Once a one-shot that is now gonna be split into three. Or two, because this story refuses to cooperate with me! Why did I re-read Serpent Mage again? I knew this would happen. /crawls away

With old age comes loss, Orla reminded herself, even for a self-made god. That was how it had always been. Experiencing memory loss should only have been expected.

It was not the old, ancient world that she was forgetting. The images of a long-gone ocean, of landscapes rushing across its surfaces, of ice-capped mountains and dry deserts, were still with her. She recalled the expansive cities of the mensch with vivid clarity, populated by buildings constructed of glass and streets that yawned out black. They had been times of metal, light and electric movement. Every day had been an intense experience that threatened to slip through one's fingers, where colors and notes reigned in a chaos that was anathema to her people's designs. That had not been the Sartan way, and she had been urged to try to temper it down with steady hand motions, to ease away the cacophony with her soft songs. For she was Samah's wife, part of the Council of Seven, and she could save the mensch from the Patryns, from themselves- for that was her role.

But had it always been that way?

When she first woke with this thought playing inside her head, she had felt nothing for it. Not when she knelt on the floor with the strange Sartan, or when Samah had talked to her with his casual indifference. She once tried picturing him as a younger man, tried to recall the day they met, but it was lost to her- or maybe it had never been in her possession to begin with. She could not recall youth, only arguments, followed by the silence within their marriage home. And nothing before.

Their Sartan brethren around them had fluttered, their eyes shifting, wondering which side to take. But there was no need, for she took the other man's hand -he was balding, his clothes frayed, his eyes weak- and remained silent.

It was a role she was resigned to, because it was easier than fighting.

The strange Sartan, Alfred, was out on the terrace once again of her and Samah's home. He looked out of place, and knew it strongly. What a strange Brother he was, for he refused to change out of his clothes, turning down the white, flowing robes that she had offered. "No, thank you. I don't think-" he had stopped, but the thought in his head continued. I don't think they would suit me. It had been such a sad thing to hear, and there was so much of Alfred that was very sad.

"Dinner will be ready soon," she had announced. She stepped out onto the porch carefully, her footfalls just a whisper across the surface. She had been trying not to startle the poor man, for there was always a cringe to his posture, as if he feared a hand would lash out at him for the smallest gesture.

Even so, Alfred had flinched, though she could see the smile form on his face at her presence. "Oh, alright. Thank you, Orla."

"I have interrupted you," she said, noting his previous stare off into the ocean of Chelestra (it is not the ocean I once knew, I must remember) despite the waves being far off.

"I was only- I'm sorry, it's really not important." He kept his eyes averted, looking to the floor like some lost child. She compared him to Samah's usual stance; tall, shoulders squared, face as impassive as the marble of their home with eyes that pierced through.

"Please, Alfred. I would not have asked if I was not interested." She looked out across the terrace, her eyes drawn to the blue sky that was an illusion, invoked by the Sartan to reflect past days. "I trust this is the first time you have ever seen such a vast amount of water."

Alfred was silent for a short moment, the light breeze ruffling his shirt collar. "Arianus was once not as water-starved as it is now. Oh, we did not have oceans like here. And rain was always so rare to happen, at least where the humans and elves lived. But we could supply them and their children with enough. We could even control the storms once before, until we…"

She caught glimpses of wilting trees and deserted streets. Yes, he had been the only Sartan to wake up from his sleep as he had claimed, but these images clearly spoke of something before that. They were unsettling, especially when she caught hazy visions of her white-robed brethren vanishing from the streets.

"There was one place with a lot of water though, back on the High Realms," he continued on, the tone of his voice changing. He sounded cheerful almost. "There was this lake once, possibly the largest one around there. It… can't compare to the ocean here, but the size of that lake always intimidated me when I was young."

"Intimidated?" She asked, for why would a body of water intimidate a Sartan, even one who was a child?

"Well, I suppose it was because of what she said to me." He kept his eyes ahead, his smile quiet and peaceful. "Lya would often tell me that perhaps something lived under the lake. Maybe some giant monster with tentacles, or a dragon that could breathe in the water like air. I knew that Ivor told her some of those stories that he picked up from the mensch- and she was always fond of great things like that anyway. I told her that it was probably something nicer than that, like people with fins and scales that made their homes inside the coralite, and eyes like pearls. She'd always laugh at that, but those were the stories we told each other. And I know now that it was all rather silly, but it… helped us. Or at least, it helped me."

Orla said nothing.

Alfred blinked, suddenly turning to look at her. His face was a remarkable shade of red. "I… I'm sorry for rambling on like that. Please excuse me. I was remembering and…"

"Please don't apologize, Alfred." She came up to him, quickly regaining her voice, and took his arm. "Come in, you must be hungry by now."

"Oh, of course." He nodded his head, still looking faintly embarrassed. Through the flimsy material of his coat, she felt his warmth- a pleasant warmth that was made even more so by the fleeting pictures of a young man kneeling on the shore of a lake, a girl beside him, the heat of the day making them discard the hoods of their robes.

When she had woken up from her sleep, she could not remember anything about her own childhood. She then realized how strange that must have been.