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GrandChildren |
Ce'Leste D'Riel
Va'Lan D'Riel
An'Lin D'Riel
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The mists in the place between coiled around Y’Roden’s limbs, tugging at his clothing as if in an attempt to hold him back from destiny. He knew this was right though, the Prophecy, the timing… there was nothing else it could truly mean. Pushing forward he sought out the stone… the place he had emerged from nearly fifty years before. Time was precious, the longer An’Thaya and Callan hovered in the Aethyr Well, the greater the chance the Amazon would die.
There it was, just as he remembered, and an instinctive touch made the illusion ripple, then fall away, revealing a slick stairwell that lead down into the darkness. He pushed away the memories that fought to emerge as the sole of his boot came down on the first step. Sal… standing on the top of the stairs, Ghet’s face as they emerged from the chamber… and B’Rodyn…
The light stung his eyes, sudden changes always did, the legacy of eight hundred years trapped in Tenobrous. The domed ceiling was alive with ethereal light and the triangular slabs of crystal that formed a tight spiral on the floor glistened beneath it. The points faced inward, the round room creating a focal point in the centre where three emerald sarcophagi stood propped slightly off their ends, each marked with a convex indentation just over the chest of their occupants.
The one facing Y’Roden held a woman, beautiful, seemingly untouched… a member of the D’Riel line that he could no longer remember the name of. She had died unnaturally, and so here she lay, along with any of their family line that had fell by the sword or accident, waiting for release.
It was not her day to be free… and although he was tempted to touch the surface, to ask her name, how she died… he resisted. Circling the triad he paused to gaze at his Uncle Y’Ardyn, then took the final few steps that brought him to the casket in which B’Rodyn lay. The same casket which he had been sealed in himself so long ago…
"Help me. Gods, help me get him out of here."
The world was green, hazy and somewhat unreal. His lungs were struggling for air, but there was none to be had. He was alive, and he couldn't remember how he had ended up here. Ghet's face had been there when the darkness had claimed him, and it was there again now. But what was separating them? Why couldn't he touch her? Gods... why couldn't he breathe? His hand slammed into the crystal, his palms flat against Ghet's as he sought out her gaze.
Jolting back to the present Ro shook his head, fingers squeezing tight around the large emerald that rested in his palm. He stared down at it for a moment, then reached out to place it in the designated spot.
There was a snap as the seal around the edges gave way, and if the coffin had been placed standing completely on its end the lid would have flown off on its own. As it was it sat on a bit of a diagonal, not quite upright, so it took a second shove on Y’Roden’s part, this time lifting slightly to the side, before the top of the casket flew free and crashed onto the floor.
Drawing a dizzying breath of oxygen he lay absolutely still for a moment, just concentrating the pain of breathing again. Where am I? How did I get here?
Ghet rushed back to Y'Roden as soon as the lid was off. She wanted him out of that bloody box, but she had the sense to realise he'd need a minute before he could stand. She wrapped her arms around him gently and kissed him.
"It's okay, honey, I'm here. B’Rodyn’s here. Sal's upstairs. Chez brought you here after I... what do you remember? Just take your time, my love."
Fighting with the memories, the S’Hean King laid his hands on the crystal casket, closed his eyes, and cast out in search of his Cousin’s soul.
B’Rodyn?
For a moment all was dark, then a pinpoint of light blinked like a star, pulsing for a moment in Y’Roden’s mind’s eye. He followed it, seeking the source, feeling the landscape change around him… and suddenly; he was standing in his study.
No… it was B’Rodyn’s study, and the Elf was seated at his desk, scribbling on a piece of parchment, dark chestnut hair hiding his flawless Elven features like a soft curtain.
B’Rodyn.
Yes Y’Roden… I’ll be with you in just a moment. I have to finish this… I seem to have been at it forever… What are you doing here anyway?
Put down the quill B’Rodyn… it is time to come home.
The tall Elf finally lifted his head, eyes that matched Y’Roden’s lighting with questions and confusion. I am home… aren’t I?
The half-elf smiled ruefully and shook his head, No B’Ro… you know where you are. Give me your hand. Reaching across the desk he offered his to his Cousin, palm up. You are needed… our people need you.
Well… why didn’t you just say so? the dead King enquired, putting his hand in Ro’s, You always were slow with getting to the point.
There was a physical jolt and a stab of pain as Ro’s consciousness reconnected with his body. Dark lashes lifted and he drew in a shuddering breath, his gaze meeting B’Rodyn’s as the Elf did the same. Long unused lungs trying to drag in oxygen, and only receiving the burn of carbon monoxide inside the casket.
“Hang on, I’ll have you right out of there,” the half-elf muttered, large fingers spinning the emerald widdershins before he stepped back, clearing the way. “Come on B’Ro… you can do it.”
Dazed, B’Rodyn pressed his palms against the crystal, realizing somehow that it was the barrier between himself and life giving air. He could see Y’Roden, just for a moment, and then there was just a green tinged room and the sound of his own heart magnified by the enclosing crystal.
A blow with the heels of his hands barely budged the crystal, but it broke the seal with a loud crack. He could smell nutmeg and cinnamon… Chezlar, the messenger had put him here… things were starting to make terrifying sense. He was dead… or had been. A second blow cracked the seal open further, and he desperately sucked fresh air into tortured lungs.
“Ro? Gods dammit… help me with this,” he wheezed.
Callused fingers wrapped around the lid and jerked, tearing the top of the casket free and letting it fall to the floor. “Wimp,” Ro teased, reaching in help B’Rodyn from the coffin.
“Oh sure, I get the feeling I’ve been dead a lot longer than you were… my gods… just… put me down on the floor. Why the hell did you wake me?” He felt like a rag doll, his body uncooperative as his brain told it where he wanted it to go. Perhaps he might have felt pain, but that, for B’Rodyn D’Riel, was impossible.
“I don’t really have the time to explain. Prophecy, to say the least. S’Hea is dying B’Rodyn, and I can’t save her. Come on… remember this? The emerald remember? It will give you the strength to go… there is very little time, if you don’t get back to Nenlante quickly, An’Thaya will die.”
“An’Thaya?” The S’Hean watched with a numb expression as his hand was placed over the Emerald and the familiar searing burn of Aethyr filled his veins, charged with power and light.
“You will understand soon enough,” Y’Roden murmured softly, his gaze avoiding his Cousin’s as he waited for the powerful little gem to do its work.
“Ok… ok, enough…” Pulling his hand back the chestnut haired elf crawled a few feet off to the side, stumbling awkwardly to his feet before falling against the wall. Tugging at his shirt he ran callused fingertips over the long scar that ran horizontally up his stomach. Memories of his death were beginning to form… Tallin’s face… the soft feel of Gwen behind him as he sought to protect her… and… nothing, he had felt nothing as the blade had sliced through his flesh, but he had heard Gwen’s scream as it drove through her as well… impaling both of them to the wall.
“Oh Gods…” Reality was beginning to hit him… Tallin had murdered his wife… slaughtered his child. “Oh Gods no…”
“B’Ro? I’m sorry, we don’t have the time for this… you have to go back.” Urgency was plain in Y’Roden’s tone, “You can’t let An’Thaya die.”
The back of his hand pressed against his mouth B’Ro turned to look at him, agony written in the depths of his gaze. “Alright… ok… What do you mean me? Aren’t you…?”
The ring of steel bounced off the chamber as the King of S’Hea drew the hand and a half sword from it’s harness on his back. He offered it to B’Rodyn hilt first.
“No… B’Ro… I’m not.” He smiled a little wistfully through haunted eyes letting the other Elf see through to the depths of his tortured soul. “Set me free… give me peace, Dragon’s Heart…give me what no one else will.”
There were few people who knew what Y’Roden D’Riel had lived through in, by Elven terms, his very young life. It was all far too much and far too early to be borne easily, and a lesser man would have given in to insanity long ago. B’Rodyn knew this… he had watched, understood, been there when Ro needed him. He had helped to bring the Demon Elf out of Tenobrous, had seen the twisted, crazed creature his Cousin had become. Through the years he had been truly amazed by the come back the half-elf had made, by his passion for love and life, but underneath it all he had sensed the darkness, the madness that threatened to tear Y’Roden apart from the inside out. Too much had been lost… too much sacrificed in the name of self-recrimination and guilt.
No man could live with his personal demons forever… and Ro had finally reached his limit. It was there in his eyes… it was there in his soul…
Fingers that were still stiff and cold wrapped around the hilt of the sword, though B’Rodyn’s gaze never left his Cousin’s. Perhaps this was destiny… or perhaps… only mercy. He nodded, there were no words, and there didn’t need to be. He would take back the throne; he would care for Y’Roden’s children as if they were his own… he would carry on where Ro had left off.
And from the half-elf… came only that smile, and a gleam of gratitude through the shadows.
A wild yell of grief tore from B’Rodyn’s chest as he brought the sword to bear, refusing to look anywhere else but Y’Roden’s eyes as he drove the sword home. The crypt seemed to scream… perhaps just a play of sound… but B’Rodyn doubted it. A chorus of D’Riel voices… It was a horrible, gut wrenching thing to watch the light go out of eyes you had seen dance with joy and happiness, to see a wounded soul collapse in on itself… and even worse to face the fact that it was only here a man as noble and giving as Ro would find what he needed. Silence…
Yanking Tager’s old sword free from Ro’s body B’Ro reached out, trying to hold the heavier elf up for a moment, then falling to his knees as Y’Roden’s sheer weight took them both down. Emerald fire danced between them, threads of green and a small number of other hues wrenched free of the dying King and slammed into B’Rodyn with the force of a cracking whip, dancing over his flesh like green lightning as the nexus returned the elder D’Riel. The sword fell forgotten on the crystal floor and crimson seemed to be everywhere… flowing in sticky pools… on his hands… on his clothes… running through grooves in the crystal. A choke was the only sound he could manage, S’Heans were never ashamed of their tears, he let them flow freely, sitting there… never feeling more alone, even among the thousands of confused voices whispering in his mind.
“Let me help you.” B’Ro knew the tri-toned voice well. Their guide, their guardian, their angel of death.
He managed a movement of his head, staring straight ahead as the massive Changeling knelt to lift Y’Roden from the floor, lifting him as easily as a man would a child, and laying him in the casket B’Rodyn had just been released from. He could hear Chez replacing the lid, the scrape of the emerald being turned in place.
“You have to go now,” the Messenger said gently, “they need you.”
The Emerald was suddenly right in front of his face, seeming small in the palm of that impossibly large hand. Angry emerald eyes flickered up to meet orbs of liquid gold.
“Not. Without. Gwen.”
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