Estella sighed, releasing the magic she'd been holding for what felt like forever and falling back onto the ground. The cushion provided by the first few inches of snow for the year was enough to soften the fall, and she didn't mind much that she'd have wet hair by the time she managed to rise again. Splaying her arms out to the side, she huffed to herself, turning her head enough to spot Harellan still standing nearby.
She didn't know if it was because of what had happened with General Ellas or not, but apparently he was inclined to train her with sparring as part of the lessons now, up to and including his own use of the humming green swords hardly anyone saw. Only at the end of the lesson, thoughāthe majority was still devoted to the theory of things and more delicate practice. That didn't mean she wasn't exhausted by the end of it anyway, a fierce ache in her muscles that she knew well. It would be gone in a little while. Small blessings, made possible no doubt by many years of pushing herself to her physical limits.
Smiling, she patted the snow next to her. "Time for a cooldown, I think?"
Harellan's eyes glimmered with mirth, and he allowed it to reflect in his smile, too, a crooked one like always. "Was that a pun? It left me a little cold, I confess." Complaints aside, though, he dropped down beside her with all the elegance of aristocracy and none of the self-consciousness, promptly ruining any dignity he had by laying back in much the same manner she had, about three feet to her left. If the chill of the snow bothered him any, he concealed it well, resting his hands together over his stomach and releasing what sounded like a satisfied sigh before lolling his head to the side to meet her eyes.
"You know, I should probably be insisting that you not expose yourself to cold temperatures so abruptly after exertion. My apologies if you cramp."
She snorted. Even when he was joking with her, there was something absurdly formal about his manner of speech, something she now recognized as being a side-effect of the way he was raised, probably. Everyone in Arlathan had spoken like that, from the nobles to the slaves. The General probably least so, but his personality probably tempered it. The exception rather than the rule, so to speak. "I'll live, no thanks to your irresponsible teaching methods," she replied, smile widening briefly to a grin.
Estella bent her knees, pulling her feet up to lay flat against the ground, crunching some of the snow beneath her boots. It was hard to feel the moisture of it for the chill; if she'd been doing this in the dead of winter, it might not have melted at all, even. Somehow, over time, she'd gotten used to the southern climate, and to all appearances Harellan had, too.
"That was... that was your first trip back there in a long while, wasn't it?" she ventured, pursing her lips. It would have been impossible for a dullard to miss how apart he seemed, from the rest of them. The way Lord Aedanthir's eyes had passed over him as though there were only empty air where he stood. "The first one since you left?"
"Second." The correction was gentle, the tone behind it almost melancholy. "The first time was much worse, I daresay." A slight frown turned Harellan's mouth down, his eyes losing focus for a moment. "Though I suppose that only makes senseāI was bringing them my brother's corpse." He blinked, deliberately finding her line of sight again and expelling a heavy breath from his nose. "I don't think I need to explain how much of a shock that was to them. In their grief, they needed someone to blame, and so they blamed the only person available. Stripped me of my name and cast me out. I've no right to anything of theirs anymore, though Asvhalla does express her wishes otherwise."
Estella considered that, lifting her arms to lace her fingers together over her belly, in much the same way he had. She found it strange, that he called his mother by her given name, but perhaps that was some sort of convention of his status. He'd lost his, and lost the comfort of familiarity with those who had been his family. It sounded lonely, in a way she could understand far too well. "Telahn," she said, brows furrowing. "That was your name, wasn't it? Telahn Saeris."
Even his name seemed lonely to her, the original one even more so than Harellan. Who would name their child with the word for 'silence'?
He clearly hadn't been expecting her to say that, to know that, because he sat up at once, angling his head to catch and hold her eyes. "How did you know that?" The question troubled him, either to ask or because it needed to be asked. His brows knit, a deep crease appearing between them. "Did Asvhalla tell you?" He didn't seem to think it was likelyāperhaps it would have been a breach of some sort of rule. They seemed to take those very seriously, there.
Fortunately, she'd been expecting the question, and did not flinch from it. She'd wanted to ask him about this, anyway. "I think... I think my father did," she said slowly, knowing it sounded absurd. "When I was in the tomb. IāI guess I dreamed, or something close to it, but it seemed so real. He was there, in this sort of cave part, I suppose, at a campfire, and spoke to me like it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do. And he called you that."
Now that she thought of it, it sort of proved that he couldn't have been purely a conjuration of her own imagination. Because she hadn't known that name, and even if all the other details were just fanciful fabrications she'd subconsciously woven for her own benefit, that surely couldn't be among them. "Is that... is that possible? That it was really him?"
Several distended, silent moments passed; Harellan was clearly trying to decide what he wanted to say in response to that. His expression showed faint traces of genuine surprise, though he was never the easiest person to read, even when he didn't seem to be trying to conceal anything. "The Fade is full of mysteries." Bending his knees up, he draped his arms over them. "And of all the places in Thedas, the Veil is thinnest there. Wellārifts excepted." His eyes dropped to her right arm momentarily, where the Anchor was not currently visible but no doubt registered on some magical sense or perception of his.
"It could have been some piece of him, or a memory, drawn to the surface by your thoughts of him, if you were having any." The way he looked at her suggested that he knew her father would have been on her mind, in there. "Or even a spirit, come across the knowledge somehow and seeking to imitate him. Spirits of Love are known to do that, from time to time."
Harellan parted his lips to pull in a breath, like he wanted to continue, but it hitched unexpectedly, and he grimaced. It took another minute for him to find the wherewithal. "The image... what did he look like?"
Estella fidgeted with her hands a bit, trying to settle on a description. "A bit like I imagine a somewhat-younger you," she said, expression a bit apologetic. He didn't seem that old, honestly, though she knew he had to be in his forties at least. She'd never properly asked, and didn't plan to. "But, um... he had a scar, right here." Disentangling her hands, she used one index finger to point to the edge of her eyebrow. "And he smiled like Cyrus."
Harellan's own smile was not that different, even the thin one he managed now. "Flashy bit of gold wire on his ear?" At Estella's confirmation, he nodded. "That's him, all right." He shook his head, wearing a perplexed expression she had not seen often from him. "How peculiar."
She hadn't really expected any concrete answers, so she couldn't say she was disappointed, exactly. Just... a little sad. Really, perhaps at this point it was better if she didn't have them. She could hold the memory close to her heart, and let herself believe it was really some version of her father who had spoken to her with such affection, and of her mother with such genuine care.
Estella turned her eyes skyward, watching the thin winter clods drift by overhead, wispy like raw cotton pulled apart by hand. "Whatā" she halted, swallowing. "What happened to him, Harellan? How did he die? Was itāwas it us?" She couldn't shake the feeling that she and Cyrus had to be at the root of his fate somehow. They were the obvious choice for cause, if Tiberius, just as wrathful but still in full possession of his faculties back then, had found out.
She didn't want to believe that her grandfather could have had anything to do with it, but she had to acknowledge the possibility.
Beside her, she could hear him shift, perhaps even uncomfortably, then sigh softly through his nose. "We were planning to leave." A pause, and she could feel his eyes on her, even if he was outside her line of sight. "The three of us. With the two of you. Genny knew her family wouldn't accept you; they already had their suspicions about your father. At least what he was, if not precisely whom." He clicked his tongue against the side of his teeth.
"The plan was... to raise you on the road. Genny had funds enough to her own name to provide for a time, and the other necessities would have been simple enough to procure." They might not be Dalish, but there was no doubt her father and uncle had learned to live from their surroundings if necessary. There hadn't been any large-scale agriculture in Arlathan that she'd seen. "Then perhaps we'd have found some place to settle. To live in peace. But it wasn't to be, I'm afraid."
It wasn't too hard to see where this was going; in a sense, the knew the ending already. Peeling her eyes away from the sky, she settled them back on Harellan. It didn't seem like a good idea to interrupt the story.
"It was the night we planned to leave that everything went wrong. Genny hadn't been feeling well, but her father was getting more and more suspicious." Though Harellan's tone did not falter, he paused, closing his eyes and clearly taking a moment to collect himself, fingers curling and uncurling as if he wanted to form them into fists, but resisted the urge. "So we decided that Mahvir would go in to collect her. We'd sneaked into the house before; the servants knew to let him pass." He grimaced.
"I didn't see what happened. Genny said that her father laid a trap. Disabled Mahvir with some kind of blood magic, keyed to him in particular. He'd have had to use one of the two of you for that." His lips thinned where he pressed them together, and he furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes at her. "Even if that is so, it isn't your fault. And it's not mine, either, no matter how different it would have been if I'd gone instead." His shoulders sagged, as if under some great, invisible weight.
"It took me a very long time to realize that. Sometimes I still have trouble believing it. Certainly I made no such argument before the Ghilan'al."
She could see where the thought came from. If it was keyed to the blood of their father, then it wouldn't have harmed Harellan, and perhaps the result, the whole thing, would have been completely different. Perhaps she'd have had a warm, loving childhood traveling Thedas, or settled in some small town with her family, unconventional as they'd surely be anywhere. It was almost impossible to believeāno mixed families lived like that anywhere, as far as Estella knew.
But... she would never say her parents' deaths had been worth it, but the way she'd ended up, the life she'd half stumbled into, half made for herselfāthis was good. It was better than good; and she was grateful to have it. Even despite everything it had taken to reach this point. "Maybe it would have worked out better," she said quietly. "Maybe it would have gone just as badly. Maybe all three of you would have died. At leastāat least this way we still have you."
She sat up, rolling her shoulders back; they were indeed a bit stiff, but she paid it no mind, taking one of his hands in her unmarked one. "I never got to know them, but I do know you, Harellan. And to me, that'sāthat's a gift. And it wasn't perfect, not in Tevinter when you couldn't say who you were. And maybe it's not perfect now, because they can't be here, too. But it'sāit's enough. More than enough. And I'm so, so glad you weren't hurt that night, or worse." She smiled shakily.
He looked at her with wide eyes, perhaps the most open expression she'd ever seen on his face. "You'reā" He huffed, shaking his head emphatically. "Iāthank you, lethallan." His voice cracked, and he reached over with his free hand to rest it atop her head, drawing her forward into a hug.
Harellan seemed almost unsure of how to give one, in truth, resting his fingertips at her back so gently it seemed he might be afraid of breaking her. "Thank you."
It struck her as sad, that this sentiment was so clearly foreign to him. Probably no one had ever told him anything of the kind, at least not in recent history. Swallowing, she shifted so both her arms were around his back, squeezing slightly. "You don't have to thank me for that," she informed him. Releasing her hold, she scooted back a little to give him some space. "Have you ever made a snowman, Harellan? I think I could probably use the chance to warm up a bit, after all."
A faintly-perplexed expression met the question, but the uncomfortable lack of certainty was gone. He shook his head, offering a small smile. "I have not. Perhaps you would be willing to teach me how?"
"Of course. You can't do all the teaching here; it would get boring, right?" Standing, Estella dusted herself as free of snow as she was going to get and extended a hand down towards him.
"No, lethallan. You'll never bore me." He used her hand to help himself stand, though he certainly didn't need to, mimicking her motions and clearing himself of the flakes still clinging to him. "But I believe you'll teach me quite a lot."
She didn't know if it was because of what had happened with General Ellas or not, but apparently he was inclined to train her with sparring as part of the lessons now, up to and including his own use of the humming green swords hardly anyone saw. Only at the end of the lesson, thoughāthe majority was still devoted to the theory of things and more delicate practice. That didn't mean she wasn't exhausted by the end of it anyway, a fierce ache in her muscles that she knew well. It would be gone in a little while. Small blessings, made possible no doubt by many years of pushing herself to her physical limits.
Smiling, she patted the snow next to her. "Time for a cooldown, I think?"
Harellan's eyes glimmered with mirth, and he allowed it to reflect in his smile, too, a crooked one like always. "Was that a pun? It left me a little cold, I confess." Complaints aside, though, he dropped down beside her with all the elegance of aristocracy and none of the self-consciousness, promptly ruining any dignity he had by laying back in much the same manner she had, about three feet to her left. If the chill of the snow bothered him any, he concealed it well, resting his hands together over his stomach and releasing what sounded like a satisfied sigh before lolling his head to the side to meet her eyes.
"You know, I should probably be insisting that you not expose yourself to cold temperatures so abruptly after exertion. My apologies if you cramp."
She snorted. Even when he was joking with her, there was something absurdly formal about his manner of speech, something she now recognized as being a side-effect of the way he was raised, probably. Everyone in Arlathan had spoken like that, from the nobles to the slaves. The General probably least so, but his personality probably tempered it. The exception rather than the rule, so to speak. "I'll live, no thanks to your irresponsible teaching methods," she replied, smile widening briefly to a grin.
Estella bent her knees, pulling her feet up to lay flat against the ground, crunching some of the snow beneath her boots. It was hard to feel the moisture of it for the chill; if she'd been doing this in the dead of winter, it might not have melted at all, even. Somehow, over time, she'd gotten used to the southern climate, and to all appearances Harellan had, too.
"That was... that was your first trip back there in a long while, wasn't it?" she ventured, pursing her lips. It would have been impossible for a dullard to miss how apart he seemed, from the rest of them. The way Lord Aedanthir's eyes had passed over him as though there were only empty air where he stood. "The first one since you left?"
"Second." The correction was gentle, the tone behind it almost melancholy. "The first time was much worse, I daresay." A slight frown turned Harellan's mouth down, his eyes losing focus for a moment. "Though I suppose that only makes senseāI was bringing them my brother's corpse." He blinked, deliberately finding her line of sight again and expelling a heavy breath from his nose. "I don't think I need to explain how much of a shock that was to them. In their grief, they needed someone to blame, and so they blamed the only person available. Stripped me of my name and cast me out. I've no right to anything of theirs anymore, though Asvhalla does express her wishes otherwise."
Estella considered that, lifting her arms to lace her fingers together over her belly, in much the same way he had. She found it strange, that he called his mother by her given name, but perhaps that was some sort of convention of his status. He'd lost his, and lost the comfort of familiarity with those who had been his family. It sounded lonely, in a way she could understand far too well. "Telahn," she said, brows furrowing. "That was your name, wasn't it? Telahn Saeris."
Even his name seemed lonely to her, the original one even more so than Harellan. Who would name their child with the word for 'silence'?
He clearly hadn't been expecting her to say that, to know that, because he sat up at once, angling his head to catch and hold her eyes. "How did you know that?" The question troubled him, either to ask or because it needed to be asked. His brows knit, a deep crease appearing between them. "Did Asvhalla tell you?" He didn't seem to think it was likelyāperhaps it would have been a breach of some sort of rule. They seemed to take those very seriously, there.
Fortunately, she'd been expecting the question, and did not flinch from it. She'd wanted to ask him about this, anyway. "I think... I think my father did," she said slowly, knowing it sounded absurd. "When I was in the tomb. IāI guess I dreamed, or something close to it, but it seemed so real. He was there, in this sort of cave part, I suppose, at a campfire, and spoke to me like it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do. And he called you that."
Now that she thought of it, it sort of proved that he couldn't have been purely a conjuration of her own imagination. Because she hadn't known that name, and even if all the other details were just fanciful fabrications she'd subconsciously woven for her own benefit, that surely couldn't be among them. "Is that... is that possible? That it was really him?"
Several distended, silent moments passed; Harellan was clearly trying to decide what he wanted to say in response to that. His expression showed faint traces of genuine surprise, though he was never the easiest person to read, even when he didn't seem to be trying to conceal anything. "The Fade is full of mysteries." Bending his knees up, he draped his arms over them. "And of all the places in Thedas, the Veil is thinnest there. Wellārifts excepted." His eyes dropped to her right arm momentarily, where the Anchor was not currently visible but no doubt registered on some magical sense or perception of his.
"It could have been some piece of him, or a memory, drawn to the surface by your thoughts of him, if you were having any." The way he looked at her suggested that he knew her father would have been on her mind, in there. "Or even a spirit, come across the knowledge somehow and seeking to imitate him. Spirits of Love are known to do that, from time to time."
Harellan parted his lips to pull in a breath, like he wanted to continue, but it hitched unexpectedly, and he grimaced. It took another minute for him to find the wherewithal. "The image... what did he look like?"
Estella fidgeted with her hands a bit, trying to settle on a description. "A bit like I imagine a somewhat-younger you," she said, expression a bit apologetic. He didn't seem that old, honestly, though she knew he had to be in his forties at least. She'd never properly asked, and didn't plan to. "But, um... he had a scar, right here." Disentangling her hands, she used one index finger to point to the edge of her eyebrow. "And he smiled like Cyrus."
Harellan's own smile was not that different, even the thin one he managed now. "Flashy bit of gold wire on his ear?" At Estella's confirmation, he nodded. "That's him, all right." He shook his head, wearing a perplexed expression she had not seen often from him. "How peculiar."
She hadn't really expected any concrete answers, so she couldn't say she was disappointed, exactly. Just... a little sad. Really, perhaps at this point it was better if she didn't have them. She could hold the memory close to her heart, and let herself believe it was really some version of her father who had spoken to her with such affection, and of her mother with such genuine care.
Estella turned her eyes skyward, watching the thin winter clods drift by overhead, wispy like raw cotton pulled apart by hand. "Whatā" she halted, swallowing. "What happened to him, Harellan? How did he die? Was itāwas it us?" She couldn't shake the feeling that she and Cyrus had to be at the root of his fate somehow. They were the obvious choice for cause, if Tiberius, just as wrathful but still in full possession of his faculties back then, had found out.
She didn't want to believe that her grandfather could have had anything to do with it, but she had to acknowledge the possibility.
Beside her, she could hear him shift, perhaps even uncomfortably, then sigh softly through his nose. "We were planning to leave." A pause, and she could feel his eyes on her, even if he was outside her line of sight. "The three of us. With the two of you. Genny knew her family wouldn't accept you; they already had their suspicions about your father. At least what he was, if not precisely whom." He clicked his tongue against the side of his teeth.
"The plan was... to raise you on the road. Genny had funds enough to her own name to provide for a time, and the other necessities would have been simple enough to procure." They might not be Dalish, but there was no doubt her father and uncle had learned to live from their surroundings if necessary. There hadn't been any large-scale agriculture in Arlathan that she'd seen. "Then perhaps we'd have found some place to settle. To live in peace. But it wasn't to be, I'm afraid."
It wasn't too hard to see where this was going; in a sense, the knew the ending already. Peeling her eyes away from the sky, she settled them back on Harellan. It didn't seem like a good idea to interrupt the story.
"It was the night we planned to leave that everything went wrong. Genny hadn't been feeling well, but her father was getting more and more suspicious." Though Harellan's tone did not falter, he paused, closing his eyes and clearly taking a moment to collect himself, fingers curling and uncurling as if he wanted to form them into fists, but resisted the urge. "So we decided that Mahvir would go in to collect her. We'd sneaked into the house before; the servants knew to let him pass." He grimaced.
"I didn't see what happened. Genny said that her father laid a trap. Disabled Mahvir with some kind of blood magic, keyed to him in particular. He'd have had to use one of the two of you for that." His lips thinned where he pressed them together, and he furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes at her. "Even if that is so, it isn't your fault. And it's not mine, either, no matter how different it would have been if I'd gone instead." His shoulders sagged, as if under some great, invisible weight.
"It took me a very long time to realize that. Sometimes I still have trouble believing it. Certainly I made no such argument before the Ghilan'al."
She could see where the thought came from. If it was keyed to the blood of their father, then it wouldn't have harmed Harellan, and perhaps the result, the whole thing, would have been completely different. Perhaps she'd have had a warm, loving childhood traveling Thedas, or settled in some small town with her family, unconventional as they'd surely be anywhere. It was almost impossible to believeāno mixed families lived like that anywhere, as far as Estella knew.
But... she would never say her parents' deaths had been worth it, but the way she'd ended up, the life she'd half stumbled into, half made for herselfāthis was good. It was better than good; and she was grateful to have it. Even despite everything it had taken to reach this point. "Maybe it would have worked out better," she said quietly. "Maybe it would have gone just as badly. Maybe all three of you would have died. At leastāat least this way we still have you."
She sat up, rolling her shoulders back; they were indeed a bit stiff, but she paid it no mind, taking one of his hands in her unmarked one. "I never got to know them, but I do know you, Harellan. And to me, that'sāthat's a gift. And it wasn't perfect, not in Tevinter when you couldn't say who you were. And maybe it's not perfect now, because they can't be here, too. But it'sāit's enough. More than enough. And I'm so, so glad you weren't hurt that night, or worse." She smiled shakily.
He looked at her with wide eyes, perhaps the most open expression she'd ever seen on his face. "You'reā" He huffed, shaking his head emphatically. "Iāthank you, lethallan." His voice cracked, and he reached over with his free hand to rest it atop her head, drawing her forward into a hug.
Harellan seemed almost unsure of how to give one, in truth, resting his fingertips at her back so gently it seemed he might be afraid of breaking her. "Thank you."
It struck her as sad, that this sentiment was so clearly foreign to him. Probably no one had ever told him anything of the kind, at least not in recent history. Swallowing, she shifted so both her arms were around his back, squeezing slightly. "You don't have to thank me for that," she informed him. Releasing her hold, she scooted back a little to give him some space. "Have you ever made a snowman, Harellan? I think I could probably use the chance to warm up a bit, after all."
A faintly-perplexed expression met the question, but the uncomfortable lack of certainty was gone. He shook his head, offering a small smile. "I have not. Perhaps you would be willing to teach me how?"
"Of course. You can't do all the teaching here; it would get boring, right?" Standing, Estella dusted herself as free of snow as she was going to get and extended a hand down towards him.
"No, lethallan. You'll never bore me." He used her hand to help himself stand, though he certainly didn't need to, mimicking her motions and clearing himself of the flakes still clinging to him. "But I believe you'll teach me quite a lot."