Arathalian to Seithanyn
(clearly post-Cochalyon's death. Arathalian trying to convince year-shifters long-distance to stay put. year written down somewhere else - find or recalculate. Seithenyn? Seithanyn?)
"Believe me, Seithanyn-prince," Arathalian warned. "If not me, then no-one. I paid for this power down in the darkness with little pieces of mind and soul - with four hundred years of my life."
"I see every one of them, Arathalian-prince," replied Seithanyn. "Your eyes are like nothing I have seen. I can feel the chill of iron in you from here. But if that is what it takes -"
"What it takes? I'd already lost my country and my family, not to mention my soul. You have no such excuse and no such time."
"My brother -"
"Your brother died a screaming wight! He did not deserve it and nor do you - nor any more of the year-shifters, nor the survivors of Inyaron. Spare the living!"
The iridescent-winged creature in the mirror frowned, beautiful face barely marred.
Arathalian hardly knew why, but there was a strange, singing delight rising in his chest; he loosed it and laughed, bright and cold and fierce, to try to taste and see what it was. Readiness. Eagerness. "Oh, Seithanyn-prince, don't doubt me! Even great as Mithyaron is, it can't fight this battle as I can. I've breathed this ruin for centuries. If the men of iron were made to be broken, I'll break them and scatter their bones in the iron wastes - and if I fail I'll leave them quivering behind what remains of their walls for generations!"
He saw the Faeborn shrinking back from his laughter out of the corner of his eye, and saw Seithanyn's glorious wings curl as if to deflect a cold breeze, and for the first time knew then with true certainty - more than just blood-stinging confidence - that he could do just as he had said. The pure privilege of it made him shiver.
"Bar Mithyaron, Seithanyn-prince," he said. "Raise defences such as your country has never seen before, withdraw behind them, and prepare for iron ships on the shores - if and when the day ever comes. But live in readiness, not fear, and remember that Talton must deal with Arathalian Hoscolothos and survive first."
"You are fell as the ancient rulers of the moon-people before our Flight," replied Seithanyn. "I see why your people have yet to forget you - those who loved you and those who did not." His blue-black eyes blinked calmly, however. "I will do as you have said, Arathalian a Inyaron. May the next turn of the Circle be kinder to us all."
"I won’t see it," said Arathalian. "Nor will I see you again, after today. I ask this only because the last survivors of Inyaron are in your care - may you forgive me for the outrage - but will you swear that as an oath to me?"
Seithanyn was silent - only shock for now, perhaps, but anger would not be far behind. Arathalian fleetingly reflected upon how, even now, there were still acts in life left for him to do which he might never have believed, once ... like openly asking an oath of the great of Mithyaron.
"I also ask because I knew your brother," he added, even more quietly, "and I can very, very well understand how love of him would tempt even the clearest-thinking leader to revenge. But you’d still find him weeping in the next turn of the Circle if you ever came to these shores, Seithanyn-lord. Please. Swear me an oath, and ask me for one in return. A prince to a prince."
"Believe me, Seithanyn-prince," Arathalian warned. "If not me, then no-one. I paid for this power down in the darkness with little pieces of mind and soul - with four hundred years of my life."
"I see every one of them, Arathalian-prince," replied Seithanyn. "Your eyes are like nothing I have seen. I can feel the chill of iron in you from here. But if that is what it takes -"
"What it takes? I'd already lost my country and my family, not to mention my soul. You have no such excuse and no such time."
"My brother -"
"Your brother died a screaming wight! He did not deserve it and nor do you - nor any more of the year-shifters, nor the survivors of Inyaron. Spare the living!"
The iridescent-winged creature in the mirror frowned, beautiful face barely marred.
Arathalian hardly knew why, but there was a strange, singing delight rising in his chest; he loosed it and laughed, bright and cold and fierce, to try to taste and see what it was. Readiness. Eagerness. "Oh, Seithanyn-prince, don't doubt me! Even great as Mithyaron is, it can't fight this battle as I can. I've breathed this ruin for centuries. If the men of iron were made to be broken, I'll break them and scatter their bones in the iron wastes - and if I fail I'll leave them quivering behind what remains of their walls for generations!"
He saw the Faeborn shrinking back from his laughter out of the corner of his eye, and saw Seithanyn's glorious wings curl as if to deflect a cold breeze, and for the first time knew then with true certainty - more than just blood-stinging confidence - that he could do just as he had said. The pure privilege of it made him shiver.
"Bar Mithyaron, Seithanyn-prince," he said. "Raise defences such as your country has never seen before, withdraw behind them, and prepare for iron ships on the shores - if and when the day ever comes. But live in readiness, not fear, and remember that Talton must deal with Arathalian Hoscolothos and survive first."
"You are fell as the ancient rulers of the moon-people before our Flight," replied Seithanyn. "I see why your people have yet to forget you - those who loved you and those who did not." His blue-black eyes blinked calmly, however. "I will do as you have said, Arathalian a Inyaron. May the next turn of the Circle be kinder to us all."
"I won’t see it," said Arathalian. "Nor will I see you again, after today. I ask this only because the last survivors of Inyaron are in your care - may you forgive me for the outrage - but will you swear that as an oath to me?"
Seithanyn was silent - only shock for now, perhaps, but anger would not be far behind. Arathalian fleetingly reflected upon how, even now, there were still acts in life left for him to do which he might never have believed, once ... like openly asking an oath of the great of Mithyaron.
"I also ask because I knew your brother," he added, even more quietly, "and I can very, very well understand how love of him would tempt even the clearest-thinking leader to revenge. But you’d still find him weeping in the next turn of the Circle if you ever came to these shores, Seithanyn-lord. Please. Swear me an oath, and ask me for one in return. A prince to a prince."