Restday, 10 Charlatos 5119

She sat with her head back toward the torrent, hoping childishly that the rain would wash away what her healing spells could not. The fire burning beside her offered meager warmth, and even more meager light, as it too struggled to continue.

“What if it is not the rain ...”

Rolling the tension from her shoulders she dropped her head finally, letting the hood of her jacket provide what shelter it could as she looked down at the polished circle of opal resting in her palm.

“Unbalanced waters can never still.”

The winds shifted, blowing the rain sideways as the surf to her right tossed up, threatening to wash over the jetty underneath her. She clutched the opal in her hand and drew back, using the firepit beside her as a wind break as she dug a brush and small pot of silvery ink from her satchel. The scars on her cheeks still burned, though she was pretty sure the pain was phantom. Visions were one thing, being bodily taken over was another.

“Same attracts same.”

She drew the opal closer to the waning light of the fire, dipped her brush in the ink and traced a familiar rune unto its surface. Just like Grandmother taught.

“Seek the meek.”

Her eyes closed briefly, shutting out her senses as she reached outward and clutched the newly made runestone in her hand, calling. She saw it’s eyes first, deep sapphire like the still waters of the Saewehna lagoon, considering her with curiosity. The rest of it's form coalesced as it drew nearer, swirling tendrils of water with a constant wispiness, as if ready to return to it's natural state at any moment.

“Is he making you cry?” She asked gently, peering at the spirit. It looked back at her with a concerned expression, not understanding her question. With a sigh she tucked the runestone into her pocket and pushed herself to her feet, pausing to pick up a smooth, round stone the surf had deposited onto the jetty as she did. The spirit trailed after her, moving to hover over her opposite shoulder to inspect what new prize had been found.

“You know …” Who cared if the spirit couldn’t understand her words. Words were the purview of the permanently corporeal, but they were the easiest path to properly communicate her emotions. “The Warden sent us here, to gather ‘stones of the sea, but not of Caligos.', to building the warding stones.” She extended her hand toward the spirit, showing the stone in her palm before she pulled her arm back and sent it skipping out across the still, harborside waters off the jetty. “I don’t know that we did any lasting good on that island…”

She paused, glancing to the side to find her spirit friend hovering close, another round stone extended toward her in offering. “Thank you.” She smiled softly, accepted the gift and then continued, “… but the Isle of Four Winds was able to heal a bit of Caligos. I feel as if I owe it. If only I had any idea what was going on. Who are the Fallen? The Flock, the Forlorn? And who in their right mind would count on me to ... prevent it."

The gifted stone found itself skipping over the waters with more force than the last. As she took a step back she found the spirit waited beside her with another skipping stone, the expression in the swirling whirlpools of it’s face almost eager. She accepted the gift, it would be rude not to, but gave a grateful bow of her head and allowed her hands to rest on the cool waters of the spirit's as she returned it.

Her voice dropped, “I am a Little Rose to one mist filled isle, and a Little Bird to another, apparently. But I haven’t any idea how to heal either of them …”

With a deep sigh she pulled the hood of her jacket up farther to hide the scars lacing her cheeks and turned to make her way ashore, an ocean spirit clutching a gifted stone to it’s chest trailing close behind.

Day of the Huntress, 10 Phoenatos 5118

The Fortress had long since grown quiet, the silence cut only by the occasional patrolling guard who cast a suspicious glance at the elven woman perched on the edge of the dock. She gave a polite nod and smiled at the most recent crimson and gold clad man, suffering his appraising gaze until he moved on. "Like clockwork.", she thought, her smile dropping the moment he was gone. Leaning over, she pressed her palms to the damp wood of the dock, and peered into the darkened waters of the river below, watching the lights of the city reflect on it's mirrored surface. 

"A lady shouldn't be sitting alone at night on the docks... especially literally ON the docks. You'll ruin your dress."

The voice was snide, but when Avawren looked up to meet the gaze of the flame haired Ardenai next to her the expression she found was kind. She chuckled dryly, kicking her sandaled feet as they dangled from the edge of the dock. "I haven't been feeling particularity ladylike recently."

The other elf crouched down, studying the woman next to her carefully before following her gaze out to the river. "Your mother would be disappointed."

"She should be use to it by now, I'd think." Avawren shifted her weight, tucking the light fabric of her gown under her legs to ward off the chill night breeze. "I'm a long way from home, Xosh." 

"And yet, somehow..." Xoshonel glanced to the side, her eyes catching her cousin's for a moment. "Somehow still right in the middle of everything." 

"I certainly am not. No one can be in the middle of anything in this city unless they're the right kind of elf. I'm more... " She scoffed and waved a hand, "Prowling the outskirts, searching for scraps."

"Ha!" The night's silence made the druid's laugh particularly boisterous as she gave the silver haired elf next to her a nudge in the ribs. "Prowling certainly. Scrap hunting? Never." Receiving only another distracted chuckle in response, she decided to get to the point. "Your friend's trial is tomorrow?" 

"Mmm." Avawren nodded once.

"And you -actually- care?" The other woman asked, stressing her meaning.

"I would not be threatening the state of this lovely new dress if I didn't." She smirked, then shook her head at Xoshonel's flat look. "Lyrna is my friend. One of the first I've made in fifteen years, in fact. So of course I care."

"And do you think she is guilty?" The query was quiet, laced with curiosity. 

Avawren's response was immediate, "You could ask her yourself and she would say that she is. So yes, in the plainest definition of the word. Should she be held accountable? That's the more poignant question, but not one that many Vaalorians seem to care about." She shrugged, remembering another conversation of another night, on this same spot. "...black and white with Vaalorians, no shades of grey. More is at stake here than Lyrna's freedom or ties to her house. I remain convinced there's more going on here than the obvious fact that this six month's late trial is a nice distraction from the Lord Chamberlain's demands to the western - " 

"Nalfein." Her companion interjected with a sniff. "They had that magically induced winter thing looming over them, of course it was delayed." 

Pointedly ignoring the derisive sniff, Avawren shook her head again. "Lyrna had been wandering free months before the lake froze and winter arrived. I've heard that argument before and I don't buy it."

"Of course you don't." Xoshonel retorted, "Distrust is as in your nature as over thinking every detail, and worrying yourself sick is." 

Avawren narrowed her eyes and briefly considered giving the smug elf next to her a good pinch. "The Vaalor are not as simplistic as the other houses like to pretend they are. Lyrna has been one of the most vocal and obvious supporters of the lesser races in the Fortress. There are certainly elements that would be happy use her as an example of what happens when one does not correctly toe the line of diplomacy. You don't need to be an empath to sense the terror the other Vaalor feel in her presence. This whole mess has been an excellent reminder to them all that they fear banishment more than death itself." Her tone turned dark, ".. besides, what better way to keep soldiers in line, if you are soon to be testing their Honor." 

Xoshonel blinked several times and considering the profile of the woman next to her; the hard set of her jaw, the way the corner of her lips turn down in disdain. In the more than a century that she'd know Avawren she'd only seen that look a handful of times, and it always meant trouble. "I think ..." She interjected, hoping to disrupt whatever train of thought her cousin was on, "I think you need some nice jasmine tea and a good sleep." 

"I agree on the drink." Rising suddenly, Avawren bent to kiss Xoshonel on the forehead. "But it will be something stronger than tea." 

The druid blinked, taken by surprise by the sudden movement and called after her cousin who was already stepping lightly down the dock. "..and the sleep thing?" 

She received only a dismissive wave as the figure disappeared behind the outer walls of Ta'Vaalor. 

Feastday, 14 Koaratos 5118

"... Listen."

That wasn't how you began to pray to an arkati. She knew this, but her legs folded under her in the snow were cold and she didn't care.

"I am not the sort ..." Avawren paused to pluck a weak, half withered sprig of Imaera's Lace from the area surrounding the the altar. She was thankful for whatever blessing let them continue to bloom despite the unnatural weather.  "I am not the sort to do this. To ask things or grovel or any of that."

Elm leaves, for communication. To inspire words to be more than just heard, to be felt and understood.  Just like her grandmother taught. Her fingers were numbed with the cold but her hands would have shaken anyway, with the work she'd done tonight.

"I tend to only ask things of the lesser spirits. I can see them, they help me every day." She turned the leaf, catching the delicate flower with it's stem to  weave them together, then paused to find another snow brave sprig of Lace.

"But I am at a loss. The longer this goes on, the less chance I see of it ending well... " One flower entwined with the next. The quiet work of her hands usually stilled the tumult of her mind but it was doing little of that tonight. Tonight the images of those she cared about, fallen dead at her feet one after the other, were too fresh for any sort of calm. She cast her eyes up instead, speaking to the rolling grey clouds.

"He is your child, arkati." Avawren was surprised at how her voice suddenly caught in her throat, "... they are both your children."

A brief shake of her head cleared the dampness from her eyes. White flowers are impossible to find in the snow through tears. She quieted herself, made sure her voice was steady before she made her request.

"Please. The boy will not let us help him. Whatever is grasping at his mind is slowly killing him, and without his guidance I don't know that we will be able to end this storm.  Please guide them both. Let the elder help the younger, and thorough it ...through it." She hook her head again and brushed the platinum locks that tumbled over her eyes away in annoyance. "I don't even know. I'm just a stupid elf from very far away who has no idea what she's doing."

She gathered the end of chain of flowers and leaves she'd woven, looped them round each other and paused to look at her handiwork. The elm leaves were brittle and small. The cold had come so quickly in spring that they hadn't even fully grown before they died. The flowers too were thready, even with the blessings offered by Imaera. It was a good representation then, she thought as she leaned forward to place the garland reverently upon the low altar, of the spirit of the people of Ta'Vaalor. Fighting valiantly to remain, pretending to be strong in hopes that appearances could be reality. What else could they do, but hope and pray?

She gathered herself and stood, puling her cloak tight around her as a gust stirred the snow into a whirlwind for a moment. There was more to say, but words couldn't say it. So she closed her eyes and prayed, in a way she hadn't in decades, then quietly made her way back to the warmth of the bonfire.

Volnes, 02 Koaratos 5118

My Dearest Gaelira,


           I was delighted to receive your letter, along with your lovely gift, when the ships from home arrived here in Ta'Vaalor last week. Seeing those familiar black sails on the horizon lifted my spirits immeasurably. It must have cost you several favors to see that room was found for a personal gift in among the supplies, but I should not be surprised. You have always had a way with words and ears.
      
          I was notably less delighted to hear of Cyran's latest exploits. The Lady Almedha is a flighty finch of a woman so I would not expect this dalliance to last the season, but the poor boy will find himself under the Dowager Orilynn's gilt heel if he is not careful. Please impress upon my elder sister that it is her duty to help him navigate the perils of matchmaking. I would do so myself, but we both know how highly Cremia holds my advice. She has always been enraptured by you, however, so perhaps she will take it to heart.

        The linden trees must have long since blossomed there, and the sea breezes turned warm and pleasant. I think of them often, especially here. All that they say of the situation is Ta'Vaalor is true, I'm afraid. It remains beyond the depths of winter here, even at the beginning of Koaratos. It is even more unnatural as that, as it's the sort of winter that the fortress has never seen. It snows endlessly, and the cold is bitter and relentless. I am proud that House Nalfein has risen to aid our cousins here, when they are in such dire need. And yes, I do understand your insistence that return home, but I'm afraid I can not. My stop in Ta'Vaalor was only a bit of sight seeing on my way to the Library Aies, but sister ... if you've lived to watch as a lake freezes solid in mere moments, then stayed as the people struggle to survive, you can not simply leave. I think often of what your brother would have done, and thoughts of him are ever my guidance.

       On that subject, I'm afraid I must beg a favor of you. I have thought about it intensely, and I'm afraid that I will be unable to return for Ignais' Remembrance this year. I expect, and accept, the Malcisong's ire in this, and would gladly carry the burden of their disapproval in person as I have all these years. However, I feel that staying here to help in what ways I can is a larger honor to him, and a better way to repay my debt, than placing flowers and drinking into the wee hours. Please accept and forward my apologies and my love.


Ever your loving sister,

Avawren

Volnes, 25 Lumnea 5118

Maple leaves, to ward against demons and offer protection. Delphinuris flowers for peace in the face of this adversity of ice. Blaestonberry blossoms, the best I could think of to represent the boy; they mean innocence and childhood, and I want to believe this is all just an innocent mishap.

Just like grandmother taught me.

I spent a day trying to find delphinuris nearby. Some that may have survived the cold, or been tended safe in someone's garden. It felt important that they come from Vaalor lands. That they'd struggled for survival in a ceaseless unnatural winter the same as I see the peoples of the Fortress do every day.

The blaestonberry I had to travel across the frozen lake to find, but the sudden change at the lake's edge - from the depths of frozen winter to the warm breezes of early summer as I caught the towers of the Sapphire City in the distance was a good reminder of just how unnatural this problem is. And my uselessness in the face of it.  I don't know when I became so altruistic. It's exhausting.

I sat in King's Court, warm near the bonfire, and weaved them all into a garland while the usual evening gathering buzzed and chatted around me. If anyone noticed, or cared to ask, what I was doing I'm not sure I would have answered truthfully A century of lectures, and watching Grandmother treated as a 'delightful Ardenai oddity' at summer garden parties and winter balls, have instilled in me a resounding reminder of the Nalfein opinion on Nonsense. Thinking of it brought a blush to my cheeks, even though no one around had any idea what I was doing. Or would likely care if they did.

Usually I linger in the Court, waiting until the brothers have left for the evening and everyone has dispersed to their own private corners. I was the first to leave tonight, dashing out with a hurried mumble about courage. Lady Lynaera's thoughts followed me, bidding me to be well. Of course she noticed. Nalfein always notice.

As I sat trembling in the snow near Imaera's shrine I tried to remember how long it had been since I'd spoken to the Spirits for anything other than calling them for spell work. Why did I go out to the orchard shrine? I still struggle with my opinion of the Arkati, but Imaera is the patron of the sylvankind and I at least remember enough to know that if I'm asking the lesser spirits for a boon I would be remiss not to include an Arkati in the deal. If I'm being foolish I might as well be as foolish as I possible can.

I don't know if it will do any good. Actually, I'm quite positive that it won't. But I had to do something. There are whispers of dwindling food stocks. The cold digs into your bones in a way none of us are use to. The Legion patrols relentlessly. I watch Anarquendi grow ever more distracted and tired and I'm certain he's wearing himself ragged trying to find the child first. I'm just as worried at what desperation and fear might drive the Vaalor toward, and yet all I can do is knit mittens and gather herbs nice and safe within sight of the gates.

I had to do something.