|
GrandChildren |
Ce'Leste D'Riel
Va'Lan D'Riel
An'Lin D'Riel
|
|
|
|
Moonlight stained the balcony, the slight chill of evening still hanging on the air like the heavy mists from the waterfalls. Ro had been sitting there in a chair all night, since just after Mira and Bran had taken Silverthorn and gone back to Aerdon. He felt cold on the inside; starkly empty in a way he had … forgotten. The silence was deafening, and tendrils of his soul sought out ghosts of a bond that was no longer there. Dying had been easier than this… certainly less painful.
Twice during the long hours of darkness his temperature had spiked dangerously, his body shaking with pain as black poison worked its way through his veins and ate at his flesh. He had borne it blankly, accepting the agony, but for one of his rare moments, not enjoying it. Eventually it passed, something within him fighting it off, where on the surface, Ro couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
It would be dawn soon… and he would have to plaster on a smile, pretend everything was all right, and explain why his wife was no longer by his side.
There was a low knock on the door, and at first he ignored it. The second time was louder, and he wondered if it was the same courtier that had annoyed him two days ago. A callused hand scrubbed at his face in irritation and the half-elf turned to look through the balcony doors. “WHAT?”
There was that silence again, but it was Ja’Kel that poked his head through the double doors that led into Y’Roden’s chambers.
“Your Majesty? There is a … Foxxfire Evenstar here to see you. She says that Ghetsuhm Riker sent her.”
Y’Roden just stared for a moment, his brain incapable of comprehending what reason Foxx could possibly have for coming to Nenlante. Then the conversation with Ghet came pouring back in… and he cringed. The memory nearly pounded him back down again… he adored Ghet, and he had treated her hideously… Gods he hated the choices, having to give up one thing for another. And now… it hardly mattered, he was left without his wife, and without the woman who had been friend and lover for centuries.
“Send her in,” he said finally, watching with dead eyes as the Ranger slipped back out into the hallway.
The peaceful courtyard Silverthorn's invite had guided Foxx's portal to seemed increasingly at odds with the ambiance which suffused the palace. Right up until outside Y’Roden’s rooms Foxx had been able to write the unease she was feeling off to the sickness of the land and the tension, which would obviously result in the capital of the kingdom. However, the reluctance of Y’Roden’s attendant to grant admittance, the fact that Y’Roden was alone at such an hour and so soon after a visit from Ghet. . It all added up to a certain amount emotional tension above and beyond what the half elf would have liked to have found. The discretionary part of her mind decided whatever was going on wasn't any of her business, and did its best to make her stop thinking about it, largely through delegation to the piece responsible for justifications and pat explanations. Which in turn pointed out that Ghet had been tense above and beyond the usual and that likely whatever she was feeling was the result of the sickness and therefore, it would be perfectly natural that the S’Hean population, and obviously, perhaps even more so on account of the web, its monarch would also be tense. Further, in a place where she felt this heavy, and there was humidity which clung like a second skin after the perfectly calibrated and manufactured air of Rikers, ominous feelings of doom were probably perfectly normal. Content to dismiss her concerns under those explanations she rocked on her heels in the ante-chamber, hummed under her breath, and avoided looking at Marius (as she had been since they'd encountered Ja'Kel) on the off chance he was getting the 'something isn't right' vibes too. They'd go in and see Y'ro, who was probably tired and cranky in a perfectly normal sort of way, drop off the med's, take whatever messages there were for Ghet, and go. Easy. Simple. Hopefully. Gods willing.
As the doors opened and Ja’Kel reappeared Foxx near jumped from her skin, unsure whether it was sudden or had taken gods-damned long enough. Not waiting for the ranger to speak she stepped forward, then hesitated "Right!. Uhm . . Lover?" She wasn't going to look at him yet, but as sure as hairs were standing on her neck, it'd be good to hear his voice. It distracted her momentarily, the revelation striking home that she'd feel more centered. With him there, they could do this.
"You'd better be talking to me," Marius murmured, reaching out to brush his hand against the back of hers reassuringly. "I've heard things about S'Heans, and I can do without that kind of competition."
They followed the ranger through the doors, and Marius saw Y'Roden. The only outward sign was a slight widening of the eyes, and a glance he'd shot at Foxx before he could stop it. The S'Hean king looked like shit.
A false air of calm thinly veiled the wild look flashing in the depths of Y’Roden’s eyes, his soul throbbing in distress behind the shattered windows of faceted green. A light sheen of sweat clung to tanned flesh that seemed doubly webbed in the low light of S’Hean Orbs, one of glimmering white scars that had accumulated over the years, the other a ebony tracing of poison filled veins.
“Take whatever it is you have and go,” he growled, “unless it’s a cure, I highly doubt it is going to do me much good.”
The atmosphere of threat in the room was pushing on Marius, making him want to shove Foxx back out through the doors despite the fact that she was both essential and well capable of looking after herself. His voice when he spoke was low and level. "Now, I thought you kind of liked me. You know full well if we go home now my mother will kill me."
Foxx did her best to kill the flight and regroup somewhere far, far away and five drinks later impulse engendered by the room's atmosphere and Y'Roden's state, and with consummate effort managed to redirect it into a very short and slightly higher pitched than usual giggle and the trite phrase "But you haven't even seen our fabulous prizes . .". Delivery faltered somewhat when her voice broke. Fortunately, the failed delivery did remind her that saying yes sir and getting out of the room as quickly as possible was neither her style, nor in accordance with her promises to Ghet. Besides, sure Y’Roden was all, really, really massive and intimidating right now, but she'd never been frightened of him before. The redhead took a deep breath, took a moment for internal conversation Big scary outside, soooft cuddly inside, released it and shrugged. "We're not going anywhere til we have you in an armband. Not just because Ghet is edgy, and I can't bear to have her yelling at us, by which I mean Marius, right now, especially because when we get back I am having a huge meal and I'd like to have it in relative peace. Nor just because we made sure the flashing lights would match your eyes, and a fashion opportunity like this only comes along once . . rarely. Rather, mostly because in this lighting your bicep looks bigger than Marius' head and I have to check that out."
When the tension failed to even waver slightly Foxx shook her head, enjoying the tickle of her hair in its ponytail against her neck, sighed, clutched the bag and headed purposefully for Y'Roden. While she doubted it would be that simple with the S'Hean king, she'd managed to bulldoze enough people in her time by ignoring objections that she figured it worth a try. The black tracing was obviously not good and she wasn't about to waste her time and allow his condition to deteriorate while she attempted to find someone she knew who might be able to help. Especially in a place where she wasn't even sure where the sun was rising from, nevermind where to find personal quarters.
The half-elf’s irises bled red as he stepped abruptly back from Foxx and he visibly shook, as if trying to restrain something from within. “Why does everyone argue with me?” he snapped, “Do you want me to throw you out like I did Ghet and Silverthorn?”
Dark lashes swept down and Ro turned his head, his chest expanding and retracting with several, long deep breaths.
Ghet… he owed Ghet at least this much.
The S’Hean King’s dark locked head swung back around; his eyes, when they opened, a brilliant green once more. “Fine… if Ghet wants this done… just do it. No armband, just the hypo spray.”
Marius had stepped up to be almost but not quite in between Y'Roden and Foxx when the violence flared. Much as he liked the man, if he laid a hand on Foxx, someone was going to get really badly hurt. Probably Marius, but as long as it wasn't Foxx, he could live with that. And anyway, she'd probably be able to get a shot in while Ro was pounding his head into the floor. After that, then he'd take that bicep comment out on her. "I think that means we owe her five bucks. She said you wouldn't wear the armband. It took me years to work out it was less irritating to just do what Ghet wants anyway. You?"
The first thing, Foxx decided, she would do when she got the hell out of here was swallow that heart sized lump in her throat. Then she'd confirm she was still actually in her skin, work on slowing her heart beat to something that approximated normal, and then revise that soft cuddly inside mental note. Red in the eyes was creepy, and probably bad. For now, she was going to take the hypo out of her bag, and avoid direct eye contact or sudden moves. Breathing regularly and in a surprisingly calm voice she pulled the hypo out of her bag "Right, so .. you know how these work . . I'm just going to lay it on here . . and depress". The hiss as the spray activated was definitely in the running for the redhead's favorite ever sound. "Ooooh-kay . . Now Marius and I are outta here, we'll leave this stuff with the door guy, except this spray, which you can keep. I'm assuming he can get it where it needs to go? You should probably take a little while, let the spray kick in. You should feel better shortly." Foxx suddenly found she'd managed to back right up to the point where she was beside Marius. "There aren't any particular messages or anything you need us to pass on right?" Foxx rather hoped not, passing on messages might require a brief explanation of context, and context was rather not good. No, Ghet wouldn't be happy to hear about this context at all, and hopefully wouldn't have to.
S’Hean blood flared with the contact of stimulants, setting Y’Roden’s veins on fire. He managed to hold it together long enough for Foxx to take those critical steps back, then half fell, half lunged slightly sideways. A table full of obsidian glass upended and a blindly reaching hand closed over Marius’ shoulder. “No,” he ground out from between clenched teeth, not quite realizing how hard he was gripping the young half-elf, “don’t tell her anything.”
Marius grabbed Ro as he fell, clenching his teeth as the bones in his shoulder ground together. He had, unfortunately, to wonder how his delicate little mother had ever survived this, and that was a mental picture he really didn't need. "Goddammit! We can't just leave you here like this! Somebody should be taking care of you. Where's Silverthorn?"
The name alone made Y’Roden’s hand spasm, the bones beneath his iron grip groaning with the strain. “Gone,” he hissed, “my wife is gone.” With a massive effort he yanked his hand away, pulling out of Marius’ grip and stumbling backwards, heavy shoulders rolling with a ripple of muscle as agony translated into something he could deal with far easier. “I’ll be fine. Just… go.”
Marius stumbled backwards and poked gingerly at his shoulder. Not dislocated, but it hurt like hell. The pain was distracting, and he'd never been the king of tact at the best of times. He was also... just a little bit pissy right now. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?" The whole facial expression thing was starting to penetrate now, and given the circumstances... "She died?" That would explain a lot.
Inwardly the redheaded half elf was swearing a blue streak. She loved Marius's heart, his sense of honour, the fact he couldn't just leave this sort of situation alone, however, the racing panic in her veins that swore if she didn't get the hell out now the tidal wave was going to come crashing down and wipe out her and those she loved left a definite desire to slap him upside the head. The consequences of if Silverthorn was dead . . well gods damned. Foxx knew An’Thaya well enough to understand the repercussions of severing a bond such as the S'Hean King shared with his wife. Further she knew Ghet well enough to understand that she didn't want to know, that her ignorance here was to be treasured because anything she did know, she would have to pass on to Ghet. So as long as she could plead ignorance of anything, things would be fine, however if she knew the slope Y'Roden was on, and if the slope was the one that Marius' currently intuited, she couldn't keep that from Ghet. Ghet wouldn't forgive her. Or worse, Ghet might forgive her. Foxx knew damned well she didn't want to face that choice. She knew it was too late but his name still slipped out with all the intonations of it being none of their business, and accusations of why can't you shut up that could possible be layered on it, "Marius." Guilt formed a powerful backwash almost instantly and still not quite ready to make eye contact she spoke to Y'Roden "She's fine isn't she?"
“No.” Ro put his broad back to the couple, pressing his temple with the heel of his left hand. “I mean yes... Not dead... I spared her that… she is alive… just gone… gone from me.”
Marius stood straight, and his face went peculiarly pale and blank. It was the eerie calm of a man who was about to put his fist through a wall. His instincts were warring. He didn't want to leave a man he deeply respected in this kind of mess with no-one to look after him. He also didn't want to cop the emotional fallout, and he was damn sure Foxx understood more here than he did, and she seemed to be heartily in favour of the 'bugging the hell out of here right now' tactic. He stepped back to Foxx's side and inhaled, suddenly a hugely difficult job. "Okay. Well, I guess... we'll be off then. Unless there's anything else we can do..." Which there wasn't.
At the S'Hean King's second last 'gone' pain, compassion, and a flicker of fear flooded Foxxfire's eyes only to be quickly replaced with cold efficiency as her jaw had clenched shut, teeth grinding together as the half elf did her best to lock down her emotions. Barely noticing Marius the redhead spun on her heel and slammed into the chamber door with all force she could muster, then was left feeling distinctly unsatisfied when nothing broke, and the slamming noise failed to echo. Making do with the remaining opportunities she thrust the bag she carried hard into Ja'Kel's chest and tried the next set of doors before striding down the hallways she and Marius had coursed perhaps ten, perhaps twenty minutes ago. Upon reaching the courtyard where they had entered she realized she was taking gigantic breaths, and found herself puzzled by the fact there still didn't seem to be enough oxygen.
It would have been possible, if you'd known Marius very, very well, to actually see his heart rip. He swore in utter frustration. As worried as he was about Ro, the S'Hean king wasn't his direct responsibility. Foxx... "I have to follow her, you know that, right? Because right now I'm just sleeping on the couch. In five minutes I'll be sleeping in the cold vacuum of space. Take care, okay?"
He followed in Foxx's wake, a little more discreetly, and then he took a leaf out of her book and just bore straight down on her, bulldozing through any objections, wrapping his good arm around her, and kissing her, hard. "You can kill me when we get home. Or you can tell me why we have to keep this a secret, or not tell me, and then we can work on how."
Y’Roden’s shoulders sagged in relief when Marius left the room and he waved Ja’Kel back out when the S’Hean made to step in, “Just take that to Fadil, he’ll know what to do with it. Afterwards, go to Culaelin and tell him the Emerald is to be set in the Dragon Claws for Callan’s convenience. I am not to be disturbed today, not for any reason. Understand?”
“Yes Your Majesty,” the guard was hesitant, but knew better than to disobey a direct command form his King. The door shut softly and he made for Fadil’s quarters, bag in hand.
Y’Roden was no Dragon, yet the separation of his soul from Arianne’s was surely driving him mad. After Foxx and Marius had left, the S’Hean King had submerged himself in the bathing pool, trying to soothe away the sense of loss and the agony with the comforting feel of water.
It did nothing…
Erratic pacing in his chambers only served to disturb him further, memories and flashes of sight on the Web mixed with the effects of the stimulants setting him even further on edge. He finally resorted to Brandy, fumbling fingers opening a long locked box and rifling through the contents until he found the old, dented, magically refilling flask. There it was lying in his past… beneath a braided lock of red hair, a green crystal, a blackened silver locket and a golden wedding band.
Love… he had fallen three times in his life.
Summerlin, his glorious beam of sunlight that had borne his first child. It had been a wild, carefree affair. An’Thaya and Galain had been together for millennia before their respective brother and sister had basically fallen into one another’s lives. He remembered clearly that day in the hotel, a blur of ripped clothing and golden hair spilling across the bed. Valin had been conceived right there and then… Ro had never been able to commit completely to Sum, there had been a very light bond between them, and a love that never demanded more than either of them was willing to give. Perhaps that was why they managed so amicably now.
Ghetsuhm… his Lisse Nwalme, or in common, his Sweet Torment. They had been friends long before that day… She had been married to Chase at the time, and both of them had known it was wrong. Throughout his relationship with Summerlin and afterwards, there had been a torrid, passionate affair with Ghettie. Even across a room they had set off sparks, a chemistry that neither of them could deny… and an understanding of one another’s darker side that no one else could hope to match. Gods… he had loved her… and in the end, he had loved her enough to walk away, to end the agony. She had loved Galain too much to leave him, and loved Y’Roden too much to let him go. Ro had made the choice for them.
Silverthorn, his Minx… his Silver Nymph… An assassin, a match to Y’Roden’s iron will and strength. He had somehow slipped past her impenetrable shell and found the woman within, the frightened, unsure feminine side. She had captured him heart and soul, given him what he wanted. Someone that would love him, and only him. And somewhere along the way… he had crushed her. He could blame the Demon all he wanted, blame it all on the moment when his alter ego had brutally raped Ghetsuhm and conceived a child with her… but if Ro was honest, he wasn’t entirely sure the blame could entirely be lain there.
Rhagi… Joy from Pain… By Ro’s very nature as a S’Hean he had hurt his Wife, his driving instinct to be at Rhagi’s birth had hurt Silverthorn in a way he could not repair. His need to protect the boy from the reality of his conception had driven another wedge between them, and his guilt over hurting Ghet… and his need to somehow ease her pain… had driven yet another mile between himself and his wife.
Gods he loved Thorn, but in truth… she had been asking the impossible of him for a long time now. Most of the time, he couldn’t even understand what it was she was asking of him. He couldn’t send Rhagi away; he couldn’t prevent Rhagi from getting under her feet when he was in Nenlante. Asking Ghet to stay away had been unfair when she had only come seeking answers, she had been frightened, and Y’Roden was the only logical source for answers.
Thorn was insecure, she was mentally unstable, and it had been tearing Ro down for a while now. He kept picking up her pieces and patching her back together… and slowly falling apart when she wasn’t looking.
The Brandy burned as it ran down his throat, a sweet, familiar sensation that brought back so many memories. An old friend, an old crutch. It silence Samara’s voice more often than not, fuzzing the channels in his soul she lurked along.
Silver Dragon Ridge…
Why did that thought keep running through his mind? He seemed drawn to the place, as if some unknown voice was whispering in his ear… and the source seemed to be the Web itself, though from no one in particular.
Rubbing at his face, Ro stumbled to his feet with a grunt and leaned against the bedpost. He couldn’t stay here all day… so, why not follow the voice?
Tossing the flask back into the box he shut the lid and crossed the room, hitting a hidden lever and disappearing through a hidden door. Several sets of stairs later, the Rose Garden, and a private gondola, he found himself in the Fair as the first of the Merchants were setting up for the day.
It was among the bright gypsy tents that the S’Hean King paused, Emerald eyes drawn to one flap in particular as the Alpha sun’s first rays stole across the grass.
From beneath a striped pavilion, where the Men of the Shai'ay sold their trinkets and jewelry, Aeryn paused her quiet words, and peered over a steaming mug of coffee. It was one of her vices picked up in her many, many travels, and it mattered not the heat of the world she lived in. Despite the balmy Whispin morning, Aeryn Gaff was drinking coffee. Her eyes, an odd color of green and sky blue, a reflection of the world she was on for the moment, lifted from her drink and went to the larger male who had been busily setting out their wares.
His returned look was a look of warning. She'd almost let the Site have her not the day before yesterday, and another had been forced to take her place as Madame Floobal. Today he could feel it stirring in her again, like a charge of static power the ran just beneath the ken of most races, but there it was, like a swirling shark beneath the surface of calm waters.
"It will be okay, Braden." Aeryn placed a small hand on his forearm, "The King and I must speak, as surely as night must fall."
The coffee mug was set aside and moments later; Aeryn had crossed the distance from the tables to Y'Roden and stood, gazing up along the landscape of Y'Roden's chest, then into Emerald eyes. The diminutive Seeress pulled a black lace and fringe shawl tighter around her shoulders and bare toes dug into the dew soaked earth and grass, "You came for Madame Floobal? She is not available this day, but I would talk with you. Let us walk, King D'Riel, Patriarch of the S'Hean elves and I will escort you on your journey until I have told you all within my power to reveal."
Y’Roden studied the strange woman’s delicate features with a certain wariness, her grey eyes were as elusive and wild as her copper hair and over exaggerated ears. A lovely creature that possessed the sight… he could feel it hovering around her like a heavy cloak, and it burdened her as heavily as the limp that hampered her movements.
“I’m not entirely sure what I am doing here,” he admitted, “or who I am looking for.” The S’Hean King hesitated for a moment more, than offered the Shai’ay his arm, “I would ask your name, but somehow I think I don’t want to know it.” The half-elf fell silent for a moment, “Shadowed Death will reign within the veins of Light. Those are the only words Arminiea has given me… Prophecy is often filled with riddles… is that what you want to give me? More twisted words?”
A soft bit of laughter, laden with rueful notes fell like crystal from the Shai'ay's mouth as she slipped her hand under the much larger S'Hean's arm, then brought it around his forearm, there to grip the wide wrist marked with fading ivy in a hand far too small to grip the full circumference of the joint, "And you think any of us know what we're doing here, or what we're looking for? Even I don't know that much, my own tapestry is blurred to me, I follow the paths of the present and possibility by intuition and instinct..." She put emphasis on the word possibility, and looked sharply into Y'Roden's face, "I use that word, Y'Roden D’Riel, 'possibility'," She enunciated clearly as she spoke the word again, "rather than 'future'. Future is an illusion, a mythical beast pursued by the foolish; always it stands a breath, a heartbeat, a second away, and ever beyond our reach. Ahhhh." Aeryn nodded began to walk again, this time with greater ease. Her eyes lowered to the ground a moment, "But possibilities?" her gaze swept back up to Y'Roden's face, "They are endless and always there to touch, examine, seize and take advantage of. The trick is in recognizing what may be hazy to ourselves, yet crystal clear to others."
Her eyes then scanned the landscape, the lands of the S'Hean were stunning, an Emerald jewel covered with an azure veil of silken sky. The sunrises were spectacular and seemed to last forever as both suns worked their way into the sky. The dual shadows could be unsettling, but all in all, Aeryn felt she rather liked this world. "The Future is the Horizon, Y'Roden. Ever beyond your reach but there." She smiled softly, and pushed a stray lock of hair behind one overly-long and sharp ear and it twitched like that of a cat as the hair tickled it. "And as for speaking prophecy to you in riddles? No. I do not wish to do so, but as with every oracle, we can only operate with the message given us." Aeryn quietly ignored his comment about asking her name. In due time...everything in its time and everything in its place.
"Rather than speaking to you in riddles, why not speak to me in truths? Then, perhaps between the two of us, we can work out part of this great puzzle with its dark mysteries. Tell me, King and Patriarch, why do your feet carry you FROM this city? Now is a dim hour, a time of fear and uncertainty. Your people reek of it, yet try to conceal it. Something stirs beneath my feet and seeps in your blood. It is the same blight, and it is baffled by my people. I feel it touch me, Braden feels it touch him, and it withdrawls...as if we confuse it." She stopped suddenly, "Know you what we are? Y'Roden D'Riel? What my people are?"
“Answers,” he replied simply, his tone slightly distracted by the same urgent pull that had brought him out of the Palace and had drawn him so close to the Gypsies. “Something tells me I should be looking elsewhere, in a place only I can find.” Eyes that were slightly glassy from an overload of stimulants and Brandy drifted down to gaze at his momentary companion. “What you are? Not exactly, no… It is very apparent that you are not what most would think… and in that clarity, you are exactly what you seem.” He shrugged, “You are not S’Hean, the illness would not claim you… yet, I suspect, there is another reason. Yes?”
"There is." Aeryn nodded and gazed around at the land, "We are not so very different, your people and mind. Not really. We love, we laugh, we feel pain, jealousy and..." the look in her curious eye softened as her small face angled back up, "Grief." A slight tug had them walking again, "You are a keep of secrets, Y'Roden D'Riel. I know this personally. And therefore, I will entrust you with yet one more to keep. We are not gypsies, not in the sense you know them. Were are not Elves, nor Men, nor Drow. We are the Shai'ay and that small encampment in the midst of your great festival represents a full third of our people. Our numbers are limited to less than 200, that we can account for, but, there is always hope. Always. Hope."
She nodded thoughtfully, then went on, "Our women are blessed with Vision, yet it is not perfect. Perfection can only be attained if we allow ourselves to be consumed by the warp and weft of the past and present, and only then, can we see clearly into the realm of possibilities. The hazard is, once one of us has trod that far upon the path? We cannot come back. The reason we see so clearly is because, while our bodies may linger on alive, our souls have left us to become part of eternity. I cannot give you clear answers, yet would not willingly deceive you. What I can tell you is what I know of my own people, and this blight. We are part of your land, part of your time, but that is true of every place we travel. We were woven from the very fabric from which all creation sprang, and this illness recognizes us as part of this world. Yet it knows we are not of it. Ask yourself, Y'Roden, 'What natural illness of the land has the power to discern Shai'ay from S'Hean?'"
The pair was now paused at the edge of S'Hean civilization, such as it was, and it was here, Aeryn release Y'Roden and lowered herself to one knee. Billowing green skirts spread around her feet and upon the grass as she ran her fingers through the soil and leaf detritus there, "You know the old ways of Terra, don't you? The king was the land, the land the king? Not so different, S’Hean’s from the ancient humans that believed that." She lifted her hand and slowly turned it to let the forest litter fall, only to be caught in a sudden, stray gust of wind, "And they felt there were times when the king needed to die for the land...and in the fullness of time, the king would be born a new, his life a part of the cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth."
The half-elf ground his teeth, his jaw clicking audibly as he stared off into the dense forest. For a long while he simply stood, shadows of thought flickering in the back of his mind. “Terra?”
“Am I Arthur? Or am I Lancelot?” he murmured distractedly, “Maybe an unfortunate combination of both.” He startled suddenly, “Ah… B’Rodyn, why didn’t I think of that before? Sometimes to go forward… one has to look back. The King dies for the land, but he always leaves something behind… perhaps just his voice… or his eyes.” Crouching down next to the Shai’ay he caught her hand in both of his and kissed the back of it, “Thank you, my lovely Merlin… let us hope that this Camelot can yet be saved.”
There was more, soft stirrings of thought that niggled in the back of his mind, awakened by her words… but nothing that was willing yet to surface. He knew now though, exactly where he was going.
"The name's Aeryn." Her eyes peered at Y'Roden's back thoughtfully as he walked on without her, "Aeryn Gaff, M’lord and King." Aeryn spoke softly as she straightened slowly and stretched muscles sore from too much walking on a world where the gravity was so strong a pull.
The twitching, forever-nervous form of an Im’holtz dropped to the ground beneath a massive oak-like tree not far from the Shai'ay female then scampered up beside Aeryn. As Y’Roden’s form vanished down a narrow path into a dark wood, the rodent's tiny body began to writhe then expanded into a full-grown male Shai'ay...Braden.
"And now we know why Araxmarr would yield to him as both friend and Captain. Now we know why the Fates decreed he should be King for this little time."
"Aye." Aeryn exhaled a deep breath, "Aye. But Araxmarr loves him not for his nobility, Braden. He loves him for the demon he could be, and will become if this sickness is not halted. Tomorrow, take down the tents, put them somewhere...discrete. We will staying here a while, I think. The little one still has need of me, and of you, her great-uncle."
A slow nod later, Braden and Aeryn strolled back to the festival, brother and sister, and enjoyed the quiet rise of Whispin's beta sun and a the slow stirrings of people and creatures waking from what was more than likely a troubled night's sleep.
|
|
|
