25. Old Wounds
Chapter 25
Old Wounds
10 th Day of the Blood Moon
Tahír un Ilyien?, Aravell – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
Thunder rolled across the sky, the rain falling so heavy that the basin’s waterfalls flowed like broken dams over the top of the ledge. Therin drew a long breath, his tunic and trousers clinging to his body, droplets streaming down his face.
The twisting branches of the Ilyien? tree sprawled above him, sheltering him from the worst of the rain while the glow from its purple flowers illuminated the dark night. He’d always thought the name to be as fitting as it was beautiful: Ilyien? – remembrance . There had once been over twenty of the sacred trees across Epheria.
The empire burned them all.
He took a few more moments to gaze up at the shimmering lights that hung in clusters, then walked forwards, traversing the closest bridge that crossed the moat.
The five statues that framed the central island from which the Ilyien? tree grew stood proud and tall. Each was easily a hundred feet tall, though the tree dwarfed them all.
Despite the statues’ obvious beauty, Therin couldn’t help but notice their flaws – or lack thereof. Líra had always told him that beauty in art was often mistaken for the objective meaning of the word. That true art was not something that simply existed in perfection, but something that came alive because of the flaws that made it unique.
Each statue was beautiful, crafted to perfection. The Jotnar was stoic and wise, the human strong and proud, the elf noble and graceful, and both the Dvalin and Fenryr Angan portrayed an air of ancient power.
But none of them felt alive . They had each been crafted from necessity, without love, without feeling. Perhaps that wasn’t fair on the Craftsmages who’d created them, but it was true. Líra had often taken him across Epheria to show him the meaning of art and creation. He remembered when she had walked him through the Wood of the Lost near Jukara, where Jotnar had sung trees into the shapes of their loved ones. And he remembered their visit to the renowned gallery in Caelduin, where each painting and tapestry had been created by hand over months and years. When visiting these places, she always enjoyed weaving stories from the art, trying to imagine who that person had once been, whom they had loved, why they had died.
As he looked up at these statues, he felt nothing of their past, of their love, of their life.
Therin lowered himself to his knees, running his hand through his soaking hair.
“I’m tired,” he whispered, closing his eyes. A drop of rain rolled from his hair, down his forehead, and over the bridge of his nose, eventually dripping onto the stone. “I’m so tired.”
The basin was mostly empty, but in the distance, footfalls echoed from the terraces as people came to pay their respects. He wasn’t sure how long he knelt there before the sound of boots drew closer, crossing the bridge behind him and stopping a few paces short of where he knelt.
Whoever had approached didn’t come any closer, nor did Therin turn. What did it matter who it was?
If it was Calen come to talk about his father, a man who had given Therin so much and whose life had been snuffed out with such little reason? If it was Aeson come to tell him that their fight was finally here, a fight that had cost Therin everything?
It did not matter.
What had happened in the chamber in Mythníril still pulled at his heart. For centuries, Galdra and the others had simply treated him as though he didn’t exist, as though he were a ghost. And so in some way, the simple fact that the elf who Therin had once called a friend had finally spoken to him had lifted a weight from his shoulders. Perhaps there was some small, minute chance that old wounds could be mended. Perhaps.
But with that, the mention of Líra and Faelen had taken him off guard. He saw Líra everywhere he looked in Aravell. She was in the sweeping arches, the broad plateaus, the open valleys. She was in every vein of erinian stone that gave the city life. Every piece of beauty was by her hand. Without her, Aravell would not have existed. And without her, Therin was hollow. And no matter what stories he wove or how many battles he survived, he could not bring her back. Sometimes Aeson forgot that although Therin did not know what it was to be Rakina, that didn’t mean he did not know loss enough to crack his soul in two.
After a time of silence, a voice sounded behind Therin.
“You never came.”
Therin’s heart lurched at the sound, twisting in his chest. He opened his eyes, droplets of rain rippling the small puddles that had formed before him. “Faelen.”
Slowly, Therin rose, his legs like reeds beneath him. He stood like that, with his back to his daughter, his gaze fixed on the Ilyien? tree, finding himself unable to turn.
“Can you not even look at me?”
“Of course I can.” Therin turned, tears mingling with rain the instant he saw his daughter’s face. She looked so much like Líra with her dark hair matted to her face by the rain, her eyes a deep gold.
“You never came,” she repeated.
“You made it clear the last time we spoke that I wasn’t welcome.” Therin forced himself to hold Faelen’s unwavering gaze.
“I was angry… and then you were gone. And then when I saw you again in the forest after the Uraks…” Faelen drew a sharp breath, steadying herself. Her lips curled into a half-smile at her own emotions – something her mother had always done. “When I saw you again, I…”
“It’s all right. Myia ilise amar.”
My sweet child.
Therin took a step towards Faelen and reached out his hand, but she moved back, clutching her hands to her chest.
Therin swallowed, trying to hide his pain. “How did you know I would be here?”
Faelen looked at the ground, then back to Therin. “Aeson came to me. He told me you needed me, so I came.”
Therin nodded slowly, feeling the rain tickle the back of his neck. “Sit with me?”
Faelen inclined her head. She followed him to the base of the Ilyien? tree, where the roots were thicker than his torso and stretched out many feet past the trunk.
Therin sat himself on the stone, leaning back against a root. He patted his hand on the ground beside him. Faelen moved slowly but eventually sat at his side.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come. The last time you spoke, you were so angry and I didn’t know what to do. I’d already caused you enough pain. You already hated me. I wanted to give you peace. I owed you that.”
“I never hated you.” Tears welled in the corners of Faelen’s eyes as she looked up at the drooping clusters of luminescent purple flowers. Welled but didn’t fall – another trait she shared with her mother. “I was furious at you for not standing by our side. For choosing exile over condemning the Astyrlína.”
“The elves of Lynalion are our people too, Faelen. Before The Fall, many were my friends. Your mother’s sister?—”
“Do not speak her name.” Faelen straightened her back and once again turned her gaze to the glowing canopy above. “You think that I called your honour forfeit because you refused to declare your support for Aravell over those who withdrew to Lynalion. I didn’t. I can see the honour in that, I can see the honour in standing by your people, in trying to do everything you can to stop us tearing each other apart.”
“Then why?” Therin twisted where he sat, staring at Faelen, who continued to look upwards.
“Why?” Faelen shook her head. “Because you chose your honour over your family – over me. You refused to declare for Aravell, knowing full well they would cast you out. Knowing full well it would mean leaving me and Mother alone. You knew she was sick. You knew, and you went anyway because you would never have it said that Therin Eiltris was without his honour. And then she died, and I needed you, and you weren’t here.”
“Faelen…”
“She asked for you. When Heraya was taking her, she asked for you. And you weren’t there. No, you chose not to be there because it was your duty and your honour to not choose a side between your people even though you knew the Astyrlína were wrong. Even though you knew they stood against everything you loved.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this? When I came back during the Valtaran Rebellion, or the Varsund War, and again with Aruni and Valdrin, you never said anything.”
Faelen looked at him in disbelief. “It took you three hundred years to come back, and when you did, it wasn’t to make amends, it was to ask for aid in another peoples’ war. That was all you cared about.”
“That’s not true.” Therin leaned back against the root, his chest feeling moments from caving in. Faelen was right. He could see it now, see everything he had done. A realisation set in, and tears flowed over his cheeks. “Do you know why I came here to the Ilyien??”
Faelen sucked in her cheeks and shook her head.
“Because I don’t know where your mother was returned to the earth. I don’t know. I never had the heart to ask because I didn’t feel as though I had a right to.” Therin rested his palm on the rough bark of the root to his left, his fingers pressing into the wood. “I came here in the hope that through the Ilyien? she might hear me and I might feel her again.”
“Father, can I ask a question of the heart?”
Therin could do nothing to stop himself from laughing. It started in his belly, then rose to his chest, taking over until he leaned forwards and pressed his fingers into the creases of his eyes.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Because,” he said, “you are meant to ask before you crack my heart open, not after.” He shook his head, still laughing. “You may ask anything. I denír vi?l ar altinua, sond’ayar. La?l diar.”
In this life and always, dear one. I am yours.
“Are you all right?” Faelen finally turned to meet Therin’s gaze, her golden eyes glistening with tears. “When Aeson came to my door talking of you, I wanted to throw him out the window.”
“He has that effect on people,” Therin said, his laughter returning.
Faelen’s own laughter caused her tears to fall. “But he told me that he was worried about you. Worried about what being here was doing to you. You hold everything deep inside and lock it away. It’s how you’ve always been. It’s how you were when the Healers could do nothing for Mother’s illness. You walk around as though nothing breaches your walls. I don’t know how to help, but I want you to know that I’m here. I’m still angry, but I’m here.”
Therin nodded, finding himself short of words. “I just really wish your mother was here right now.”
“Me too.”
As Faelen whispered those two words, something happened that broke Therin completely: she hugged him. His daughter wrapped her arm around his shoulder and buried her face in his neck, squeezing him tight, and for a moment it was like she was a child again.
After a time that could never have been long enough, Faelen pulled away, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and stood.
“Where are you going?”
Faelen reached out her hand and pulled Therin to his feet. “We’re going to where she was returned to the earth. I don’t forgive you. Not yet. But I can.”