Player Plot: The Arlathvhen

[writteninblood]

WHO: A big pack of elfs
WHAT: The Arlathvhen
WHEN: Vaguely Solace
WHERE: A Secret Elven Location
NOTES: OOC Plotting post here, and a special thanks to Ema for the header image

In the ordinary course of life, Dalish clans rarely encounter each other. This isolation is a protection; their diaspora is as much of a blessing as is a curse. Only once every decade or so do the Dalish clans all meet together, and their Keepers, the elders and leaders of the People, who are responsible in keeping elven lore and magic alive, will meet together and exchange knowledge in a meeting called the Arlathvhen. During such a time, the clans will recall and record any lore they have relearned since the past meeting, they will exchange goods, people, knowledge, news, and culture, along with reiterating what lore they know already to keep their traditions as accurate and alive as possible.


Today is the day.

Comments

[dirth]

The pain of the world is too much, Solas thinks. Sometimes it feels as though the weight of everything is laying down on him and he is the only one who can try and push it back, the only one who has the knowledge and the strength to overcome it, but... He knows that is not the case. There are others, for now. He trusts some people, he offers them it, but... There are some things only he can do. Some things that only Solas is capable of.

"Of course."

Walking amongst the Dalish is not something Solas would ever do himself, but with Galadriel at his side he is content to wander, to let her be his guard, to let her stand beside him. It's enough to make him feel less on edge, less dangerous to those that might look at him, less angry at the world. She softens his broken edges, and that's enough to make him feel as though the pressure of the world is, for now, left to one side.

"They are a reflection." Solas can admit that. They're not the same as a true reflection of the People, they're not the same as what could have been, but... It's as if the world is leaving him an echo to look at, to stare at, to hurt him with. It's not enough for him and he knows it never will be, the pain a sketched echo across his features.

The squeal has his head turning sharply, his eyes flickering. Children, little ones, bright and beautiful, undecorated and undisturbed by the weight of their mythologies and legends. They're happy, and Solas is struck, for a moment, by the innocence of it. There is no danger to them - just games, and joy, and happiness in the strangest and most bare of places.

"There are memories of their games in Arlathan," Solas says gently, his heart heavy. "It is rare to see Dalish children."

[laurenande]

"Are there? I should like to see them," Galadriel tells him as she watches the children play. It is an unstructured game, all running and tumbling. One falls and the others trip over them, all scrambling in dirt and leaves only to rise again and run once more. She is only watching from a distance, and none of them could ever be mistaken for the children she has known...but it reminds her of dearer times.

It is unfair, their arrangement, and Galadriel has known that for some long time. Solas could not ever be accused of being open and candid, but neither was she wont to speak whole truths if the situation did not demand it. It was a way in which they were deeply similar and, unfortunately, a hard habit to break free from.

She knew who he was, to an extent, and knew how he felt about the catastrophe he had wrought. She understood as well as any creature, mortal or immortal, could...but she had not shared herself in the same way. Solas had been given bits and pieces of who she was, meted out as he needed them, while the bulk of who, of what she was remained obscured. The opportunity to correct their imbalance had arisen more than once, in far quieter places than this, but she had shied from each one. Despite herself and all her long years, she feared his response.

Even knowing all she knew of him, she could not predict how he would react.

Why, then, did she decide to speak? Even she could not say what compelled her, but speak she did.

"The Eldar have precious few children. Groups as large as this would be remarkable." She sighs, a longing sound. "I have not seen any this young since my grandchildren first ran through Lorien."

[dirth]

"I could show you. I would be glad to." There are thousands of memories of the world that he could show her. She is a Rifter, true enough, but she is so much more. Solas tries, with all that he has, to believe in her strength, in her wisdom, in her beauty, to allow himself to believe for a moment that she is more than how she appears, but... It's difficult. It grows harder every single day and he's well aware of it.

There are so many secrets that Solas keeps close to his chest and he buries them down somewhere deep, things that he thinks that even Galadriel could not understand. Even if she knows the truth of his name and his heritage... There are so many other things, he thinks, so many other things that he thinks he ought not to tell her or let her know. There's a weight to him and it weighs on him even now, thousands of years later.

His finger holds onto her a little tighter, closing his eyes for a moment, basking.

Watching the children lightens him, just a little, but - he turns to look at Galadriel, watching her as she speaks, as he always does. It's impossible not to watch her face, watch the shape her smile takes, watch the way her hair glows in the sunlight. Mythal. His heart burns somewhere deep inside and he shrugs it off, forcing himself to calm, to relax, to breathe, even though he knows that he hides it all behind his mask. It's easier that way, he thinks; it has to be.

"Grandchildren?" It doesn't shock Solas, not entirely, but... It isn't something that he had considered at all; it's not something that had registered in his mind at all. He had never had children of his own, so... "How many do you have?"

[laurenande]

His curiosity is something she expects, though it is more neutral than she might have predicted. She looks sidelong at him, catches his eyes and holds his gaze a moment before averting her own and looking back at the Dalish. Perhaps she truly was a fool, then, if Solas was not disturbed by this,

"Three," she says in the common tongue, forgetting herself. "Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir."

Saying their names aloud steals some strength from her--the thought of them, of their fates, and of how they parted, is enough to stop her talking. She is silent a moment as the sense of melancholy passes and then? Then she is granted a wonderful new freedom. She can share her family with Solas and the very idea has joy welling in her.

"They were my light in this life. There were none more beautiful to me and I embarrassed them terribly with my regard, of that I am certain," she explains, her voice fond and tone light, eager to share now that the threat of rejection has passed. "It is a pity none of them had children, I have always adored children, but their mother had only them and we could not bare to have another ourselves. Her passing was a dreadful burden on us both."

[dirth]

Solas knows it is not his place to say or do anything that might suggest his disappointment or upset; Galadriel had a life long before she was brought through a Rift and long before she had any notion of Solas' existence. She is as old as he is, if not older, so to have children, grandchildren, a life and love and family...

It is a life he had never allowed himself to have. It is a life he had never imagined possible for him, not with the path that he had been walking. Not with the future that was laid before him. He was glad that Galadriel was able to have hat, even if it had not followed her here.

It's obvious that she was weighed with their memories and Solas is glad that she was able to speak, that she was able to share this with him. It adds more confusion to his shoulders, perhaps, and makes him question, makes him ponder, but... It is not his place to undo her history. It's not his place to suggest or say anything to her, when she had lived a life of love and glory. He had been comparing her to Mythal enough for shame to settle against his spine like a burn.

"Is that not the role that parents and grandparents ought to play?" Solas smiles as best he can. "It is good, to think there is a place where elves may love and life in happiness and joy, without hesitation, without pause. Without shame."

[laurenande]

There is something hollow in his words, something abstract, and it is only highlighted by the weakness in his smile. Galadriel watches him and her delight ebbs. His shock has given way to something else, something less severe than she had expected but still within the same vein.

Has Thranduil explained the ways of the Eldar to him? No, why would he, when it would only inspire questions about his own marriage. He would not have told him of his cousin--this was truly the first time she had mentioned him, even as the passing addition to a pronoun, and the weight of it has already settled between them.

"That is, perhaps, too generous an assumption," she tells him gently and looks down at their hands--she debates taking his but ultimately doesn't. Instead she urges him forward and starts to walk again.

"I have not told you this," she continues. It is not a question and her voice is more resigned than not. It is a tone she has not used in Quenya, not with him, and the melodious nature of the language falls away as she does. "The Eldar do not...love lightly. Should we love, we wed...and I have been wed for ten thousand years. It is through this bond that Thranduil is my cousin."

[dirth]

It is hard to hear that the woman you have entered into something with - something undefined, and Solas is aware of it, no claim to her even with the intimacies they have shared and the tenderness between them. The conversation has never turned itself to discussing what they are to one another, what they mean to each other, what their tenderness and warmth should lead to. It has been something that has happened slowly, naturally, welcomed, but...

He has no right to demand that she explain herself to him, no right to suggest that she ought to do or say something based on what they've shared. Solas is the one who is going to tear this world asunder and she welcomes it - she is the one who has lived a life of centuries long before she had ever heard his name. Solas would never assume that he had any right to her, nor she to him; they live in a world where their pasts are as important as their futures.

Walking with her is easy. He allows her to speak, to express what is laying on her heart without pause. There's an ache to him, he thinks, but - but. Solas had never asked for this, and neither had she.

"No. I did not ask." He walks and walks, without pause, allowing himself to move at her side, facing forward. Relaxed, as much as he can be. He has no right to give her ire, but surely, he thinks, this is something that ought to have been said. So that he might have prepared himself for it. "It must be a bond of great strength, to have lasted so long and so surely."

[laurenande]

His first response is a dismissal and it rings strangely to her, but his second is something else entirely. He cannot know and, before she can stop herself, Galadriel lets out a laugh. It is dry and without humor, but she is not so distracted that she has allowed grief to find purchase in her voice.

"Another generous assumption," she replies and is silent as they walk. The implication is not lost on her--she did not intend to conjure any false image of Celeborn for Solas. Celeborn was no rogue, he was not a poor husband, but he will take it to mean that. Galadriel, however, cannot bring herself to explain him to Solas who, already, seems distant despite his nearness, so the implication must linger.

"I do not know how to explain to you what our end will be, what it was," she tries, but even Quenya is a poor language for describing futures. She will not speak of sailing, or the doom that was upon the elves of Arda, of the decline of the Eldar and how they all must pass across the sea or fade to nothing. That in her wildest dreams they might only fall so far, that they would become what the Dalish have become. This is more personal than that, but without it, it lacks context.

"Celeborn has made his decision," she says. It was hard to explain this to Thranduil, she had been in tears at the time--it is much harder to explain it to Solas, who follows in the wake of this emotion. "I am not what he chooses; I am alone here, as I will be--will have been there."

[dirth]

Her laughter is enough to give him pause and Solas frowns, finally letting his eyes draw back to her, looking at her all over again. He doesn't know how to recognise it for what it is - there's an envy inside of him, a prickle of jealousy, wondering who this person was, this man who she had loved and lived with for centuries. It's not something he can compare with and he's aware of it - he has not tried to live up to it. He does not offer any falsehoods, not to her, and there's an intensity about him that he cannot disguise, a tension in his voice and choice of words.

"Is it?" How can Solas compare to a husband of ten thousand years? How can he compare to what Galadriel had left behind? Perhaps there is no true way for her to return to the land to which she is from, but... It is a difficult thing for him to rationalise. He had, of course, imagined that she had people she loved in the past, people she cared for, but it had never been something he had dwelled on. What reason would he have had to imagine a husband and children and grandchildren? What, he thinks, if it is her husband that is brought through the Rift next?

A part of him doesn't want to listen, doesn't want to hear more, a stinging in his chest that he has no right to feel. The desire to silence her is profound, but he would do it; she has the right to her thoughts and her freedoms, as does anyone in this world, and that is what Solas is fighting for in the Inquisition. For her - and all the others in Thedas as it stands - to be able to live freely, to be able to survive, to flourish. To be in comfort, when the end comes. He will not demand anything from her, nor will he force her to live in any expectation.

"I am sad for that," he can admit, at least, some feeling on the matter. Solas turns, lifting her hand, brushing a kiss over the knuckle there, gentle and soft. "You are not alone here. I would not allow it to be so." He will express no anger, no ire, nothing on the knowledge of her husband and children, but nor will he abandon her. This is what he has chosen and she, in turn, has chosen him.

[laurenande]

Solas is tense, drawn more tightly than she has seen him...excepting, perhaps, for when she saw into his heart and learned who he was. Had she not known him in all their long silences, in the quiet moments they shared, she wouldn't see his posture and his his frown as anything more than thoughtful. To her, however, his expression is exceptionally grim and she cannot find it in her to be frustrated with him.

He takes her hand and kisses it, the action in public, surrounded by elves he dislikes, and Galadriel hazards a tentative smile. It is a grand gesture.

"Not even to spare yourself from my secrets?"

[dirth]

His fingers fall away from hers as quickly as they rose to take them and he says little more for a long period of time. He's quiet and thoughtful because that is how it has always been for Solas; he thinks before he speaks, before he acts, and he does what he can to ensure that he always says exactly what he means. He has done it here, too, told her a true promise - that she would not be left alone if he can do something to aid her.

It does not mean that he will always be at her side, but that is a promise he cannot make. He thinks, perhaps, she might be aware of it.

"We all have secrets," Solas says, voice low and quiet. "To be in one another's company is to carry the burden of that knowledge."