Open Chronicles Shadow and Ash | Instability

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"No, they were not," she said, distracted in studying him with her own careful assessment, then replied, "nothing worthy of mention, you however," she gestured to his arm, concern shown in her eyes.

She stepped closer then, even reached to place her hand against his damaged limb. She was no healer, that was a skill beyond her merits, but that did not mean she could not be empathetic. As she continued to look him over, she said, "our healers are quite skilled, no doubt they can mend this..." she looked up to him, "are you able to continue? They could come to us."

 
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"Your salves and bandages would be acceptable," he grated in reply, but shook his head slowly, "but your healers may save their skills for those that need it." There was a wariness in his tone at the suggestion of magic being used upon him, as though he were not entirely comfortable with the idea.

"This affliction is merely an inconvenience, Lady," he added as they continued along. It was difficult to hide the wince with every step, but he was a stubborn and prideful soul. He'd had quite harsh teachers through his youth, especially after committing to the path of the Seeker. The Lady did not suffer the weak among the ranks of her Seekers, after all. Hard bitten was not even in it.

The clink of armor shifting was broken by the sound of his voice, deflecting the conversation away from inconvenient notions like magical healing. "What were those creatures?" He clinked along a few more steps before adding, "they did not feel a part of the world. They also did not feel like several individuals."

They certainly had not acted like individuals. The puppet master had certainly had trouble with the strings, but there was something there. He was sure of it. A thread of magic ran through all of it, and it was not magic borne of the Lady.
 
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She looked him over a final time, and she removed the worry from her features with a wry grin. Like any warrior, he of course would make light of his injuries. She nodded, and thought to herself that whatever powers it was that had kept the dark magic of their enemy at bay would likely have the same diminishing effects on even their helpful magics. Or perhaps there was more to it than that.

As she turned and fell again into step with him, she put the thought aside and started again on their way, an said, "very well. Even without magic, our healers know many things."

This time they were not alone. Some of the reinforcements lingered there to sort through the mess of this little debacle, and a handful joined with Ánië and Erin.

"What were those creatures?...
... they did not feel a part of the world. They also did not feel like several individuals."
​
Her chin stiffened up some. Her posture too. And a breath.

"They used to be like us," she said, and the fell silent for a moment. Then another, "they were once my kin. By what evils they have been made the way they are now, I do not know... but they are no longer like us. I can not feel their light in my mind like I do these others," she gestured to the other Aerai who followed near, "unlike us, they do not speak. They tell no tales. They seek only to destroy, exactly opposed to what we are.

We call them Aica, for they are fallen, cursed - corrupted. But even your kind, or the kinds of the Orcs or the Dwarves can too be made like this, we have seen it.

Do as you have done, Erin..."

Though it was clearly pain in her voice, there was resolution. Not a one of them had ever shown any quarter, and not a one of them would be given any.

They drew near to the encroaching wall of Sharyrdaes' second tier, and there a grand gatehouse stood proudly, though marred by conflict. As they entered through, on into the second tier, there was not much that was different other than perhaps the buildings seemed a bit taller and closer. But also, the walls of the next tier seemed far closer, growing closer together with each step upward.

"Are you sure you can continue? We can rest here while the healers come to us."

 
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"So they are but another kind of heretic," Erin replied in a tight voice. He was keenly aware of the others that were tagging along with them. That was fine, even if his narrow view of the world made him seem cold and distant and give everyone a side-eye on their first meeting. "Accepting heresy breaks all ties that bind. They were never your kin if they could be turned to the dark so easily."

It had to be some kind of inherent flaw in the individual that made them fall. Erin had never understood how the allure of money or power over others could turn the seemingly faithful into heretical monsters. Especially when the price for turning aside from the path and abandoning Justice and the righteous will of the Grey Lady only led to ruin.

His eyes continued to roam, looking for enemies within this sanctified place. The pain in his arm and shoulder he simply pushed away until it was almost someone elses.

"I am certain, Lady," he said gravely when she queried him again. "I can see the war waged here. Let the healers rush to those that need it, ply their skills and limited strength on those that would die otherwise." He continued a few steps, grimacing beneath his helm. "Pain is a test and nothing more. I will live and remain whole. Surely there are others that need their ministrations more?"

But it did hurt. Didn't much matter, though. War was hell, after all.
 
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The Aerai were a people who did see grey. Erin's words regarding her fallen kin stung her, but she could not deny that there was some truth in what he said, perhaps. Something she had noted among the Aica was that they were very rarely if ever any of the more powerful of her kind, always on the lower tiers. But she wondered if this was less a matter of their mental susceptibility, or simply a matter of their ability to resist.

"The war began here," she said, addressing his mention of the signs of war present even here, "our city was infiltrated by a very powerful entity, and there," she pointed very high up to the city's highest tiers. Even from where they were, even through the dark, they could see the enormous structure high above, the great Temple, alight with torchlight and magic, "once there was a great tower which touched the clouds when they hung low. From there our council kept their vigil, and this creature brought that tower down."

Her eyes cast down as the remembered the great conflict, now well over a century ago, "for many years we fought him, and there are many of my kind no longer here because of it. Do not suffer needlessly, Erin, but do not mistake me. You are better to us in whole health than with a dead arm, and for those who may die much more effort must be given, and fewer ready to raise their blade all the while. Be sure to take care of yourself, as soon as you are able to. The healer's will know when and how."

Though she hated to admit it, she'd become far more pragmatic in recent years. Life of all sorts were of deep importance to her, but the preservation of her people had become paramount. Arkhivom and his ilk sought to undo them, and it was with a near sense of desperation that the Aerai resisted. It crept into her, and without her knowing, changed her little by little.


Sharyrdaes proved to be a large city, taking quite some time to travel through to where they were headed. As they moved up the levels, it was on into the fourth tier where almost everybody they came across was an elf. All of them were very fair, with varying shades of blond hair but predominately white or platinum. These parts of the city were the best kept, and looked to have little to no evidence of conflict as the lower levels had. The people seemed friendly enough, some regarding them as they passed by with regal nods, but for the most part they were a very quiet people.

Entering into the sixth tier, there was a vast courtyard, far larger than the one in the first tier. Standing tall and wide at the far side was the Temple she'd pointed out before, and on either side the city continued, build around this vast structure which ascended into the next tier beyond.

"From the balconies above you can see out over the entire city. Its quite marvelous with the lower levels inhabited once again," she remarked, and pointed high up the tall walls before them as they approached.

 
"We are more resilient than you give us credit for, Lady Anie," he said in a quiet, tight voice. "We humans are, that is. If the Divine wishes me to be healed, then so it shall be."

He did not like the idea of accepting the touch of magic unless it was necessary. Sometimes it was, but this was a simple burn. It hurt, it lit his nerves on fire and made him reluctant to look at the damage. Even so, he had been Her blade for a long time as humans reckoned it. Decades of service. He had been stabbed, bludgeoned, burned, and beaten bloody. He had been tortured in Her service. He had been in places where there was little hope of salvation.

The Grey Lady had come through every time.

The edge of desperation in her voice was matched by the resolute will in his stride, stance, gait. Humanity thrived off of determination, and thus had he lived. In stoic silence, he followed.

***

The way was indeed long, but after a while he became disinterested in the splendor of the city. He was not given much to flights of fancy or much of an imagination, either. Both were not strictly speaking valuable assets in his line of work, which tended towards serious conversations with people who did not want to speak to him. That, or killing in the name of Justice.

Of course, there were deeper reasons. He had his past, after all. Some things stung more than others did, wounded more deeply.

"I am sure that it is, Lady," he replied politely. The gravel in his voice was omnipresent, however. "Although, truth to tell, many things of beauty or lost on me. I am a sword for the Lady, and little more." Especially now. Pain rode behind that thought, but it did not bear thinking on too much.
 
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As they came near, they ascended a long set of lazy steps up toward a tall and wide archway. There, large, ornate wooden doors were opened wide, and from within there were a number of elves that came and went. As they came near the tall, open archway of the temple, those that had traveled there with them carried on to other things, leaving them more to themselves.

She stopped with him there, and looked up to him with a somewhat pale, solemn expression. She canted her head, "are you forbidden from appreciating the goodness you fight for, Erin?"

 
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"I am not," he replied evenly. "I can see the beauty in your city, in this temple. In you." He looked at her briefly, eyes hidden behind steel and expression lost to shadows.

"It is only that the Lady has made things difficult for me." A shadow flitted through his voice. He could not speak of the things that had been done to him after executing Her will. The fact that he was beyond the borders of his homeland at all spoke volumes enough. The Seekers did not often venture into the world unless a particularly noisome heretic went beyond Her disciples reach.

The brand on his back burned then, suddenly. He clenched his fists as pain washed through him and vanished.

"Surely your patron tests you, too?"
 
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There was a brief hesitation in her. She betrayed very little, perhaps the subtle shake of her head, the flaring of her nostrils, the up curl of her brows. Then a quick downcast glance before she turned away, looking into the temple, hiding the subtle warmth in her cheek.

"I understand of course," she said with a nod, "scars heal stronger for a reason."

She smiled, and he head lowered some, "I have witnessed the falling of my people from great grace, and am now forced to slay my own kin. Yes, She tests me."

And yet, when she looked to him again she did so with a smile, and a welcoming gesture inward, "come, there is something I'd like to show you."

 
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He did not look to her, merely nodded solemnly. "I am sorry that you must endure such," he said, and meant it.

He could tell her that the strength borne of such terrible actions - brought about by the whims of her patron - would make her resolute, pure in her faith. But he knew. He knew. Some could not survive the challenges of their patron. Some broke under the strain, and turned to heresy.

He nodded again as she gestured, and followed. He considered her as he walked, inwardly shaking his head. Elfin, with all the benefits of those of fae ancestry; long life, good health, and a strength that radiated out into the world. How long had she been facing this challenge of faith? How many of her brothers and sisters had she been forced to put down like rabid dogs?

More than he had, for certain. And the scars from his own purification and abjurations in the name of the Grey Lady had left his soul raw. And that not to speak of the mortal consequences; a family lost, A name ruined. And worse, so much worse than that. What of hers? Of the others of her ilk?

Unaware of it, he clenched his fists until the leather in his gauntlets creaked. Cruel. It was cruel and seemingly unjust and entirely like the Grey Lady. Justice was blind, and never painless and even if the reason was not apparent, he was so certain that it existed that he had flayed himself time and again in pursuit of it.

What would it be like to live that life for a hundred years? Hundreds?

Thousands?
 
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Her eyes fell to the ground before her as they walked, and she offered a subtle and no doubt unseen nod. There was a deep appreciation for the genuine expression from him, to which she could at least offer some remark.

"To each their own trials," she said, echoing words spoken many times by many others before her.

On into the temple, they walked down an elevated path that cut down the center of a terribly vast cathedral. On either side of this elevation were several steps down onto a wide flat floor on either side, and on either side there were great statues of the Celestial Pantheon standing tall, or wide archways leading on down long corridors. At the far end, directly ahead, the greatest of these many graven images stood before them. Astra, beholding upward with her arms open, and on either side of her a rounding staircase.

As they came near to the great image, Ánië came to a halt before her, saying, "this is Astra. It is said when the War in Heaven spilled here onto Arethil, her benevolence cast the fewest scars upon the world. It is she who I hearken to, and call to in prayer. I hope to dwell in her halls when my days here are done."

As she looked upon it, and spoke of it, there was a clear admiration in Ánië toward this god, not some fleeting infatuation with the divine.

"It is written that our gods test us with only as much as our souls can bear, but I must admit even I have asked if this was true from time to time."

 
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He could feel the vestment of this place even as he stepped onto the grounds themselves.

Most would never notice. Most self-professed believers did not actually believe in their patrons, or in the truth of God. Even in their own gods or goddesses. It was a rot that had set in to even the clergy of the lesser ones.

There were those that would foolishly deny the existence of other gods outside their own. Erin was not one of these and, in fact, Her Church did not believe in such folly either. The Lady was simply ascendant among them all, no matter what the others thought. Not first among equals, but Highest among a pantheon of small gods whose congregations lacked true belief.

"I am familiar with the Queen," he said. As an initiate of the Church, he was required to learn all of the errant religions of the world. He did not add anything else to the statement, though, because he could see and he could hear her faith.

Anie appeared to be one of those for whom their faith was not a part of their day-to-day ablutions. He could feel the quiet, resolute power of it while standing next to her. After a moment of deliberate thought, he reached up and removed the steel helm he wore and revealed a face that was absolutely...

...mundane. His eyes flowed upward to regard each of the statues of the gods and goddesses of the Celestial pantheon.

"I will not be permitted to walk Her halls," he said as he traced each statue. Hard eyes, hard face carefully blank of any kind of emotion. "I will forever walk the darkness between the stars. So it is written," he added gravely.

He turned his head only, the creak of the leather binding his plate the only sound. "What power is there in faith untested? She will seek to push the truly Faithful to the utmost limit. Half-hearted faith is worse than outright heresy," he said quietly. Outright heresy was faith in its own way, however undesirable.
 
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She nodded, and her head remained poised upward toward Astra's visage, but her eyes fell. While hers was a promise of grace and dignity, what did he see in his promise? It seemed at first a dour fate, but as she pondered it she drew from it a different meaning, perhaps one less dreadful. But even as she thought on it for herself, she wondered what he took from it? She wondered what it meant for him.

She turned her head to him, looking up and studying his features. He seemed as unwavering as the statue of Nykios she could see just over his shoulder; befitting too, caught in her sight next to the divine warrior's image. Her eyes quite obviously traveled across his jaw, over his lips, up to his hair and then down to one eye and then the other, caught for a moment.

Then her eyes turned up again as she spoke, saying, "it seems to be the fate of the heaven's greatest lights to dwell in distant solitude from one another."

 
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His eyes cut aside, dancing lightly over her frame, before returning to the images of a foreign pantheon. He was aware of her own eyes upon him, but his own features remained carved of stone. Neither cold nor warm, the image of the perfect warrior, the stoic male in a time of war and tribulation.

"Coming from such a one," he said softly, "brings a measure of peace, Lady." He did not turn from his study of the gods and goddesses. The words were delivered in a much kinder and warmer tone than his carved expression would lead one to believe.

A measure of peace, and a measure of pain. Solitude came in many flavors; some by choice and others by decree. He was certain that her own solitude was by choice. Strange, that he would be curious as to why the light of a pagan goddess would choose such. For Anie was certainly a pillar of faith, an anchor stone for her patron.

"The weight of faith can be a terrible burden, can it not?" Lidded eyes cut to her face, reading her expression as much as the words of her answer.
 
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Though he seemed hesitant to let his eyes linger on her for any more than a moment, she was content to look at up him for a little longer while he admired the work of long gone, faithful hands. When his eyes turned to her again they'd find her looking up still, studying him as he had studied those graven images.

"Indeed it can," she nodded solemnly.

But to her, the rewards her faith often brought outweighed those shouldered burdens. Even in this darkened place, when she could hear the sounds of music and joy, the laughter of children, she was reminded her faith had brought her through. She was often reminded.

She turned away, and gestured toward an archway some ways away, "let me take you some place you can rest."

She led him away from the main cathedral down one of the many wide corridors, each one tall with mezzanines down either side and wide walkways bridging across. As they walked out from under the shade of one such walkway, she looked up. Above, running through the center of the ceiling above, a thick ribbon of luminous crystal stretched all down the length of the corridor. Its blue light, with torches along the walls, lit their way.

"The temple has stood for ages," she said as she looked up with an almost childlike wonder, "some say there is still much we don't understand about the world, that in the past our peoples were all much more than they are now."

They came then to a door, and when they arrived there Ánië stepped to the side, and with the gentle wave of her hand the knob turned and the door slowly swung open, and she gestured to him, "your room, friend Erin."

 
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His eyes did indeed find hers again, and for a moment a discordant note rang through him. Like many of her kind, she was fair in a way that could make anyone stop and stare. The aetherial beauty of eternity enhanced by the sapphire light of her eyes was enough to make any swallow hard and consider.

But she had been alive longer than he had, or his parents, or their parents. And probably even longer, back into antiquity. He and his kind were but fleeting eddies in the flow of the world. Aside from a sword to fight in this war against a darkness he hardly knew, his life ultimately meant nothing to her except in the here and the now. How could it be any other way?

He cleared his throat as she turned. Her eyes saw too much and were too beautiful, and both were dangerous. What might she see in him and of his failings with those fathomless orbs? What temptation might besiege him, if he stared into them too long?

"As you wish, Lady," he said. He briskly pushed aside all of his concerns, choosing to battle the growing pain in his afflicted arm instead. At least that was a foe he could grapple with.

And so he moved, lost in his own thoughts. The temple was a splendor itself, but he found he could not appreciate it. Its halls were disquietingly silent, as was the city outside. The impression of emptiness not born of some affectation, but rather by the lack of people. It spoke of the horrors of a war that had gone on for far, far too long.

There didn't need to be physical scars on the city. The scars were there, all the same.

"I am but a simple man, Lady," he said gruffly as she spoke. The clank of his armor seemed overloud in the spacious place. "I cannot ken the grander scheme of the world, or what has come before. Her Word has sufficed for my life thusfar." Half lived, and yet insignificant compared to hers. "Sometimes it is all we can do to survive just the day, the hour."

He stopped when she did, and looked through the door into a well appointed room beyond. His eyes were tight with pain, harder to ignore the more tired he became.

He bowed to her as she spoke. "I might require the assistance of one of your servants to doff this armor," he said. It was quite heavy, and while he could unfasten it himself in normal circumstances... Well. His left arm still hung useless to one side.
 
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She returned his bow with the inclination of her head, and she placed her hand upon her chest as she replied, "I am hardly above such things. Allow me," and she gestured for him to enter into his room first.

Entering in, the chamber was like all else in the temple and yea the city itself - large. Archways into other rooms far taller than they needed to be, high ceilings with intricate embroideries and luminous, crystal chandeliers, the light of which seemingly influenced by their presence, growing as they entered in. Though for all that was ornate, there was also that which was plain, displaying both their appreciation for beauty, and their denial of its appreciation when needed. But, beyond any stretch of the imagination, there was a grandiosity in its design, bespeaking a perhaps fatal detriment.

With the wave of her hand she entered pulled blue-hued blinds closed over tall windows, and then with a more concentrated effort she brought fire to life beneath the chamber's grand stone mantle, where just near to her there was a long table. She pulled a chair out for him, and then she went to him and presented her hands, offering to take from him first his sword.

 
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He turned to regard her with the first visible emotion since they had met: one of scandalized disbelief.

"Surely you would not lower yourself to perform such a mundane task! Especially for such as me," he said in a choked voice. His eyes reflected the incredulity in his voice. As far as he was concerned, Anie was of noble blood. Certainly nobler blood than his own common-as-mud heritage.

As quickly as his carefully measured demeanor slipped, he had pulled his walls back up. He clenched the fist of his afflicted arm tightly enough to raise bright red pain that quickly cleared his head and reminded him of what and who he was. A blade, the Sword of Damocles in the hands of the Lady. Of course this delicate-seeming elfin creature could perform such a task without the aid of others. She handled a blade of her own, and he was little different. A tool to be wielded.

Is that what you really are? He ignored his own inner voice.

"Apologies," he rumbled roughly. "I should not have spoken so." He unlimbered one blade from his back with some difficulty and sat with the massive blade proffered before him in both hands. The weapon was nearly as long as he was tall, unadorned and workmanlike and scarred along its length with gouges and scratches and notches. It was as heavy as the sins that stained his soul, soaked in the blood of the faithless and heretical.
 
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She looked to him with an almost confused and wounded expression, though it was not pain for herself that she felt. She had always known that most, if not all other people in Arethil were... unlike her and her kind, even other elves. Or rather, they were the ones who were unlike. But in the way he so earnestly believed in what he said was almost difficult to hear and fully understand.

"Surely I would," she whispered as a reply, though she hardly felt it as lowering herself.

She took from him his sword, that great blade. It was far grander than any weapon she herself would or probably could ever wield, and then in that moment when she held it she could feel the weight of it. But she held it for him proudly then in that moment, peacefully in her arms. And then gently, she set safely down upon the table atop a softening cloth. She looked up to him then, a far more hardened expression on her face than she had shared with him before, and then, with a gentle bow of her head she moved to his side, reaching for the buckles to begin removing his armour.

"There are those amongst our Order, we call them the Sons, the Daughters of Nykios," she undid the first few harnesses, "they are the Swords, the Shields of the Order." she set a few items on the table, "It is with the shield our people are guarded, and made safe when trouble falls upon us, and it is with the sword that this trouble is met, and brought down. We call them Shields and Swords, but they are so much more than that," she pulled again on another harness, gentle and yet strong as she ever was, and yet her eyes cast down, and her voice became quiet.

"You are more than that."

 
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"I am a sinner," he said stubbornly. He removed the right gauntlet with some difficulty and set it the table next to his blade. After a moment, shifting at her ministrations on the straps that harnessed the pauldrons to his shoulders. With a grimace of pain, he drew the other gauntlet off and exposed his injured arm. Burst blisters wept bloody fluid from most of the exposed skin. "It is only through Her Grace that I am allowed to atone for the sins brought about delivering Her Justice to the wicked."

He found he could not look at her. She did not know the depths of the debasement he had suffered, nor the fathomless evil that he had witnessed. She did not believe that he was any different than she was - outwardly at least - and it was something he was having difficulty coming to grips with.

You are a leader of your people, he wanted to say. I am an exile. We are not the same, you and I. I am not even fit to be in your presence.

He clenched the wounded hand again, the bright lance of pain acting like a bucket of cold water. "They may be more than a weapon against evil, and a shield for the innocent... but what would they do if they found the evil behind a familiar face? And if no other could see past the lies?"

He was looking at her now. His face was chiseled stone, but emotion rolled in his mind. Curiosity topped his mind, but beneath it was deep seated resentment and anger. The bitter taste of betrayal soured his tongue. It was not unlike a betrayal she had likely suffered. She was hundreds of years old, likely, and must surely have endured the betrayer's knife.

Her presence and her willingness to serve an exile such as himself both distracted him. He could not allow his iron resolve to falter. He lifted his pauldrons with more brilliant pain and set them on the table.
 
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The expression she wore appeared perhaps stoic, but past that she felt pain. She had lived many, many years, as he had guessed. She could see much. And by now she had garnered more than enough understanding for this man who was before her now. He did not see himself as such, not a man of his own but a mere tool to be used by the whims of a deity, and the heralds of such. Her kind often behaved as such but knew differently. He believed it wholeheartedly - to his own discontentment.

She took yet another piece of the plate, setting it aside after allowing him the struggle of dealing with his shoulders.

"What is just in the eyes of one is not always so in the eyes of another. My people, our very culture, we are devoted to this great charge, to combat the evils of this world... yet in this, even we have been labeled the very thing we oppose in times past. And perhaps we have failed, perhaps we have wrought ruin upon ourselves in our own sins," she set her hand on his shoulder, "do we know not the enemy we face? Do we know not the evil in the eyes of the faces of friends? I have found that darkness can hide in the brightest lights, and so many are blinded by it."

There was a knock at the door, and Ánië knew that others had arrived to help tend to Erin. He'd likely deny their magic, but they were healers who needed it not.

"Rest, and do not let your enemies follow you here."

As she moved to depart, the door opening as others entered in at her prompting, "come find me in the cathedral in the morning, if you wish."

 
He watched her depart in silence, the door closing behind her with a gentle click. After a few moments, the sound of her footsteps faded in the mausoleum-like silence of this grand place.

A great sense of longing filled him as he thought of the aetherial beauty of that kindred spirit that had just left him.

"My demons rest on my shoulders, Lady," he whispered to himself. The words echoed in the room. "They reside within me and I take them everywhere I go."

***

Morning brought relief from the injuries taken the day before. Anie was correct in her assumption that he would not accept their magical assistance, although the reason behind it might remain obscure and senseless to her. The result was ultimately the same, though.

Adjusting the set of his armor with his renewed arm intact was no longer an impossible feat. Again accoutered for the only thing he was good at, he stepped back into the hallway and made his way to the cathedral. There were few souls about again, as it was the evening before.

The whole place had the haunted feeling of a society on the verge of collapse, as though the war they fought had wrung every last drop of vitality from them. And yet they persisted in their fight. It mirrored his soul just so. There was a kinship in suffering for the cause here, even if their cause was slightly different. Different, but the same.

The difference was the kind of light they sought to bestow upon the world, or to protect from evil at least. It was a cause he could understand and support, and the Lady would approve as well.

Walking in to the designated place, he looked for the pale beauty that had left him the night before.
 
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A wordless song carried through the halls of their Temple, as it always did. Solemn and beautiful, it carried the tones of the very essence Erin felt in this place, but in it too was the whisper of hope. A hope that refused to fade away.

On into the cathedral he would find her, set amongst many others joined in this melody. But in the same breath that he saw her in, her eyes fell from their upward stare to meet his while her voice carried on still. From somewhere, another came to take her place amongst the choir, and she departed and went to him. As she had the day prior, she dressed herself rather casually, but now unbraided hair fell around her like waves of snowy silk.

She smiled as she came near, and bowed her head some, "Almë, Erin, I trust you slept well."

She placed a hand on his arm for a moment and shared with him a smile.

 
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The song took him to another place and a time far gone. He closed his eyes and remembered that which had been.

Sunlight cascading through stained glass in blue and violet and silver, carrying the quality of winter with it as was always the case in the Motherland. The choral box was filled to the brim with adherents, their voices raised in song and praise of Her most holy presence.

His sister stood there, eyes still bright and filled with the Word.

He had taken his vows not long before, sworn his soul to Her service. In fact, this would be the last day he spent with his family. This was the last service before he was sent even further north to begin the ministerial training and the beginning of his martial work. The work that would be his life.

Erin, a member of the Exalted. It would be many years later that he was chosen from among his peers to bear the guilt and weight of the Seekers. Before the road was set that would lead to...

He blinked as she drew near. If she had been beautiful the day before, then she was close to divinity now. Hair unbound, soul enlivened by worship born of song. Truthfully, he did not belong in the presence such as her. The thought was amusing to him, too; he had though the same of the woman that would have been his wife if circumstances had turned out just a little different.

He bowed his head, eyes cast down. "Thanks to the efforts of your most gracious presence, and those of your healers, it was well." Delightful, an unaccustomed. He was used to the road, sleeping on the cold ground or in unclean places where the light of the Divine had not been seen in years.

Her touch raised gooseflesh under his armor.

"This place recalls memories. It does a soul good to see that such worship is no solitary light in the darkness," he said. He did not look up, partly out of deference and partly out of an inability to look upon such a creature as her.
 
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Her head canted to the side, and a gentle hum escaped her.

"I am happy, then," she said, and remained quiet for a moment as she pondered his downcast gaze. He was an elusive man, as imposing as his stature made him. If she willed it, she could attempt to pry her mind into his own and see what it was his thoughts were, but only the weakest minds would go unaware of such intrusion. She doubted his to be anything less than fortified, that much could be seen rather plainly. And too, she would hardly wish to encroach upon him in such an unwitting and likely unwilling way. For one such as her, respect far outweighed any curiosity.

Her hand fell away, and her eyes ascended upon graven images, "this place is old, my friend. Very old. If one lingers long enough, whispers from the past and from far and wide often find their way to them."

She beckoned for him to follow her, and she led him to the stairwell that would take them up and around the image of Astra.

"Do your people sing songs as we do, Erin? Do they worship in similar ways?"

 
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