"The gift of scrying was given to us by the stars," Aaravos says, "And it is under those stars that such magic must be cast. In daylight, the attempt would only give us blurred images, ill-defined portents."
Sarai pulls Aaravos's cloak about her shoulders; it is a little cold at night on the balcony.
Aaravos himself is bare-chested, starlit skin glittering like the night sky above them. He isn't affected by the cold, something Sarai envies.
He touches the smooth onyx bowl that has been filled with clear water and which reflects the full moon above them.
His eyes go a blinding white as he begins to sing, in a high clear language that Sarai can barely comprehend, though she knows what the words mean.
"I sing to the stars who have made me, I sing to the sky who bore me, I sing to the moon who has blessed me. Grant me sight beyond sight, across this dark expanse, this void between the worlds,
Let me see the one named Amaya."
The water ripples, once, twice and then goes completely still, shimmering with iridescent light that clears away like fog before the rays of the sun.
Sarai leans closer, and she can see Amaya.
She has grown no older, at least not in ways that mark the body but there is worry in her eyes, and Sarai can see that Amaya holds herself taut as a bowstring.
Her dark hair is still cut short, and she is signing rapidly to another soldier, something about tunnels…
"Oh," Sarai says, tears springing to her eyes at the sight of her little sister, "She's still looking."
"She is every bit as devoted to you as you are to her, zahrati," Aaravos murmurs. "I do not think she will ever give up hope."
"But I can't get back," Sarai says, and breaks down into tears.
Aaravos sets the bowl aside, and embraces her, tucking her head under his chin, murmuring quiet words that Sarai can't understand through her sobs.
Eventually, she falls asleep against him, exhausted by the return of grief's bleak tide.
When she wakes, she is lying in front of the crackling hearth. Aaravos is beside her, flipping though the pages of a large tome with one hand and writing with the other.
He's writing faster than he usually is, almost feverishly, Sarai thinks, slowly sitting up.
"...no, that's not it," he mutters, frowning. "There must be something..." he turns over another page, a growing scowl on his handsome face.
"Aaravos?" Sarai asks, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "What is it?"
"I'm...trying to find a loophole," he says, a frustrated sigh escaping him as he tosses the quill down, ink splattering the parchment.
"A loophole?"
"Not...for me," he says, "for you."
"You think I could escape?" Sarai asks, dumbfounded.
"If I can find a loophole, yes," Aaravos says, then looks away. "But I would not be able to follow."
The sudden surge of hope that Sarai had felt is squashed abruptly.
"You'd be alone again," she says, horror creeping into her voice.
"I have been alone before," Aaravos says softly, and Sarai can see the faintest glimmer of tears on the edges of his long lashes.
"I won't leave you alone here," Sarai hisses. "If one way doesn't work, we'll find another."
"Sarai..." Aaravos murmurs.
"I-," Sarai begins, hesitates and continues, "I love you. I'm not leaving you here all alone again."
"But your sister-"
"Amaya would understand that I leave no one behind," Sarai says. "And we have time to figure out a plan. You said that it's not a year to year ratio."
Aaravos studies her for a long moment, his gaze intent. "You are a stubborn woman, aren't you?"
"Darling, I'm surprised you didn't notice before," Sarai says.
Aaravos smiles, but it's a slow, tentative thing.
Sarai leans in, kisses him softly. "'Ahabik, Aaravos," she murmurs against his lips. "I will not leave you."
He stares at her, heartbreaking relief written across his lovely face like stars across the sky.
"Sarai," he breathes her name as if it were a prayer and kisses her again, desperate, clinging to her as if she would disappear if he let her go. "Sarai, 'ahabik."
Sarai looks up from one of the few books she can read within the tower, and finds Aaravos by the window, head tilted up, watching the endless void outside the tower. It's late, and the stars have begun to glimmer in the sky beyond.
They've been researching ways to escape for nearly six months now and Sarai stretches, yawning. It wouldn't hurt to take a break.
Aaravos looks beautiful, a creature of magic and starlight, within her reach but still somehow just outside it.
She stands and walks to his side, reaching up to touch his cheek.
"Where has your mind wandered, Aaravos?"
"Far afield, where the stars once met the horizon, zahrati," Aaravos murmurs. "The past."
"Could you tell me about it?" Sarai asks.
"It is a long story, Sarai," Aaravos says.
"We have plenty of time," Sarai replies, leaning close, resting her head against his shoulder, allowing her arms to drop and curl around his waist.
Aaravos hums softly and settles his own hands at the small of Sarai's back, a gentle pressure against her spine.
"Once," Aaravos says, his gaze distant, "when the world was young, and the stars still walked the earth, they would dance across the sky at night, guiding all who would wander beneath their light.
They would cast their spells through their dances, and in this way, magic came to the world, gifted by the stars themselves.
The elves, those touched by the purest magics of the world, those of sky, of sun, of moon, of sea, of earth and of starlight lived beside humanity in peace for a time.
But humanity grew jealous, desiring the gifts of the star-blessed elves.
In time, one of the starlight elves sought a pupil among the humans. The elf had realized that although the humans were not blessed as the elves were, they could still use magic as they did.
The elf found a human girl, whose name was Elarion, whose name means bright-souled one.
She took to magic as a bird to the wing, instinctive as though she was elf-born, though her blood was human through and through.
But learning the Primal magics was slow, even with her innate talent, and she desired faster results.
She discovered that in sacrificing magical creatures, she could use their essence to cast her spells.
Thus did the dark magic come to be.
The first person to learn of her terrible power was her teacher.
She struck beneath the light of a full moon, and though she had loved her teacher dearly, she found now that he stood in her way.
She wrenched from his heart a piece of starlight, learning the abilities of far-sight from it and leaving her former teacher horribly wounded and bleeding behind her," Aaravos says solemnly.
"In time, she was stopped by a council of elves, who bound her in silver chains and cast her into the ocean, far away from the starlit skies that she had loved so dearly. Even her stolen far-sight could not save her from the darkness that embraces all at the end of their lives."
"What of her teacher?" Sarai asks, though she thinks she already knows how this story ends.
"He was cast into a prison for his crime of teaching the Primal magics to a human. The council blamed him for her discovery of dark magic. And so he was cast into a tower between the worlds, and left to rot," Aaravos murmurs.
Sarai touches the dark star at his chest, which still glimmers faintly with starlight at its edges.
"He could not have known what she would become," she says, pressing a gentle kiss to the star's center.
"He knew," Aaravos says softly, "He thought she could be turned from that path. So strong was his faith in her, that he did not see her treachery until the moment she ripped out his heart."
"How did he live?" Sarai asks.
"Another elf heard his screams of agony, and was able to save his life," Aaravos murmurs. "It was many moons before he was able to stand and then it was before a council that sat in judgment. What little magic he had left was deemed not a threat. Elarion had stolen the heart of his power and there was no getting it back."
"Aaravos," Sarai begins to say, but he presses a finger to her lips, silencing her.
"It is the past, Sarai," he says. "I have made my peace with it."
"Do elves take marriage vows?" Sarai asks, staring into the crackling flames in the grate.
Night has fallen once more in the tower, and Sarai has elected to spend the night in the study, to sleep on the wide banther rug that is spread before the fireplace.
It hadn't taken too much persuasion for Aaravos to join her.
Aaravos doesn't answer for a long moment, slender fingers tracing words she doesn't know across the bare expanse of her back.
"Of a sorts," Aaravos murmurs at last, kissing her shoulder, "We vow to cherish, to devote ourselves to the soul we have chosen. All that we have we will share, both in hardship and sorrow, delight and joy. And when the twilight of our lives should fall, we shall walk through it without fear, for we are together."
"Is that it?" Sarai asks.
"Each person to be wed takes a piece of their horn, and fashions it into a pendant, and presents it to their spouse before their vows are exchanged," Aaravos says.
"Does that hurt you?" Sarai asks, rolling over to look her lover in the eye.
"No, our horns re-grow over time, but it is a reminder that we carry our beloved's heart beside our own. That we are alone no longer," Aaravos says, pressing his palm flat over her heart, and Sarai smiles.
"And you are alone no longer, my love," she murmurs.
"No," he says quietly. "I have you."
"You always will," Sarai says. "No matter the time and worlds between us."
