Matlal and the Eldarie

[Alais d Nitesong]

Dreams, for most they are things of pleasant nature. Something to be paid no mind to for they are not real. For most, they pose no threat. Most are happily oblivious to the true nature of dreams, and the danger they pose to some who walk amongst us.

Sorcerers, Dreamwalkers, Realm runners, just to name a few, are different. Dreams are as real for us as the common day is to the majority of people around you. Dreams that can be more oft times unpleasant than pleasant, and do not come without significant risk.

For me, dreams are more likely to happen in times of stress or acute exhaustion. Perhaps I've spent too many years suppressing dreams, but when they do occur, they are not the pleasant tales told by mothers to their small children. My dreams are filled with dark images from Annaran history. Visions of battle, blood, and demons, and now dragons. But the one that will unfailingly bring me bolt upright is the dreaming memory of the day Morrin died.

It usually begins with being swallowed by blackness. Sometimes it’s the simple darkness of night, sometimes it is insidiously more.

Blackness.
............Tangible darkness............
...............................................Not the same...........................

Battles too numerous to count.

.........Blood staining the soil in ghastly shades of red and brown.

Kings for 43 generations.

................Old magic.
..................................Dark power.
........................................................Evil growing.


Through it all, there is one constant - a great black blade at the side of one man. The salvation, and the destruction of the Annaran people. A blessing, tied to a horrible curse.

It was there when the first Annaran King formed a cohesive culture out of chaos. Fate was sealed with the first hand to wrap around it's rough black hilt. It conferred power in exchange for blood.

It remained thus for nearly 2000 years. Daemonbane building and strengthening Annara; but corrupting and rotting the Annaran civilization simultaneously.

Wars untold flashed in frightening clarity. Each one led by a crowned King, wielding the rippled black blade. Each King one day ultimately coming to the same dark end at the call of Daemonbane. Each King dying alone, in madness and worse.

The images shifting incessantly, bringing into focus a great stone keep built at the curve of a river. Tall curtain walls surrounded a square tower, and around the inner side of the curtain wall, near a bend in a broad river stood a black smith shop, and within a Dwarf muttering and cursing.

A tall, elven woman stood there, with a warrior at her side, and the pieces of a broken blade lay upon the table. "It be missing a shard, see here?" The Dwarf was indicating a missing section of the blade. "You'll have to find it, or I can't re-forge it."

At that moment, a large man dressed from hat to boot in black, rode up to the entry of the smithy, dismounting swiftly from a great black destrier, that pranced and snorted as the mage dismounted. Hadrian's ears were flat against his head as he was so close to other people. While the rider's back was turned toward them, the image of the Annaran blade rippled along the man's back, rustling the heavy black cloak. Here was Morrin. Arch Mage, and unmistakably King of Annara.

The mage and the Eldarie sorceress had met for the first time. His grey eyes met her silver gaze, and in that moment was forged a century of partnership. Oh, it was not of the romantic sort. The two were a perfect fit in terms of sorcery. They were absolute compliments, and in that instant, Morrin had recognized that while he never took students, he would take this elf as his pupil. Something he had never done in all his years.

They worked together for a century. The culmination of that partnership was unthinkable.

Decades passed, but always Arch Mage and Sorceress worked together, building, growing, learning until one day, the old mage stood in his laboratory, showing an elven woman the intricacies of the spell. It would be his last, and most powerful spell, and it must be done with absolute precision.

Before them lay 3 books on tome stands.

The first one was bound in fine leather, the texture was ultra smooth, with very fine grain that did not resemble any animal but one, (human). It was dyed in a rich tan. The leather he told her was the flesh of the previous King, who the current King had slain. This book embodied all of the spells the Arch Mage knew for death and destruction of people.

The second book was bound in a pale stone, with the bold black sigil of Morrin. This book embodies famine, plague, and the destruction of environment. The abilities to take "scorched earth" policies to new levels were recorded within its pages.

The third book is innocuous enough in appearance, small black leather binding with gold sigil. The leather is without any gloss, and seems to absorb light, but is otherwise unremarkable. But, the three spells in this book are the most terrible of all.

It is the third book that lays open between the two mages.

Strapped to the back of the old mage was Daemonbane. It never left Morrin. Ever.

The mages went over and over the final spell. Perfecting every nuance. Every syllable. Every aspect of spell casting was synchronous art between them.

Practice had come to an end. The two mages left the tower together with one purpose: the complete destruction of the Annaran people.

There would be only one living soul who could claim Annaran ties when this day ended.

Two mages stood upon isolated hills, with a city between them. The day dawned clouded and sullen. Icy rain threatened to coat everything in glistening cocoons, but the mages stood ready. One dressed in black, from hat to boot heels, the other in shimmering silver and blue.

They were too far apart to hear one another, but they'd rehearsed this plan thousands of times. Today would be no rehearsal. Today was the Day of Reckoning for the Annaran people, even though only their King, and one sorceress knew it.

At the appointed time, they began.

Book One was enacted by the pair. Human death in all its forms began inside the city walls. People began dying by the hundreds of every malady known to Morrin. Some deaths were mercifully swift. Some were not. Then the spell began to work on those Annaran's not within the city walls. It took most of the morning to destroy the humanity within the city's walls, as well as those not currently in residence.

Book Two was enacted next. The complete destruction of the land, the animals, the plants, the air, the water, all of it was laid to ruin. It was all forever stricken of ability to support any form of life. Not an insect remained. Nothing moved.

Book Three was the last to be enacted. It was the one the elven mage struggled to perform. Elves revere life. Beauty. Yet this book would see the casting of what had once been a living people and land into the 6th level of Hell. Forever would an entire civilization and place be consigned to dwell in the place reserved for Heretics.

She wept as the final words were spoken, and the mage upon the hill across from her faded from sight. They were gone. All of them. Every trace of Annara had been erased from this plane. Every person of Annaran ancestry destroyed. Every bit of Annaran possessions removed.

Gone. Completely and irrevocably gone.

She left her hill as the winter sun crept toward the horizon to stand one last time where her beloved mentor had stood. Nothing remained. No shred of the man she'd come to respect above all others. Nothing.

She left that place where Annara had once been, returning to her home in RhyDin, but as she entered the Great Room, she was faced with something she'd never expected.... Daemonbane hung from the fireplace, just above the mantle piece, where her own family's coat of arms had been. Below the blade, laid in a neat pile upon the hearth stone were the 3 books. Four items had survived their effort to forever remove all of Annara from this realm.

Now, Daemonbane hung there as her heritage, her history, and one day, her demise.

Images shifted, parted, moved in disjointed ways, never settling long on one memory or thought.

An elven woman walked through a stone mausoleum, pausing to gently run her finger tips over the alabaster effigy of a man. A King.

Whispers could be heard, but not the source of them seen.

She walked slowly out of the mausoleum, toward the wide river, and the ruins of what appears to be a smithy.

Tears slip down her cheeks.

These images repeat, many years this elf moves between the world of the living, and this place.

Many years she's spent in solitude with the alabaster effigy for her only company.

It is solace and peace. It is her retreat from the living. It is where she goes to find numbing relief from the sharp pain of living.

Brilliant solar flare erupts and the world changes.

Three books lay upon a table in a world with twin suns. A woman’s hand caresses the bold black sigils of the books as an owl shaped automaton named Ozymandias floats nearby. As her hand passes over each sigil, they shift and change form, a blending of sigils, and the new one is a dark metallic charcoal in color, softened by the elven influence on the Annaran boldness, but the elven sigil is lost forever. It has been incorporated into the Annaran realm, no longer distinguishable as uniquely Eldarie.

Only two of the books have undergone this alteration. The third, a small black leather book remains uniquely Morrin’s.

Deep sadness pervades departure from this twin sun world, a sorrow that goes deeper than even her loss of Morrin, but the images for this sorrow remain locked away. Untouchable.

A stone walled library, three books, long shadows cast from a flickering fire as a green cloaked dragon takes possession of the books and departs.

Lost!

Pain. Sharp, biting pain. Iron tipped whip biting into pale flesh. Black haired demoness wielding the whip, words that make no sense…. "I want to hear you scream and I won't stop until you do," Shakira says through gritted teeth as she continues the punishment. The elf continues to deny that small pleasure to the demoness. Each lash cuts through elven skin, leaving bloody welts. Alais knows her strength is fading, she is weaker from the loss of blood. How many has it been? Ten? Twenty? She's lost count. Again the pain, and again, and again. Finally the pain becomes unbearable, there's nothing she can do but scream and the elven woman feels hot tears roll down her cheeks.

Shakira walks near her, a hand grabs her hair and pulls her head back. "That's a good girl," she croons. She takes the whip and licks the blood off the leather. "That will be it for today. I suggest you rest." As if this had been a command, darkness envelopes the elf into a dreamless sleep.

Lost!

The dragon has taken the unaltered book. Only two return to the Annaran’s hand when summoned. The third remains lost. Gone with the dragon, back to the beginning. Back to the Primordial Dark!

I've been touched by that Primordial Darkness. I have no doubt it was Khirsah who touched me that day on the sand, yet when I sought to find him, bring him back to help Tass.... I was rejected. Still, the darkness lays claim to the third book, and the dragon. What changes will be wrought?

Dreams or the paths of destruction and loss.

[Alais d Nitesong]

I have touched Primordial Darkness. This is darker, stronger, something different. As the blackness encircled me, I summoned The Third once again. Calling to it in the Annaran summons which should bring the book to my call, but thus far had failed to retrieve it.

Time may already have turned against us and it may already be too late. Khirsah may already be irrevocably changed by the book - and only the Valar know at this point what those changes will mean.

The man I saw in the mirror was Khirsah, and yetm he'd changed almost beyond recognition.

[Alais d Nitesong]

I'd agreed to meet Xeno at the dojo in the morning to speak to him in private about what was happening in the Emeral Isle's and my seeing Shakira, but as the darkness curled out of the mirror, wrapping around me like a lover, I knew I would not make that meeting.

Khirsah held tightly to my hand as nothingness wrapped us up and swallowed us. The sensation was unsettling, and for a moment I thought to fight it, but the pull was inescapable. Cold, akin to the chill of Annara was in Khirsah's touch. At my query, he turned cold eyes on me, and with a voice soft, yet chill, "was it not you who sought me? You were brought here to understand what is going on with my younger brother. He is brave, but often times, his heart gets in the way of his knowledge. This is the case this time. He has sought to protect you, and in so doing, he's laid waste to his body."

Khirsah maintained a completely detatched air as he continued, he'd always been the more aloof and distant of the brothers. He told me he would be there when Tass manifested himself to reclaim his body from the bloodmage. Shahai would not claim what did not belong to her, but he informed me that was not my worry.

"This does...." his voice faded away to be replaced by the view of my foundation stone, and the great Annaran blade that rested there, prohibiting the completion of my new home, only now, Tass stood there, Tass whole and healthy, marking a blazing path around the blade, and as I watched in mute horror, Tass reached for the sword at his side, and simultaneously reached for Daemonbane!

"NO!" One word ripped from my throat in that horrifying moment of clarity. Tass had known what Daemonbane would do to him. He KNEW! He knew and yet he'd done so anyway. The only thing keeping Tass alive right now was the great dragon's origins. Had he been any other sort of creature, Daemonbane would have killed him as well. This is why Tass' symptoms seemed so
familiar, and yet not. This is why nothing worked in trying to break the curse.

I tried to pull free of Khirsah, but he clung to me with an unshakable grip, and as I looked into Khirsah's cold eyes, I wondered if the Elder would blame me for what was happening to Tass.

My words were elven soft, "th' new structure 'pon Mat'lal, 't ist where Daemonbane doth r'side, neh?"

The man before me was Khirsah, and yet not. As we stood there in that dark nothingness, I learned a new meaning for despair.

"We didst haff need o' ye Khirsah, 't ist why Ah didst seek ye - bu' 't was ye th' first time 'pon th' black sand. Why? Why didst ye touch me enou' tae tell me wither ye'd gone?"

[Alais d Nitesong]

We were ready to leave RhyDin and return to Matlal. Tass was back, angrier than I'd ever seen him, but after giving Sai Jon and Tass the update on what Khirsah has shown me, I returned to my rooms.

Imp and Mama Imp procured everything from my list. Ozy had been doing some calculations for me on numbers, spell distances, and optimizing the effectiveness of my contribution to what we were about to face.

I went for one last night to the Arena, to watch the Overlord challenge match. To have a moment to forget.

Rhaine was there, we spoke, but she was occupied with keeping an eye on Sy’s brother, Artemus. It seems he was struggling with his girrash. How Rhaine puts up with the man I will never understand, but she’d given Sylus her word, and she would keep it. No matter the cost to herself.

Sylus appeared, worn and haggard. He too seemed to be fighting the change with the advent of the new moons. He sank onto the sofa beside me telling me that he would not be home tonight. He worries that I cannot hold my own when he changes and the wolven side takes over.

So the last night in RhyDin would be alone. Even my beloved hounds were now in Nitesong with my son.

I wandered through the silence of my suite of rooms. Committing everything to memory. I might never return to see any of it again. My son had been rescued from Legend, and was once more running Nitesong. My daughter was firmly embedded in that damned Temple, and Sylus nor Rhaine could cross the wards into the EI. We could use the help, but I also draw solace from the fact that here they will be safer.

I sat down to leave Sylus my farewell, because if things went badly, I would never see him again. That is a dark and bitter thought.

The parchment was folded and the clock chimed two. It was a short night.

Dawn crept across the sky, tinging everything pale shades of grey; chasing the velvet black from the horizon. I rose in silence, and as I passed my missive for Sylus, I slid his ring from my hand, laying it gently atop the note. If anything happens to me, he would want this back. It had been in his family a long time. I could not take it to an uncertain future. The green sphere was also laid beside the ring, I’d so happily worn. Now, the only bit of jewelry I wore was Ulysses’ starfire and infinity ring.

“Ozy? ‘t ist time tae gae.”

[Morrin]

Memory Awakens.

The place where he is bound is silent.

Empty save for one conscience.

WRONG!

The feel of a tear in the world.

Silence.

No power. No sound. No souls.

WRONG!

Darkness wavers and ripples.

Darkness wearing the crown of a King walks the land of the forsaken dead.

[Alais d Nitesong]

The battle had been fought.

Annarans had been sent once again into the Hells, and once again, Morrin had sent them there, leaving me behind.

Where I should have passed into the shadow lands to be the anchor that holds them locked into their oblivion, I find myself still here. Pain keeping me sunken into the land. Suffering was something I could understand, and the land suffered now.

Garl had pulled me from the battlefield just as the weapons Sai Jon had brought with him had lit up the night.

[Alais d Nitesong]

Pain. It was everywhere.

For an unknown time, it was all I could sense. I could feel it. I could taste it. I could breathe it.

My island was awash in pain, and so too am I. We are bound together, the land and I.

I could hear Garl and some of the Silvers just beyond the sanctuary he'd brought me to. But I could not bring myself to move for what seemed like ages.

We, the land I would heal. But what would the scars be? How deep do they run?

I rose from the place I had occupied. Everywhere was destruction, death, decay.

The Silvers had begun work to clear the Isle of the remains of the invaders. They'd begun clearing the place that had been my home in progress.

The corner stone remained where it had been placed. It alone seemed to have escaped the twisting magic of the invaders. It alone remains pristine pale salmon, but there is no brilliant green around it. There is only blackened remains.

Garl paused as I walked amidst the ruins. His gaze following me as I surveyed the damage, leaning heavily upon my staff. The damage to my hand from sending the Annarans back to Hell had not healed. For elves, it signifies a deep and dangerous wound.

Even now, the cut opens, and my blood stains the white wood of my staff.

I moved quietly toward Garl. "Ah mus' needs r'turn tae RhyDin. Ah mus' see 'f th' blade ist well 'n trula gone."

He nodded, and I took advantage of the relaxed safeguards around the Emerald Islands to return to RhyDin.

[Alais d Nitesong]

I had spent several nights out on the grounds of I’ Taurn, pondering which road I should travel, and in the end, it seemed there was truly only one road, and that road led back to Matlal. What I had begun there I needed to finish. And so, with that decision, I went to the Inn. It seemed that it was there I was most likely to run into Khirsah, and I desired to speak to him about restoring Matlal, and hopefully engaging his help to do that.

I arrived at the Inn and was greeted by Antonnio Falconne. It has been a long time since I had seen him, but he was busy and I did not trouble him more than to say hello and inquire after his health.

It was not long however that I needed to wait for the Elder, I felt him the moment he stepped upon the porch of the Inn. The silk attire whispered as he moved, and the blade at his side seemed a bit out of place given his dress. I had started to raise the glass to my lips, but paused as he strode through the door, as though called by some unheard voice. He paused at the top of the stairs before moving inside and heading rather directly for my table.

Simultaneously, Xenograg walked into the Inn. He was dressed in his light blue, knee length topcoat and yellow sash, brown trousers and black boots. He was also wearing a wide, gilt swordbelt, and the Rouwan wood carved scabbard. I smiled and said good evening. He altered his course and headed in my direction. “Wouldst ye care fer a wee bit o’ tea Xeno?” He smiled, saying he had just returned from Xenodar, and was indeed thirsty. Antonnio quickly procured the tea as Xeno took a seat at my table.

I glanced at Khirsah, wondering if he would still join me, or wait, and I invited him to join us, inquiring whether he would desire anything to drink, but he declined, and I had not really expected him to accept. His gaze swept over Xenograg before deciding to join us at the table.

I curled up in my chair, and began to ask Xenograg about his doings in Xenodar, and he told me that the fortress was coming along nicely, and that the Keep was above ground now rather than the basements and subterranean support structures. Antonio brought the cup of steaming tea and set it before Xeno.

I curled both hands around the crystal snifter I held and studied Xeno as he spoke, and at his comment that Khirsah apparently would not be joining us in a beverage, I smiled, and told him that was not at all unusual. I then told him it was grand to hear of his progress, and the images of my own project now in ruins brought a sad smile to my features, “Ah dae fear mine oon 'ome 'pon Matlal hath been destroyed an' razed tae th' ground.”

Xeno shook his head, “I never even saw it.”

It was not something that had been ready to show, but still it had been beautiful in the way of the Eldar, and I had hoped one day to share it with my old friend. “'t was well started, bu' corrupted by th' invaders.” That was about all I could say without the threat of pain finding vent even now.

Khirsah spoke softly, “matters which seem to be reversing once again.”

“You survived though, you can always build another new home.” Xeno reminded me, but while I had survived, the land itself had been decimated and tortured. It was more than a simple rebuilding. Xeno gave Khirsah a curious look at his cryptic comment.

I quirked a sable brow at Khirsah as well, and wondered if the healing that had begun at Ulysses return had stopped, or whether now that I have decided to return, has the healing of the land begun anew? But Khirsah was ever silent, allowing me to ponder the considerations myself. I took a deep breath and looked at Xeno, “Ah've d'cided tae r'turn tae Matlal Xeno, tae work 'pon th' r'buildin'.”

He gave me a surprised look and asked if there had ever been any doubt, and Khirsah simply said, “there was.” As I gave Khirsah a quizzical look, he added, “and still might be.”

Xeno nodded, “I think it is a good idea, much too soon to give up on the idea.”

I held Khirsah’s pale eyes a long moment, “Ah’ve made mine decision m’lord Khirsah.” There was no question of my return to the Emerald Isles, and then turned to Xeno, “aye, bu’ there ist much tae be done.” He smiled in agreement, “there always is.”

I shook my head, he had not seen the devastation, “Ah cannae spend tae much time ‘n Riverbend, an’ Matlal doth need me more.” Khirsah watched me long moments, considering my words, and I got the distinct impression is was not what I was saying, but more what I left between the words. He was a master at reading between the lines, and I wondered if he read the right message.

Xeno agreed with a mischievous wink, “Even dragons are better company than the ghosts of Riverbend Keep.”

I gave him a shocked look, “Ye dinnae like th’ dead Xeno?” I knew he had always felt my need to be in Riverbend had been a bad thing, but I had learned much, and would forever be indebted to Morrin and Glum. No, Riverbend had become more my home than the realm of the living. I glanced then at Khirsah, “’n Ah’m ‘opin’ tae haff th’ elp o’ th’ Elder ‘ere.” And I did truly hope the Elder would see fit to join me on Matlal for the rebuilding of his land.

Khirsah simply looked at us both, not offering a word to let me know what he was thinking behind those pale eyes.

I sipped the amber liquid, “Per’aps ye’ll come wi’ me m’lord Khirsah?”

He gave a faint twitch of his lips, “and where would we be leaving to, Lady d’Nitesong, so quickly?”

I gave him a smile, “when Ah r’turn tae Matlal.” He opened his mouth as if to say “ahh”, but no sound left him, and so I continued, “Ah’d verra much li’ tae haff yer ‘elp Khirsah.” While he used my formal title, I had lapsed into the use of his name long ago.

[Alais d Nitesong]

It was time to withdraw from my questioning of Khirsah, and I glanced at Xeno, “Ye mus’ needs speak wi’ Mystic, th’ lass didst use tae much o’ ‘er energies.” Khirsah’s words were softly spoken as he had helped me return the lass to the Dojo, “she is recovering.” I smiled, but continued to speak to Xeno, “yer ward was gluin’ Imp tae th’ sofa last e’en.”

Xeno sipped his tea, “Mystic? What happened?” Then he blinked, “What did Imp do first?” But clearly the mental image he had conjured was amusing as his grin slipped free from restraint.

I lifted a brow at him, “Aye, she didst glue ‘im tae th’ sofa, an’ ‘e ‘ad tae cut th’ upholstery tae g’ free.” Shaking my head, “Ah dinnae thin’ ‘t matters, ‘t ist nae good tae haff th’ lass makin’ faces at ‘im an’ gluin’ ‘im tae th’ furniture.” She was his ward, and there were manners to be taught, even if it was Imp we were talking about. I reached for Khirsah’s sleeve and touched it lightly. It was my way of thanking him for going with me to return Mystic the previous evening.

Xeno nodded and sipped his tea, “I will ask her about it tomorrow.” He knows he gives her too much leniency but she is a lovable little girl.

I let the glamour fade from my hands, “Ah didst carry ‘er tae th’ Dojo last e’en wi’ Khirsah tae protect ‘er. She didst work tae ‘eal mine ‘ands, an’ thence didst fall asleep ‘n th’ Arena.” Xeno nodded, telling me that she is a very giving child, and I could not agree more, too giving, “Aye, Ah didst try tae keep ‘er froom ‘t, bu’ she ist a determined lass.”

He nodded thoughtfully, “Now I know why she did not want to do much this morning. I have worked to teach her her limits. But, mild exhaustion is still within a safety limit.”

I shook my head, “aye, bu’ ‘t was nae neccessara fer ‘er tae use ‘t ‘pon me.” He disagreed with me then, telling me that the sooner I was healed, the better, but for me, it could not be at the expense of an innocent child’s health. She had nearly healed the damage from Utau and Obsidion, but the price had been unacceptably high for me.

Xeno smiled, “then stop being stubborn.”

I quirked a brow at him, “Stubborn?”

Khirsah then softly added, “You are such, Lady d’ Nitesong.” They were ganging up on me then, and Xeno went on to add, “The one lesson I could never get you to learn was accepting aid.”

I scoffed then, I had accepted Xeno’s aid and friendship for years, but he pushed, “Not the kind I am speaking of, and you know it. The search for the Shard was more the exception than the rule with us.” He sipped his tea.

I gave him a long look, “Ye didst ‘elp me more ‘n tha’ ‘n ye dae ken ‘t. Ye’ll giff Khirsah th’ wrong idea.”

Khirsah’s expression showed disbelief, “will he now?”

Xeno snorted, “Indeed? I expect that Lord Khirsah can see right through you, Alais, Me too I suppose.”

I gave them both a disbelieving look, “Ah’m verra easa tae ge’ along wi’.” Then took a resolute sip of my drink.

Xeno opened his mouth but closed it again as Khirsah smiled, “some days.”

“Your injury has been a running issue,” Xeno reminded, but in fact, I had not rejected his offer of the salve to help heal my hands, and had allowed Khirsah to return me to the Isles for help, but it seemed that was not sufficient. Then lifting a challenging brow at Khirsah, “Whence haff Ah nae been?”

I should not have challenged the Elder like that, he simply lifted his hand, and revealed the single scar that marked his flesh. I could feel the blood drain from my face, “that was dif’rent m’lord Khirsah. Malchor ‘ad come.”


Khirsah simply stated that it always was, and a part of me knew he was right.

Xeno set down his tea, “Alais, you must not feel guilty when others are harmed on your behalf. You are to blame for neither causing the injury nor our involvement to receive it.”

I disagreed, “Bu’ Ah dae Xeno, Ah’ve done enou’ ‘arm tae innocents tae feel ‘t deepla.” What I had done with Morrin in condemning his people had brought me enough guilt to last the lifetime of a dragon, and so any hurt to my friends bit deeper and harder than they understood.

Xeno shook his head, “We are not innocents. Different rules apply.”

When I told him that if I could save my friends from unnecessary pain, I would do so, Khirsah held my eyes, “would you change the past to do it?”

“Ah cannae change th’ past.” He knew I could not, and messing with the past was unwise for many reasons. Even for those who could do so.

“That was not the question, Lady d’Nitesong.”

I canted my head at Khirsah, “changin’ th’ past wouldst change th’ present ‘n future ‘n ways Ah cannae predict.” Xeno had commented that since it could not be done, it was not worth discussion, but I slid my gaze back to Khirsah, “Ye’r capable, ‘re ye nae?”

Khirsah calmly looked back at me, “I am.”

I sipped the Liquid Fire thoughtfully as Xeno told Khirsah that he did not envy him that responsibility.

Khirsah’s eyes never left mine, “It is not a responsibility General. Lady d’ Nitesong has already provided the reason for it not being such.”

[Alais d Nitesong]

I uncurled my fingers and looked at the long white scar still visible there. Xeno misunderstood my musings, “You will get used to it Alais, do not dwell upon it.” But it was not the disfigurement that was troubling me, it was the tie that it represented that caused my reflection, and as I looked up at Xeno, I told him it was a memory I would never forget, in fact, ‘could’ never forget.

Khirsah glanced between us and I knew he understood my thoughts.

Xeno added that his most recent scar would positively depress him if he were to let it, and I seized upon the opportunity to change the subject, but as my hand dropped beneath the table, I ran my index finger along the line there, and felt something very unexpected as Xeno rolled up his sleeve and showed me his latest wound. “: I missed a guard while performing a rescue. He surprised me on the way out. I blocked his sword with my unprotected arm. ” If I had been anywhere else but Eldicor, I would have lost the arm.”

I told him that he was indeed fortunate, but he then looked at me sternly, “I can never repay Queen Teleperien for this. She does not feel guilty for it, though. I chose to be there and do what I did.”

I took a deep breath, “Xeno, there's a reason fer mine feelin's aboot 'urtin' those Ah dae call friend.” The light tracing of the scar was providing a soothing sensation until Khirsah’s sharp gaze locked with mine, “you have questions.” It was simple and direct. And I began to wonder just how closely tied The Elder and I were at this moment.

Xeno rose and excused himself, leaving Khirsah and I alone, and I studied the dragon a moment, “Aye, we haff neffer ‘ad th’ chance tae speak o’ tha’ day.”

“Ask”

I was not certain the middle of a public Inn was the place to simply begin asking him about that day, and he told me we could go anywhere I desired, but my confidence fled then and I leaned back into my chair, then laid my scarred hand upon the table before him, “Ye didst touch me first, ‘pon th’ sands o’ Matlal, bu’ neither o’ us was scarred fer tha’ touch. Why?”

His silvery white eyes met mine, “you did not seek then what was forbidden to you.”

“Bu’ ye were ‘n tha’ forbidden place.” For I had not mistaken the brief touch of Primordial Darkness.

“I was.”

I pondered his answer, “Bu' whence Ah reached fer thee, we didst both suffer fer tha' reach.”

He did not answer me then, rather he let me puzzle it through, “Ye could haff le' me die 'n tha' moment.” It was not a question, it was an observation born of the two incidents.

“I could have.”

He could have, but he did not. I curled my fingers over the scar. If he cared even a little, why did he continue to use my formal titles rather than my name? Only once have I heard him call me Alais. And with great temerity I then asked him that question.

We spoke then about that day, and I wondered if his presence would have helped end the war sooner, and he told me it would not have ended the invasion any sooner, nor with less damage, and while I would have preferred to have seen him at the side of his brother, he would not have had the impact I had thought he might.

I reached for his hand then, as I had to know if he felt what I did, and as he opened his hand once more for me, and I ran my finger along the scar, I nearly threw his hand back. The touch of my finger to his hand was mirrored in a phantom touch that caressed my own. Each time I touched that scar, he too felt it. And should he ever do the same, I would feel it.

There was a brief moment of terror in that thought.

I needed to go home, and when I said as much, he asked me which home I did mean, and in that instant, I wanted nothing more than to return to Matlal. Where upon, he offered me his arm, and we vanished as if we had never been.

[Alais d Nitesong]

Matlal. My home and sanctuary.

There was a feeling of rightness about arriving on Matlal. I had been away too long in RhyDin. The plateau where I had laid my foundation stone had been nearly cleared by Garl and the silvers, and it was now where I stood looking out over the black sea. The pale salmon feldspar shone in the moonlight with an almost ethereal glow, and I sat upon the stone watching the waves roll onto the black sand beach below.

Khirsah had brought me here and departed to places unknown. He remains an enigma, and yet I am drawn to him as iron is drawn to lodestone. It is an inexorable attraction that I have recently learned extends to the mirror scars we share, and the sensation of touch shared between those two marks. And yet we are such different creatures. The Fates play cruel jests upon us all it would seem.

I had spent the day working beside the silvers to prepare the site for rebuilding. Xeno had been right, this was not something I should give up on, and the renewed air of hope was contagious. I watched the dragons prepare the site, and found myself coaxing a patch of grass and a small vine of fragrant jasmine to twine around the foundation stone. The bit of green and cream contrasted sharply with the blackened ground around it, and Garl paused to stand beside me as the flowers opened to release their fragrance into the breeze. I was home.

Later I made the trip to RhyDin. The Inn seemed the place where Khirsah would come and I hoped again to talk with him. The Elder had remained away the entire day, and there were still so many questions that remained unanswered. I conjured a glass of Liquid Fire as I took a table near the fireplace to wait, but it was not long before I heard the soft swish of silk as Khirsah made his way across the porch and through the door. He had come, although I do not know why he feels the need to come when I am here, and yet remains aloof from all other places. He moved with purpose through the room toward me, and I smiled.

“You always seem to know were to find me, and yet you do not come to I' Taurn m'lord. Is there a reason?”

He paused, “why would I?”

I swirled the amber liquid within the crystal snifter, “I suppose because you are here due to the road I must choose, and because you would like to. I was hoping you would consent to help me return Matlal to what it once was.” I in fact hoped for more, but for the moment, it would do just to have some time to talk to the Elder, to understand him better.

He watched me with those silver-white eyes, so changed from that day long ago when he had come to I’ Taurn for the books. “Matlal is already on its way of returning.”

I motioned to an empty chair, “Yes, but it will be my home, and the dragons there have suffered.” I then took a sip of the amber liquid, “If you do not return to the islands Khirsah, where would you go?”

He gave me an assessing look, “who said I would not be returning?”

I returned his direct look, “You do not seem interested when I ask you to come back and help me. Or, perhaps, you do not wish to do that?” He had a way of never answering directly. Khirsah is more likely to ask you a return question rather than provide a simple reply, and so his next comment took me by surprise.

“Your reasoning for wanting me there are not the true reasons, so I see not a reason to respond.”

I canted my head, pondering how best to respond. Khirsah never accepted incomplete or misleading answers. “Can you not feel the ties milord? You would ask me to speak of them when even I feel the connection? Did I cause this connection?” I felt the pull between the Elder and myself, surely he felt it too, but now the question was, had I created it when I had reached for him in the Primordial Darkness? Had I unwittingly or in some way tied an elf to an unwilling dragon?

There was a faint twitch of a grin from him then, “that is not what I said, and you are welcome to speak of them as you wish.”

I glanced around the Inn before looking back at him, “I believe I was trying to give us that time to talk milord, in Matlal, where we could discuss the implications.” I could not contain a soft chuckle. My subtle ways were not what the Elder had wanted from me. It would seem that he wanted a candor I was not prepared to use in such matters.

He lifted a brow at me, “then why not ask that to begin with?”

“Because I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.” While true enough, it was also that I did not wish myself to be uncomfortable by opening this discussion in a public forum, nor a private one if my feelings were mistaken.

He then put my private fears to voice, “How would this make me uncomfortable? It would seem ore that it is making you such, Lady.”

I could feel myself blushing under his scrutiny, “How would you have taken such a thing Khirsah? A simple statement that assumed you felt the connection?”

[Alais d Nitesong]

Then for the first time since I had seen him in this pale form, he smiled, it was a strained, almost twisted thing, but it was there none the less, and he lifted the hand that held the identical mark to my own and wrapped it around a black jewel that hung from his neck, an ebon black jewel that seemed to simply draw all light into it, voiding it, it embodied a darkness I had once seen.

I could not hide my surprise as the jewel reached out toward me through the connection in the matching scars, I could ‘feel’ the power of the gem, the pull to my Annaran ties was unmistakable. The gem embodied things darker and more potent than the Third book, and yet, all of that was there too. I slid my gaze from the black gem upward to Khirsah’s eyes as he said softly, “there is no need for assumptions, Lady.”

I slowly reached for his hand as it remained curled around the black gem, curving my own scarred hand around his, “how did you come by this?” The darkness it radiated was deeper than the third book, and yet there was so much more there than had simply been embodied in the last of Morrin’s work.

Khirsah never moved as my hand curled around his larger one, “the scar or the jewel?”

The jewel held the power of the books, and I looked at him in awe, “the jewel, it is of the books, is it not?”

“Partly,” he admitted.

“And partly of the Darkness itself,” I was going on what I felt from the ebon gem, both through Khirsah’s hand, and my own.

“Another part, yes.” He was waiting for me to analyze the source of the gem.

I could feel a pulse within the stone’s heart, “Is part of it you?” This question held a great deal of interest as what I felt from the gem seemed a part of the essence of the Elder, something old, and dark. Something with great knowledge, and great restraint.

“A third part, yes.” He admitted then.

How many parts made up the whole? “How many parts are there?” I was fascinated by the gem he wore around his neck.

“Four.” Came his reply.

I released his hand, reaching for the crystal snifter, “the fourth part, is it time?”

“As likely as that would seem, it is not.”

“What is the fourth part?” There was so much complexity and depth in what I felt from the stone, if time was not it, I could not separate the fourth component.

“Though I am the first, and I was born of nothing, I was still born.” His reply was cryptic.

I thought a moment, was it life, or birth and re-birth? “Life?”

He twitched his lips, and there was a bit more of a curve into a smile than previously shown, and I could not help myself, I reached up to trace that smile that was the first true smile I had seen from the Elder. He spoke softly, “there is life in everything, Lady.”

I laughed softly, “Yes, there is, in all of nature.”

He watched me long moments, “you seek to ask another question.”

I thought long moments before asking, “would you accept my intrusion into your life?” I was not certain how to ask the Elder if my presence would be welcome given his tendency to be solitary and aloof.

His white-blue iced eyes locked with my own, “one could say you had done so already.”

I blushed again, “Yes, and that you have already once rejected me.” He had refused my attempt to reach him, and had in fact forced me to return to Matlal alone. Yes, the Elder had already rejected me.

“Did I?” His brow rose fractionally.

I took a deep breath, “it seemed to me that you did.”

“How so?” If there was amusement there, he did not show it.

[Alais d Nitesong]

Then for the first time since I had seen him in this pale form, he smiled, it was a strained, almost twisted thing, but it was there none the less, and he lifted the hand that held the identical mark to my own and wrapped it around a black jewel that hung from his neck, an ebon black jewel that seemed to simply draw all light into it, voiding it, it embodied a darkness I had once seen.

I could not hide my surprise as the jewel reached out toward me through the connection in the matching scars, I could ‘feel’ the power of the gem, the pull to my Annaran ties was unmistakable. The gem embodied things darker and more potent than the Third book, and yet, all of that was there too. I slid my gaze from the black gem upward to Khirsah’s eyes as he said softly, “there is no need for assumptions, Lady.”

I slowly reached for his hand as it remained curled around the black gem, curving my own scarred hand around his, “how did you come by this?” The darkness it radiated was deeper than the third book, and yet there was so much more there than had simply been embodied in the last of Morrin’s work.

Khirsah never moved as my hand curled around his larger one, “the scar or the jewel?”

The jewel held the power of the books, and I looked at him in awe, “the jewel, it is of the books, is it not?”

“Partly,” he admitted.

“And partly of the Darkness itself,” I was going on what I felt from the ebon gem, both through Khirsah’s hand, and my own.

“Another part, yes.” He was waiting for me to analyze the source of the gem.

I could feel a pulse within the stone’s heart, “Is part of it you?” This question held a great deal of interest as what I felt from the gem seemed a part of the essence of the Elder, something old, and dark. Something with great knowledge, and great restraint.

“A third part, yes.” He admitted then.

How many parts made up the whole? “How many parts are there?” I was fascinated by the gem he wore around his neck.

“Four.” Came his reply.

I released his hand, reaching for the crystal snifter, “the fourth part, is it time?”

“As likely as that would seem, it is not.”

“What is the fourth part?” There was so much complexity and depth in what I felt from the stone, if time was not it, I could not separate the fourth component.

“Though I am the first, and I was born of nothing, I was still born.” His reply was cryptic.

I thought a moment, was it life, or birth and re-birth? “Life?”

He twitched his lips, and there was a bit more of a curve into a smile than previously shown, and I could not help myself, I reached up to trace that smile that was the first true smile I had seen from the Elder. He spoke softly, “there is life in everything, Lady.”

I laughed softly, “Yes, there is, in all of nature.”

He watched me long moments, “you seek to ask another question.”

I thought long moments before asking, “would you accept my intrusion into your life?” I was not certain how to ask the Elder if my presence would be welcome given his tendency to be solitary and aloof.

His white-blue iced eyes locked with my own, “one could say you had done so already.”

I blushed again, “Yes, and that you have already once rejected me.” He had refused my attempt to reach him, and had in fact forced me to return to Matlal alone. Yes, the Elder had already rejected me.

“Did I?” His brow rose fractionally.

I took a deep breath, “it seemed to me that you did.”

“How so?” If there was amusement there, he did not show it.

[Alais d Nitesong]

“The first time you reached out to touch me from the Darkness, I felt you wanted to say something more, and yet when I sought you, you closed the door upon me harshly and quickly. I did not know what to think.” When he had reached for me, it had been a surprise, but an even greater surprise was when I reciprocated, his rejection. The dichotomy was striking.

“Then to save your soul is to reject you?” He did seem puzzled now.

“It felt that way. It caused me to reconsider.” His rejection had caused me to doubt the pull between us, and my wisdom in seeking him in a time of need.

“I see.”

His reaction was not what I expected, “the two actions seemed … confusing,” I said by way of explanation to him.

“Then you now wish to have been, lost?”

I shook my head, “No, there was a time when I would have welcomed that, but not now.” So he was telling me that had I reached him and he not rejected me, I would have lost my soul in that darkness? It had left its mark permanently upon my flesh and my soul, but what he was telling me was that he had done so to prevent the loss of my soul. Such is not a rejection.

“What has changed?” He was pressing me with questions, and I suspect that he already knew the answers, but he wanted to point them out clearly to me with his prompting.

I glanced into the fire, and slowly back at Khirsah, “My destiny is not to join Morrin, but to live my own life milord, and that I intend to do.”

He lifted a brow then, “Is it your own life? After all, you have only recently moved from a four way impasse.”

I took a sip of the amber liquid, “It is my life milord, that cross road does not intersect, and that is why it was so distressing.”

“It is your life that is the road.”

I nodded, Yes, it is.”

He regarded me unblinkingly, “your life cannot intersect itself. So again, Lady, you have recently moved from a four way intersection.. is your life your own? ”

He was asking me a very important question, “Yes m'lord, it is my own. It will not change that I have loved both Ulysses and Sylus, but it is time for me to move down the road I have chosen.”

He gave me a slight nod, “be sure it is your life, and not the image of a life that you believe the other wants.”

The easiest thing would be to remain in RhyDin and give to Uly and Sy that which they would have, but it would not be my own voice and life then. I was certain, this is the road my life must take. “I told the Younger I was not certain I was enough Khirsah. I am still not certain about that, but I am not deluded by images. I look into the mirror enough to know that.”

“The mirror is an image.”

“Yes, it is why I recognize them as well as I do.” I was referring to the silver mirror where I could look at the past and the future, and the images there have taught me much about imagery and the false nature of such things.

He paused then, “and perhaps why you hide within them?”

I dropped my head with a soft chuckle, “You will not allow me such a luxury, will you?”

“It is not you.”

I sent the crystal snifter into oblivion, “sometimes images are helpful.”

“Are they?”

I looked up at him then, “I believe I am ready to return home milord. And yes, they are.”

“Think on that a bit Lady.” He rose and offered me his arm, “I shall escort you home, Lady.”

I gave him a smile as I wrapped my arm around his, “I would be pleased by that.” It was then that I noted he no longer called me ‘Lady d’Nitesong’, but simply Lady.

[Alais d Nitesong]

The Inn was quiet and the lull permitted me to escape into my own little world for a time. The soft crackle of the fire was soothing, and the Liquid Fire slid warmly into my stomach as I waited. My decision to return to Matlal to rebuild felt right, but there was one more thing I needed to do before I departed. I needed to tell Sylus.

He arrived late in the evening, and was bent over the bar, watching something only he could see in its countertop as he drank his water. He appeared to be a man burdened under a great weight, and I knew that weight was me.

Taneth smiled brightly. Offering me the fresh fruit and goodies she had at the bar, but I declined, “Ah dae thank ye, bu' whilst 't doth look verra good, Ah am nae verra 'ungry, bu' thank ye.” If Sylus had not seen me yet, he would now realize I too was here. I let my head drop onto the back of the comfortable chair, he would need to come to me in his own time, this was not something I could rush, and a part of me wished we could walk alone to have this discussion. But, there was no point in delaying, I had remained in RhyDin too long.

He rose from his place at the bar and quietly strode toward the hearth, and the chair I occupied, before dropping into one of the nearby high backed chairs, throwing a leg over the arm before muttering more to himself, “the webs we weave.”

I opened my eyes and studied him, “webs?”

He did not reply immediately as his gaze focused into the flames, then at length, “time is a spiderweb, each new event can lead us down a thousand different roads. Some to the same place, others to someplace new.”

I canted my head at him, watching as his eyes reflected the dancing flames.

“I am very conflicted of late, Alais. And I know not what to do. The wolf in me says stay by your side and protect you from any and all harm that could come. Yet the man in me, says give you space to breathe and sort out your own turmoiled life. And in the middle is myself, torn between the urge to follow both edicts.”

I knew exactly how he felt. It had been the same tearing between loyalties and loves that had brought me to an impasse with no good solution for everyone I cared about. “’t hath been a verra rough road Sylus.”

He glanced at me then, “But which voice do I follow? Both are my own voice, yet at the same time, they are discourdant.”

I understood his feelings, and reminded him that such was a decision that only he could make. We each must follow the road that is right for us, and no matter how agonizing the decision, in the end, we each must make the choice.

“Is it safe to sit with you or should I be watching over my shoulder for an ancient dragon to come out of nowhere and blast me with cold fire again?” He had been roughly treated by Khirsah the last time we had met here in the Inn, and had not forgotten that meeting.

“'t doth seem tha' th' dragon coomes 'ere,” I told him, and that should he manhandle me again, I had little doubt that Khirsah would have no compunction about repeating a painful lesson.

He sighed and made his way toward me, “guess there’s only one way to truly find out.”

As he took a seat next to me, I picked up the crystal snifter, “Ah’ve d’cided tae r’turn tae Matlal Sy.” There was not much point in a lengthy explanation. It was better to be open about my plans, and I had to trust Sylus to understand that I could not give him what he wanted from me. A lifemate. It was not something I was capable of giving to him, no matter how my heart felt.

Sy started to apologize for the night that drew Khirsah’s cold fire, but my words stopped him in mid sentence. He let out a slow breath, “And I cannot accompany you.” He gave a slight nod, “Not like I’d be much of a help in any event. What good is a swordsman in the home of all those powerful dragons?” He gave me a weak smile that tore at my heart.

“there ist much tae dae, ‘n Xeno was righ’, ‘t ist nae th’ time tae giff up th’ work.” I explained. He nodded, but did not say anymore and so I continued. “Ye’ve th’ Keep tae r’turn, ‘n yer new ‘obby Sy. An’ Ah haff made th’ decision tae leave RhyDin tae follow a path Ah mus’ needs walk alone. ‘t ist a verra long tale.” I was not certain he would understand the reasons, and if he wanted to believe my goal was to be around the powerful dragons, perhaps it was better that way.

He frowned, “The Keep is not my home, nothing here is me, and the hobby is just something to pass the time.” He shook his head, “I would at least like to hear this tale, though I know that you’ve not the time for it.” His frown deepened as he thought of something distressing.

I slid my finger over the scar in my palm and felt it tingle in response,

“Just remember that though it seems you must walk alone, you never truly are.” His hand was holding onto the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles were white.

“Ulysses r'turn 'n subsequent d'parture didst bring me tae a cross road Sy. An' Ah cannae r'turn tae ye as Ah didst leave. Ah mus' follow this path Sy. th' Elder ist someone Ah mus' walk wi'. 't ist mine life Sy, an' Ah haff loved ye, bu' th' road doth diverge.” I could not return as the person he wanted, a mate. It was unfair of me to do anything other than what I was, and that meant setting him free. He had been wandering when he came to Rhydin, and whether he remained or moved on, I wished him nothing but fair travels and to find the happiness he deserved.

Sy released a slow breath, reached out a hand and slid it gently through my hair, “If that is what your heart truly desires, it is not my place to stop you, though it hurts. A lot.”