Theron Mahariel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wildwilled) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
elfhame2015-05-19 12:25 pm
wildwilled) wrote in elfhame2015-05-19 12:25 pm
psl with theneras
When he heard she was in the Kirkwall alienage, Theron decided to disappear again.
He did this every so often, when he couldn't stand civilization. He became very good at vanishing, especially since more people looked for famous swords or famous heraldry when looking for the Hero of Ferelden than anything about the Hero himself. Vigilance was tucked away safely in its namesake keep, though, and Theron used no heraldry but the vallaslin, which all looked the same to most outside the Dalish kindred. So he would wrap up in practical cloth and vanish like the wild thing he always has been, despite flashing armor and high towers shrinking in around him.
When he glimpses her on the street, she seems the same as he--a wild thing trapped in city walls, alone despite an utter deprivation of all solitude. He grew up with Merrill. She was always so very like a shy fawn, and he had always been good with the halla, so perhaps their friendship had been a natural one, the way he could draw her out of the little protective curl she made. In the city, she shrinks even more, as if the world around her crowds her no matter how wide a berth she is given. His heart sinks at the sight. She should not be contained so. Marethari had said she left of her own volition and would not tell him why. What would make her choose this?
In a flash, her eyes spot him. He quickly bows his head, obscuring his face with his hood.
A few nights later, he finds her house in the alienage. It is warm out, so his cloak is slung over one arm, gold hair braided away from the vallaslin, no sign or decoration showing him to have become anyone new since Duncan dragged him away years ago. He hadn't been at his best that day, feeling vaguely unwell but resolute in his right to die of the Blight among people who loved him rather than be abducted and forced into service for a human king. Merrill had been the only one who got a half-proper goodbye out of him. He isn't about to give her an improper hello by showing up hooded and shrouded at her doorstep.
He did this every so often, when he couldn't stand civilization. He became very good at vanishing, especially since more people looked for famous swords or famous heraldry when looking for the Hero of Ferelden than anything about the Hero himself. Vigilance was tucked away safely in its namesake keep, though, and Theron used no heraldry but the vallaslin, which all looked the same to most outside the Dalish kindred. So he would wrap up in practical cloth and vanish like the wild thing he always has been, despite flashing armor and high towers shrinking in around him.
When he glimpses her on the street, she seems the same as he--a wild thing trapped in city walls, alone despite an utter deprivation of all solitude. He grew up with Merrill. She was always so very like a shy fawn, and he had always been good with the halla, so perhaps their friendship had been a natural one, the way he could draw her out of the little protective curl she made. In the city, she shrinks even more, as if the world around her crowds her no matter how wide a berth she is given. His heart sinks at the sight. She should not be contained so. Marethari had said she left of her own volition and would not tell him why. What would make her choose this?
In a flash, her eyes spot him. He quickly bows his head, obscuring his face with his hood.
A few nights later, he finds her house in the alienage. It is warm out, so his cloak is slung over one arm, gold hair braided away from the vallaslin, no sign or decoration showing him to have become anyone new since Duncan dragged him away years ago. He hadn't been at his best that day, feeling vaguely unwell but resolute in his right to die of the Blight among people who loved him rather than be abducted and forced into service for a human king. Merrill had been the only one who got a half-proper goodbye out of him. He isn't about to give her an improper hello by showing up hooded and shrouded at her doorstep.
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Less so when his faith wavered after Zathrian, but all the more since Marethari told him she had left the clan. She wouldn't say why, only begged him to talk to her. Now he can fold her tiny frame into his arms and shield her from everything like he wanted. His cheek presses against her dark hair.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispers.
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She holds to him as tight as she possibly can and tucks her head under his chin, breathing him in. He still smells like the forest. She hasn’t for a long time now.
“No, this is exactly where I should be.” At least in this moment. It’s obvious he’s speaking in a broader sense of ‘here’, the alienage, Lowtown, Kirkwall, and maybe he’s right about that: But here and now is Theron on her doorstep, and she can’t think of anywhere else she should be.
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"I've missed you too," he answers her sentiment without missing a beat. Without letting her go, he ushers her inside and closes the door. What is being invited in, after all? The Dalish don't have houses. Ashalle made an attempt at one and it was burned down. Nobody had time to learn the rules.
"Ashalle sends her love," he whispers, hugging her fiercely again. "So does Marethari, but it's been longer since you saw Ashalle. Now tell me everything that's happened in your life since we parted."
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Merrill considers the synopsis of their time apart; the Eluvian, blood magic, Hawke, Kirkwall, the Varterral and the Arulin’ Holm. There’s so much, but it all comes down to one thing.
“Come. I have something to show you.”
She releases her death grip on him and instead takes him by the hand to lead him into the back room, the room housing the broken Eluvian. It’s a risk showing him this, but one she’s willing to take. The Eluvian may be responsible for Tamlen’s death and pulling Theron away from the clan, but he’s always considered the history of the People important. If anyone will understand, it will be him.
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"It's clean," he whispers, finding his breath at last. "There's no Blight in it."
The temptation to come closer for better inspection is entirely resistible, though.
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She approaches the mirror, tugging Theron after her, encouraging him to follow if he wishes. She traces her fingers along the edge of the Eluvian, feeling the magic embedded in the glass dancing just under the surface. Waiting to be used, if she could only activate it.
“It doesn’t work. I’m so close, but there’s something missing.”
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"It's not safe. Merrill, I don't think I got the Blight from the Eluvian--I don't think it's alive?--I think I got it from where it leads. If you make it work...you would end up like me if you're lucky, or like Tamlen if you're not."
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“I don’t believe that,” she turns back to him, face and voice steeled, “Everything I’ve read says the Eluvians lead to another realm, a realm built by elves. The Blight couldn’t touch such a place.”
“This is our history, Theron,” she pleads, “We have to preserve it.”
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He says as though they can be found lying on the road.
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“And if there were many left to find I wouldn’t have to make one.” That comes out more indignant that she was planning. It’s all just frustrating. The only person who seems to see the merit in what she’s doing is Hawke, and he’s not even an elf.
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He's staring at that damned mirror and wishing it wasn't here.
"I know why you're doing it." That much is clear. "And even if you're risking your life, I can't...I mean, if it were me, I'd want to restore it too. I don't blame you. I just...keep seeing what I'm going to see, when I look at it. And I'm going to keep being afraid for you."
He breaks his stare to look at her. Hesitates.
"I found Tamlen. After."
He won't go into detail, but she deserves some closure. Tamlen was her friend, too.
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“I can accept that, but I’m not going to stop.” He may not be as excited about the endeavour as she would have hoped, but he’s not condemning it at least. He sees her reasoning, that’s more than the Keeper gave her.
The mention of Tamlen shifts her attention away from the Eluvian however, and her eyes go wide with shock.
“You… found him?” she questions, pressing for elaboration. The can had searched for two days and never found him, there has to be more to this story that just stumbling upon him.
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He hasn't talked about this since the night it happened, really. The only people he would have confided in had been there that night. Alistair had comforted him, and sometimes he still curls up in Zevran's lap when the memory is too close. But Merrill deserves to know.
He can't meet her eyes. If he doesn't look at anything, he can shrink his world, shrink himself to the point where all his cares are too big to balance on his shoulders and they fall off instead. It's one thing he loves about the woods--how big they are, and how small they make him feel.
"He still had his mind. He recognized me and he remembered who he was. That's...better than most who've had the Blight as long as he did."
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She hadn’t let herself truly accept that though. She’d preferred to think Tamlen dead, the clan had even treated his disappearance as such. It was better that way, to pretend he had died; to imagine he’d starved or bled out. They’d had nothing to bury, but they’d planted a tree for him and said the rite. Facing the truth that the Taint had taken him was too much. Too difficult.
“You… did you… He’s gone now?” She asks, voice quiet.
What she really want to ask is-- ’Did you put a blade in him?’
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"He asked me to do it." Begged. He won't say begged. "He was still himself. I buried him and planted a sapling over him. Falon'din carried him from there."
He blinks and tears are knocked down to his cheeks.
"He's himself again now. So..."
A trembling exhalation.
"Make that mirror a discovery worth Tamlen's life, lethallan."
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She finds his hands with her own and squeezes a little. “I’m glad he was sent off to the Creators by a friend.”
With the edge of her scarf she wipes the tears from his face, then rests her hand on his cheek, guiding his gaze back to her. She edges up onto her toes and gently presses their foreheads together.
In nearly a whisper she adds, “I promise, Tamlen would be proud of what I will accomplish.”
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The breath leaves him all at once and rushes back in, a sort of embryonic sob. But he seems to collect himself then, gradually.
"He wanted to find something from our history. You couldn't honor him any better. I don't know how Marethari does not see it."
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It’s not much of an explanation, but it’s the only one she has to offer. Merrill doesn’t understand it either, but she knows that the Keeper fears what the mirror has done, and she fears what has to be done to complete this new one.