And then the enormity of what Hobin had said hit him. The Ari’atór of Araria would heed his call for aid as if he were a general, a commander even. But he wasn’t. He was a trainee lieutenant, and proud of that. He didn’t know what to say, so he took one last glance at the lightening sky.
“Thank you, Hobin, for guiding me. For teaching me.”
The commander nodded slowly, and Fel’annár returned the gesture. Unspoken words lingered in their eyes, some affinity they shared, some surety that they would see each other again. And so Fel’annár left in search of Llyniel, and Hobin watched him.
Tensári’s face came to his mind’s eye, and he murmured softly into the breeze.
Have you solved the puzzle, lieutenant? Have you understood your purpose at last?
Have you found your Guiding Light?
The courtyard was quiet. Many were still abed, and those who were not wandered about their business with puffy eyes and pasty faces. Some had not even made it to their beds. Llyniel hadn’t. Fel’annár grinned, because after a night of drinking, dancing and fooling around, they had made for his bed … only to fall asleep. She had not been there when he had finally awoken. It was not difficult to know where he would find her.
The sky was a dark blue, contrasting with the orange glow of candles upon windowsills. Soon they would be drenched in sunlight, the magical moment lost until the following dawn.
He ducked inside the Healing Halls, waited for his eyes to adapt to the gloom inside. Then he saw her from afar, bending over a patient, helping him to drink. He watched and smiled when she turned and caught his gaze.
Wiping her hands on her long, black apron, she approached him, head cocked to one side. “What is it?”
“Can we talk?”
She looked about the Halls, saw Mestahé sitting in a corner. “It’s quiet enough. I won’t be missed.”
Grabbing her shawl from a hook beside the door, she fell into step with him, tired eyes on the path towards the trees. They walked to the one they both knew well. But as time passed and Fel’annár remained silent, she realised it was something important he wanted to tell her, something he did not quite know how to approach. “Breakfast will be late this morning. Perhaps now these people can find their peace once more. Move forwards.”
“The trees have been replanted; the land restored as best it can be. But the memory of war lingers. It will take them a while.”
She nodded, and then realised Fel’annár had come to her alone. He hardly ever was. “Where’s The Company?”
“Ramien is probably stalking us even now. Idernon is studying, obsessed with the Nim’uán and its origins. He’s made a drawing of its sword, a fine one mind. He stares at it, Sontúr at his shoulder.” He smirked and Llyniel’s eyes laughed with him.
“There’s more though, isn’t there?” she asked. Watchful.
Fel’annár nodded slowly. How he had tried to tell her before, so many times, but he had not dared. Telling The Company had been hard enough. Indeed, in the end, he’d had to show them.
“Come.” He invited with a hand. She took it, and together they climbed the tree where they had first met, back when she had called him Silvan and he had called her Healer. They climbed until they were half-way up and out of sight, sitting opposite each other upon a bed of criss-crossing branches which made a natural platform, strong enough for them both and more. Around them, the branches seemed to close in, protecting them from the outside world, shielding them from prying eyes. Llyniel caught Fel’annár’s downcast gaze.
“How many times does this make—five? Six?”
Fel’annár huffed as he smiled, shaking his head. “Was it that obvious?”
She lifted an imperious brow but her humour was fleeting.
“There is something you must know—about me—before we can move forward. It affects our relationship in a singular way. You may not even believe me, and this is why I hesitated.”
She said nothing, but stared placidly back at him. It was time, to whatever end.
“I am Ari’atór.” He said it so fast he had almost sounded annoyed, his words echoing in the space between them, even here amidst the boughs. He could see their meaning did not quite penetrate her mind. He knew why. She saw the pale face and silver hair of an Alpine elf, not the copper skin and black locks of a Spirit Warrior. “I am not mistaken, Llyniel. Commander Hobin has confirmed it, has welcomed me as a brother.”
“Sweet Gods.” A soft mutter meant only for herself.
“Sweet may not be the word. Why they saw fit to make me pale I cannot say. Still, I am Ari’atór and, as such, my duty stands before all else. Even my own life.”
“Even before me.”
“Yes. That, too.”
She looked down, to the side and then back at him. “I’ve already accepted that, Fel’annár. Even had you not revealed this to me, I knew from the moment the Nim’uán came that I never had a choice in this matter. I love you and I can’t change that, however important or otherwise I am to you.”
He watched her eyes grow heavy, needed to correct her mistake. He leaned closer. “It is not about how important you are to me, Llyniel. I am Ari’atór and that makes you my Connate. What I feel for you goes far beyond the bond between soulmates. I can’t change that, in spite of my duty, and even if I could, I never would. You see why I had to speak with you before we deepen our relationship?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” she said, rubbing at her forehead, struggling to accept what Fel’annár was telling her. “Although it’s a little too late for that.” She shrugged. “You have a penchant for surprising me. Is there anything else I should know?” she asked, eyes boring into him, but they were kind, if challenging. Fel’annár’s hesitation froze her features. Her brow twitched, mouth slack.
A noisy breath. He dragged a hand over his face and then over lips. He looked at her, looked away and spoke. “We have never discussed faith, you and I. Do you believe, Llyn?”
She stared back at him and contemplated the odd question. “I believe there’s a collective goodness, some energy I don’t understand.” Her gaze wandered to the wall of leaves around her, the incommensurate beauty of nature. “I sometimes think there’s a higher entity, one that’s good. At other times I say it’s simply some inbred necessity we are born with, to do good, to be kind. And then I think of Sand Lords and Deviants, about the suffering they cause.” Her eyes snapped back to Fel’annár. “I don’t think that was the answer you were hoping for.”
Fel’annár nodded slowly. He remembered having thought much the same himself. But it was one thing to accept the existence of an energy, or an entity as she put it, but quite another to accept that there was a thinking mind behind it. He was at the crux of the question.
“The Ari’atór believe that energy, that Aria, is a conscious entity whose purpose is to protect and to guide us. While you may not believe that, we do. And in that belief, we hold that there are those who do her bidding.”
“You speak of the Ber’ator and the Ber’anor. Ari folklore.”