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"To behold Arlathan is to behold perfection."
-Tevarus, First Scholar to Archon Darinius
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He sat on a cliff overlooking the vast forest below him. At this distance, it would take one with keen eyes and certain knowledge to be able to discern the creations of hand rather than time, the shapes of design rather than chance. A more innocent observer would see only beauty unparalleled elsewhere in Elvhenan. Lush green dominated, dappled and enhanced by the exotic jewel tones and soft pastels of flowers and wildlife. Dedication and deduction allowed the observer to find the subtle walls of white marble, polished granite, and glittering quartz that served to shape the avenues and dwellings of Arlathan.
The watcher, however, belonged to those who knew the truth of the seemingly innocuous forest below. He had, after all, been present when the first seed and the first stone had been placed in the center of a vast empty plain, a modest beginning for the greatest city of Elvhenan, the pride of the Elves and the centerpiece of their world. He had stood beside his fellows, his clan, if you will, as they planted the possibility of hope for all tomorrows. He closed his eyes and lowered his muzzle, saddened at the memory. It had been the last time they were all together, those he considered his family. The last great venture they had embarked upon together, this Elvhenan.
Heaving a great sigh, he stood and began moving towards a hidden pathway down to the valley floor. It had been several aeons since he had last walked the avenues and byways of the city of they who had once been his people. It is time, he mused as he moved, changing from four legs to two. It is past time. The change is coming.
His stride took him within the outer borders of Arlathan, borders warded not by guards but by the ever-watchful eyes of the Guardians. The statues stood gazing outward, ever outward, their stony gaze powered by a constantly rotating round of the Councillors whose duty it was to provide governance for Arlathan. He smiled slightly. Well, at least that is one aspect of my stay here with which I need not concern myself...yet. He was, he knew, totally forgettable - brown hair, brown eyes, sturdy yet plain clothes, presentable but not handsome of features, confident but not cocky. He was, after all, first and foremost a hunter, and any good hunter knew that the most important part of the hunt was to avoid being noticed by the prey.
As he progressed through the city, he settled into the watchful stance of the predator - seeing everything, preparing himself for action, but waiting for the proper moment. The city and its people had changed, of course, since his last time here, for even those of Elvhenan, despite their protestations to the contrary, felt the flow of time and reacted unknowingly to it. There was also a new tension in the air, one that he had never noticed before, a tension for which he suspected he already knew the root cause.
Tevinter.
He never heard the word spoken, but he saw it in the occasional strained tone, the darting eyes, the stilted gestures whenever any related topic came up. He heard words that were new to the Elvish tongue, words adapted from outside of Arlathan: illness, disease, old age.
Death.
Here in the heart of Elvhenan, where no Tevinter had ever come save for the occasional reluctantly welcomed scholar or Imperial Ambassador, these words were, naturally, naught but rumor and fear: a whisper in the night, a story from the border cities, a shadow as real as dangers in the Beyond.
He shook his head, smiling to himself. And I know how real those dangers can be, he mused.
Then an odd thing happened as he entered the center of the city that surrounded the Hall Outside Time: all of the hints he had been detecting stopped. The tension that hummed so loudly in the surrounding areas of Arlathan melted away, and it was as it had always been for the countless aeons since the First Tree and Stone had established the city's creation. The serenity of the Councillors and Avatars permeated the area, wiping away such trivialities and soothing away fears. Believe in the Creators, whispered the humming in the air. We will protect you.
His hackles rose. This was wrong, that such a dire problem could be not only ignored but actively pushed away from awareness. He barely stopped the deep growl that started to emanate from his throat. You have forgotten the first lesson, my brothers and sisters. Trust no one. He grimaced. Even the Ancient Ones were once our allies, and now...
He paused in the shade of one of the Second Trees, ostensibly to admire the First Tree in all its glory. In reality, though, he watched the door of the Hall. They are inside, he thought to himself. Which means that my prey is within as well. He glanced at the markers outside the door. Hmmm, two hands into a five hand session. That should give me plenty of time to prepare. This prey is neither young nor foolish.
Turning away, he moved once more into the more active portions of Arlathan. Soon, my Avatar. Soon.
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Tallathian threw her head back and closed her eyes, content to let the sun caress her features. Around her the sounds of birds chirping and small animals rustling in the underbrush filled the air with a quiet susurration of life that soothed her agitation. As her breathing and heartrate slowed to a more temperate pace, she allowed a rueful smile to escape. Every single time, she mused. How do they manage to get me so riled every single time?
Continuing her deep breathing, she moved away from the Hall Outside Time and began the trek to her own abode in the Rose District. Around her the business of Arlathan was conducted as merchants, philosophers, artists and mages moved in their given duties. The bustle of activity, usually calming, only served to irritate her frayed nerves further. She sighed forcefully, attempting to dispel the discontent along with her breath. I think a trip to one of the Gardens is in order, she mused. A few hours with a tart bilberry wine while watching twilight give way to the expanse of stars above might be just what she needed to remove the last vestiges of tension that was the legacy of a typical Council Session. Perhaps the Garden of Serenity, she mused. I do so love resonating with the halla when it is their Time of Contemplation. Her muscles relaxed just thinking of the graceful beings of the elegant horns and still, calm thoughts. And I can check on Wind over Still Waters, she is expecting her firstborn soon.
Giving a short, brisk nod of her head, she continued on her way, now looking forward to a quiet evening surrounded by creatures that asked for friendship and nothing more. A nice change of pace, indeed.
"High Councilor!"
Forcing her spine to relax from its instinctual stiffening, Tallathian smoothed the smile from her mouth and the frown from her brows as she turned to the voice behind her. "Yes?" she inquired before she recognized him, then cocked an eyebrow as she realized who had addressed her. "Councilor Liniathalan. How may I serve you?"
The other elf drew to a halt beside her, not a hair our of place in the elaborate style that flowed to his waist. His clothing, always refined, reflected the many hands of days he had sat in the Council Chamber, but otherwise he appeared to be freshly risen from bed. He offered a quick greeting of respect to Tallathian, his fingertips brushing over the palms she presented to him, before he inclined his head and began with a formal greeting, "The blessings of Those We Serve upon you, High Councilor Tallathian. May your Creator find you in good health and peace this day."
She smiled in response. "And may your Creator grant you blessing and purpose." Her gaze flickered downward to where his fingertips still lingered on her palms, then back up. She was taken aback by the flash of heat she saw in the depths of the burnished gold of his eyes. Lowering her hands, she said, "I see we survived another Council session."
The deprecating flick of his elegant hands informed her of his opinion of the Session and the behavior of their fellow Councillors. "It is Sessions like that one that make me wonder why I worked so hard to become a Councillor in the first place. All the talking, the accusations, the blaming- You would think that we've never encountered a new race before. I wonder if these shemlen realize how much of our time they consume." His rich chuckle filled the air around them. "Of course, there are...compensations to attending the Sessions." His gaze caught and held her own. An inexplicable shiver ran down her spine as he added in a low, deep voice, "You were very passionate in your exhortations, Councilor Tallathian. It was quite...stimulating to behold."
Fighting the sudden urge to stammer, she inclined her head graciously. "You are too kind, Councilor."
"Please," he demurred, bowing slightly to her, "Call me Liniathalan."
"As you will," she murmured, taken aback. He was, by the standards of their people, quite young, his age measuring only a few short spans - he had not even seen a full aeon elapse as of yet. As a member of the Council for two scant spans, he was by far the most junior member of the Council of Arlathan, yet he had already earned a reputation within the Hall for his steady words of wisdom and ability to find reasonable compromise when those older and theoretically wiser than he refused to even entertain the notion. It was not only his fellow Councilors from which he had earned approbation, of course, but the general populace of Arlathan as well. A talented mage, he already equaled in skill those who had been practitioners for several aeons, and still managed to exude an air of quiet humility that served to disarm any resentment that may have lingered for such a young elf to achieve so much in so short a time.
If she were not absolutely sure that he was exactly as he seemed, she would suspect him to be hiding something. After all, she mused as her eyes idly scrutinized his handsome features and fine form, do I not intimately know the nature of secrets?
His youth and vigor were in direct contrast to herself, one of the few Elves from the time of the Founding that had not yet sought the waking sleep, and the only woman of that select group who had still not done so. In the quiet of her heart, she had to admit that in recent years, the call to enter the long sleep was becoming more and more compelling as it was demonstrated to her that Arlathan required her services and knowledge with less urgency as time progressed. Although aware of the curiosity of others at her reticence to go to her rest, she ignored it and carried out her duties, unable, even in her heart of hearts, to acknowledge what had passed between herself and her Master.
So she remained awake. Awake, alone, and increasingly weary of the life eternal that was her duty and her burden.
And now, this vibrant, young, and above all masculine elf was granting her leave to address him informally, a request that, though not a measure of courting behavior, was often a precursor to such.
During the course of their conversation, they had wandered out of the way of traffic into a small gardened alcove, one of many that dotted the wide streets and graceful lanes of Arlathan. Just as she realized that they were essentially alone, he grasped one of her hands in his own and began slowly stroking the palm of her hand in a shockingly intimate fashion. She glanced down at the point where their hands interlocked, suddenly aware of the heat emanating from his body, and raised her eyes to find a piercing golden stare regarding her. "My lady," he murmured as he slowly continued stoking the fire she thought long extinguished, "I wonder if you would do me the great honor of accompanying me to the Fields of Beauty on the evening of Spring Awakening?"
Eyes widening in surprise, she regarded him silently for a moment as she realized with sudden force that he was proposing to court her! She, who hadn't had anyone look at her in that fashion for... well, for aeons that she could recall. Trying to disguise her surprise at the request, she lowered her chin without removing her eyes from his face. He was certainly handsome, she would grant him that, with his golden gaze, supple way of moving, and elegantly coiffed hair that descended in waves down his back. But it was so sudden. "Laniathalan, I-"
Abruptly he placed a finger over her lips, quelling her incipient refusal. Startled, she acquiesced to his unspoken demand. "I realize that this is very sudden, my lady. However, I assure you I have very good reasons for my actions." A gleam entered his eyes, one she could not quite interpret but that sent a delicious thrill through her. "Shall we meet at twilight in the Fields on the day of Awakening, then, my lady? The Council will not meet for a while yet, and I can think of no greater pleasure than to spend some of the interim time in your company."
An almost palpable sense of longing gripped Tallathian. To feel that again, to feel fully alive... She hadn't seen desire towards her in another's eyes since...
She shivered slightly. Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she whispered, "Yes."
A slow smile claimed his lips. Taking his finger from her lips, he erotically traced the line of her jaw, the curve of her neck, and a slow, sensuous path down her arm before ending with a completely straightforward palm-to-palm clasp that was the normal method of signalling an end of the current conversation. She fought to keep her quickened breath and racing pulse hidden from public scrutiny as she bowed her head slightly towards him. The glint in his eyes, however, showed that he, at least, had noticed his affect on her. "Until then, Tallathian." Leaning forward ever so slightly, he lowered his voice. "I look forward to our meeting."
Then, as if he had done nothing more than consult with her on Council's business, he bowed smoothly and walked away, leaving her to fight a sudden urge to cover her cheeks with her hands.
She most definitely needed to spend some time in the Garden of Serenity before returning home, or she knew that rest would elude her.
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She arrived at the Garden in a much calmer state of mind. Her flustered condition had faded from tingly anticipation into a sensation akin to wary caution. Once out of his presence, practicality had begun to assert itself. He is the youngest Councillor, she told herself sternly. I am one of the five High Councillors. He is young and politically savvy, and has a knack for forming unlikely but advantageous alliances within the Council. This matter before the Council affects all of Elvhenan, and indeed all of Thedas. Someone as ambitious as he would want to be gain as much influence over the proceedings as possible.
And so her thoughts diminished the fire that had almost burned anew from its long dormancy.
She took a deep breath as reality re-established itself in her awareness. With her recent logic held firmly in her mind, she proceeded to discard all vestiges of the irritations of the Council Session from her mind as she entered the Garden.
The sun was finally setting, lighting the sky afire with brilliant reds, oranges, and violets in a combination that elsewhere would be garish instead of breathtaking. Third Trees surrounded her, singing quietly in contentment as their green and gold leaves swayed gently in a wind scented with lavender, elfroot and thyme. Occasionally flashes of white moved through the trees as halla proceeded about their duties. A constant murmur of birds, squirrels, and other small creatures dancing about in their home of branches, leaves and blossoms brought a smile to her lips. Life, she mused. Closing her eyes, she stretched her arms up and out, holding the position for an endless moment while she reached and pulled the beauty around her within. Life without care, without fear, without deceit. Slowly releasing her arms from their position, she thought wistfully, How I envy them.
*Ah, but our lives are not so free of pain as you think, Fleet of Foot,* a voice whispered in her mind.
Opening her eyes, Tallathian smiled at the halla that had come to stand before her. "I never thought you free of pain, dear one. Merely free of the agony of pain."
The halla shook her head. A light glissando in Tallathian's mind demonstrated the halla's amusement at the elf's distinction. *You are weary. Come, walk with me. For now, let us exist as the Creators intended: amidst the life around us.*
Tallathian readily acquiesced to this suggestion, falling in beside the halla as they walked further into the Garden. Pausing only to pick up a strategically placed flask of bilberry wine, she kept pace with the ponderous gait of the halla, casually scrutinizing the increasing girth of her friend. She placed her hand on the flank of the other, feeling the new life moving beneath her fingers. As they walked through Garden, she felt the constant flow of intuition and images moving between the life within the womb and his mother, the knowledge of life and duty that was being passed on to the young calf even before he made his entrance into the world. She fell into a trance as Wind over Still Waters allowed her to enter the flow of thought, bringing her willingly into the wordless circle of unstinting love and acceptance.
Eternity is the beauty of endless moments, she mused.
Eventually they came to a grove of trees deep within the Garden. Within stood a Second Tree, one of the trees planted from a seed given by the First Tree. Wind over Still Waters slowly lay down at the foot of the tree, content to rest her increasingly unwieldy body. Tallathian went to the tree, placed her hands on the trunk, and greeted it wordlessly. She contemplated the Tree, as she always did when visiting the Garden, recalling the moment she had laid its seed in the soil and first cajoled the awareness within the seed to awaken. Even now, she felt that awareness, buried deep in the slow measures of time to which the Second Trees naturally moved, and tried to recollect how many aeons had passed since she first coaxed the earth to accept the seed.
Why do I feel the passage of time of late, I wonder? she thought silently.
*You are too wise to contemplate that question this night,* the halla remarked with a tinge of reproach.
"Oh?" she said as she settled onto the ground beside her friend. "And why is that?"
The halla snorted. *You have forgotten, then, what night this is?*
She suddenly stilled as the halla's statement abruptly reminded her of the reason for her restlessness. The Council Session and Liniathalan's unexpected attentions had almost driven it from her mind. Sighing, she said, "No, I have not forgotten." Sipping from her flask, she contemplated the stars through the expansive branches of the Second Tree towering above them. "How can I forget?"
Resting her nose on Tallathian's arm, Wind over Still Waters tried to comfort her. *As long as you remember, as long as you breathe, as long as you learn, it will not happen again.*
She looked down to look into the lambent eyes of her companion. "But what of the others, my friend? Sometimes I feel as if they have forgotten the sins of the Elvhen. When we talk of the Tevinter in the Council, I see the same fear and hear the same arguments." She turned to gaze sightlessly into the night. "I will never forget. I can never forget." Her chin firmed. "And I will never let it happen again."
She held the wine flask above her head and lightly wove magic into it and through it, changing its nature as she did every span when she memorialized the death of the Minauri. Bitter vinegar now resided in the flask. Lowering it to her lips, she smelled the tart, acrid scent. Speaking to those long gone, she whispered, "I am sorry I could not save you. I will carry my sorrow for all time, as I carry your memory. Rest in peace, and may the Beyond hold you in peace and comfort."
Slowly she swallowed the astringent liquid, accepting the small penance she exacted upon herself as one who survived when an entire race had perished. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head in silence, allowing the memories to wash over her. In agonizing detail, she recalled the horror of the cries of those dead and dying, their lives bleeding out from the wounds inflicted by elven swords and arrows. The flames had burned fiercely as an entire civilization burned to the ground in a single night, never to rise again.
She remembered her powerlessness to prevent it.
"There are so few of us still awake that were there," she mused. "And I am the only one who yet sits on the Council. All the others have withdrawn, choosing to contemplate the past rather than the future." She sighed heavily. "I wonder how long it will be until I will be the only one left who has no history, only memories."
*Time is the only answer for that, I'm afraid,* the halla beside her replied.
She stared once more at the stars, trying to remember what they had looked like at the time she had come into the world. "That is what I fear the most," she whispered.
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She arrived home in a pensive frame of mind. Removing her wrinkled pants and tunic, she settled a long flowing gown of pure silver silk over her body. Her hands unwound her knee-length hair from its customary tight coil around her head and allowed its length to fall gently down her back. Revelling in the knowledge that the next Council Session was several hands of days away, she stretched luxuriantly and twirled in place, enjoying the cool air around her as it signaled the presence of the night and the stars, of darkness and secrets.
Shaking her head slightly in an attempt to clear the last vestiges of clouded thought, she turned and proceeded down the small hallway in the back of her house, her feet seeking, without any conscious direction from her mind, the safety of her sanctum. Arriving at an apparent dead end decorated only by some interweaving vines, she paused and considered the empty corridor for a few seconds before waving her hand in a peculiar gesture.
At her motion, the illusion that made the end of the hall innocuous to curious visitors melted, revealing a mirror that held naught but mystery within its surface. Her hand gently traced the designs carved into the vast frame, her mind wandering as she recalled who had given her the mirror, and why.
Until we meet again, my Avatar...
She shivered as his voice echoed again in the vaults of her mind. Unconsciously, her fingers found the faint lupine designs etched in the strange material that originated from the realm on the other side of the mirror. Out of habit gained over aeons, she brought her hands up before the mirror and stilled herself, quelling all movement, all thought.
All breath.
The mirror began to pulse softly, beating more strongly as her own heartbeat slowed at her command. The familiar sensation of absolute serenity caught her up, and, in moments, she floated in a sea of utter calm, one with the life that pulsed within and without. For an endless moment, she hovered in the sensation of existence without need, purpose without desire, life without impetus.
When in such a state, it was simple to forget who others perceived her to be, and remember who she truly was...
And in that instant, she was propelled through the mirror and into the Beyond.
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An explanation of Elven time as kept in Arlathan:
hand - five days
span - 100 years
aeon - 1000 years