Over the many centuries Therin had witnessed, he had learned quite a few things, one of which was that elven architecture held a unique beauty. That wasn't an opinion, it was a fact. Humans built from necessity: protection, control, resources. The Jotnar built for pragmatism: only what was needed, nothing more. The dwarves were masters of uniformity; smooth, angular stone – order. But the elves had always built for beauty and attunement with the world around them. To craft a city deserved the same delicate attention to detail as a painting, or a sculpture, for unlike paintings and sculptures, cities could stand the test of time. They carried the memories of generations and the aspirations of a civilisation. And above all else, if the indelible mark of a city was to be left on the world, it should be a mark that contributes to the natural beauty of things.
In the time before The Fall, Therin had spent many days at a time, weeks even, with the Craftsmages of Northern Valmíra, watching them create masterpieces the likes of which were not seen anywhere throughout the known world: statues of dragons that spanned hundreds of feet, each scale perfect; webway linked towers so intricate they appeared as fragile as glass; sweeping terraces of bone-hewn homes crafted seamlessly into the sides of mountains. Therin always thought the affinity of the Craftsmage was the most misunderstood of all who could wield the Spark. For it was not simply a natural talent in the utilisation of Earth, or Air, or Fire that forged a true Craftsmage. Nor was it raw power in the Spark. It was a deep understanding of the workings of things and the complex nature of the relationships between them. An otherworldly cognition of mechanics and intricacies that most minds could not begin to fathom. Any mage could use the Spark to destroy, but it took a special mind to create.
Which was why, as Halmír and his Highguard led Therin and the others through the streets of Aravell, past the enormous cylindrical towers of white stone, the sweeping walkways, waterfalls, aqueducts, and enormous platforms crafted from the cliffs themselves, Therin felt both an unbridled happiness and a deep, resonating sense of loss. Aravell was beautiful, but it was nothing compared to what had once been and what would likely never be again.
Beside Therin, Dann walked with his jaw slack and his eyes wide. The boy had been awestruck by Midhaven, Camylin, and Belduar. But his silence told Therin that he, too, saw the separation between what he had seen before and what was in front of him now.
"Erinian stone," Therin said as Dann ran his finger along a strip of azure stone inlaid into the low wall that framed the street down which they walked. "It draws in the sun's light, holding it, then releasing it slowly at night."
"Incredible," Dann whispered, his finger lingering on the surface of the stone. He looked around, his gaze passing over the city and the elves who stopped in the streets watching as the newcomers were escorted by the city steward and a number Highguard. "Therin, why did we go to Belduar at all? Why didn't we just come here?"
Therin let out a sigh, glancing ahead to where Aeson and Baldon strode behind Halmír, the Highguard out in front – Thalanil had taken Lyrei with him to the healers the moment they had entered the city, and Alea had gone with them to look over her sister. "There is nothing simple in this world, Dann. There are politics at play here that have been churning for millennia and have grown even worse since the fall of The Order."
Therin said nothing else. He let his words hang in the air, waiting to see how Dann would respond. The boy asked more questions than a horse had hair. Therin knew more than a few of them were asked simply to irritate him, but when Dann asked a question he truly wanted the answer to, Therin took no small pleasure in keeping that answer dangling just out of Dann's reach.
Therin could see Dann holding his breath, running his tongue across his teeth, and tapping his right hand against his hip. All three gestures on their own were nothing, but Therin had long since noticed when Dann did them together, it tended to mean he was biting his tongue.
Despite himself, Dann was beginning to grow on Therin. The boy was the physical manifestation of a headache. But there was a spark in him. An unwillingness to give up. And that was something to be admired. It was also something that was going to be needed in what was to come.
By the time Halmír led the group through the streets of Aravell, across the central bridge, along a number of walkways, up a seemingly never-ending hewn stone staircase, and out onto a circular platform that overlooked the city, the light of the setting sun was nothing but a warm glow over the mountains to the west.
Halmír stood at the mouth of the platform, three Highguard taking up positions either side of him as he gestured for Dann, Therin, Aeson, and Baldon to step out onto the platform.
"The Ephorí will be with you shortly." Halmír's gaze lingered on Therin. For a moment, Therin thought he might say something, but the elf simply curled his lips into a sad smile, then turned and left. The Highguard remained in position.
"You would think they would have more trust," Aeson said, folding his arms across his chest, frowning as he looked at the Highguard.
"Trust?" Therin laughed. "You know as well as I do, that is a commodity in short supply here."
Hours passed as they waited for Halmír to return, the moon filling the void of light left by the sun, bathing all of Aravell in its silvery touch. Therin stood at the edge of the platform, his arms folded, looking down over the city, the azure glow of the erinian stones striking against the white stone and bone-hewn buildings. The hum of chatter and footsteps drifted up from the lower levels, blending seamlessly with a constant rush of water from the aqueducts and waterfalls.
"I've never seen anything like it," Dann said, taking a place beside Therin, his hands resting on the stone wall that fenced in the platform. "Though, I seem to be saying that a lot recently."
Therin looked at Dann for a moment, then shook his head, suppressing a laugh. It was as though the young man could feel when Therin was most at peace and made a conscious decision to break that peace. He let out a sigh. "After The Fall, the elven Kingdoms of Lunithír, Ardurän, and Vaelen decided to build the city here in the Aravell forest. But it was a Craftsmage by the name of Líra Alunea who proposed the idea that this section be dug and hollowed, the city built within the bounds of the new basin, and the glamour constructed to keep the truth hidden. She was a visionary and one of only three elves to have ever truly mastered the Jotnar art of glamour construction."
"Where is she now?"
Therin let out a deep sigh, his throat tightening. "She died three hundred and forty-two years ago."
Dann gave Therin a weak smile, shaking his head as many do when they're not sure what to say. "I'm going to go talk to one of those guards. We've been waiting for hours."
"Dann, don't…" Therin puffed out a breath of air, watching as Dann strode off towards the Highguard.
"There's no point in trying." Aeson laughed as he took Dann's place, resting his forearms on the stone wall, looking down over the city. "Better he wastes his breath on them than us. Are you all right?" Aeson turned his head, his gaze meeting Therin's. "I know being here isn't easy."
Therin sighed softly, nodding as he leaned on the ledge of the wall beside Aeson. "I see pieces of her in everything here."
"How long has it been since you've spoken to Faelen?"
"You saw her when they found us on the way to Belduar. She has no words for me. Few here do, and I don't blame them."
Aeson gave Therin a sorrowful smile, resting his hand on Therin's shoulder for a moment. "I understand your pain. I feel Naia every day. I see her in Erik and Dahlen's faces. I hear her laugh in the wind when I'm alone. It's not all bad. It only hurts when I breathe."
"My loss is a drop to your ocean, old friend. But at least we're still here. We still have the chance to forge a better world for those we leave behind."
Therin looked towards the oldest friend he had left in the world and saw a tear glisten on Aeson's cheek. Aeson brought his hand up and grabbed the side of Therin's head, bringing their temples together, letting out a soft, broken laugh. "Na daui nai diar siel væra myia haydria, yíar'ydil."
To die by your side will be my honour, old friend.
"I denír viël ar altinua."
In this life and always.
Aeson sighed as he rested his arms back on the ledge. "When this is over, I will gladly welcome rest. Four hundred years is a long time to fight."
Therin knew the depths of sadness in Aeson's heart was something he could never truly understand. The loss of their loves was something they shared, but to lose a dragon was something entirely different.
"How long do you think they'll leave us waiting?" Aeson asked, changing the subject.
"How long is a piece of twine?" Therin smiled. "On any other day, all I would expect would be an apology from Halmír and a place to sleep for when they are ready to meet us tomorrow. But with Calen involved, I would say they Ephorí will come soon enough."
"Aruni and the boy, Valdrin? Do you know how they fare? It was here you brought them, wasn't it? The last I saw of them was when you brought Dayne and Belina to me."
"I haven't seen them in a few years. But Aruni writes to me, when she can. She still suffers from the night-terrors, still has to strap herself down. Valdrin is still quiet, but from what Aruni writes, he has become a smith of quite some reputation."
Aeson nodded softly, looking out over the erinian-lit city. "It is good to hear they are all right. I know what they mean to you."
Therin nodded slowly, allowing himself a soft smile.
No more than a half hour had passed before each of the six Highguard who stood at the mouth of the platform cracked the steel butts of their glaives against the stone. Therin straightened, drawing a deep breath to settle himself, then turned.
Halmír and Thalanil stepped onto the platform, Thalanil taking up a position to the right while Halmír stood to the left, opening his arms as six more elves strode after them.
"The Ephorí of Aravell," Halmír announced, opening his arms as the others stepped past the Highguard and out onto the platform.
The Ephorí of Aravell were second only to the rulers of the three Kingdoms that founded the city. There were six in total, a pair from each Kingdom. Traditionally, only those without the capacity to touch the Spark had been permitted to hold the position, so as to prevent stagnation. But after The Fall, it was decided that the opposite should be true, to allow the preservation and conservation of elven culture and heritage. Which was why Therin knew each of the six Ephorí by name.
Thurivîr and Ara, the Ephorí of Lunithír, were the first to follow Thalanil and Halmír onto the platform. Both wore robes of deep crimson ornamented with vines of gold, their silvery hair tied back, an effortless grace in their gait. He had known them for centuries, but neither had spoken to him since his decision to not take sides between the elves of Lynalion and the elves of Aravell after The Fall. They didn't so much as look his direction as they took their place beside Halmír.
Dumelian and Ithilin followed, their robes the black and silver of Vaelen. Much like the others, Dumelian did not acknowledge Therin's existence, but Ithilin gave him a warm smile, the creases in her skin born from a near millennium of walking the world. Therin inclined his head.
The last of the Ephorí to step onto the platform were Baralas and Liritháin, the dark green and brown of Ardurän over their shoulders.
The Ephorí stood in pairs across the mouth of the platform.
The first to speak was Thurivîr, who drew in a noticeably long breath and stepped forward. The elf stood at a height with Therin but was more muscular with broader shoulders. His hair was black as night, his eyes a piercing blue. He had once been one of Therin's closest companions. They had spilled blood together, broken bread, and drunk until they could no longer stand. But now Thurivîr's gaze passed over Therin as though he were a shadow. "It is a pleasure to welcome you to Aravell," he said, looking out over the group gathered before him. His gaze lingered on Dann, curiosity filling his eyes. "We apologise for the delay in our coming. Halmír informed us of the situation, and there was much… deliberation, to be had. Rakina, diar närvarin gryr haydria til myia elwyn." Your presence brings honour to my heart."Ar diar, myialí," Aeson replied. And yours, mine.
Liritháin stepped forward, cutting across Thurivîr, ignoring the narrowed stares aimed at her by the other Ephorí. Always with the games. She greeted Aeson in much the same way as Thurivîr had, then turned to Baldon, bowing at the waist. "Child of Clan Fenryr. I am Liritháin Durianelle, Ardurän Ephorí of Aravell. It is an honour to find you within our walls. Varthon of clan Dvalin sends her blessings. She wishes she or her kin could have been here to welcome you, as is proper, but as you know, tonight is the night of the Caranea."
"No grievance is taken. I wish the spirits of the gods to shine on Varthon and clan Dvalin. It is a pleasure for me to lay my eyes on the home of your people. Therin Silver Fang has long been a friend of clan Fenryr, and as such, so are his kin." Baldon inclined his head, his golden eyes glimmering, a slight rumble resonating in his chest. Therin smiled at that. Baldon knew of Therin's estrangement with the elves of Aravell and the reasons behind it.
Liritháin allowed a fleeting scowl to touch her lips at the mention of Therin's name, but she simply inclined her head to Baldon.
As Liritháin's companion, Baralas, moved to begin his greetings, Aeson held his hand in the air. "Ephorí, please forgive me, but we do not have time for this. By now, I am sure you are well aware of the circumstances of our arrival. The new Draleid – of which I am sure Thalanil has spoken – is in grave danger. As is my son. I will be in the debt of whichever one of you grants us safe passage through the northern Aravell. We must reach the Svidar'Cia as quickly as possible."
Silence descended, all eyes resting on Aeson. Had it been anyone else who had spoken, Therin had no doubt the reaction from the Ephorí would have been a far louder one. But Aeson was not simply anyone. He was Rakina, and as such he was granted certain allowances. Even at that, the irritation on Liritháin's face spoke more than any words could. She cleared her throat, screwed her mouth into a tight grimace, then tilted her head. She looked back to her partner, Baralas, then to the other Ephorí, a look passing between them that made Therin's stomach uneasy. "Very well, Rakina. We have already arranged an escort."