The Wounds Left Behind

Log Info

• Title: The Wounds Left Behind

• Emitter: Ravenstongue

• Characters: Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: Soldier's Defense

• Summary: Ravenstongue and Telamon decide to go to the Soldier's Defense to visit Ravenstongue's estranged father again to see how he's improved. The man has seemed to recover some of his faculties since his stay in the hospital began, although he struggles with the remainder of Ainasse Son'doriel's brainwashing. Cor'lana grows suspicious and pulls his dressing gown down to reveal a mark that appears to be from a blood pact. Telamon tries to console Ravenstongue and keep her calm, but Ravenstongue challenges her father to activate his blood pact mark by showing him how to do it. When he refuses, Ravenstongue finally gives him the piece of her mind that she's been holding back--and is rewarded for it by learning her own role in Ainasse's plans.

Content warning: brief instance of self-harm. Please read with care.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-    
Ravenstongue         5'0"     99 Lb      Half-Elf          Female    Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair.                       
Telamon              5'6"     140 Lb     Half-Elf          Male      A platinum-blond half-sil man with dancing dark eyes
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-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-=-= NPCs of Note =-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-                 
Glórenacil           5'7"     140 Lb     Wild Elf          Male      A wild elf man with violet eyes recovering from brainwashing.
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Soldier's Defense, evening.

And with the turn of sunset came the evening showers on Alexandria, a gentle rain that danced on the rooftops and poured down onto those summer revelers on the river shores and those people running into the safe embrace of pubs and homes...

The rain has stopped by the time Cor'lana and Telamon make it to the Soldier's Defense, replaced by the mist and the strange sensation that summer rain can often leave on a warm and humid night. Cor'lana seems cautious as she looks up at the sign of the Defense, her violet eyes turning back to Telamon as she grips his arm a little tighter.

"I guess we ought to go in," she says quietly.

Telamon looks down into those violet eyes, and reaches up to touch her cheek. "I know you don't like it, but..." He lets the rest go unsaid. He can't help but blame himself for Glórenacil's current state. And there's a tiny hope that maybe, just maybe... this wound in Lana's heart might be mended.

Without another word, he leads her into the Soldier's Defense, cloaks fluttering around the two half-elves, stepping inside out of the mist and heat and humidity. The evening meal has hopefully been served already, and the patients -- and staff -- in a relaxed mood.

Indeed, the Defense is rather calm, with patients chatting away with each other and staff finishing up the process of cleaning after meals. It's a strange reminder that, despite one person's circumstances, the world does just go on regardless of what happened--which is a double-sided thing that can both comfort and hurt.

For Cor'lana, it appears she's still figuring out what side it is, as her eyes dart around nervously again in the Defense. Once they get to the door of their patient's room, still with two posted guards, it's clear that it's just Glórenacil inside, sitting on the edge of his bed. He looks up at the two half-elves...

And this time, there's a flicker of recognition in his face. But it's horror.

"Nadina? Vailevan?" he asks, his voice trembling. He scrambles back across the bed. "You're dead. You're supposed to be dead!"

Telamon keeps an urbane, calm expression on. Genial, gentle, offering smiles to those patients and staff who might call out to him or inquire. Even here, an easy, relaxed demeanor can put people at ease, maybe even make the slow process of healing a little less painful.

But when they enter Glórenacil's room, his eyes flicker at the man's confusion. "Glórenacil, stop," he says in a kind but firm tone. "I am not Vailevan, and that's not Nadina. Look at us. Look at me. Vailevan never had the stars in his eyes." Indeed, his eyes do sparkle with those distant, whirling stars. "Relax. No one is here to hurt you."

Glórenacil trembles for a moment longer, but he does look into Telamon's eyes as he's commanded, and finally, he just nods. "Right... Right. You both... just look so similar, I thought..."

He looks over at Cor'lana. "Nadina... Tell me, did your mother talk about me?" he asks, his red brows knitting together like he's straining to remember something. At least there's progress in his violet eyes--there's intelligence in them, albeit often confused, and he has some color in his face and some weight on his body.

The question, however, makes Cor'lana purse her lips together. She looks to Telamon...

And she lets out a breath--less of a sigh and more like just the sound of her lungs deflating. She takes a chair that's next to the bed. "My mother refused to talk about you," she says. "Other than to say that you were--are--one of the sylvanori, I was born in Llyranost, and that I got my violet eyes from you."

This... oddly seems to make Glórenacil deflate. "Is that so," he murmurs.

Telamon steps over to stand next to the chair -- he doesn't want to crowd Glórenacil. Resting a hand on the back, near Lana's shoulder, as he regards the elven man with some sympathy. "There's been a lot of water under the bridge. And... you have not been entirely in control of yourself, from what the healers and priests say."

"Still, there's always a chance to start over, to start growing something new in the soil. Gardens can be replanted, after all. So can lives." He tilts his head. "How are you feeling this evening?"

Glórenacil looks up at Telamon. "I... Feel alright," he says, although it's clear he has to search his head for the words to say, the look of confusion briefly crawling back into his eyes. "It's been... Have you ever moved through fog in the dark of night, unable to see a thing? It felt like that for such a long time, but the dawn slowly has been creeping up to the horizon..."

He closes his eyes. "And sometimes, when I hear the wings beating, when I hear the calling of birds..."

Cor'lana leans forward in her chair, suddenly far more interested in being here and in this conversation than she anticipated to me. "The wings beating? The calling of birds--"

She gets up from her chair and pulls down the neckline of Glórenacil's patient gown. This gets a bit of a startled yelp out of the man, but he doesn't otherwise protest.

Cor'lana's eyes widen as she looks at the feather mark on the man's chest.

There are tree roots that jut out from the plume. Not so elaborate as hers, but they are there.

GAME: Telamon rolls spellcraft: (15)+13: 28
GAME: Telamon rolls knowledge/nature+4: (1)+11+4: 16 (EPIC FAIL)

Telamon cocks his head at this interesting turn of phrase, especially the mention of birds. He opens his mouth to comment on it, but then Cor'lana jumps up and pulls down the neckline of the man's gown. "Lana, what are you--" He breaks off, seeing the mark on the man's chest.

For a long moment, his brow furrows in confusion, before his eyes suddenly glitter with anger. Then that's chopped off as well, firmly, and the avuncular expression reasserts itself. "Well, it looks like your physical injuries are mending nicely, Glórenacil. That's some interesting artwork though. Where'd you get that?"

Cor'lana's hands tremble. Her eyes well up with tears as she stares at this mark on Glórenacil's chest. But her first words are probably not what either Telamon nor Glórenacil expected.

"I thought I was special," she murmurs. A tear falls down her cheeks. "I thought I was..."

Glórenacil looks at Cor'lana for a moment, but his violet eyes turn to Telamon. "I've had that mark for a while now," he says. "I received it after the Feathered One came calling, to tell me and... And..."

He chokes on the name for a moment, his hands trembling, but eventually he says it. "And he carved the rest of the mark into me. To monitor my every move, he said. He said I had to consent to it, or he'd drag me into Quelynos and feed me to his birds. So... I did. That was a few months ago--after I came to your home."

Telamon immediately moves over to put his arms around Cor'lana, seeing her distress, her pain. Holding her gently, protectively. "You're special to me," he whispers pointedly to her. A reminder that she has someone, that she'll never be alone.

He takes a deep breath, marshalling his temper. Control. He has to keep control. He can almost hear his father's calm, dispassionate words in his ears, counseling him to think with his head, not his heart. "I see," he says in a slightly frosty tone, before continuing. "Well, you did try and stick me with a knife. Still... I thought he was done with you, that he'd bound himself to us instead."

Cor'lana briefly buries her face into Telamon, soaking her tears into Telamon's cloak. But she turns around and looks at her progenitor, the man who she inherited the violet eyes from, and her face turns into a snarl, not far off from the Feathered One's face when he killed a messenger in broad daylight. "That's right. You tried to attack my soulmate, she growls. "You wanted to kill him."

Glórenacil's confusion returns in his eyes. "I... I didn't mean to," he finally says. "I just felt... Compelled. Confused? Nothing was making sense and all I wanted to do was for it to end--and how much I hated my brother--"

The words startle him as they leave his mouth. "No, no, I never hated... I never hated him. That was her doing."

Cor'lana stares at him for a moment longer. Then finally, not taking her eyes off Glórenacil, she says, "Telamon, close the door. Please. I don't want to disturb anyone."

Telamon looks at Lana sternly. "I'm not going to let you hurt him, dear. Remember what the priestess told us. He's been under that witch's spell for years -- gods only know how many of his actions, his decisions, were driven by her."

He pulls out a handkerchief, and gently wipes the tears off her face. "You can shout at him, but is it fair to him? To yourself? If he wasn't in command of his mind and soul, then his sins are not near as grievous as you would believe. Because they're not his -- they're hers."

"I'm not going to hurt him," Cor'lana says firmly, looking at Telamon as he wipes her face clean of her tears. "I want to inspect that mark and see if it reacts the same way mine does. Then we know it's the same as mine. It's just... It's best that people don't see it. Please just close the door."

"What do you mean?" Glórenacil asks, looking between Telamon and Cor'lana. He looks confused again, and even a bit scared as his eyes rest on his daughter.

Finally, Cor'lana just says, "Forget it!" She flings her hand back, and she casts a spell, a burst of water flowing from her hand to shut the door behind them. Finally, she pulls back her hand. "Do what I do," she tells Glórenacil--

And then reaches down and bites the flap of skin between her thumb and her index finger, hard, the flesh scraping against her incisors. Her hand is bleeding, but she puts it down against the mark on her chest. The mark flares to life, unlike how it usually shimmers when Cor'lana puts her hand to it, glowing purple--and then an aura washes over her, a subtle glow to her person.

"That. If you can do that, then you have his pact, too," Cor'lana says, lifting her hand up from her chest. The wound's already healed, a tiny mark where she bit into her skin. The glow remains, however.

Telamon watches Lana get frustrated, slamming the door with a burst of water. Hopefully no one will come to check and see why the door got shut so loudly. "You can always tell me first before working yourself up, dear," he says in that same calm tone. He just refuses to get upset.

Watching her activate the mark, though... he furrows his brow again. "Ah... is drawing blood necessary? And does he have to do it? Keep in mind, you've had direction and consultation with Grandfather on how it works. I'm not sure he's had the same benefit of instruction."

He gives Glórenacil a sardonic gaze. "Relax. It's best to get this sort of thing out in the open so it can air, rather than fester."

"Yes, it's necessary, and yes, he has to do it," Cor'lana says, that strange glow still on her skin. She stares at Glórenacil with a strange impassiveness in her violet eyes. "It's a pact, bound by blood, made by blood--the blood of the Feathered One and his descendant. It requires a token amount of blood to activate and it heals right after--"

She turns and grins at Telamon. "And it feels just as incredible as it did in the dream where I learned how to do this for the first time," she says. "I feel like I could fly."

Glórenacil just looks horrified. "I... I'm not doing that. I'm not doing that. Can't you just... inspect it? Magically?"

Cor'lana looks at Glórenacil as he protests. "What is it, father dearest?" she asks quietly, a mocking edge to her tone. "Are you scared? Scared of your daughter? The one you never named, the one you tried to feed to what you thought was a monster? I'm sorry, but confused or not, directed to by that witch or not--I find it so hard to be in this room with you and think of you as anything besides the father who didn't want me. Who didn't need me. Who didn't love me."

The tears fall down her cheeks again. "Do you know how much I wanted to love you as a little girl? How badly I wanted to meet you? How I hoped I'd meet you and everything bad I ever felt would go away, that I'd be welcomed into a family full of people who always loved me and cared for me? And how mother hid the truth from me--because like everything else, she knew it'd break me. Like everyone else, she knew it'd hurt me. You hurt me. No matter what your state of mind was at the time, you hurt me. And I want an apology."

It's everything she wanted to say at the Arcanists' Society library but didn't have the strength to say, emboldened by the power of the Feathered One as his light dances in her tear-filled eyes.

Telamon simply watches and listens for the moment, before casually going over and leaning on the door. "The complaint isn't without merit," he says with a stern tone. "The fact that the Feathered One wasn't the monster you imagined him to be, doesn't excuse the cruelty of siring a child solely to assuage some pact or promise." His dark eyes glitter. "You do need to answer for that, Glórenacil."

His voice sharpens. "Because if you want to start cleaning your life up, this is a pretty good starting point. Because ultimately... she is your daughter. Nothing can change that. And you need to come to terms with what happened before, and what you plan to do now." He strokes his chin. "I'd like to see things set right, myself... but it has to start with you."

Glórenacil stares at his daughter with tears in her eyes. He looks over at Telamon for a moment, and then he nods. He takes an audible gulp as he turns back to Cor'lana again.

"I... I meant what I said back at the library," he says. "That I loved Nadina. I didn't just... besot a woman with a child..."

He visibly cringes and puts his hand to his head. "Nnngh. Sorry--it's... her work again. I..."

Glórenacil looks up at Cor'lana. There's pain in his eyes. Very, very real pain--to the point where tears bud up in them. His teeth are clenched. But finally, he gets the words out:

"I'm sorry, Cor'lana. I lied. Nadina was just a fling--and if it hadn't been her, it would have been someone else. She wanted me to sire a child with someone, anyone--so long as it meant ours would be safe from the Feathered One. You were just another part of her plan."

It's more than obvious who he means by the 'she' he struggles with. It's not delivered with the same venom as "your bride was a mistake made at the bottom of a bottle." But it still stings.

And Cor'lana just... nods. She looks at Telamon, and she wordlessly makes for the door of the room, tears streaming down her face. The aura of the blood pact fades, his strength leaving her.

Telamon lets out a soft sigh. "For what it's worth, Glórenacil, I hope you put your life back together. Find something... constructive, to do with your remaining years. You really are just as much a victim of that witch as Lana was."

He opens the door for Cor'lana as she approaches it, stepping aside to let her pass. "But I don't think we'll be calling again. It's... probably for the best." With that, he follows Lana out, his arm going around her. A reminder that perhaps one door is shutting, but another is open -- welcome and warm and full of life.

Glórenacil just watches them walk out of the room. And while a couple of bewildered staff look at Cor'lana's face full of silent tears as the two half-elves pass them, nobody stops to ask what happened, where they're going--nothing.

But once they pass through the hospital doors and out into the foggy air of the summer night, Cor'lana just turns around and buries herself right underneath Telamon's chin, the gentle light of mana-lamps hanging above them lending a further sense of warmth to the scene.

"I love you," is what she says, so quietly, as she tightly holds him. "And I want our children to never feel what I'm feeling right now." The words tumble out of her in the language that gives her the greatest amount of strength.

Telamon folds his arms around her, pressing her up against him. He knows she's hurting, and he knows this is the best solace for the moment. "I love you too, queen of my heart. Never fear -- our children will grow up loved, cherished, welcomed. The hurt will fade in time, and become distant, and you will know nothing but the warmth of family." He strokes her hair, nuzzling her. It doesn't matter who might see, and the gods protect anyone who might interrupt, because Tel is no mood to be bothered.

"I promised you I would never leave you. I will say it again: I bind myself to you, now and forever." The Sylvan flows so easily from his lips now, only the faintest accent in his words.

And there on the doorstep of a place of healing, begins the healing.

Cor'lana smiles, shivering a little in Telamon's arms as he promises himself to her again. "And I bind myself to you, now and forever," she repeats. "Always, and always, and always."

They linger there for a time before returning home. A question is unanswered, but the page is turned to reach the end of the chapter.