Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter 27: The Trees That Lived: Incomplete

Once Faramaureä had seen the trees beyond the crest of the hill, none of them had any hope of catching up to her. She spurred her horse, and kept whispering encouragements to it, leading to the horse going faster than it probably ever had. The others tried to follow, but she had already entered the woods by the time they were halfway there.

Slowly she made her way under the bracken and bramble, making sure not to step on any life around her. Watch out, little mouse, she thought, as once ran by her feet. I am home again, yinkia. Go tell the others. She closed her eyes to feel the magic surrounding her, and when she opened them, she found that she could see it. It shimmered in front of her; a green and yellow web of energy with branches and tangents that connected everything in the forest. The tall of ahs, oak and mallorn crossed their arms and made it feel like she was enclosed in this cocoon of safety. As she took a deep breath, the strands flowed toward her, enclosing her in a pod of life energy that filled her, felt her, and understood her, before retracting a bit, though a dense mass of the energy still followed her.

She leaned against an oak tree, and closed her eyes, listening to its moans in the breeze. Then she turned and rested her hand on it, and communed with it, as she often did. What she felt inside of her was known to the tree, and what the tree felt was known to her. There were no words and yet the two understood each other better than any two humans could ever hope to. She was surprised to find the sadness of the tree was so great until she realised how old it was. Simon. The tree moaned in the morning air and she, at last, understood it's pain.

For centuries the druid had tended the trees of Elorean, or rather, communed with them, as they very rarely sought to change the course of nature. But the druids were gone, and the forest was sad. It had lost those who were its friends. It was saddened by the death of those it loved, even back unto the days of Morelanor, who had talked with it often. "I am sorry for what we've cost you, dear one. I wish we had never come here." A tear streamed down her cheek, and she felt a leaf brush against her face and wipe it away. Then she smiled and said "I would have died gladly to save you this pain, yet you won't have me mourn it? Nay, I think not. You are neither good nor evil, but you are loving, dear oak. You are ancient, and have felt more sadness in your years than any ever should. Do not let my sadness trouble you."

"Faramaureä; there you are!" Métimafoa exclaimed, grabbing her arm.

She had been so in tune with the tree that this startled her, and she jumped and pulled away, . Her youngest brother stared at her in shock and concern, until her breathing grew regular, and she whispered "Much has happened to me that you cannot recall, as it happened when you were but a julaifae. Even so, I will ask you not to touch me without warning." She looked him in the eyes so he would understand the sincerity and seriousness of her words. "I cannot yet face him without fear, Metimafoa, and in spite of my understanding, for a moment, I thought you were him."

He held her gaze as he asked "Are you going to be alright, Oronya?"

She brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear, and sighed "I truely don't know, julacktima. I doubt I ever will, until it happens, if it does. But until then," She said, picking up a unit and a half long stick off the ground, "All we can do it go on. I will not wallow in self-pity when there is work to be done, and we are the heirs to the throne: our work is never done."

Using the stick as a walking-staff, she smiled as she turned back toward the ancient oak. Placing a hand on it as a caressing farewell, she followed Metimafoa back to where her brother, the general and Rainëwen all were waiting for her. She noticed Percival's glare and asked "What?"

"You cannot wander off this close to Gygax and Meneltarma," he admonished, staring her down with fiery daggers. "Especially when you are the one who he desires, most of all."

"You do not have to tell me the risks, Percival," she spat. "I will remember them for the rest of my life."

The fire in Percival's eyes smothered as though the tears he tried to hide had extinguished it. He turned away and leaned against the nearby mallorn, which drew the attention of Metimafoa, and by that token Rainëwen, but Canoelloestel remained focused on her. "I doubt you ever will, julaifae, but your brother is right. These woods you call home are too close to Meneltarma for there to not be any guards stationed here, and because of that, we must stick together and remain on guard."

Faramaureä nodded a nonverbal affirmation and waited for Percival to return. When he did, she went to apologise, but he held up a hand to stop her. "You are right, Faramaureä. My words, though motivated out of concern for you, were out of line. I pray that you can forgive me."

"You have my forgiveness and my apologies for speaking so harshly. What happened to me is not your fault." She gestured toward the trees around them and said, "I am far from undefended in these woods, Halsénya ë meldënya. I would go so far as to say I am safer now than I was when we dwelled as children behind the city walls."

"Actually," Rainëwen confessed, "I've never even been inside of the city."

"Why not?" Percival asked with furroughed brow. "Everyone born under the constituency of the throne's dominion is instantly granted access to the city. Surely, you could have made it there at some point in your centuries of life."

Rainëwen smirked. "Just because I could, I should have? An interesting argument, Percival." She pulled out her wand and floated it just above her outstretched hands. "I am a wizardess without trials, Percival. The only reason I was never arrested was the Mistaostirion Charter allows untrained wizardess' to dwell there, as a counter provision for the Trials program."

"That program is archaic," Percival said with a grimace. "The system has existed since the days of the council, and there is no reason for us to distrust those who have studied the arts."

"I disagree," Canoelloestel said. "The provision for the Trial's Program was to disallow anyone who knew enough magic to be dangerous, but did not know it well enough to control it, from harming the Citizens of Meneltarma."

"And how did that work?" Métimafoa asked. "Our own grandfather was exiled from the kingdom walls because of that program."

"And the fact that it hurts you makes it wrong?" Faramaureä asked