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]

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."