This will start long before the conclave, and will take a while to get to the main storyline (if I bother to actually write it!)
It was a thin little thing, with an unreasonably thick cover on it and a clasp to keep it closed. Placed into a metal box and tucked under a tree, it was a wonder anyone found it before the wood had covered it completely. The lock on the box was rusted to the point that it could fall apart with only curious fingers, and the hinges broke off instead of moved. Wide eyes looked at the delicate bird pattern burned into the front of the leather, stubby little hands reaching into the box.
A grubby hand swiped tears from a pair of watery eyes, and the little child fell back to sit on the forest floor. Still sniffling, the elf-child turned the booklet over in her hands. The mud on her didn't seem to stick to the leather as she traced the bird with a bitten finger-nail. Fumbling thumbs popped open the clasp, and the cover fell open to reveal clean pages. Sniffling one last time, the little elfling closed the book and pulled herself up, making her way back to camp.
Deer Diary, she scrawled onto the paper once she was safely hiding under her covers.
I found you in the woods today aftur Bril made fun of my hare. she sade that my hare was stuped and loked like a snowflak but it dont at all. so i went to the wood to cry and i found you in a box. I like yur bird on front. I can draw bird too.
To prove her point, she doodled a copy of the bird below her words. Once she was done, she sat back to admire it. She always saw the First writing in a book like this, and he always looked happy. Maybe, keeping a "Diary" will help her feel happy as well. As she admired her drawing, she saw curly words starting to write underneath it.
Hello. I like your bird. How old are you?
She blinked a few times, then narrowed her eyes and said the words aloud until she understood them. Then she smiled brightly, putting her quill down again. Im four and a helf. Im big girl now! She giggled to herself, twirling her pen. She didn't know a Diary was supposed to write back; however, it made sense at why Pavel always did it!
You're very smart for your age! I can draw as well. Would you like to see?
She said the words out loud again, stumbling a bit on the 'would.' Yes, she wrote back finally, though her ink smeared some because she was pressing down too hard. Snorting in irritation, she pulled her hand back and waited again. To her delight and amazement, the ink on the page started to swirl around her drawing of the bird, the black liquid moving like smoke. It gathered near the top, the words re-forming into a rough sketch of a hand held out to the bird. She gasped excitedly, pulling the booklet to her chest suddenly.
After carefully poking her head out and looking around the aravel , she ducked back and started to write again. Thats prety hand, she scribbled underneath the sketch. Its bed-time. I will rite when i wake up. She closed it quickly, holding it against her for another minute. Her face was stretched into a wide grin as she pulled her covers off of her head. She hung upside-down off the side of the bed, shoving the booklet into the darkness below. Then she pulled herself up into her bed, throwing her covers into place and squeezing her eyes shut. Her mother padded in a minute later, checking to make sure she was asleep. The mother sighed at seeing her daughter left the shutter open, bathing the room in a soft moonlight.
What is your name, child? The diary wrote to her the next day after she told it she had woken up.
Ashanna, she scrawled in her best handwriting, adding a little squiggle afterwards. She had often practiced writing her name and was happy to show someone her results, even if it was just her diary.
That's a pretty name. You may call me Diary, if you want.
Okay, she scratched out, almost smearing her ink again in her excitement. You kept the bird on the first page, but no hand.
Yes, Diary agreed, you are a good drawer. I was impressed, and decided to keep it so that when you get better you can see how you improved.
Ashanna had to sit back and serious try to figure out the words, thinking over them for several minutes. Once she understood most of it, she nodded her head in childlike seriousness. Do all diary write back? First Panya has one to.
I don't know of any other diary that writes back. Just me. Sorry.
Ashanna frowned at the words, confused. Then how it make him happy if it not his frend?
The words were slower to start to appear, and they were formed hesitantly. I don't know. If you want, I'll be your friend. I'll keep you happy.
She squealed, hugging the booklet to her chest again. We be best frends for ever.
Yes, Diary replied. I have not had a friend in a while. I may be silly. Or stupid.
You no stupid, you real smart. Teach me to rite better? If I can.
Diary, what's a demon? She wrote, curious after one of her Keeper's lectures. The Elder didn't go into it much, just a brief warning that told very little.
It is a Spirit of the Fade that has become twisted in it's reflection of emotions, becoming something darker and dangerous. They can't do much harm unless you allow them to do so; Spirits themselves are harmless, they need to be fueled by your emotions. That said, some demons are fueled by other's emotions, and can hurt you regardless of your own thoughts.
She didn't understand a quarter of what Diary wrote, and half of it was conflicting. I don't understand, she wrote back.
I'll tell you when you're older. For now, have no fear and trust in I'll keep you safe from demons. After all, what are friends for? Sweet dreams, da'len.
That night, she dreamed of a towering dragon keeping her guard from the frightful monsters of the night, allowing her to play upon its horns and scatter it's treasure-pile and keeping her safe under its wings.
"Come down, Ash!" Elriel called up to her, his hands on his hips as he strained his head back to look up at the leaves. "I know you're in there."
Ashanna sighed, hunching over her "diary." It was still in the perfect condition she had found it in, regardless of all the "adventures" she had dragged it through. She had still kept it after all these years, content in the knowledge that her first friend was within easy reach. While the inked conversations never lasted on the paper, Diary could still pull them onto the paper if she asked, complete with the childish scrawl she had once used. He would makes her drawings come to life, dancing and frollicking across the pages. He made her happy when she was sad, and strong when she was broken. He taught her things that no one else would.
She was content to stay with just him, but she at his urging she socialized with others as well. So, with reluctance, she closed the booklet and put it in her bad. Elriel stood back and she came down, sending a few twigs falling.
"You're fourteen," Elriel scolded when she reached the ground. "You shouldn't run off like that. Your mother will be worried."
"Yes, Keeper," Ashanna muttered, kicking the ground. She hadn't got a chance to even say hello to Diary before he found her, and was still a bit cross. The mage eyed her warily for a bit as she stared at a very interesting leaf beneath her toes.
"Was it Brill?" He asked after a moment of hesitation. He sighed when Ashanna gave a jerky nod without looking up. "Honestly, can't you children just get along?" Wearily, he took her by the sleeve and started to lead her back to the Camp.
"She said I'm not really a Levallan 'cause of my dad," Ash whined, looked up with her dark brown eyes. Elriel matched it with his cold blue ones, unmoved. "She says I'm cursed or something. Does my hair really mean I'm cursed?"
"No, of course not." Elriel said immediately. He suddenly looked distinctly uncomfortable, lowering his head and allowing his shaggy grey hair to fall in front of his eyes. "Your father was a great man, and a great mage. Yes, he was not of the Levallan clan, but that doesn't mean you are not of the clan as well. Your mother's blood is in you as well as your fathers." He stopped walking, looking conflicted. Awkwardly, he reached out and laid a hand on her head, kneeling down to be her own height. "Your father had white hair as well, and you have received that from him. It is not a curse, da'len, just your inheritance. You may not have his magic, but you are still his."
If it is a curse, Diary wrote to her later once she was in the safety of her home, then not one I would know. And I know everything, child.
You don't know everything, she wrote back, even as a ghost of a smile came to her.
Says you. I'm old; I should be able to know everything. If not, what is the point of age? Perhaps to teach the young. There was a silence after that, the page beneath her words blank. It wasn't usual, to have Diary not answer her. Yes, he said at last. Perhaps it is. If you would just learn. Now, do you remember what I told you yesterday about diplomacy?
Ashanna snorted, rolling her eyes. When she asked all those years ago to be taught, she did not think he would take it this far. Apparently, he would make sure she knew everything to do with speechcraft.
I may not know everything, but I know more than I should.
That startled her, staring out at her the next time she opened the cover. It was written in the large flowing script of Diary, placed in the middle of the second page. She pulled her pen out of her pocket, setting it against the paper. What do you mean?
I know things that I shouldn't. Strange things, that no one else can. I can't tell you about them, however. That is my own curse. Just know that the world is a large, often scary place.
She furrowed her eyebrows, looking down at the words in confusion. She gave up trying to understand it after a while, shutting the book and returning to work.
Enansal is pretty cute, she wrote one day, tucked away in the corner of the camp as dusk fell. I saw him without a shirt. He is very fit.
You are forbidden from taking an interest in males. What? No. You are too young. I'm sixteen! My point exactly. You can admire them when you're one hundred. She wrinkled her nose at the thought, looking offended. Elves may age slow, but not that slow! She furiously scribbled, underlining the 'not' in the sentence.
My point exactly. Honestly, there's no reason for you to be this adverse to me admiring Enansal's chest! You might forget me. What? When you have someone else you might put me down and not pick me up. I will be alone again. Like before you found me. I would never forget you, you're my friend. There was another pause, and she looked at the paper, at a loss. Ma serannas, he wrote eventually. Abelas. Tell me more of this Enansal, then. Maybe you could draw a picture of his handsome chest? Added to the end of the sentence was a little mark to show that he was being sarcastic. Well, maybe I will, so there!
She blushed furiously, her pen flying over the space below her words.
Oh… Diary wrote later, after she sat back and looked at her finished picture. He's definitely cute, and fit. You're still not allowed to be interested in a romantical endeavor until you're one hundred, or your partner is. Ugh, I don't want to be romanced by some old geezer, they're hideous. She made a face at the very thought. Then, to her amusement, the picture swirled to form a hunched over bald elf with great wrinkles in his sagging face, holding out his hand while leaning heavily on a staff with the other. The words "come with me, ma vhenan," were scratched the the side with a line to show that the old elf was the one saying it.
Ashanna giggled at her friend's foolishness, and wrote her farewells for the day.
They want me to go to the Conclave. The one I told you about, with the mages and the templars. What? You're too young to go! Refuse the request immediately. Ma serannas, my friend. I have already agreed. Fenedhis! You will take me along, yes? Of course, Diary. If only to keep you happy. I worry about you, my friend. This conclave will be more trouble than you realise. Stay safe, and tell me everything that happens. Of course; I'll write it down as it happens! Good girl.
I'm almost to the Conclave, now. There are a lot of templars around. You have your sword with you? Of course. And your pack? Do you have enough water? Is your mount still fresh enough? Is your armour sufficient? The words appeared quickly, scrawled in a rush across the page. Ashanna laughed at his worry, shaking her head. Relax; everything will go fine. I promise I'm well prepared for anything that happens. And if I'm not, then I'm sure that those skills you taught me will come in handy.
This is not comforting. He wrote back immediately, followed by a sketch of a face with the tongue sticking out. She answered with a symbol she had created to show she found amusement in this and a quick farewell.
The Conclave was a strange place, with many people with very long names. Ashanna stayed hidden for the most part, skirting around most people and sticking to the darker corridors. True to her word, she diligently wrote down everything that happened in the unique short-hand of her own creation, telling Diary what was happening. She described the tension between the mages and the templars, the fluttering of the chantry sisters, and the arguments that happened at loud volumes. She wrote this all in the safe comfort of knowing that Diary will remember this all for her and repeat it back with every detail she told him. The last thing she wrote was the scrawling phrase they used for "Something Bad!"
She did not write in the Diary for many days after that.
Diary?
Her handwriting was shaky and smeared, the pen harsh against the paper. Jagged letters formed tilted words, spaced out in odd intervals. The corners were too stark, the curves to jittery. Something was wrong with Ashanna.
You have returned! Are you okay? You did not write for many days! He answered immediately, followed by a symbol for concern.
I am fine. Something happened. What happened at the Conclave? I can not remember.
I can not answer what happened when you stopped writing, but I shall show you what you wrote before you stopped. And he did; pulling up several pages worth of her words and observations, he was eager to please and to help. There was a long minute as she turned the pages, slowly looking through the words.
I'm going to show this to someone else. Would you change any parts where we are talking? At her behest, some of the words faded from the paper and the sentences rearranged themselves to fill in the spaces. Her last sentence faded away last, though the symbol for concern stayed on the page.