unto thee: preserve the sanctity of this council, for it shall be a beacon unto thee in the darkest hours.”
“And with this, Aros spoke the names of the five elves who would occupy the council, bestowing upon each a blessing of courage. Unto this council he named Neek and Daeron, the two remainders of the first seven. Also he appointed Eärang, from the house of Nim, Elreldur, from the house of Itarillë, and Tang, from the house of Zardoz.”
Finishing, Elvalia watched him as he contemplated what was said. “ ‘Elreldur, from the house of Itarillë’.”
“Yes, yes I heard. And the others…”
“That is why I have sought you out.”
“Sought me out? Oh… oh, I see.”
“This book dates from the time of Minyaren. You have heard of it?”
“I have heard the sorrowful tale,” Salt said.
“You agree then?”
“Of course, Elvalia. I agree. I can return to my research later.” Then Salt said to the guardian at the tower, “I shall return, Miss Eileen. It will not be more than a day.”
* * * * *
Salt had not been to the chamber where Silmarwen was found since that time, when the two were united, Silmarwen and Itarillë. Undiminished was his awe at not one but two dragons of Ferein, who revealed themselves that day. Elvalia, he learned during the brief journey, had never been there and never had spoken to the two ancients. From the Grotto a flight of stairs wound down into a cavern carved from the rock beneath Ferein. The chamber was thousands of years old and until the present era had been undisturbed for nearly that long.
Salt and Elvalia were joined by High Priestess Nariel Arnatuilë, though her presence was not easily explained. Salt suspected later that this gathering of the High Priestess, the ancients, and the Arosian had been engineered and that events were in motion that were beyond Elvalia’s ken.
“I am your witness, Elvalia” Salt whispered behind her.
Silmarwen began smiling, “So… you come at last.”
Elvalia nodded slightly.
“I must say,” said Silmarwen, “somehow we expected you sooner.” The ancient took in the three, Elvalia, Nariel and Salt, and then asked “So… you are here for what reason?”
“That would be my doing,” Elvalia said, glancing at Nariel, “for the most part, at least.”
“I come as witness for Elvalia. I am her scribe today, if it pleases you.”
“Scribe?” Silmarwen asked. “Then you seek something.”
Aala returned Elvalia.
“And what would that be?” asked Silmarwen’s companion, Itarillë.
“Knowledge… answers,” returned Elvalia.
The ancient addressed them then with her ancient elven tongue. Salt knew from the time of Itarillë’s initial appearance that the elves of Ferein recognize this tongue, but do not comprehend it. Neither did Salt until… somehow… the language was made comprehensible for all three of them.
For the purposes of this visit, he realized, the ancient tongue would be necessary. The history could not be told in any other way. To make it legible, to write it, that would be Salt’s task.
The language that Silmarwen and Itarillë spoke conjured images in their minds. It was comparable to the communion of deities and mortals, to nothing less than visitation, and it put Salt in a mind of his few encounters with the Mother of Goddesses, Elbereth. The words were so potent that Salt could feel them like winds. Scented winds that touched and stirred memories. It was not writable, and yet the seer had committed himself to creating a record however flawed it would be.
“What would you know, Chosen?”
“Everything,” Elvalia replied to Silmarwen.
Itarillë laughed disarmingly. “You ask much. But you are ready.” She looked at Silmarwen.
Who began to speak.
“You are here to record, Master Seer?”
“I am the witness,” Salt replied. “I will record it faithfully”. No paper lay before him, no pens or tablets. He had brought with him no such implements. Instead he stroked one temple with a finger and cleared a space for what he was to hear. He would carry the record out of Ferein and put it to paper for Elvalia.
“Then,” Silmarwen said to Elvalia, “you shall have the answers you seek. And some no doubt you do not. Where do you wish to begin, Chosen?”
“I would know it all,” Elvalia replied.
Salt produces the following record of what was told.
Before All…
There was Vives, and there was the Lady Elbereth, the Mother of All.
Yet this was not the Vives such as is now known, but a world devoid of life, barren, existing beneath a firmament unlit and empty.
Through the Darkness wandered the Lady Elbereth, Her path lit only by the power of Her own being. As She walked She wept in despair at the Emptiness and gave thought to what otherwise might be. Despite Her efforts through the long years of Her wandering, no solution could She divine or devise, and Her Tears fell unending.
Tiring at last, She laid herself upon the barren ground and there, in a pool formed of Her own grief, entered a reverie.
And dreamt.
Such a Dream has none known since, for it was a Dream of Power.
As She lay thus, it is said, Elbereth became aware of the Nature of all things, from the smallest to the largest; of all manners of plant and flora; of beasts of the ground, water and air; of minerals, metals and gases. She saw not only the nature of such things, but the nature also of a world in which they might exist together, and how through their existence and interaction, their lives, deaths and decay, they might work in harmony to create a balanced whole.
She saw a world that lay beneath a clear sky of blue; of forests green, dark and primal, of pastures lush and fertile; of soaring, snow capped mountains and wide, arid deserts. She saw wide, raging oceans; crystal lakes, meandering rivers and rushing streams. A world where the life which existed upon it experienced birth, existence and death, gaining sustenance from itself and on reaching its end, served to begin anew the Cycle. A world lit and sustained by a bright sun which itself was born, existed and died each day in imitation of the Cycle its period of renewal marked by the dim light in the firmament of a myriad stars.
Long the Dream lasted, how long the Lady Elbereth lay in reverie none have said. Yet from it She learned many things, not the least of which was the Secret of Making.
At last She awakened and wept no longer, but looked around instead in wonder. For the world of the Dream was now a reality and given substance. The lands, waters, flora and fauna which She had seen now had physical existence and the world of Vives born anew.
For years unnumbered Elbereth wandered this world alone, taking joy and delight anew in all that she saw even though, it is said, nothing existed other than had appeared within the Dream. She watched all, observing the Cycle in reality, and was content.
Yet still, amid her happiness, She knew disquiet. Content though She was in all She saw and all that had come about, her loneliness assailed Her; there being no one with whom the beauty and grandeur of the world might be shared.
So it was that She bent her thought upon a solution. It is thought that at first, though She knew means by which Her wishes might be achieved, She hesitated; being aware that with the mightiest of powers comes not solely responsibility but in addition temptation; that there is a fine line of distinction between the powers of creation and destruction.
Yet at the last She resolved upon the use of the Secret of Making.
Seven beings She would make, calling them Elves, the Firstcomers. These it was who would walk with Her in the Dream and nurture it, protecting the Cycle and preserving the balance of all things.
Like unto Her they would be in appearance and form, and both female and male would there be, that they might of their own will increase their kind and further populate the world. Even so, like all that had come before and despite the length of time She allotted them, they would have an End since they also would be subject to the Cycle they served.
Seven there would be yet at first She resolved upon the creation of but one. Why this was so is unknown, yet it is thought that even as She embarked upon the Making there were still doubts within her mind. That should the Making go awry, it would be easier to make amends with the destruction of only one.
Thus came about the creation of the first Elf, first and mightiest of the Firstcomers.
Aros She named him, and to him gave might and ability no less than Her own save in one thing. From him She withheld alone the Secret of Making, feeling it better that temptation would not exist rather than have to be resisted.
Upon his form She bestowed the Kiss of Life and he awoke and Elbereth was happy. For many years they wandered jointly as She had once done alone, experiencing joy and delight as much from each other’s company as from the world around them. As an equal She treated him, and from Her he learned much though not all by any means, being kept in ignorance of the world’s birth and his own creation as well as the Secret.
At last Elbereth knew the power of companionship, and was pleased at first with Her creation. Yet as time passed more and more would Aros seek to explore the world alone, and furthermore shielding from Elbereth his deeds and whereabouts, so that the love which at first She felt for him was extinguished before its full growth and replaced instead by wariness and distrust.
Disappointed though She was, her resolve to continue the Making remained as strong as ever, though tempered by her experience with Aros. Embarking upon the second Making, therefore, She created the remaining six Elves; three male and three female. The males She named Neek, Daeron and Zardoz, the females She named Nim, Silmarwen and Itarillë. As was Aros, so were they like unto Her in form and appearance and, though mighty in power and ability in comparison to later days, yet were they less mighty than he, Elbereth seeing the need to withhold from them the powers She had earlier granted freely and in full.
As She neared the end of her labours She became aware of the approach of Aros and, not wishing at that time to tell him of them, forbore to awaken them but lay them instead in the fairest of all lands of the Dream, which were in after days called Fangduin.
Yet again he returned giving no clue as to his wanderings, nor his deeds while absent, so Elbereth, Her concern lessened not in the slightest, kept silent regarding his siblings and made no mention of them.
At length he departed once more, concealing himself as before from her sight, and Elbereth returned to Fangduin and there bestowed the Kiss of Life upon the Elves. There they awakened and beheld for the first time the rising of the sun above the land. Great was their joy in all they saw and Elbereth was at last content. As She watched and listened it became clear to her that her second Making, the last save one, had not been in vain. That the Elves before her would be content to exist in service and as part of the balance and Cycle as shown in the Dream.
As the first day came to an end and night fell the Elves were at first dismayed, not understanding its import and believing the world they but recently seen would be lost to them forever. Seeing this, Elbereth took pity and embarked upon a final Making. Putting forth her might into the firmament She gathered together such debris as could be found and from it created a body which, by means of the power She endowed it with, outshone the stars beyond.
As the moon rose for the first time above the trees the forest of Fangduin and the world of Vives heard for the first time the sound of Elven voices joined in song, as the Firstcomers gave thanks for what they saw as their deliverance from the Darkness and so have the fair folk ever since looked upon the moon as their friend in no less measure than the sun which lights the day.
* * * * *
First was this inscribed as closely as could be accomplished in the common tongue. This was Salt’s working tongue. He did this work at the tower at Ladriel.
After some revision the seer was satisfied that it was a good account. He recopied the document clean onto good sturdy stock, six pages unilluminated. This was to be the original from which everything else would follow.
Now Salt set about making a translation into Elven. He found that some residual of the language remained in his mind following the meeting with Silmarwen and Itarillë. He wondered if perhaps he had not been learning the language all the time that he had known Elvalia. Had the tongue been there, or had Silmarwen put it there in the interest of creating this document for the elves?
The work of translation was difficult in the usual ways, but easier in others. Salt found it pleasurable to express what had not lent itself to written common, and found that he less translated the first text and more recreated the story from Silmarwen’s narrative. Once completed however, the two documents were very literally identical.
The transcription and interpretation were without flaw. The text had written itself, as though his hand moved automatically. It took on the qualities of writ or scripture.
Salt made four copies of each, retaining one copy with his personal papers. Three in common and three in the Elven tongue would be delivered to Elvalia.
The originals would be, for now, concealed within the library at Ladriel. Salt did this because he did not know what might differentiate the original scriptures from their copies.
((scripture courtesy of Bennyhsrh)) |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Elbereth's Dream
Posted: 12 Aug 2006 02:12 PM |
| [Previous post edited solely to highlight Silmarwen's words] |
ELVES! |
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Elbereth's Dream
Posted: 13 Aug 2006 07:05 AM |
Silmarwen’s voice… was it a chant, a song? What? Faded…
The silence that had seemed to surround them, engulf them as she had begun to speak faded also to be replaced by the sounds of the air whispering through the cavern, the water dripping here and there from above, and – she noted uncomfortably – her own breathing, as she inhaled and exhaled rapidly.
She looked up slowly from her hands, clenched tightly in her lap, taking in the surroundings. Silmarwen watching them expressionlessly, Itarillë sat calmly where she had throughout, but like Silmarwen watching the Elves in particular with an intent, speculative expression. Salt still sat rocking slightly back and forth, his eyes closed, and Nariel, sat motionless, her eyes fixed widely on Silmarwen and her face as pale as - Elvalia had no doubt – her own.
“This was not known to you?” Asked Silmarwen softly.
Next to Elvalia, Salt blinked rapidly as he opened his eyes. Elvalia could only shake her head dumbly while from her other side Nariel’s voice, in any circumstance rarely louder than a whisper, came hesitantly, “No Lady…. None of it.”
Salt shifted uncomfortably, aware of the tensions in the chamber even if he didn’t fully understand them and the noise snapped Elvalia from her shocked state. She turned to him quickly, “Did you get it all?” She asked insistently.
“Every word,” he confirmed.
Looking once more at the Elf before her, Elvalia’s mind screamed with questions, questions she was unsure whether she ought, or even dared to ask.
“Where is this from… who taught this?” She asked at last.
Silmarwen and Itarillë exchanged a quick glance seemingly agreeing that the question should be answered, “Elbereth,” Silmarwen said, “the Mother.”
Somehow it had been the answer she expected but still Elvalia paused, allowing herself a few seconds as the information sank in before continuing, “There is more…. Please tell me there is more.”
This time it was Itarillë who answered, “Much.”
Again, somehow an answer she expected but given what she had already heard, she somehow had the feeling that whatever was to come could wait… she had to deal with what she now knew first.
She nodded at last, inclined her head respectfully and without a word turned and walked from the chamber, leaving the others behind.
The corridors passed unnoticed and she simply stood, waiting, staring sightlessly at one of the wall murals until a hand placed gently on her arm brought her back to reality to find Nariel and Salt watching her quietly.
“Come,” said the druid gently.
“Nariel…” began Elvalia.
The older Elf smiled and nodded, “We will speak soon,” then inclined her head to Salt. “Farewell Master Seer.”
She walked off through the grotto watched numbly for a few moments by Elvalia before she turned to Salt, who stood with a frown on his expression, fingers and thumb pressed to his forehead.
“You wish this to be written, Elvalia?” He asked, “The narrative that we heard?”
She looked up at him for a few moments before replying, “Did you believe it?”
“I dare not speculate,” he said. “That of all things would endanger the thing in my mind. No... No I offer here no interpretation. Tell me... you would have it written, as we agreed? Or... or...”
A little disappointed that the confirmation or denial she so desperately needed was not forthcoming, she merely nodded, “Yes… all of it. Every word. Just as it was spoken In Elven and in Common if it is not too much trouble”
Seeking to reassure herself and perhaps attempting to get the confirmation he had avoided at first, she continued, “There is no reason to disbelieve what they say… the others… the People of Ferein should know of it. It is their story.”
The aged human seemed at last to realise the importance of what she was saying, “Does the account conform with the doctrines of Arosian worship?” He asked.
“No.... no it does not,” she answered softly, “You heard as I did, she made Aros. Made him and the other Elves”
Salt rubbed his forehead, “I don't doubt that it is truthful, what they say. I don't doubt it for an instant. But... the images... it is hard to reckon with them. This... this is no territory for me, Elvalia. I'm no great scholar of religions... no devout follower of any particular deity, myself...”
“It is rather a new experience for me also,” she said dryly.
“If I could find Coruva, and have discussion with…” his voice trailed off, “No… no we agreed to complete confidentiality. I am only the witness.” He straightened, “I will deliver these articles to you, Elvalia. You will have it in Elven, as well as the Common tongue.”
“You would hide it from others?” She asked suddenly, tilting her head.
“It is not for me to say, one way or the other.” He answered, “You warned me that we might learn something sensitive. If you say it should be circulated, I will do so. But it seems you ought to circulate it. Or at least... the Elves should hear it from one of their own.”
“Aye... that they should,” she said, staring thoughtfully at the entrance. ”But there is more... you heard her yourself.”
“Yes!” He exclaimed with sudden enthusiasm, “And... and perhaps... Well, who could say what is to be learned?”
“Aye... who can say indeed,” she smiled inwardly, aware that to a great extent this was simply an opportunity for research for the aged human, while for her… for the Elves.
“Well,” she continued, “let me know when it is ready and we shall call on them again. For now I think I need some air. I have much to think on.”
“I suppose I shall walk to the dock,” said Salt, “I would stay and do this work in Ferein, but for ongoing research for another's benefit. That I cannot abandon.”
They began to walk together towards Ferein, pausing on the bridge just outside the gates.
“I think I will walk for a while,” said Elvalia, “You know your way to the dock?”
“I do Ma’am,” replied Salt, absent-mindedly eyeing the bark on a nearby birch tree.
“Farewell then,” she said, walking off lost in her thoughts. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Questions
Posted: 15 Aug 2006 07:37 AM |
“I think I shall walk for a while,” she had said, and so she had. For hour upon hour hardly paying any heed at all to her surroundings.
It was only the sudden flash of light that made her aware of where she was in the slightest, and she looked around momentarily amused by where her feet had carried her. That it should be here, of all places.
How ironic, yet perhaps fitting. That she should once more find herself in a place where so much had passed in her life.
It was dark, as it almost always was in this place; the rain falling almost in sheets so that hair and clothing were quickly sodden, clinging unheeded to her face and body. The skies filled with angry dark clouds lit occasionally by the lightning which arced across them.
An apocalyptic background, which, she acknowledged with a brief, wry smile, fitted her mood perfectly.
For some hours she simply stood waiting, as the rain fell upon her upturned face. Rain , though, was the least of her worries, and so she waited, her feet planted squarely in the middle of the sodden stone circle.
At her side hung the waterproofed container Salt had given her when she had come across him in Paws; containing six scrolls – three in Elven, three in the Common Tongue – each bearing the words spoken by Silmarwen. She had read them of course, seeking perhaps something she had missed, something that would deny the truth she had heard in the spoken words and seen in the faces of Silmarwen and Itarillë; in Nariel’s shocked expression and Salt’s discomfiture.
But the written word said nothing new, bore the same message.
There was only one now who could deny it, who could explain, who could reassure.
“Well?” She asked, “You have nothing to say?”
She waited for some minutes, motionless.
“It would only take a word,” she continued, “one word and I would believe you.”
…………………….
“For many years now I have followed faithfully, asking nothing for myself, done your will whatever the cost. Will you not even grant me this much?”
…………………….
She held the waterproofed case above her head.
“Tell me. Tell me, please. Is this true?”
…………………….
“You have only to speak and I will believe you. Tell me this is some huge misunderstanding, some simple misinterpretation… a mistake!”
…………………….
"One word is all it would take my Lord, one word from you and I will destroy it, forget it. That is all it would take.”
She waited, how long she had no idea, but she waited as the rain continued to pound down on her upturned face and the case still held aloft. Unblinking as the rivulets ran over her features and were joined by tears, though whether of rage or sorrow she was unsure.
Her arm fell slowly to her side. “Why will you not answer me?” She shouted, “Have I disappointed you so much?”
…………………….
At last she looked away from the skies, blinking away the mixture of rain and tears from her eyes.
“So be it,” she whispered, “Your choice is made and I must make mine.”
Yet still she waited. Unwilling to accept that she would have to leave this place without receiving a reply of any kind. Hour after hour she stood, heedless of the rain and the storm that raged endlessly above. Surely he would answer, surely there would be some word; some comfort; some reassurance. Some sign that this was nothing more than some sort of divine jest; that it was yet another test of faith she had passed.
And all would be well.
But she waited in vain. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Re: The Message
Posted: 01 Sep 2006 03:07 PM |
She sighed softly, stood, and climbed from the pool, pulling on a robe over her still wet form and smiling as she tied her hair up, listening to the sound of laughter from elsewhere in the garden as her mother entertained the children with some tale.
As she finished her task it was with some surprise that she realised she now had nothing to do. Not at least until the trial reconvened, the news of the delay due to Ophelia being unwell had been cause for concern initially but quick action by the druids had made sure all was now back to normal, with the trial reconvening that evening.
But for now, as so rarely happened, she was free to do as she wished.
She wandered over towards the others, resolving to spend some time with her daughters, her mother’s soft low voice drifting through the trees.
“ … she was told so many times she could not; must not, until he thought she was ready. That did not stop her though, she just went ahead and did it anyway… as ever. She was punished of course, but it did not change her.”
Elvalia sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around the nearest small figure, “She sounds quite a handful,” she smiled, “who are we talking about?”
The children erupted into fits of laughter as Elmirie smiled broadly, “Oh a wilful, headstrong little girl, always in trouble, always more intent on discovering for herself rather than listening to others.”
“Do I know her?” Asked Elvalia with a bemused expression.
“I should think so,” laughed her mother, “it was…”
“You mama!” Giggled the twins in unison.
“Ah…” sighed Elvalia, “that handful.” She joined in the laughter for a few moments, “So my innermost secrets are being laid bare are they?”
“Oh I doubt that would ever be…” Elmirie paused, her eyes suddenly shifting to something behind Elvalia, who turned to look over her shoulder at the approaching figure.
Elvalia rose to her feet in a fluid motion and walked towards him, “What is it Fmeaniram?
The Holy Warrior bowed, “Lady… there is a man… at the gate, a human, he speaks of having found something in the cold lands and will speak only with you.”
“Me? Can his information not be given to another?” She asked.
“Apparently not,” the Elf grimaced slightly, “we said as much ourselves… but he insists.”
“Very well,” she sighed, “I had best see him.”
Elmirie sat silently with the children, watching as her daughter followed the Warrior to the stairs where he beckoned and the man spoken of appeared. Towering over Elvalia, dressed in a haphazard mixture or furs, leather, pieces of chain here and there.
They spoke for a while though no words could be heard from where Elmirie sat, she saw her daughter take something from him then stiffen, staring up at him silently for a few moments.
“Elvalia?” She called, “What is wrong?”
Her daughter glanced at her briefly, her eyes empty, almost dead in appearance then ran towards the house without a word, watched by the others present. Soon she was back, dressed in her light armour and bow in hand she ran towards the stairs, brushing past the two who stood there in some confusion. As she disappeared, Elmirie looked to the Warrior, who could only shrug in reply.
“Mother is crying,” came a small voice from her side. Elmirie looked bemusedly down at Quillasela as the little girl lifted her head to look up at her, her eyes infinitely sad.
“And angry…” said her twin, Cileleil, looking up at her with a serious expression, “very angry.” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Death in the cold lands
Posted: 02 Sep 2006 11:27 AM |
Step after step, sinking almost to the knee in the snow on the upper slopes above Coldheart Canyon, the heavy winds blowing directly into his face so that he was forced to check his progress only on occasion; head bowed against the bitter chill and the snow driving against his gnarled face.
Soon now, though, he would be back at the camp with his kills, warmth and food and maybe if he were lucky even a woman to share his furs. They would eat well tonight; he had caught and killed two deer… TWO! He would eat well and in the never-ending roller coaster of life in the tribe his standing would for once be in the ascendant. The orc looked up briefly at the deep rumble of the storm above, his features lit momentarily by a flash of lightning as it arced across the clouds. The howl of the wind took over, almost drowning out the howls from a wolf pack some way in the distance.
It almost served, too, to drown out the sound of the arrow that screeched towards him from out of the darkness, impaling itself through one of his knees and causing him to fall to the ground, yelling at the top of his voice in rage and agony. Then another… and another, hissing out of the blizzard and driving deep into his flesh, yet still he lived. More arrows followed until at last he lay powerless on the snow, bleeding from a score of wounds, his howling growing louder to mingle with the sound of the wind.
Almost blinded by pain he at last made out the small, slender frame which stood above him, the snow clearing briefly to grant him a momentary view of a pair of green eyes. Lifeless, staring eyes. Then the final arrow came, entering his brain and bringing death, and no little relief.
The small figure pushed at the corpse with a foot, watching dispassionately as it rolled away down the slope, then walked off to look for more. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Death in the cold lands II
Posted: 02 Sep 2006 07:07 PM |
The blizzard hadn’t lessened in the slightest, the rolling thunder still hung over the canyon allowing the lightning to occasionally cast its eerie even through the driving snow.
It was the same in the ravine, those forced by necessity to be outside the crude hide tents somehow contrived to be never far away from one of the blazing camp fires, which gave off little enough warmth against the chill wind.
The first two guards died without a sound, falling to arrows that hissed from the darkness and found their targets with unerring accuracy. Two more fell in like fashion, the second falling forward into a fire, which suddenly burst into, a more intense flame, feeding hungrily on his apparel and flesh.
Alert now, other figures began to fall from the tents, barking to each other in their uncouth tongue as they peered into the blizzard for the enemy. More arrows… this time bearing flame, and tents began to burn, trapping those who could not fight within them.
A slight pause in the onslaught as the camp sank into chaos then the howl and screech of arrows came once more dealing death to several others. Amid all the chieftain raged, barking orders, struggling to make himself heard above the commotion.
More arrows, more deaths, and still no sign of an attacker, the camp growing quieter as the population dwindled, as those within the still burning tents gave up the struggle for life and ceased their screams.
At last the chieftain stood alone, berserk in his rage, yelling insult followed by challenge followed by insult into the darkness around him, brandishing his great axe as if daring death to find him also.
Yet it did, the razor sharp rapier drawn swiftly across to hamstring him. He whirled and swung his weapon in a searing arc at the small figure that ducked effortlessly under his blade then almost danced into range to deal two more savage cuts to his body. He hacked angrily again and again at the figure, each time missing and receiving payment in turn, his blood falling to the ground and staining the snow as it was trampled underfoot. Had he been calm enough to analyse his opponent he would no doubt have noted the silence. He certainly noticed the eyes, as the figure finally severed his spinal cord at the neck, not that he had time to consider what he saw in them.
She stood staring down at the corpse for a while, regaining her breath, then at last spoke for the first time in over a day.
“Enough,” she muttered tonelessly, “Enough… this serves nothing.”
She cleaned her blades on the dead chief’s furs and sheathed them, took her bow in hand and walked off towards Icy Vale. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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The robe
Posted: 03 Sep 2006 11:03 AM |
The anger had gone; the towering rage and need to lash out had dissipated as quickly as it had first appeared, under control again. Now she felt only a numb emptiness and pain.
She had walked from the cold lands and taken shelter here, still feeling the need to be alone, to suffer in silence, not knowing how she would react should she encounter someone and be forced to speak.
The cave was dry, for the most part at least, a pool here and there formed by water making its way through the rock above, but it was quiet, solitary, seldom used, and fitted her mood completely.
She wished the pain would go, leave her in peace, but she ached with it, every part of her being cried out at the sense of loss, as if part of her was being torn away never to be seen again.
She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, noting the blood which had dried on it, then briefly studying her clothing, which was as badly stained. Uncaring, she leaned back against the wall of the cave and stared into the darkness.
”They archers in the fores’ though’ it bes’ I see you alone m’lady,” the man had said, “foun’ a body y’see tho’ in truth no’ much o’ one, hardly anythin’ lef.’”
She reached into her pack and pulled out the robe he had passed to her, running her fingers along the faded, delicate embroidery.
“Elven work by the looks,” he had pointed out, “an they said… wha’ wi’ the late troubles an’ all… tha’ I shud bring it to ye like.”
Even in the dim light of the cave she could see the stains, the darker patches around the cruel rents in the fabric, where the blood had spilled from the wounds.
”Orcs I be reckunin’, ain’t much else rips up a body tha’ bad, see?” He had warmed to his tale then, explaining how expert he was at such things; that the archers, given that orcs were involved, had pointed him in her direction.
What he had not known was that the embroidery was indeed Elven. She had more reason than most to know it.
It was her own, painstakingly and at times inexpertly applied to the robe some two years ago, almost. She could remember sewing it as clearly as she could remember the giving of the robe as a gift.
She buried her face in the robe, smothering the sobs that leaped to her throat as the grief at last took hold. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Return
Posted: 05 Sep 2006 10:52 AM |
“Elmirie.”
The woman looked up at the sound of the soft voice at the figure approaching her, “Wait here a moment girls, while I speak with the Lady Nariel,” she said to the two small figures beside her. The druid approached rapidly, smiling briefly at the two children before shifting her gaze to their grandmother.
“How is Elvalia? What is going on?” She asked.
Elmirie’s brow creased in confusion, “Elvalia? I’ve not seen her since she left,” she replied, “you are saying she has returned?”
It was Nariel’s turn now to look confused, “Aala, some hours ago, she was seen by the archers in Latonei and the Warriors at the entrance… she has not been home?”
Elmirie glanced down at the two small children; their faces expressionless as they watched their elders converse, then shook her head.
Nariel thought for a few moments then beckoned to an Elf passing near by, conversing with him in a whispered exchange before he nodded and moved swiftly off. “We will find her,” she smiled, “I doubt she has gone far.” She turned then to the children, crouching down to look into their faces, “How are you two? Growing fast by the looks.”
The two identical faces looked back at her, Quillasela smiling openly while her sister, Cilaleil was more wary, reserved, “Will you make mother happy again?” Asked the latter.
Nariel shot a quick, bemused glance at Elmirie before composing her smile again and answering, “We will try, certainly, little one.”
The girls seemed reassured, a smile breaking out on Cilaleil’s features, “Grandmother is taking us to Tel’Elena! We are going to picnic in the gardens.”
“That is good,” answered the druid, “do you mind if I join you? I don’t eat very much.”
In reply the little girl simply reached out and took her hand, the four moving off to the Path of Elbereth, the children chattering and giggling as they embarked on what for them was clearly quite an adventure.
As the strolled along the walkway they were quickly approached by another Elf, bending his head to whisper to Nariel, who nodded in reply and turned to the children, “Now then young ones, what say we make a slight detour and go down to the river first? We can go to Tel’Elena after, would you like that?” As the children excitedly agreed the druid glanced at Elmirie with a slight nod and led the way to the stair, leaning towards Elmirie with a muttered “Over there,” accompanied by a nod of her head.
Elmirie followed her gaze and could just make out the small, motionless figure at the water’s edge. The girls too, having caught the exchange were looking in the same direction, the worry evident on their faces.
“Come girls,” said Nariel, “we’ll go and see the shrine while your grandmother speaks with her.”
She led the children off and Elmirie walked along the bank, pausing as she neared her daughter who merely sat, heedless and cross-legged, at the water’s edge. She took in the blood that seemingly stained every part of Elvalia’s clothing, her bare arms and legs, even her face and hair.
“Acelilceil?” She asked softly, “What is wrong? Where have you been?”
Elvalia turned her head slowly towards her; Elmirie flinched a little at her ashen, drawn expression, at the eyes, which were free of their usual animation and expressiveness.
Mistaking her mother’s reaction, Elvalia shrugged slightly, “The blood isn’t mine, I am unhurt.”
Brushing from her mind the question as to whose it actually was, Elmirie, her face showing puzzlement, merely asked, “Then why… where?”
Elvalia turned away, watching the ripples and eddies of the river’s current, “Fear,” she intoned, “anger, I ran away. Ran away and hid.”
Her shoulders sagged and her head drooped as she stared at her clasped, bloodstained hands without really seeing them, “If I ran and hid, I wouldn’t have to explain… it wouldn’t be real.”
Elmirie laid a hand on her shoulder, “I don’t understand….”
Her daughter reached into her bag and pulled out the robe, “That man… ironic really that he should ask for me… if it were not for this business over Dana and Ophelia it would doubtless have just been left with an archer, I might never have seen it,” as she spoke her fingers ran across the bloodstains on the material; traced the delicate lines of the embroidery, “I might never have known.”
She looked up at her mother, a single tear running down her cheek and mingling with the dried blood there, “It is Thorfin’s… my husband’s… he is dead.”
Elmirie gasped and her hand tightened on her daughter’s shoulder, “You are sure?”
Elvalia nodded, looking down as her fingers traced the delicate needlework, “Aala, the embroidery is mine, I gave him the robe as a gift.”
Elmirie sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace, trying to comfort her.
“I feel so… empty,” continued Elvalia, “ache all over as if part of me has just been ripped away.” She looked at her mother, “Tell me it will fade, that it will go.”
Elmirie smiled sadly, “I wish I could… but it will not, there is not a day when I do not feel the same way, even now. It is our curse.”
“I find myself wondering,” said Elvalia softly, “wondering how long he lay there, how long he took to die, whether he suffered,” she ran her hand over the weathered robe, “the gods only know how long ago he died and all this time I have carried the thought around with me that one day he would be back.”
Elmirie could do nothing, simply could not find the words.
“I warned him,” whispered Elvalia, “I warned him that it was dangerous to get close to me, that those who cared for me ended up hurt, that I couldn’t allow him to take the risk. He merely said it was his choice… not mine, Bron said the same.”
“But I wish now I had not listened, wish I had ignored them both, at least that way he would still be alive.”
“You cannot know that,” said Elmirie, ”you are just blaming yourself for something over which you had no control.”
There was merely silence for a few minutes.
“Perhaps so,” sighed Elvalia, “yet I fear the future, fear what I must do next. How do I tell the girls that the father they never saw is dead? That they will never see him. How can I do that to them?”
“It will not be easy,” nodded Elmirie, “but it may be easier than you think. And after all they will still have you.”
“I am a terrible mother,” said Elvalia, “they hardly see me, and when they do I have little time to spend with them. They scarcely know me.”
“Acelilceil…” said Elmirie, “that is simply not true. They adore you, when you are not at home they speak of little else.” She laughed huskily, “I am fast running out of tales to tell them of you, their appetite is bottomless.”
She pointed along the bank to where Nariel could be seen sitting with the two figures who were talking with her animatedly, “I do not doubt that right now they are doing exactly the same to Nariel: ‘Tell us what she did’, ‘Do you know her well?’ ‘Tell us a story about her.’”
“And besides,” she continued, “they know something is wrong, somehow better than I. They seem able to pick up on your feelings, your moods. But they look up to you, bad as the news you have to tell them is, they will recover in time. You did. They will have you to help them, and doing that will help you too.”
“Right at this moment you feel alone, abandoned, as you say as if part of your life has been simply torn from you. Part of that will never leave you but there are other things in your life. They cannot replace him, but they will help. You have the girls,” she smiled, “have me. But there are many people in Ferein who look to you no less than your daughters or I do. You have them also and they think a great deal of you for what you have done for them, even though I daresay you would not admit it.”
“You still have many things to do, Acelilceil, you will never forget him but you must go on, for the sake of others.” She got to her feet and held out her hand, pulling Elvalia up beside her.
“Come now,” she finished, “let us go and see your daughters. I will help you tell them. After all this is not new to me.”
((OOC - those who have been here a while will know that Elvalia's husband was not played by me. I would just like to make it clear that the decision to kill him off was not one I made alone, but done with the agreement of Tsu7 - in fact *narrows eyes* it was his suggestion.)) |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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After Elbereth's Dream
Posted: 27 Feb 2007 08:54 PM |
Itarillë gathered five of them, five who were needed. They were the Seer and the Priest. The Messenger. The Chosen. And, the Forgotten.
She spoke then of the time after Elbereth's dream. In the ancient language, the first language of music and images, she described how the fruit of Elbereth's dreams were driven out of the land of Fengduin by Helkris and her furies, and how Aros returned to the Elves who had been hidden from him, and led them to found the City of Minyaren.
This knowledge Salt took away to create a text, as he had created a text out of Silmarwen's words describing Elbereth's Dream.
First this was inscribed as closely as could be accomplished in the common tongue. This was Salt’s working tongue. He did this work at his home underneath Swiftfoot's Glade near Brandibuck Vale. To be specific, he dictated the words to a sharp-minded young Halfling scribe with excellent penmanship. The scribe had come with good recommendations. Salt tried to coerce him to have a celebratory drink after the work was finished, but the fellow declined.
After some revision hearing the work read aloud and dictating corrections the seer was satisfied that it was a good account. He had the document recopied clean onto good sturdy stock, twelve pages unilluminated. This was to be the original from which everything else would follow.
Now Salt set about making a translation into Elven. He read from the original and spoke the Elven words aloud, spelling out the trickier parts. The scribe was excellent, and true to type the fact that he did not understand the Elven tongue did not matter a wink. He found again that some residual of the language remained in his mind following the meeting with Silmarwen and Itarillë, which the latter had dominated. Even given this, the raven-haired Silmarwen dominated his thoughts. He had partaken of her dreams, foreseen much of what Itarillë had spoken to him, and Alton, and Elvalia, and the elven woman named Quella. And, the Forgotten Evayne. She too listened as Itarillë spoke.
The work of translation was difficult in the usual ways, but easier in others. Salt found it pleasurable to express what had not lent itself to written common, and found that he less translated this text and more recreated the story from Itarillë’s narrative. Once completed however, the two documents were very literally identical.
* * * * *
My sisters, and brothers, awoke in the realm of Fangduin, placed there by Elbereth. Nim there was also, and Zardoz, and Neek... and Daeron. We were in those days a more vigorous, more fertile race, where now children are rare, then were they plentiful. Marriage, the custom which prevails now, was unknown, and through us, through most of us, were many offspring born. As numbers increased, so too did unions and our numbers grew still further.
Some, however, had no young. Silmarwen was among them. For these such casual union was, even then, not desired. Among the first six, Silmarwen was alone in this, though there were others among our offspring and theirs who believed likewise.
After a time, too, those of us who had indulged more freely settled and became the leaders of our houses, myself among them. Thus it was that the houses of Itarillë, of Nim, and of Zardoz grew. For five thousand years we dwelt thus, our numbers growing ever larger, at peace with naught to trouble us while the world was yet young.
Such history as there was, such lore, was spoken as we may hear it now, unwritten, there was no tongue which suited the use of letters. We wandered among the fair forests of Fangduin, taking delight in our surroundings, in each other.
Yet our coming was hidden from the greatest of us. Elbereth hid knowledge of us from Aros. For those millenia it remained that way, we had no knowledge of him, of a seventh of our number. Of his whereabouts in those times, nothing is known, to us at least, nor of his deeds. To us, there was simply Elbereth, whom we came to call Mother, who would on a time wak, and sing with and among us.
Then began conflict.
During those years we knew only of ourselves, of the beasts, of the wild. Not all, as now, was friendly to us, and on a time one would fall to an animal of the wild, though such deaths were rare. We had little cause to look to our own defence, to arms or armour, weapons, save the occasional stave, were rare. It was then though, after the passage of some five thousand years, that we became aware of others, of those who sought to do us harm.
Orcs, we called them, from where they came none knew. Elbereth, when asked, would give no answer, and yet it was thought by some among the wisest that they were an attempt by someone at a Making, such as Elbereth had performed with the birth of the Firstcomers. An attempt, which failed. Recall you, that the power of Making was withheld, even from Aros.
And yet, None knew of his deeds before he came again.
Where we lived as part of the dream, the orcs sought its destruction. And so we knew war for the first time, knew death by violence for we were unprepared. Though our numbers were great, so too were theirs, breeding as they did far faster than we even at that time, and we were sorely tried. Then it was, at time of our greatest need, that Aros came among us.
At first, those among the Firstcomers, my sisters and brothers, were surprised. As we were hidden from him, so too had his existence been hidden from us. It was clear that though we held power greater than any now would know, so too did he hold power greater than ours.
"Eir aelseh Aelmaielilam"
"I am Aros", he said. "You may call me your Lord, for your protector I will be."
He it was who showed us weaponry, showed the creation of bows, of blades, showed the fashioning of armour. Taught us how we might defend ourselves from those who assailed us.
Many among our number through gratutude, or belief in his words, were beguiled, Itarillë among them, and so many indeed took him as their lord. Others, Neek and Daeron among them, did the same.
Others did not. Silmarwen was among these.
But, due to his aid, to his power, he rose to be Lord among us, and had as his followers a large part of our host. Among many of that number, through his actions, it was said, claimed, that he held equal status with Elbereth. Many began to worship him as they had done Her.
Yet still he desired more.
He had seen how among us the houses had grown, how we had offspring of our own. How in turn they had done the same. This he desired for himself also, that he would create with others a house of his own.
Silmarwen, alone among the Firstcomers, would have no young.
But of the House of Itarillë, there was one named Galan, who was her grandson. Galan was beloved by Silmarwen. He alone did she love, with him alone would she have lain.
Yet there was another who sought her affections.
This was Aros.
Silmarwen rejected him, refused all advances, saying she desired one, and one only. She would mate with no other since this was her will and belief. Also, as some, she distrusted him, wondering at his long absence before showing himself, wondering too at his appearance when we were at great need. Whispering, also, at the appearance of the orcs.
Aros smiled at her rejection, and by many it was believed that he accepted and respected her words. But, it was not long after this that Galan fell.
He was found torn.
By most it was told that he had fallen to the orcs, such things by then being not uncommon. There were, however, some who thought otherwise and looked to Aros with renewed distrust. Those who counted themselves among his followers, like Itarillë herself, refused to believe such of him, and so he continued to be held in his place of lordship.
After a time, he came once more to Silmarwen, and renewed his advances. Once more, she rebuffed him, saying that since the only Elf she had loved was gone, she would not seek another.
So it was that he put forth his power and attempted by means of its use to gain what he could not by means of words. Seeking to take by his greater might what she would not give willingly.
Then came Elbereth.
"This you will not do" She said. "Lesser they may be in your eyes, but no less in mine. Like you they are created in mine own image, like you they may choose to act and decide as they will. It is not for you to make decisions for them."
Elbereth said, "Some may call you Lord as they will, some may follow you as they will, but only should they choose to. Be warned, Aros that in doing such you may bring about that which you do not seek. You will not force my children against their will, as I would not force you."
And so this tale would evermore bring pain anew as well as pain to all who remembered it.
Aros abandoned his pursuit of Silmarwen, the Mother's words heavy on his mind. In time, as he continued in his aid, in his counsel, in his protection he grew to be revered by those among us who were unaware of these happenings.
The war continued, growing ever harsher. For hundreds of years we fought the orcs, until in time, from where we know not, Helkris appeared. With her, came the snows, the blizzards. The attacks increased.
With her also came Frezt. Against him, we could not stand. Until, in time, Aros came to Itarillë, saying that he had given thought to the Elves' need. He had given thought to how Frezt might be fought. Since he was immortal he would, through his powers, grant immortailty to Itarillë. By accepting this Itarillë would become mighty as Frezt and save her people.
Itarillë believed his words, having then no knowledge of his other deeds, and accepted. So it was that Itarillë gained life unending, so it was also that Itarillë learned that it would be in like form to Frezt.
Silmarwen, learning of this, took pity, and through her friendship, asked Elbereth that she might be granted the same. That she, Silmarwen, might be placed outside the Cycle that Itarillë should not be alone. That wish was granted. But, then it was that we learned that should we fight Frezt with our full might, we might break the world.
Fearing that we may, out of sympathy with the plight of our people, in fact do this, Elbereth decided instead that we should sleep.
Our people, now certain to lose, decided instead to yield the lands of our birth.
So began the long march.
North they travelled in one great host, some among the number, the lesser one, settled in Ferein. The greater number, for the most part followers of Aros, continued on, for the most part by sea, though some by land, until they came to Fenghuul.
Where later, they built at his suggestion a city, which was named Minyaren
* * * * *
The transcription and interpretation were without flaw, as was the work of the scribe. The text had written itself, as though his hand moved automatically animated by Salt's voice, which did not exactly speak with his own voice. It took on the qualities of writ or scripture. Its dictation and subsequent revision and transcription required five days of labor with very little rest.
Salt had his scribe make four copies of each, retaining one copy with his personal papers. Three in common and three in the Elven tongue would be delivered to Elvalia.
The originals would be, for now, placed within the library at Ladriel. Salt did this because he did not know what might differentiate the original scriptures from their copies.
Delivering these, Salt ruminated on the circumstances of their revelation as he waited for the coronation of Princess Sairalinde Nénharma, which would take place on the following day. |
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about dying."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever."
-Burt Reynolds, "The End" |
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Re: Aftermath of an Assassination
Posted: 02 Mar 2007 06:23 AM |
As she dropped the gown into the flames of the small campfire the light flared briefly, hissing at the dampness that still infused the materials as they evaporated into steam before beginning to burn. She watched the blaze briefly before turning away and walking to the river’s edge, where she sank listlessly to the ground.
For some considerable time she sat this way, unmoving, numb, as the events of the evening played through her mind; seeing again the death off the Princess. The bolt had come from nowhere, all present seemingly paralysed as Sairalindë had fallen to the ground. All eyes had been drawn towards her, thoughts more on protecting themselves than looking outward to find the attacker. Like them, she was equally at fault, rushing to hold the Princess, cradling her head as the poison had swiftly taken hold and she began to die. Black bile erupting from her mouth to soak Elvalia’s clothing, sores erupting on her skin and beginning to bleed and adding to the discharge.
It had been a terrible, unpleasant death, watching helplessly as Alton, Liana and Nariel tried all they knew to heal her. The wounds would close briefly, her face relax, but as soon as the spells were completed the cycle would begin again. All the magic achieved was to delay the inevitable and increase Sairalindë’s suffering as her flesh and organs were eaten from within, as she struggled to breathe air that would never come. It was the eyes that would remain in Elvalia’s memory, the confusion and agony of what the Princess was going through reflected in them as she had gazed up at the younger Elve, until as her flesh blackened, split apart, they remained the only recognisable feature.
Then they too had finally dimmed as death had come and Sairalindë found peace.
And then that peace for many, including Elvalia, had been shattered.
For the first time in over a year, Aros appeared before her, after endless prayer, questions, requests for guidance, he had finally shown his face.
But he was not here to console, quite the contrary, he was here to admonish, to punish, to criticise even the woman whose body lay – still warm – in Elvalia’s arms.
The message was clear; they had failed him, ignored his teachings even to the point of accepting one with human blood in her veins as Queen.
Two weeks to decide.
Two weeks after a lifetime of selfless service.
Elvalia looked down from where she sat at the reflection in the water, seeing for the first time that her hair and face also were bearing signs of the Princess’s death, where she had transferred blood and bile to them from her hands. Standing, she slipped easily out of the robe she had quickly snatched from her home without a word to her shocked mother and slid into the waters of the Oamael to bathe. For a few minutes, all thoughts were driven from her mind as she lowered her head beneath the waters, as their coolness invigorated her and washed away tiredness she had scarcely acknowledged. Clean at last, refreshed, she climbed from the river and slipped her robe over her head. A fishing line left to dry by Gasher served to tie back her hair and she sat once more on the bank allowing the warm evening airs to dry her.
Looking down again into the waters she once more caught sight of herself and, as were so many, was drawn by the eyes that stared back at her. To many they gave away little, but in their deep green depths she could see what they hid. There was grief, pain, betrayal, and beneath it all, smouldering quietly, suppressed as ever but now perhaps more apparent than usual, the anger.
Almost unbidden she heard the words again that Itarillë had spoken just a few short days ago. The tale of Aros’ attempt to seduce her friend Silmarwen, Galan’s mysterious death, Aros’ later attempt to subdue Silmarwen to his will by force.
The reflection in the waters mirrored the tear that now ran down her cheek as Itarillë’s voice rang in her head almost as if she were stood beside her, speaking the words of Elbereth.
"This you will not do. Lesser they may be in your eyes, but no less in mine. Like you they are created in mine own image, like you they may choose to act and decide as they will. It is not for you to make decisions for them.
Some may call you Lord as they will, some may follow you as they will, but only should they choose to. Be warned, Aros that in doing such you may bring about that which you do not seek. You will not force my children against their will, as I would not force you.”
The reflection began to break up, disturbed by further tears that joined the first, then disappeared completely as she buried her face in her hands and began to sob uncontrollably.
As the sound carried into the evening silence her voice too, almost inaudible, quavering, could be heard, muffled by her hands as she whispered, “You did not listen did you? I wish you had, but you didn’t listen.” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Re: Farewell
Posted: 09 Mar 2007 08:44 AM |
The sun had sunk to the point where its disc rested on the horizon, bathing the waters of the Inner Sea in a mixture of fiery tones, the shadows lengthening beneath the trees on the shoreline slopes of Ferein, which lay in silence; at least as far as talk and song were concerned.
Even here down at the dwarven encampment it had not been uncommon to hear the voices of the Elven folk of the realm as they went about their business, but not now… not for a week at least. The air of mourning was natural enough, given the death of the Princess, yet added to it was the uncertainty of what the future held for the realm. Leaderless, living under an ultimatum given by no less a being than one of their own deities; an ultimatum, moreover, of which half the time of grace had passed.
The dwarves of Bregodim knew all this, and while it concerned them little personally they had sympathy enough. The Elves after all had given them refuge, fed them, allowed them time and space to heal and regain their strength after the loss of their home. It was even possible for those who stood watch to appreciate the beauty of such an evening, alien as the surroundings were. The air of depression, though, covered all, muting even their behaviour.
There was something different about this day though, the silence if anything even more pronounced than it had been, an air of anticipation almost, even of purpose perhaps. One thing the dwarves, as they went about their day, had noticed, was that Lomyril the dockhand had been missing, as – unusually – had the Holy Warriors. Gone from their ever-present place of watch on the highest of the slopes. In fact, it came to mind, if one of the dwarven folk had considered it, that not a single Elf had been seen all day.
The small boat when it appeared then was a break in the monotony of the day for the watching dwarves as it appeared from the darkening skies. Elegant, some might say even beautiful in its simplicity. Its timbers a glistening white, carefully shaven and shaped to form a design that cut through the waters with barely a ripple. It bore but two passengers, one at the fore and another in the stern, at either end of what appeared to be a central platform that rose above the line of the gunwales. Both Elves, they guided it to the shore with expert use of oars and beached it. There they climbed from the boat, stowing the oars within, and simply stood in silence, under the silent but inquisitive gaze of the dwarves, waiting.
“There,” she said, as she finished braiding the child’s hair and adjusted the white unadorned robe around the small body, “you look quite grown up, both of you. Just a few minutes now while I finish preparing and then we’ll be off.”
She turned to the mirror and began to run the comb through her own blonde hair, arranging it in like manner to that of the children, who she could see watching behind her, their expressions grave.
“You understand what we do today Quilasela? Cilaleil?”
The young ones nodded as she completed her task and turned to face them, crouching and reaching out with her hands to clasp a smaller one gently in each. “Grandmother doubtless explained,” she said, “so you know there is no need for sadness. Today is a good day, a happy one.”
Her smile was encouraging, infectious, and soon returned by the two children as she pulled them closer and gathered them into an embrace. “Good. We had best go then, you’re grandmother will be wondering what has happened to us.”
They left the house and stepped into the garden, the rays of light from the setting sun breaking through the foliage and casting motes of light across their hair, skin and clothing. Walking across the plush grass they met Elmirie, waiting by the pool and feeding the stag. She turned towards them with a smile, clad as were they in simple, unadorned white, her hair arranged in coils and braids as was theirs.
Wordlessly the four Elves made their way through Eden then down to the Path of Aros, where others were beginning to arrive, Elves by the score, by the hundred, by the thousand. Silently Elvalia and her family joined the others as they walked through the trees towards the shoreline. No conversation was heard, no one spoke, each alone with their thoughts as they walked almost without common purpose, the sea of white clad Elvendom threaded its way through the trees. With only the last weak rays of the sun, now almost completely set, to light their path, every Elf of Ferein, every Elve, every child, had donned mourning attire and gathered now on the slopes of Ferein’s shoreline in complete silence.
As the gathering had begun, the dwarves, perhaps guessing at the purpose, had extinguished fires and torches and now stood surveying the scene as all but the absent legions now stood in silence, every face turned toward the gate to Ferein.
The sun extinguished itself at last, leaving the scene unlit as all waited, the silence broken only by the gentle sound of the waters lapping on the shore, the light breeze in the foliage of the trees, and the occasional sound of movement from some nocturnal bird or animal.
For some time it remained thus, every figure young or old silent, motionless, until at last the moon began to break the hidden line of the horizon. As it did so the last of the Elves came into view, a small procession and yet a poignant one.
Led by Náriël Arnatuilë, the small group of druids, like all others white clad, unadorned, led while behind came a bier, pure white, carried by four members of the palace guard and followed by every Holy Warrior of the realm, their weapons and robes put aside to wear the colour the occasion demanded.
Upon the bier lay, beneath a cloth of gold, the small, shrouded form of Princess Sairalindë Nénharma, her features hidden from sight in a break from tradition.
Silently the procession made its way to the shoreline where, as the moon rose and it’s light gathered strength, the bier was placed upon the boat’s platform.
Then, once more, all waited.
Every eye turned to watch as the moon climbed ever higher, its disc growing as it climbed.
When at last it broke free entirely from the waters the clear voice of Náriël broke the silence as she began the lament.
Amirama irillaan anirey vela?
Anira Oemalaan Aanamlilc,
Irilanir amacnyes'w aniraa vcilwca,
Ilcc Seaniram leam laaala aniraa,
Oem aelam Laira irailmla aniraa,
Iram Ceela lairilcc asfmilnya aniraa,
Le sema fa anirey ilcela.
As the song continued the druid’s voice was joined by two others, younger, clearer, their piping tones joining in harmony. Dumbstruck, Elvalia looked down at the children whose hands she still held, watching as her daughters sang and then joining her voice to theirs with a smile. Others followed suit and the lament flowed across the waters, through the trees of Ferein as every one of its citizens bade farewell to their ruler.
Amirama irillaan anirey vela?
Anira oemalaan ceala astyana,
E laailmnyir oem anira tyillalaelv,
Anira waam irilela lean laaal aniraa,
Anira femwla irilela lean irailmw aniraa,
Anira vcilwa weanir lean irecw aniraa,
Anira ilvaw eiln laanillwla ilcela.
Amirama irillaan anirey vela?
Anira amelw anirmeyvir anira fmillnyirala,
Veelala eleenya ane sa celvelv,
Le aaala nyill leam laaa aniraa,
Le ailmla nyill leam irailm aniraa,
Le ilmsla nyill leam irecw aniraa,
Acfamaanir nyilccla aniraa iresa.
Amirama irillaan anirey vela?
Anira Oemalaan Aanamlilc,
Irilanir amacnyes'w aniraa vcilwca,
Ilcc Seaniram leam laaala aniraa,
Oem aelam Laira irailmla aniraa,
Iram Ceela lairilcc asfmilnya aniraa,
Le sema fa anirey ilcela.
Amirama irillaan anirey vela?
Ane amirama E lairilcc oecceam,
Amiral E'ela vmeaml anee amailma,
Sela aaala amecc aniral laaa aniraa,
Sela ailmla amecc aniral irailm aniraa,
Sela ilmsla amecc aniral irecw aniraa,
Amiral E amecc irilela nyesa iresa.
Twenty four thousand voices fell silent as Náriël muttered a barely heard invocation.
The flame she conjured was weak at first, almost as if it knew somehow that it was not yet time to do its work, but merely smouldered as the boat was gently guided into the waters and began to drift with infinite slowness from the shore.
As it distanced itself by a few dozen yards the fire took hold, growing in strength as it fed upon the wood of the platform.
The silence was broken once more by Quilasela and Cilaleil as again they began to sing and were joined by all who watched. Once more, as her body was engulfed, the farewell of her people took to the air in almost perfect chorus. Somehow, though none would later be able to explain how, the words sung in elven resolved themselves into language even the dwarves would understand. Each who stood, watched, and listened swearing on their lives in later years that Ferein had sung in dwarven for their benefit.
Where hast thou gone?
The one I would look to,
For Loving and Laughter
Mine eyes cannot see thee,
Mine ears cannot hear thee,
Mine arms cannot hold thee
My heart falters alone
Where hast thou gone?
The forest lies empty,
I search for thy passing,
The deer have not seen thee,
The birds have not heard thee,
The glade doth not hold thee,
The aged oak stands alone.
Where hast thou gone?
The wind through the branches,
Gives voice to my longing,
No eyes can now see thee,
No ears can now hear thee,
No arms can now hold thee,
Elbereth calls thee home.
Where hast thou gone?
The Forest Eternal,
Hath welcom'd thee gladly,
All Mother now sees thee,
For ever She hears thee,
Her Love shall embrace thee,
No more be thou alone.
Where hast thou gone?
To where I shall follow,
When I've grown too weary,
Mine eyes will then see thee,
Mine ears will then hear thee,
Mine arms will then hold thee,
When I will have come home.
As the lament ended once more, the fire was at last extinguished, the merest skeleton of the boat remaining as, like all who died within the realm, Sairalindë’s ashes were dispersed in the waters of the Inner Sea. Safe at last and one with the Cycle.
The Elves began to leave, return to their homes. Some staying longer, caught by the moment.
Elvalia knelt and embraced her daughters, finding it difficult to contain her pride at what they had done, but turned as she heard Náriël clear her throat softly behind her.
Without preamble the High Druid put into words the question Elvalia had seen in the eyes of almost every Elf in the past week.
“What now?”
Still holding her children Elvalia smiled, “Now?”
She released the children and rose, still smiling at her friend, “Now I shall go home with my family and eat.”
She laughed then at the momentary confusion on Náriël’s face before her face straightened. “But tomorrow, a Council I think. I will see you there.”
Then with a last look at the waters she gathered her daughters’ hands and began to walk back up the slope towards her home. |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Requiem
Posted: 08 Apr 2007 12:29 PM |
Elmirie watched the aged man as he walked through the trees of Eden, his outline fading as the mists swallowed Salt’s form. She glanced back at the open door of the dwelling behind her, empty even of the children who had been taken down to the river for the evening.
“There were times when for long periods she would be away, or would disappear for a time without word. And yet only now does this place seem empty.” Her own words spoken a few minutes before echoed in her mind, making the decision for her, and rather than re-enter she wandered for a time through the garden, sitting at last on the shaded bench. Below her ran the Path of Aros, silent save for the sounds of nature. To her left she could look out over the shoreline and the Inner Sea.
She reached into a pocket of her robes, reading again through the note that had slipped wordlessly beneath the door after her daughter’s death. Though signed the woman who had written it was unknown to her, it nevertheless, as Salt had done, expressed condolences, “Though the loss of your daughter must hurt greatly, I'm sure you are proud of the choices she made”
“Am I proud?” Thought Elmirie, watching the sunset, “Devastated, bereft, fearful… grief-stricken, yes of course. Also though, I am confused.” Like Salt the letter had expressed no surprise at Elvalia’s actions while her mother’s overriding thought was…why?
Náriël had come soon after the events on the shoreline, accompanied by a young druidess who had ushered the children away on some pretext, out of earshot. At her quiet account of events Elmirie’s thoughts even then had cut through her shock and grief. Why? Why had she pushed him so? By all accounts even after her earlier words he was leaving, he would have departed without further word or action had she not called him back and named him an enemy of Ferein. Whatever she had said earlier – and Náriël’s breathless account was sketchy at best – that final insult had been unbearable to him, had resulted in her daughter’s death.
Once more Elmirie was forced to ask herself, as so often before, how much she knew of or how well she understood her daughter. As always the answer was… little. She was no stranger to grief, however, understood well enough the pain and destitution it could bring; still woke often with the coldness of her husband’s loss gripping her heart.
The children… had taken the news silently, with no outward sign of grief. Like their mother Elmirie knew that whatever they felt or thought on this occasion would remain known only to them… or perhaps each other. She wondered whether like her they had come to think of Elvalia as indestructible, whether they expected, as she had caught herself doing, that she would appear without announcement on the threshold, as usual with little word of where she had been or what she had done.
Not this time.
Elmirie stood and retraced her steps to the house, stepping through the door which still remained open. Her eye caught the desk, the ornate box kept locked by her daughter, no doubt containing official papers or, if not, private ones.
With an inward sigh she approached and opened the drawer, taking from it the key she knew was kept there, and opened the box. Whatever she had imagined might lie there perhaps the least expected was the letter addressed to her in her daughter’s hand.
She broke the seal and read, her brow creased slightly in a mixture of surprise and puzzlement.
“Mother
If you have found and are reading this then it is doubtless by now apparent that, for whatever reason, I shall not be returning.
Within this casket you will find several documents I have at times written, meaning for the girls to read them when they are of an age to understand. Please, read them yourself if you wish.
I am aware that I am less than forthcoming… less… sociable than most, even among those I love and care for; perhaps more so in their case. Hopefully, reading my words will help you, and others, understand a little better.
I hope that is so.
I have no fears for my daughters, know that with you more than any other they will be safe, will come to live as the elves I would wish them to be. Know that you and they have my love as you always have, whatever may have happened.
Do not grieve for me. Whatever the means of my passing have no doubt that it came about for the right reasons, that I ended as I lived in the belief that what I was doing was right for myself, for you, for my children, and for my people. Whatever I may have done was carried out neither thoughtlessly nor needlessly.
Read my words. Understand and remember.
Your daughter
Elvalia”
Elmirie blinked away her tears at the muffled sound of approaching footsteps and rose to open the door to her grandchildren and the young druid who had been caring for them. Thanking him, she closed the door as he departed and turned to the small forms with a smile.
“Come and join me children, we have something to read” |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Memories
Posted: 11 Apr 2007 06:40 AM |
“E amecc ammeana sema, anirama ilma anesala amiral E irilela oacan E we lean aelal anmyca nleam salaaco. Tyamiriltyla illa ama nyesa ane nleam ela illeaniram ean sila fa anirilan anirela amecc nyesa ane tyillala, E tymila anirilan ean weala.
Oem leam, nleam anirela synyir; anira elca nyamanilelana:
E ils Acelilceil, E ils ill acela… illa ilma aey.”
Elmirie finished reading, blinking away the blurred vision and looked down at the two children.
Silently, they looked up at her from the parchment and she momentarily caught her breath at the mental jolt as the two faces looked up at her, torn back over a century to when their mother would look up at her with the same curious, guarded expression she saw now – even if in this case it was duplicated.
“So like her,” she thought, “the eye colouring, the hair, and yet differences too, while they look so much like her they also carry their father.”
Carefully she rolled the scroll, placing it back into the casket among the other papers as she waited for an inevitable reaction.
To her surprise, there was none. Both girls seemed more intent on what she would say than in passing comment on their mother’s words. Warily, she decided to push.
“Is there anything you want to ask me, children?” She asked.
They glanced at each other, still silent, and then shook their heads. “Nothing at all? Truly?”
“We already knew,” said Cilaleil quietly, “she couldn’t hide it from us.”
Elmirie felt a momentary pang of jealousy, having to bite back the automatic response that she wished she had known their mother as well, and at last simply nodded with a careful smile.
“She was many things to many people,” she said, “as you grow you will doubtless hear a great deal more. Some true, some not. What you need to understand though is that whatever she did, it was for the best as she saw it, and not always for herself.”
“Some, probably many, would not see it that way, would tell you otherwise, you understand that?”
“Aala,” said Quilasela, “but we would not believe them.” Her small hand reached out towards the casket, “May we hear more?”
“Later, perhaps,” said Elmirie, “after you have rested.”
Accepting the lightly veiled hint without further word the children began to make their way towards their room, but paused on the threshold.
“Grandmother?” Asked Cilaleil.
“Aala,” smiled Elmirie, thinking that perhaps now they meant to open themselves to her, allow her into their thoughts.
“The statue,” Cilaleil said gravely, “the one outside... of him. I don’t think mother will want it there.”
Momentarily taken aback, Elmirie nodded, “I will see to it.”
It was only after the girls had closed the door behind them that their words sank in, and she frowned, “will want?”
With a sigh she reached out and closed the casket, locking it carefully. She had known this would not be easy, what she had not appreciated was exactly how difficult it would prove to be.
((OOC Note, the translation of the passage at the beginning of this post may be found earlier in the thread)) |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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