The People Who Endured.
Fitting name, Vesryn thought. They would have to be an enduring people to last this long, isolated from the rest of the world by their own choice. Naturally not all could endure such a thing, when there was so much more out there to explore. Vesryn knew the feeling. All who did here likely faced an impossible choice: resist it, and spend their entire elongated lives existing in a relatively small corner of the world, or give in to it, and betray what they were taught as they were raised.
Vesryn had grown less and less fond of isolation as his years with Saraya went on, and now that he'd done so much with the Inquisition he couldn't imagine going back to that life. If he was even given a choice. It was about as much of a walk as he could endure, and without Stel's help he wouldn't have made it this far without stopping for a prolonged rest. A rest they couldn't afford to take, not when his condition grew worse now by the day.
He tried to focus on Astraia ahead of him. Skygirl was ineffectively containing her wide-eyed awe as they drew closer. More than once she turned about as they walked, wanting to look at something longer. When she caught his eyes, she smiled, probably meant to be encouraging. It was, in a way, but he knew that this place might be a rude sort of awakening for her, being Dalish. She hadn't yet put the pieces together on why the likes of this Zathrand wore the vallaslin on his face, and someone like Harellan did not. He hoped she wouldn't take it too hard. The news about the Veil was already heavy enough.
They began to encounter architecture, much of it partially submerged as ruins in the forest, likely hundreds or maybe thousands of years old. Ancient styles, the kind Vesryn had rarely been able to see in the south, there only in the oldest places. They were getting close. Vesryn began to wish he'd been able to carry his armor with him. It would help his case proving to these people who he was. As it was he looked and felt weak. Not the kind of person who would live up to the standard the Suledvhen held themselves to.
The trees grew ever larger around them, many of them as tall or taller than any building in Val Royeaux, lofted so high that to stand next to one was to be unable to see where it ended, for the mist that lay everywhere here obscured even that. No doubt it would have been impossible to make out the canopy in any detail anyway. Though the emerald moss and deep green foliage might have threatened to recede into a sort of monochrome, bright bursts of flowers held the impression at bay, blooming from the vines that now embraced the tree trunks and ruins alike.
About thirty minutes' walk after he'd appeared, Zathrand stopped, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure that all of them did the same. "If you will allow me a moment." He exchanged a glance with Harellan, one that clearly meant something, then moved a few more steps on his own, removing a short, thin blade from his belt. With his last two fingers, he tugged up the sleeve of his left arm, tucking his elbow against his body to hold it there and drawing the blade across his forearm in a practiced motion. He didn't so much as flinch as blood welled to the surface of the wound.
It wasn't until it dropped to the ground that the barrier he was manipulating even became visible. Even then, it only flickered softly directly in front of them, like a transparent pane of glass reflecting the sun. It was a delicate-looking piece of magic—an appearance which was surely deceptive.
Tucking his knife back into its scabbard, Zathrand moved his bloodied hand as though he were drawing open a curtain. The barrier shimmered and parted, but it did not collapse, merely receding until there was an opening just large enough for someone of Cyrus's dimensions to pass through. "After you," Zathrand murmured, stepping away from the opening to allow them to pass before him. "It will close as soon as I'm through, so I must be last."
Stepping through the gap was a strange experience: from the outside, it had appeared as though the forest continued on in the same way for as far ahead as Vesryn could see, but immediately on the other side, the landscape changed sharply: all at once, there was a city before them.
The word city might have been a stretch, but it might have counted as one, once. More massive trees rose before them, including one in the distance that must have been half the size of Skyhold's castle in breadth alone. It was actually hard to judge the scale of it, but the lowest of its branches looked to support wooden bridges between itself and its neighboring trees, as wide as a road. Stonework was melded seamlessly with the wood of that tree and the others around it, which the residents appeared to have built both on and into, if the regular openings in the living bark were anything to go by. Windows, to allow in the light. Staircases and ladders led between levels of the city, and the upper branches were strung with lights, no doubt powered by magic, that illuminated their surroundings in every color. Dim for now, but surely something to behold when darkness fell.
Separating all of them from the finer details was a stone wall, wrought just as masterfully as everything else within sight, the white rock veined with green and blue mineral striations in an almost-intentional pattern, fantastical and glittering. But it was built as a defense, no matter how beautiful, and that included the barred gate that Harellan now led the way towards.
Vesryn had to pause, and fall to a knee. "A moment, please," he said, placing a hand on the ground to steady himself, the other resting over his knee. It wasn't a very opportune moment to go down, but then there wasn't going to be any escaping this. "It's been a very long time. She wasn't sure how much would be left."
Astraia couldn't seem to open her eyes wide enough, as though they were incapable of properly taking in everything she could suddenly see. She spared a glance back at Vesryn, but soon they were charmed back ahead of her by the city. "And how... how much is left? Can you tell?"
"Not much, I don't think." There was a familiar rush of sights that she remembered, but at the same time, it wasn't the same. True to the style, but even this wasn't remotely true to the scale. All of the awe Vesryn felt was entirely his own. "Most of what is here was rebuilt by them. As best they could." What they'd done was more than Saraya had expected, and it was that force that brought Vesryn to his knees. Soon she wanted to see more, and closer, and she urged him back up.
"Difficult when we have to engineer what was once possible with will and imagination alone." Harellan's tone was strange, as though regret and pride were warring in it, and by extension, in him. "That much of the achievement is ours alone, though the result is lacking in some respects because of it, when compared to the city of our ancestors." Once Vesryn was back on his feet, the older elf resumed his path towards the gate, his eyes trained above him.
With good reason; the moment he stepped within speaking distance, the sound of bowstrings drawing back was easily audible, and the group found itself facing down more than a dozen arrows, all held by armored elves who'd appeared on the wall and now glared down at the group.
For all that, Harellan seemed hardly perturbed. "Fenesvir, are you up there? If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to exchange words rather than blows." He folded his hands neatly behind his back, clearly with the expectation that he would indeed be answered peacefully enough.
It took a second for the answer to come, but when it did, it was preceded by a new presence appearing on the wall, peering down at them through the eyeslit of a full-face helmet. A half-muffled, metallic ha was the only warning they got before the person behind the helm planted a hand on the wall and swung himself over it easily even in full plate, dropping the fifteen feet or so to the ground and landing with a grunt in a crouch.
When he stood, it quickly became evident that he was taller even than Vesryn or Cyrus, maybe close to Leon's loft, and not so far from his breadth, either, from the looks of it. Waving a hand, he wordlessly commanded the archers to ease up on their draws, though not one of them let their bowstrings go entirely slack. Placing his gauntleted hands on either side of his helmet, the figure lifted it off, spilling bright copper-red hair over his shoulders and down his back. Like Harellan, his face was bare of blood writing, and when he tucked his helm under one arm and grinned at them, he did so without a hint of Zathrand's deference.
"Some pretty big words, from an exile. You standing on some kind of right to get back in, or am I going to have to drag you out of the forest?" Despite the fact that it wasn't exactly a friendly query, there wasn't anything malicious in his tone. If anything, he seemed curious, deep green eyes frequently flickering back to the rest of the party.
"It's not my right I stand on." Harellan's reply was immediate and unfazed, but prompt. Perhaps this Fenesvir was the type to make good on his words otherwise. "Rather, it's theirs." He stepped aside slightly, leaving the armored elf's line of sight to Stel and Cyrus clear. "These are the children of my brother. Eliana and Syrillion Saeris. They've come to claim their birthright as members of our family."
Cyrus wasn't quite quick enough to cover his expression, and a flash of suspicion passed across his features before disappearing, either a reaction to the names they'd been called by or the fact that he'd been included at all in the explanation, it was hard to tell. When Harellan gestured them closer, he went with clear reluctance, his left hand almost reaching for the hilt of the sword on his right side before he closed it into a fist and dropped it back to his side.
If anything, Stel looked even more reluctant, though considerably less suspicious, but she was hiding the signs of it better than Cyrus. But Vesryn knew her expressions too well to miss it regardless. She drew even with her brother.
Fenesvir whistled low, shaking his head. "Mahvir's..." He paused, eyes narrowing, and tilted his head, making careful study of the twins' faces. "Shit, I can almost see it. You're serious." Raising his free hand, he rubbed at the back of his neck. "You know they're not just going to accept this, right? Mahvir's bastards would be one thing. Mahvir's half-human bastards are quite another. I'd probably get chewed for letting any of you in the gates, blood claim or no."
"Please." That was Stel; she forced herself to stand a little straighter and make direct eye contact with Fenesvir. "We're not seeking to disturb anything, or interfere with anyone's business. All I want is a piece of information, and I can't get it anywhere else. We'll follow whatever rules are in place in the city, and leave as soon as we have what we came for."
The tall elf blinked, clearly surprised at her ability to speak to him in his own language, then sighed. "Well, it's not really my decision anyway. The Ghilan'al decide everything to do with the important families, so..." He shrugged. "I'll take you to them. Things've been pretty boring since you and Mahvir left, anyway. This could be good." He directed the last at Harellan and grinned at the rest before replacing his helmet and turning on his heel.
"All right, let us in!" Almost immediately, the gate opened, admitting all seven of them into the city proper.
"We're being taken to the Ghilan'al," Vesryn translated quietly, for Astraia's benefit. "Wayfinders." Given Skygirl's choice of vallaslin, she could likely guess at the translation there, but he provided it anyway. Bit of an odd name for a group that never went anywhere, but Vesryn wasn't going to question it, and neither was Astraia.
"He seems alright," she said, pointing ahead of them at Fenesvir. He towered over her even more than Vesryn did, and though she was obviously conscious of that, his demeanor had served to put her a little more at ease.
"He does," Vesryn agreed. They made their way towards the largest of the trees, heading into the middle of the city. It made the Emerald Graves seem like a garden in a backyard by way of sheer scale. Considering the size of the place, the population of what was probably a few hundred didn't seem all that cramped. Vesryn imagined their rules around having children were quite strict, so as to keep it that way. Vital that they did, but also vital that they prevented the need to expand.
Before long there were more eyes on them than just the bow-armed guards at the gate. No doubt this was one of the strangest things that had happened to them in some time, two elf-blooded humans disturbing their privacy, threatening it even with their very presence. Accompanied by two elves that were shadows of themselves. Some gazes were kinder than others. If only they knew Vesryn carried one of the ones they strove so hard to emulate. Sadly it wasn't something that could just be shouted and understood.
"How many are you?" he ventured, asking the question to Fenesvir in the elven tongue. "Can't be too hard to keep count."
"Our industries and capacities could sustain about six or seven hundred," he replied. "For this reason it is considered best to keep ourselves as close to five hundred as possible. We are currently four hundred and eighty-six." He paused a moment, considering. "Perhaps four hundred and eighty-eight, if what your companions claim is the truth, though they will find few who would count them even if it were." He gestured vaguely at the trees around them, then changed course slightly, leading them all up a staircase that seemed to have been shaped into the side of a tree. Carved wasn't the right word, as the vigor of the still-living wood suggested a much gentler process.
It wound only about a quarter of the way around the trunk before they reached the level of the lowest and sturdiest branches. These, too, had been shaped, flattened at the top for the easy use of foot traffic, though at the moment there was little of that to be found. They were being given an obvious berth; perhaps Fenesvir had changed their route accordingly. From their height, it was possible to see more of the city; it seemed that the public buildings were either on the ground level or this first layer of the branches, while above them were personal residences and smaller pathways between them, neighborhoods stacked atop one another rather than laid out beside.
"Do you know how many... families that is? Clans?" Stel either couldn't or more likely didn't modulate her curiosity, tipping her head back to look up at the homes above, or what of the edifices they could see from here.
Fenesvir cracked a small smile. "Somewhat too small for clans," he pointed out, "though some of the individual families are quite extended. The great houses number eight, with their various auxiliaries at about fifteen. Mine is such a family. And of course the artisans and slaves are more numerous overall, both the number of families and the membership of each one."
"Slaves?" Stel only sounded half-surprised; perhaps it was something she'd already suspected might be true.
"Like me." Zathrand drew their attention with the affirmation, then pointed to the vallaslin on his forehead. "I serve the Saeris."
"What did he say?" Astraia asked. Vesryn held in a sigh. It seemed they'd be coming to this sooner than he thought. She was bound to figure it out eventually, and the keenness with which she asked after Zathrand pointing to his forehead indicated that she was suspecting something already.
"He says he serves the Saeris," Vesryn translated. "His markings designate his position."
"But..." she was obviously confused, taking another look at Zathrand's vallaslin, probably checking to be sure she'd seen them correctly. "Those are for Mythal. Shae's aren't too much different."
"You're right, of course. But they serve a different purpose here. One not especially religious." It took her a moment to understand what he meant. When she did, she exhaled, the breath a little shaky, like she'd almost wanted to say something but no words came out. She stared at Zathrand a moment longer, mouth open, before she looked down, reaching her hand partway up towards her face before she thought better of it. If possible, she seemed to grow smaller still.
"It might not be as bad as you're thinking." Harellan spoke in the trade tongue for Astraia's benefit. "Nominally, it's true that Zathrand has the status of a slave, but his personality is his own." No doubt he referred to the demonstrated formality. "It may interest you to know that he has charge of the entire city's healers, and is skilled enough in the art to have earned the respect even of the Ghilan'al."
“You can say that, but it doesn't change the fact that his life is not his own." Cyrus crossed his arms as he walked, speaking in the same, though he looked a bit uneasy to be discussing someone who was present in words he could not understand.
Harellan nodded slightly. "That is also true. I warned you that not all of our cultural artifacts are equally glorious. This stratification is one of the downsides."
Cyrus still seemed dissatisfied, his eyes shifting between Astraia and Zathrand several times, but if he wanted to say something, he didn't quite manage it, and fell silent again instead.
It was fairly clear that Fenesvir and Zathrand both had been unable to follow that part of the conversation, but also that the topic was not too difficult for them to discern. Neither chose to comment, in any case, and the last portion of their journey to the city's center was mostly silent. They descended via a stone platform, this one braced on a vine twice as thick around as Vesryn was, and came to a momentary halt in front of the enormous tree. The doors set into it were vaulted high over their heads, attended by a pair of guards who immediately snapped their attention to Fenesvir, who moved forward to speak with them in low tones.
When they'd decided whatever needed to be decided, he turned back to the group. "I'm going to have to ask you to wait here and not go anywhere. I have to announce you to the Ghilan'al. If we just walked in there without permission, well... it wouldn't go too well, to say the least. Hopefully it won't take me too long."
Stel nodded slightly by way of reply, and that served well enough for all of them. Pushing open the left-hand side, Fenesvir disappeared inside the building, the gravatic boom of the door closing behind him sounding oddly... final. Whether there was any truth to that remained to be seen.
Fitting name, Vesryn thought. They would have to be an enduring people to last this long, isolated from the rest of the world by their own choice. Naturally not all could endure such a thing, when there was so much more out there to explore. Vesryn knew the feeling. All who did here likely faced an impossible choice: resist it, and spend their entire elongated lives existing in a relatively small corner of the world, or give in to it, and betray what they were taught as they were raised.
Vesryn had grown less and less fond of isolation as his years with Saraya went on, and now that he'd done so much with the Inquisition he couldn't imagine going back to that life. If he was even given a choice. It was about as much of a walk as he could endure, and without Stel's help he wouldn't have made it this far without stopping for a prolonged rest. A rest they couldn't afford to take, not when his condition grew worse now by the day.
He tried to focus on Astraia ahead of him. Skygirl was ineffectively containing her wide-eyed awe as they drew closer. More than once she turned about as they walked, wanting to look at something longer. When she caught his eyes, she smiled, probably meant to be encouraging. It was, in a way, but he knew that this place might be a rude sort of awakening for her, being Dalish. She hadn't yet put the pieces together on why the likes of this Zathrand wore the vallaslin on his face, and someone like Harellan did not. He hoped she wouldn't take it too hard. The news about the Veil was already heavy enough.
They began to encounter architecture, much of it partially submerged as ruins in the forest, likely hundreds or maybe thousands of years old. Ancient styles, the kind Vesryn had rarely been able to see in the south, there only in the oldest places. They were getting close. Vesryn began to wish he'd been able to carry his armor with him. It would help his case proving to these people who he was. As it was he looked and felt weak. Not the kind of person who would live up to the standard the Suledvhen held themselves to.
The trees grew ever larger around them, many of them as tall or taller than any building in Val Royeaux, lofted so high that to stand next to one was to be unable to see where it ended, for the mist that lay everywhere here obscured even that. No doubt it would have been impossible to make out the canopy in any detail anyway. Though the emerald moss and deep green foliage might have threatened to recede into a sort of monochrome, bright bursts of flowers held the impression at bay, blooming from the vines that now embraced the tree trunks and ruins alike.
About thirty minutes' walk after he'd appeared, Zathrand stopped, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure that all of them did the same. "If you will allow me a moment." He exchanged a glance with Harellan, one that clearly meant something, then moved a few more steps on his own, removing a short, thin blade from his belt. With his last two fingers, he tugged up the sleeve of his left arm, tucking his elbow against his body to hold it there and drawing the blade across his forearm in a practiced motion. He didn't so much as flinch as blood welled to the surface of the wound.
It wasn't until it dropped to the ground that the barrier he was manipulating even became visible. Even then, it only flickered softly directly in front of them, like a transparent pane of glass reflecting the sun. It was a delicate-looking piece of magic—an appearance which was surely deceptive.
Tucking his knife back into its scabbard, Zathrand moved his bloodied hand as though he were drawing open a curtain. The barrier shimmered and parted, but it did not collapse, merely receding until there was an opening just large enough for someone of Cyrus's dimensions to pass through. "After you," Zathrand murmured, stepping away from the opening to allow them to pass before him. "It will close as soon as I'm through, so I must be last."
Stepping through the gap was a strange experience: from the outside, it had appeared as though the forest continued on in the same way for as far ahead as Vesryn could see, but immediately on the other side, the landscape changed sharply: all at once, there was a city before them.
The word city might have been a stretch, but it might have counted as one, once. More massive trees rose before them, including one in the distance that must have been half the size of Skyhold's castle in breadth alone. It was actually hard to judge the scale of it, but the lowest of its branches looked to support wooden bridges between itself and its neighboring trees, as wide as a road. Stonework was melded seamlessly with the wood of that tree and the others around it, which the residents appeared to have built both on and into, if the regular openings in the living bark were anything to go by. Windows, to allow in the light. Staircases and ladders led between levels of the city, and the upper branches were strung with lights, no doubt powered by magic, that illuminated their surroundings in every color. Dim for now, but surely something to behold when darkness fell.
Separating all of them from the finer details was a stone wall, wrought just as masterfully as everything else within sight, the white rock veined with green and blue mineral striations in an almost-intentional pattern, fantastical and glittering. But it was built as a defense, no matter how beautiful, and that included the barred gate that Harellan now led the way towards.
Vesryn had to pause, and fall to a knee. "A moment, please," he said, placing a hand on the ground to steady himself, the other resting over his knee. It wasn't a very opportune moment to go down, but then there wasn't going to be any escaping this. "It's been a very long time. She wasn't sure how much would be left."
Astraia couldn't seem to open her eyes wide enough, as though they were incapable of properly taking in everything she could suddenly see. She spared a glance back at Vesryn, but soon they were charmed back ahead of her by the city. "And how... how much is left? Can you tell?"
"Not much, I don't think." There was a familiar rush of sights that she remembered, but at the same time, it wasn't the same. True to the style, but even this wasn't remotely true to the scale. All of the awe Vesryn felt was entirely his own. "Most of what is here was rebuilt by them. As best they could." What they'd done was more than Saraya had expected, and it was that force that brought Vesryn to his knees. Soon she wanted to see more, and closer, and she urged him back up.
"Difficult when we have to engineer what was once possible with will and imagination alone." Harellan's tone was strange, as though regret and pride were warring in it, and by extension, in him. "That much of the achievement is ours alone, though the result is lacking in some respects because of it, when compared to the city of our ancestors." Once Vesryn was back on his feet, the older elf resumed his path towards the gate, his eyes trained above him.
With good reason; the moment he stepped within speaking distance, the sound of bowstrings drawing back was easily audible, and the group found itself facing down more than a dozen arrows, all held by armored elves who'd appeared on the wall and now glared down at the group.
For all that, Harellan seemed hardly perturbed. "Fenesvir, are you up there? If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to exchange words rather than blows." He folded his hands neatly behind his back, clearly with the expectation that he would indeed be answered peacefully enough.
It took a second for the answer to come, but when it did, it was preceded by a new presence appearing on the wall, peering down at them through the eyeslit of a full-face helmet. A half-muffled, metallic ha was the only warning they got before the person behind the helm planted a hand on the wall and swung himself over it easily even in full plate, dropping the fifteen feet or so to the ground and landing with a grunt in a crouch.
When he stood, it quickly became evident that he was taller even than Vesryn or Cyrus, maybe close to Leon's loft, and not so far from his breadth, either, from the looks of it. Waving a hand, he wordlessly commanded the archers to ease up on their draws, though not one of them let their bowstrings go entirely slack. Placing his gauntleted hands on either side of his helmet, the figure lifted it off, spilling bright copper-red hair over his shoulders and down his back. Like Harellan, his face was bare of blood writing, and when he tucked his helm under one arm and grinned at them, he did so without a hint of Zathrand's deference.
"Some pretty big words, from an exile. You standing on some kind of right to get back in, or am I going to have to drag you out of the forest?" Despite the fact that it wasn't exactly a friendly query, there wasn't anything malicious in his tone. If anything, he seemed curious, deep green eyes frequently flickering back to the rest of the party.
"It's not my right I stand on." Harellan's reply was immediate and unfazed, but prompt. Perhaps this Fenesvir was the type to make good on his words otherwise. "Rather, it's theirs." He stepped aside slightly, leaving the armored elf's line of sight to Stel and Cyrus clear. "These are the children of my brother. Eliana and Syrillion Saeris. They've come to claim their birthright as members of our family."
Cyrus wasn't quite quick enough to cover his expression, and a flash of suspicion passed across his features before disappearing, either a reaction to the names they'd been called by or the fact that he'd been included at all in the explanation, it was hard to tell. When Harellan gestured them closer, he went with clear reluctance, his left hand almost reaching for the hilt of the sword on his right side before he closed it into a fist and dropped it back to his side.
If anything, Stel looked even more reluctant, though considerably less suspicious, but she was hiding the signs of it better than Cyrus. But Vesryn knew her expressions too well to miss it regardless. She drew even with her brother.
Fenesvir whistled low, shaking his head. "Mahvir's..." He paused, eyes narrowing, and tilted his head, making careful study of the twins' faces. "Shit, I can almost see it. You're serious." Raising his free hand, he rubbed at the back of his neck. "You know they're not just going to accept this, right? Mahvir's bastards would be one thing. Mahvir's half-human bastards are quite another. I'd probably get chewed for letting any of you in the gates, blood claim or no."
"Please." That was Stel; she forced herself to stand a little straighter and make direct eye contact with Fenesvir. "We're not seeking to disturb anything, or interfere with anyone's business. All I want is a piece of information, and I can't get it anywhere else. We'll follow whatever rules are in place in the city, and leave as soon as we have what we came for."
The tall elf blinked, clearly surprised at her ability to speak to him in his own language, then sighed. "Well, it's not really my decision anyway. The Ghilan'al decide everything to do with the important families, so..." He shrugged. "I'll take you to them. Things've been pretty boring since you and Mahvir left, anyway. This could be good." He directed the last at Harellan and grinned at the rest before replacing his helmet and turning on his heel.
"All right, let us in!" Almost immediately, the gate opened, admitting all seven of them into the city proper.
"We're being taken to the Ghilan'al," Vesryn translated quietly, for Astraia's benefit. "Wayfinders." Given Skygirl's choice of vallaslin, she could likely guess at the translation there, but he provided it anyway. Bit of an odd name for a group that never went anywhere, but Vesryn wasn't going to question it, and neither was Astraia.
"He seems alright," she said, pointing ahead of them at Fenesvir. He towered over her even more than Vesryn did, and though she was obviously conscious of that, his demeanor had served to put her a little more at ease.
"He does," Vesryn agreed. They made their way towards the largest of the trees, heading into the middle of the city. It made the Emerald Graves seem like a garden in a backyard by way of sheer scale. Considering the size of the place, the population of what was probably a few hundred didn't seem all that cramped. Vesryn imagined their rules around having children were quite strict, so as to keep it that way. Vital that they did, but also vital that they prevented the need to expand.
Before long there were more eyes on them than just the bow-armed guards at the gate. No doubt this was one of the strangest things that had happened to them in some time, two elf-blooded humans disturbing their privacy, threatening it even with their very presence. Accompanied by two elves that were shadows of themselves. Some gazes were kinder than others. If only they knew Vesryn carried one of the ones they strove so hard to emulate. Sadly it wasn't something that could just be shouted and understood.
"How many are you?" he ventured, asking the question to Fenesvir in the elven tongue. "Can't be too hard to keep count."
"Our industries and capacities could sustain about six or seven hundred," he replied. "For this reason it is considered best to keep ourselves as close to five hundred as possible. We are currently four hundred and eighty-six." He paused a moment, considering. "Perhaps four hundred and eighty-eight, if what your companions claim is the truth, though they will find few who would count them even if it were." He gestured vaguely at the trees around them, then changed course slightly, leading them all up a staircase that seemed to have been shaped into the side of a tree. Carved wasn't the right word, as the vigor of the still-living wood suggested a much gentler process.
It wound only about a quarter of the way around the trunk before they reached the level of the lowest and sturdiest branches. These, too, had been shaped, flattened at the top for the easy use of foot traffic, though at the moment there was little of that to be found. They were being given an obvious berth; perhaps Fenesvir had changed their route accordingly. From their height, it was possible to see more of the city; it seemed that the public buildings were either on the ground level or this first layer of the branches, while above them were personal residences and smaller pathways between them, neighborhoods stacked atop one another rather than laid out beside.
"Do you know how many... families that is? Clans?" Stel either couldn't or more likely didn't modulate her curiosity, tipping her head back to look up at the homes above, or what of the edifices they could see from here.
Fenesvir cracked a small smile. "Somewhat too small for clans," he pointed out, "though some of the individual families are quite extended. The great houses number eight, with their various auxiliaries at about fifteen. Mine is such a family. And of course the artisans and slaves are more numerous overall, both the number of families and the membership of each one."
"Slaves?" Stel only sounded half-surprised; perhaps it was something she'd already suspected might be true.
"Like me." Zathrand drew their attention with the affirmation, then pointed to the vallaslin on his forehead. "I serve the Saeris."
"What did he say?" Astraia asked. Vesryn held in a sigh. It seemed they'd be coming to this sooner than he thought. She was bound to figure it out eventually, and the keenness with which she asked after Zathrand pointing to his forehead indicated that she was suspecting something already.
"He says he serves the Saeris," Vesryn translated. "His markings designate his position."
"But..." she was obviously confused, taking another look at Zathrand's vallaslin, probably checking to be sure she'd seen them correctly. "Those are for Mythal. Shae's aren't too much different."
"You're right, of course. But they serve a different purpose here. One not especially religious." It took her a moment to understand what he meant. When she did, she exhaled, the breath a little shaky, like she'd almost wanted to say something but no words came out. She stared at Zathrand a moment longer, mouth open, before she looked down, reaching her hand partway up towards her face before she thought better of it. If possible, she seemed to grow smaller still.
"It might not be as bad as you're thinking." Harellan spoke in the trade tongue for Astraia's benefit. "Nominally, it's true that Zathrand has the status of a slave, but his personality is his own." No doubt he referred to the demonstrated formality. "It may interest you to know that he has charge of the entire city's healers, and is skilled enough in the art to have earned the respect even of the Ghilan'al."
“You can say that, but it doesn't change the fact that his life is not his own." Cyrus crossed his arms as he walked, speaking in the same, though he looked a bit uneasy to be discussing someone who was present in words he could not understand.
Harellan nodded slightly. "That is also true. I warned you that not all of our cultural artifacts are equally glorious. This stratification is one of the downsides."
Cyrus still seemed dissatisfied, his eyes shifting between Astraia and Zathrand several times, but if he wanted to say something, he didn't quite manage it, and fell silent again instead.
It was fairly clear that Fenesvir and Zathrand both had been unable to follow that part of the conversation, but also that the topic was not too difficult for them to discern. Neither chose to comment, in any case, and the last portion of their journey to the city's center was mostly silent. They descended via a stone platform, this one braced on a vine twice as thick around as Vesryn was, and came to a momentary halt in front of the enormous tree. The doors set into it were vaulted high over their heads, attended by a pair of guards who immediately snapped their attention to Fenesvir, who moved forward to speak with them in low tones.
When they'd decided whatever needed to be decided, he turned back to the group. "I'm going to have to ask you to wait here and not go anywhere. I have to announce you to the Ghilan'al. If we just walked in there without permission, well... it wouldn't go too well, to say the least. Hopefully it won't take me too long."
Stel nodded slightly by way of reply, and that served well enough for all of them. Pushing open the left-hand side, Fenesvir disappeared inside the building, the gravatic boom of the door closing behind him sounding oddly... final. Whether there was any truth to that remained to be seen.