Eldarien awakes to the sound of voices. Without opening his eyes, he allows consciousness to gradually return to him, and the events that led to his collapse surge before his mind's eye. He sees again the hordes of creatures laying siege to the city with merciless intent, and he sees the flames devouring the houses from dragonfire; he sees mangled bodies and slaughtered men, and he sees Rorlain firing arrow after arrow at the reptilian beast that flies overhead. Finally, he beholds in his inner vision the form of Elmariyë, white against a black background, and yet hemmed in on every side, assailed, until the darkness devours her as well. He sees himself, radiating with a similar white light, reach out to her, his glowing hand extended through the blackness; but as he does so all the light in him is blown away, and he plunges into endless night.
"The last remaining enemy forces have been defeated, sir," an unknown voice says.
"Good. Now I can rest as well...at last," comes the weary voice of Rorlain close to Eldarien's side.
"You fought well," sounds the voice of Tilliana from his other side. "All in the city are indebted to you."
"They are indebted also, and especially, to our two friends," replies Rorlain. "I don't know what they did, but they saved us from utter destruction."
At this Eldarien opens his eyes, and yet he is surprised to find himself looking, not into a room bathed in warm and permeating firelight, nor in the light of the sun streaming in through a window, but rather into a murky darkness that is punctuated only by the dim and struggling glow of candles and lanterns whose light seems hardly able to reach more than a couple feet. But even in this dim light he can make out the figures and the faces of the two speakers, sitting on either side of his bed, leaning forward as they converse together.
"The darkness…" he says, finding his voice again, and trying to sit up, "it endures even now."
"Oh, you're awake!" cries Tilliana, turning to him.
"How do you feel? Are you able to sit up?" Rorlain asks, seeing Eldarien's efforts.
"Yes...the weakness has in large part passed," says Eldarien, and with little support from Rorlain he eases into a sitting position while Tilliana positions a few pillows behind him to help hold him upright. "I feel more or less like myself again," he remarks, though even as he says the words he knows that they conceal something unspoken—the awareness that deep in his heart something has changed, and that the scars from the absorption of the darkness remain with him, having forever changed him. "Is Elmariyë alright?"
"Yes," answers Tilliana with a gentle smile. "She awoke not long ago, and she walks now through the corridors of the citadel. She said she needed some time alone."
"It is good to hear that she is well. Though I would like to speak with her myself."
"Of course," Rorlain says.
"But first, tell me what happened after I lost consciousness. And how long have I been asleep?"
"Not long, considering past incidents," answers Rorlain. "It is only afternoon of the day since you fell unconscious. The battle was yesterday, and it ended before the setting of the sun." And then, with an audible sigh, he adds, "Though its rising and setting are hardly noticeable now…"
"So defeating the creatures did not expel the darkness caused by the mist?"
"No, it did not."
"I heard that all the enemy forces were defeated," Eldarien says. "By that news I am surprised and yet relieved. It seemed to me that we were almost entirely overrun."
"We were," Rorlain says with a bow of his head, "and yet whatever the two of you did seemed to suck the will to fight out of the eötenga, as well as dissolving the dragon to nothingness. In one instant it hovered over the city, fire pluming from its jaws, and the next instant both it and the flames born of it disappeared. Unlike what we have now witnessed many times—when the creatures of darkness make contact with the purging light—it was not dissolved, burned away. What I beheld was something different, though it seems to have the same source. It almost appeared that the dragon was consumed from the inside out, that the very stuff of which it was made faded away from within until there was nothing left for its being to feed upon for its substance."
"That is...rather accurate," remarks Eldarien, recalling the intense, timeless moment that he and Elmariyë shared in their confrontation with the darkness.
"What exactly happened?" asks Tilliana.
After pausing for a moment grappling for an answer, Eldarien responds, "I don't know that I could put it into words. Suffice it to say that Elmariyë and I joined together and confronted the darkness of which the dragon was composed. We somehow...absorbed it."
His two friends are silent for a few moments upon hearing this, reflecting on its import and unable to find a fitting response. Then at last Rorlain says, "So it was another form of bearing? And yet not of a man, but of a beast?"
"It was a bearing, yes, and yet it was something new, something deeper, like a new chapter of a book that holds unexpected secrets that before could not be guessed...even if, upon their revelation, the heart knows that they are continuous with all that came before."
These words prove to be enough, and they speak no more of the matter, passing on to other topics of conversation.
"So the eötenga fought no more after the dragon was defeated?" asks Eldarien.
Rorlain shakes his head. "That is not true. They seemed dazed for a moment, just long enough for us to mount a counterattack, but then they fought as they did before, though with less vigor and less concord, almost like they were confused and thrown into disarray. Yet it seems that whatever you did with the dragon also effected the origin-point in the crater. Either that or we had already resisted the majority of their forces. For little more emerged from the crater after your absorption, and those lingering in the city we have been able to defeat over the last day." Rorlain smiles softly and adds, "Yet I have fought no more since what happened on the battlements. I have been in the citadel, trying to remain alert, while channeling the light for the weapons of our troops."
"Oh yes, without Elmariyë and myself that task fell to you alone," Eldarien acknowledges.
"Aye, it did. But it was one that I was glad to fulfill." With this Rorlain leans back in his chair, and, yawning, he adds, "Yet I have not slept at all and feel exhaustion closing about me."
"I am impressed, and grateful," says Eldarien, reaching out and placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Your stamina far outmatched mine, both in combat and in channeling the light."
"As for the light," Rorlain remarks, "I think that you bear most of the strain. I draw on the power within you, and so it takes much less of a toll upon me."
"But a toll it still exacts," Eldarien says. "I recall what happened in the depths beneath the black castle of the Lord of Mæres."
Rorlain nods in acknowledgment.
"So go, my dear friend. Go and take some well-deserved rest," Eldarien says. "Any other questions I have, I am sure Tilliana shall be able to answer."
With this Rorlain takes his leave, and the two remain in the room alone, the darkness silent and still between them for a few minutes. At last Eldarien says, "I am glad that you survived the battle."
With a shadow of grief crossing her features, Tilliana replies, "And yet so many did not."
"Yes...the losses were so great. Did many more perish after I lost consciousness?"
"It was horrible for a long time, as we tried to save as many people as we could from the fires. Those unable or unfit to fight have spent the last day combating the flames and rescuing survivors of the battle, both in the streets and in the buildings. The upper level of the city lies almost entirely in ruins—or at least everything that was able to burn. But the lower city and the uppermost level, with the citadel at its heart, have, surprisingly, remained nearly untouched. The dragon focused its attacks where the fighting was occurring...and where most of the population had taken refuge." She sighs and runs her hands slowly through her hair, looking at Eldarien with a glint in her eye, light coming not from without—for the air is too dim to cause refraction—but from within, from the place whence spring tears. But then she continues, "The dragon only made one pass over the citadel level, and most of the buildings here are constructed entirely of stone, so it had little effect. Yet the upper level, the focus of his attack, is now but a skeleton of what it once was."
"Do we have a count of our losses?" Eldarien asks quietly, compassion in his voice.
"The city was home to almost twenty-thousand," replies Tilliana, "and we have a count neither of the living nor the dead. But if I had to guess, I would say that half of us have been slain, and half of us still live."
"A terrible loss," breathes Eldarien, bowing his head in mourning, not as an empty gesture but in true acknowledgment, as the gravity of the loss hits him like an icy wind, knocking the breath from his lungs and causing his heart to ache.
When he has recovered enough to speak, looking intently at Tilliana he asks, "How are you coping with all of this? Even though we successfully held off the onslaught, your fear of loss was doubly confirmed. The toll of death was immense."
She does not reply immediately, but returns his gaze without flinching or lowering her eyes in shame or grief. And then she says, "I have accepted that horrors shall assail us and mark our every step until this darkness is at last defeated. But even if it is not my place to lead the people through this anguish, and if it is not my place to bear their sufferings, I nonetheless receive into my heart their pain, and it pierces me as if it were my own, or of those whom I have loved."
"And the loss of those whom you loved is still fresh, unsoftened by time," Eldarien remarks. "Every new loss, I understand, only tears open that wound again."
She nods, eyes lowered as tears form within them. "That is true, but I also grieve for each loss in its own right, with as much capacity as my heart can find within it."
"Your words and your attitude are empathetic and loving. I revere this and affirm it. But I also think that perhaps it is not fully wise," says Eldarien after thinking for a moment. "Suffering as we have seen, and the loss of innocent human life, bears a mystery of absurdity within it, a breath as from the depths of iniquity. To look too deeply and too long into such darkness can suffocate the heart, and worse. You may want to feel the pain of all as if it is your own, but I think that is the prerogative of the One who made us, alone. Even our own pain is too much for ourselves, unaided."
"But I cannot hold them at arms' length!" cries Tilliana. "What kind of person am I if I close my heart off from others, if I make myself insensitive to the waves of suffering and loss washing over them...all so that I am not burdened or overwhelmed?"
"I would never ask you, Tilliana, to close off your heart from others," Eldarien explains. "If I were to do that in my own right, I would consider myself as having betrayed the deepest calling of my heart, and its highest aspiration. No, I ask you only not to gaze overmuch into the abyss of darkness and loss for fear that it should swallow you up. The pain shall come, and the evil, but keep your eyes always on the light—or search for the light when it cannot be seen—for this alone shall allow you to hold the darkness truly, and also to avoid losing yourself under the weight of malice, grief, and suffering that weighs so heavily upon our world."
† † †
After their conversation has concluded, Eldarien rises from his place of rest and dresses in a set of new garments that have been laid out for him, as his others were torn and covered in muck from the battle. His pants and tunic are of woven fabric padded on the inside with fur. His undershirt is of few layers of wool and linen, tied at the breast with loose strings. Beneath his tunic, however, and over his undershirt, he wears his usual gambeson, which has accompanied him now all the way from Tel-Velfana and which he still wears, the one piece of ordinary attire that has not been replaced. Set to the side of the rest, washed and folded, are the tabard and cloak that were given to him in the Velasi Forest, but he does not now dress in them and leaves them where they lie.
Eldarien's body is sore from the combat during the preceding day, but there is an even deeper exhaustion that hangs over him—though exhaustion is not an accurate word to express it. It is rather that the horizons of his mind have been opened, the limits of his heart expanded, through his encounter with the darkness of the dragon, though what he encountered in the dragon was itself but an incarnation of the invisible weight of evil and malevolence that weighs upon the world and threatens the well-being and freedom of human hearts. He does not linger on any of this now, however, as he is concerned for Elmariyë, and wishes to see her as soon as he can. But even as he leaves his room in search of her, Tilliana and her grief sit heavy also upon his mind. He knows her fragility, and yet also her strength—her long-suffering endurance, but also the sensitivity of her heart that without the wisdom and guidance of the light would devour itself in the name of compassion.
And he fears also to cause her pain in the decisions that lie before him in the immediate future, and more deeply, he simply is concerned for her safety and happiness. In the face of the war and destruction that crash upon the continent of Telmerion, this concern for the happiness of a single person may seem out of place. After all, have not so many already lost their lives and the lives of those whom they love, have they not lost so much that brought them happiness, or at least a sense of stability and security in the life that they once knew? Why focus on the happiness of one when it is denied to so many? These questions are real and vivid, and yet the answer to them is even more vivid in Eldarien's heart: What is love but love for a single person? Even love for a community, for a nation, for all of humanity, to be true and authentic, it must be founded upon a vision of the heart that, in looking upon the individual person, comes to see and reverence their unique beauty and dignity, which is unlike any other person, special and unrepeatable. And yet the paradox is that precisely this love for individuals opens the eyes of the heart to the love of all, to the abiding awareness of the beauty of each one of the children of Eldaru, to all persons not only in the land of Telmerion, but in every region of the earth.
But how rare is such a love! A love truly universal, which is not limited or constrained by prejudice or fear or a spirit of militancy, competition, or myopia! A heart universal in the breadth of its interior vision, looking forth upon all persons with a readiness to be moved to cherish, love, and care—even if only in the affection and prayer of the inner being—how rare a reality this is! But such, Eldarien knows, is the heart of a true king, and he hopes that he may receive and remain faithful to some measure of this mystery. Though there is only one truly universal kingship in the history of the world, the prerogative of no man, nonetheless Eldarien yearns to incarnate some fraction of the light, some small part of the broad vision and worldwide love, that is promised of the One who will bring the bright light of dawn to every darkness.
He thinks of the time that he and his companions spent in the forest of the Velasi, and of the illumination of heart brought by the reality unveiled before him in those precious days—a reality that he had glimpsed with the longing of his spirit throughout his life, but which had to be revealed to him from the outside to be truly known and lived. In these thoughts he comes to understand anew, and more deeply, that such a universal love as he feels drawing upon his heart is not possible except on the basis of a universal truth. In actual fact, when the lines are traced back to the heart of every thing, and all are traced back to their true origin and foundation, it becomes apparent that Love and Truth are one. For if the universe was born of a creative Love, then its truth lies in love, and in love is its fulfillment. But so too, love is not love unless it is born of Truth, unless it participates in truth and lives according to its beautiful illumination at every moment.
As he walks the halls of the citadel, occupied by these thoughts, he comes upon Councilor Jatildë. Lines of weariness crease her face and her eyes are downcast. Walking in the opposite direction, she almost passes by without noticing him, but looks up at the last moment and an expression of surprise crosses her face. "Oh, it is you, Eldarien Illomiel," she says, stopping and turning to face him. "It seems that the promises you brought when you came to our city have proved true. You and your companions saved us from certain destruction." The tone of her voice reveals both honest gratitude and grief in her heart.
"Your words are kind, Councilor Jatildë," replies Eldarien. "I want to express my condolences and my compassion, however, for the great loss that your city has suffered, and that I am certain has deeply touched your own heart."
Averting her gaze for a moment, clearly in the discomfort of shared sorrow, and yet accepting his words nonetheless, she answers, "Thank you for your kindness, as well as for your aid." Then, raising her eyes again, she adds, with a touching vulnerability, "When you first came to Onylandun, I was hesitant. It is true that our people have long awaited the fulfillment of the promises made to us, awaited the coming of the heir of the great Sera Galaptes, the prophesied 'Scarred King.' But when you came bearing his likeness both in appearance and in power, I did not want to give credence lightly. But what surprised me the most, even more than the very fact of your appearance at this desperate and dark time in our history, was the modesty with which you bore what has been entrusted to you. Too long, I think, have our people been under the yoke of rulers who have sought to rule, and have delighted in this rule. The coming of a man who accepts governance out of obedient service is like a breath of fresh air in a place of suffocation."
Bowing his head before her, Eldarien remarks with a corresponding trust and openness, "Your words, again, are kind, lady Jatildë, perhaps too kind. But I accept them as well. For me it has never been a temptation, or even a thought, to aspire to rule over others. Much too well do I know the burdens and responsibilities of such an office. It is only the longing of my heart to care for the people of our land, and to ensure their safety and prosperity, that allows me to accept what has been entrusted to me, not with a sense of mere burden or weight, but with true desire and willingness born from deep within. In fact I think that no burden is ever meant to be born but with the desire of the heart, for it is this desire that gives the strength to bear joyfully and with abiding peace also all that chafes against the spirit and weighs upon the mind, that we may remain light and free even when much around us is heavy and dark."
"And it is precisely such dispositions, Eldarien, that make me hope that you will indeed someday become our king," says Jatildë, "though such a day seems far away and unattainable. But if there is any hope for a dawn after such darkness, it lies in the reality that burns like a flame's spark in your heart."
"That spark lives in all of us," Eldarien affirms simply in response.
"Well then, may you find opportunity to stir it into flame. The people are already muttering about the 'savior of the city,' whose light they saw flashing upon the weapons of all, and devouring the very darkness itself."
"But the darkness still remains."
"Aye, that it does, but the beasts no longer. And do not be quick to snuff out the hopes kindled in the hearts of a fearful people long accustomed to despair. We are a people of hope, and we have clung to it for centuries when so many others have forgotten, and despite the burdens of doubt that lay upon us."
Nodding slightly, Eldarien says, "Your hope—the hope of the people—encourages and strengthens me, and I would never do anything to lessen their hope, but only to strengthen it. But pray that my own hope may remain firm against the coming days of darkness."
"The rock itself must be upheld…" voices Jatildë, her gaze wandering wistfully down the hall, and Eldarien is uncertain of her thoughts. But after a moment she turns back to him and, with a final look into his eyes, she says, "You shall be tested, and yet in you we shall all be tested. For you carry all of us within you. Thus as you go ahead of us, and on our behalf, we can hope to follow after, even as we support you already now."
"I shall strive to be worthy of your faith," says Eldarien softly.
And thus their converse concludes and they continue on their way, in opposite directions down the hallway, though their paths now align in the journey of the heart.
† † †
Passing down a few more corridors, dark but for the lanterns flickering upon the walls, ever striving to hold back the encroaching darkness, Eldarien comes upon his sister. She is seated upon a stone bench with her head leaned back against the wall, her eyes closed. Nonetheless he need not say anything or give any other indication of his presence, for as soon as he draws near she opens her eyes and turns to look at him, knowing awareness in her gaze.
"Our journey passes into both darkness and light greater than I expected or imagined," she says, rising to her feet. "I suppose that is only fitting and necessary, for the two must collide, must conflict, in every person, waging the great battle that lies at the heart of all things. I do trust and believe in the victory of the light, but the darkness is so deep and so wide, and it harms so many whom I would wish to save." She pauses and takes a step toward him, the expression written upon her face drawing lines of weariness and care far deeper than her age or her innocence would suggest. "And it ploughs furrows in my own heart, too, this darkness and this evil. It inflicts wounds deep within that, in this mortal life, shall never find complete healing. I know this now, and I only pray that the wounds I suffer may prove to be only a space of deeper love."
"I hurt for you, sister," says Eldarien in a gentle and quiet voice, closing the distance between them and placing his hand for a moment upon her shoulder. "I have seen and experienced much, both in goodness and in evil, in joy and in pain. I am wearied and weathered by life and by warfare, by trauma and by loss. And yet you are young, and if I could I would spare you from the pain that must be laid upon your shoulders, that must plough through your heart."
Looking up into his eyes, she replies, "You should know that I would have it no other way."
"Of course. But evil is still evil, and pain is still pain. It must be acknowledged as such," he rejoins.
"Rightly so," Elmariyë says. "Yes, you speak wisely and truly in many ways. For I am young, though only twelve years younger than yourself. But it does feel like you have lived an entire lifetime whereas mine is only beginning. And because of my youth and my inexperience, because of the frailty and weakness of my heart, I fear the burdens placed upon me." She pauses and shakes her head, as if disagreeing with herself, or at least with her formulation of the words spoken. And then she tries again: "I fear, rather, myself. What a mystery that we have been given such dignity as to hold our destiny in the hands of our own counsel and choice. Such freedom frightens me, though I know also that I am to cherish it, protect, and foster it with every act. And especially I know that I am to entrust it back into the care of the One who has given it to me—the One who in this receiving does not belittle or constrict freedom, but safeguards it and sets it free.
"I do not fear him. I never have. Even as a young child I knew he was there—was here—always present and always loving." With these words Elmariyë places her hand to her breast, over her heart. Yes, he remained hidden, and in large part unknown, but it has always been as if I retain a memory...a memory of him...a memory of being touched by him in the very act of my creation. The marks of his making, the prints of his presence, have always been there. But now, in coming to know him as I have never known him before, not only in the intuition and longing of the heart but in the revelation by which he unveils himself before us, I am even more assured both of his greatness and majesty as well as, especially, of his goodness and loving kindness. Why then am I afraid?" She pauses again as if striving both for understanding and for words, and then says, "Stretched between darkness and light, I know my littleness and weakness. Stretched between my littleness and his immensity, I feel my frailty, and the brokenness of my heart. Stretched between brokenness and the wholeness to which I am drawn, I see before me a path marked by suffering and loss, and my heart cannot but pause in fear and hesitation. Shall I remain faithful to the end? Shall I come at last to the place to which my heart aspires...the only place that I wish to be?"
Her voice fades now into silence and she says no more, though their eyes interlock in a deep and prolonged exchange of gazes, and this says more than the words of either of them can express.
It is Elmariyë who first breaks the contact, or rather transfers it to another manner of presence, as she turns away and says, "Will you come with me? I want to show you something."
"Yes," Eldarien replies. "Only lead the way."
She leads him only a few dozen steps down the corridor to a heavy wooden door which she pushes open and passes through. He follows her and immediately braces himself against the bitter cold that engulfs him as he steps out onto a narrow balcony skirting the side of the citadel and overlooking the city. They step to the stone railing and lean against it, and together they turn their gazes as far as they can see. And Eldarien knows without the need for explanation why she wished to share this view with him: for the darkness is still so thick that the sky is shrouded, the sun no more than a murky orb among the surrounding blackness, and, in the city below, the houses are hardly visible to their eyes, silhouettes among a sea of darkness interspersed with pinpoints of flickering light from torches and lanterns burning throughout the city. Even in the middle of the day it is almost as dark as a moonless night.
"How far do you think this fog has spread?" Elmariyë asks, keeping her gaze directed outward upon the city.
"It is impossible to know," replies Eldarien after a moment of thought. "But if it spread high enough and wide enough to blot out the very light of the sun, then I fear it has spread far indeed."
"Over the entire land of Telmerion?"
"Perhaps."
They both lapse again into silence, and the air around them echoes this silence, not sweet and rich like the silence of a wood on a spring afternoon or like the silence of the seaside or like the silence of prayer's sanctuary; no, it is rather like the silence of fear and death, of suffocation and loss.
"Eternal and endless night," Elmariyë remarks in a whisper, "this is the fear of every heart. It conflicts with everything that we are and everything that we desire. It is the loss of communication, the rupture of dialogue...crying out for another and yet finding one's voice muffled, stifled into nothingness, and bringing no response. All beauty is shadowed, submerged, and nothing remains but the affliction, the suffocating affliction, of a fog that wraps around the eyes and the mouth, bringing both blindness and death, death unending." She reaches out and places one of her hands within Eldarien's, and he holds it tight. "This, I understand, is what our enemies would seek to do to our world. This is what I fear. And this is what I pray all the children of this world are spared."
"You have been touched, Elmariyë," says Eldarien at last, inclining his head toward her out of spontaneous care and affection. "No, you have been pierced and wounded, as you yourself said. And there is nothing I can do or say in response that would bring you the answers or the consolation that you desire. I can only join you in the same mystery, knowing that what we feel, what we bear, is but a participation in the pain of all, and, I hope, a vessel for their healing and salvation."
She leans her head against his shoulder and exhales deeply. "I know that you are with me, Eldarien. Nothing that I say is foreign to you now, for you bear it also in your own heart, just as I bear you in mine."
"When we absorbed the darkness of the dragon," Eldarien begins, "you felt as I felt, and bore what I bore. I know this. We were united as one in that moment, and the unity lingers even now, though hidden from sight and feeling. Indeed I felt as if you yourself, Elmariyë, came to live within me by this shared act and experience. Surely you felt the same."
"It is not even a question," she replies. "Indeed, when we were joined together I saw what you saw—not only in that moment in which we received the darkness together, but also in the past. I saw the memories of your life as if they were my own, indeed almost as if I was living through them myself. Only this sense of your presence, in fact, enabled me to receive and to bear the darkness as I did...as we did, together."
"What a mystery," Eldarien breathes, astounded at the ease with which they are able to name what has occurred between them, occurred within the heart of each of them, and yet also at how, in naming it, it also seems to slip away and to elude their grasp—a mystery not to be held and comprehended, but to be surrendered to and lived in the trust that surpasses feeling even while holding it. "And I cannot help thinking that this joining of heart and life—this joining of hearts in a unity that does not dissolve distinction but affirms it in mutual belonging—I cannot help thinking that this is a taste of what awaits us beyond death, in the true path of eternity."
"And yet no power of our own, no capacity of human or Anaia, can bring us there. It is the prerogative and the capacity of the One alone, who in creating us can also fulfill us," says Elmariyë. "Indeed, not only is it so far beyond our reach, even as our hearts cannot but yearn for it—since for it we have been made!—but we have also betrayed this gift in a thousand ways. Only he who, in witnessing us falter, does not lose either compassion or the ability to save, can also redeem us and restore us. It is he who made us, and it is he alone who can grant us the fulfillment of his gifts, gifts also, that we have betrayed in our infidelity, and yet which he promises to grant anew in undeserved mercy."
"This promise," Eldarien sighs, "it is inscribed into the heart of each one of us, is it not? The whole of our life is stretched between two abysses, and yet passes through a third—and in this lies its whole drama and mystery. We have been born from the abyss of uncreated Love, and unto this Love we are destined to return. And yet along the paths of this life, we pass through an abyss of suffering and darkness, the fruit of evil, which threatens to pull us away from our Origin and thus also from our End."
"And yet our faith, our trust, and our consolation is this: that the Abyss of Love also cradles not only to two ends of time, the two ends of the life of every person, but also each and every moment of time, and all the fabric of history. For never, but through this Love at work in us and for us, this Love to which we are invited to surrender, can we hope to pass beyond the abyss of death and into the abyss of endless life. In other words," Elmariyë says in conclusion, her voice vibrating with emotion, "we must be held and carried. Only Love can carry us where Love desires us to be, and he has implanted in us the desire to be there, too, with him, for he knows that only in his embrace is everlasting bliss and perfect happiness."
After these words have echoed for a time in the silence, Elmariyë shivers and lifts her head, saying, "It is cold out here. Let us return indoors."
When they have passed indoors and seated themselves in a common room beside a blazing hearth to combat both the dark and the chill, Eldarien turns to Elmariyë and says, "In beholding the memories of my past, did you also come to understand the path that lies ahead of us? The path that I must walk, and which you must walk as well?"
"You speak about the vision?" asks Elmariyë.
"Yes. So you did witness it?"
"I did, and the understanding given to you was also communicated to me. And I think that this was necessary, for if we are to walk forward into the darkness together, our hearts must be joined and united as one."
"Then you know," remarks Eldarien, "that the darkness and evil we have now witnessed is only a taste of what awaits us."
"You once descended into the very heart of the castle of darkness in order to save Tilliana, and so I shall not hesitate to walk through whatever darkness in order to bring relief and salvation to our hurting people," Elmariyë says, "though I am glad to have you by my side. For I do not trust in the strength of my heart, nor of my flesh, and I fear it shall fail before the end."
"Regardless of whether we walk unto failure or unto victory, we will walk nonetheless," says Eldarien. "But my hope is that our journey shall not be as absurd as that. Together, then, let us walk. Let us walk into a mystery not of our own making, and far beyond our foresight or control. Nothing remains for us then but hope, and the longing of the heart for life."
"This ancient citadel that you beheld, and that I beheld in you," Elmariyë asks, "where is it?"
"Was not understanding of this given to you?"
"Only the glimpse necessary to set out, and no more than this."
"So it is with me," Eldarien says. "It lies to the north, at the heart and the height of the Teldren Mountains, nestled atop the ageless peaks and looking out over the land like a sentinel of the ages...though now this land is shadowed in darkness, hidden from even such sight as this. I think," he adds, after a pause, "that only one such castle can fit what we saw: it is the citadel and seat of Sera Galaptes, which fell long centuries ago and has lain all this time in ruin."
"And so it is thence that we journey?"
"Yes, and my heart calls for haste. I do not wish to delay any more than necessary. Not only does the well-being of our people depend upon this, but I also feel...I also feel something within my heart tugging me there. It draws me, whether for good or ill I am uncertain, but it draws me." Here Eldarien pauses and fades into silence, almost as if withdrawing into himself, such that even his physical form seems to sink into the shadows. Elmariyë turns toward him as if to speak, but then he opens his mouth and continues, "I am afraid. I am afraid the same as you, Elmariyë. I fear for our journey, and I fear for the people of Telmerion. After the darkness that we absorbed, after this darkness pierced my heart, I feel that it bleeds now at the slightest provocation, and that even a whispering echo of evil spears it like an onrush of anguish."
"But we cannot remain and shield ourselves while others stand unprotected before the onslaught of evil," Elmariyë finishes for him, and he nods silently at this. When he does not speak again, she asks, "What is to be our first step?"
"I would like to speak to Bryma, and perhaps the entire council," he replies. "For though we have seen a glimpse of the destination, we know not the path. Yet the memory of the people of this clan is long, and if they have held in remembrance the thought and the longing for the coming of the king-heir, perhaps they also remember something that may be of assistance to us in finding his lost citadel."
"And what of our companions?" Elmariyë asks, unable to conceal the emotion in her voice.
"You know as well as I," answers Eldarien in a whisper. "This path is for the two of us alone. That was unmistakable. And I would not bring any others along even if it were possible, and if they offered."
"They may well offer."
"I know. But there may be no return for us from the place to which we go. I would bring none along except those who have been chosen."
"There may be death and destruction enough, also, for those who remain and walk another way."