Sorrow and Song: Part 3 | Starlight Under Clouds

Chapter III

**reposted TEMPORARILY** See Chapter IX for reasons!

"You are going away again." Therelane's voice was a little hurt, a little wry, the half-teasing tone covering up the hurt. "Like you used to."

Mordred looked away quickly, not wanting to remember Fenris' somber eyes, or Lethira's crumpling face. "Yes, Therelane; I'm going."

"What if you don't come back?"

Mordred's resolve broke at the words, at his friend's hopelessly pleading gaze. Therelane had lost so much – the emptiness was in his eyes, greater and emptier for every fresh loss – Irene, now Mirda and Braegon – did Therelane not need him? How could he think of leaving?

And yet Berethar's face answered silently, the closed, fierce eyes shielding a pain that could never fully fade, the shield afraid to crack open to the merciless world. "Do not tear me in two, Therelane," he whispered, his voice failing him. "I cannot stay, I cannot leave him; yet now I am afraid to go."

Therelane reached out quickly and gripped his arm. "Don't mind me, Mordred. It's just the selfishness speaking. Of course you must go."

Mordred could not stop the tears from falling now. For Therelane, brave, faithful Therelane, to call himself selfish was more than could be borne. He covered his face with his hands, and still they fell. And then Therelane's hand touched his shoulder, and Mordred reached out and clung to him, and the grief of parting quieted.

"I will come back to you, Therelane," said Mordred quietly, steadily, as they drew apart. "To you, and Fenris, and Lethira. I will come back to you again."

~

"Ephgael."

The word spoke itself into his mind, spoken with a terrible accent, and a firm, stern voice, rough with feeling.

His pace quickened through the familiar prison-web of halls.

"They will keep you in the capital, when I am dead; or at least they will send for you as a request."

It would be a command, not a request.

He turned right and passed quickly up the short, small-cut flight of steps.

"...that they may undo by the king's instruction whatever evil the father has wrought..."

Evil? I will tell you what is evil – the evil that drove my father to his grave.

His strides turned into the guarded doors, into the vast, eight-sided hall full of light shadows and broad sunlight. The windows were high, wide, and many, and their lintels arched over outside so that there would be no need of curtains to temper the streaming rays. For after all, Rodron had once been called Rothalon, the country of brightness, and the sun was still the emblem of her flag.

"Do not let them teach you to hate Orden, marhon hior."

"I will not, Lagor."

Past tears. Past the denial of the death that had so long shadowed a man now weary of life. Steady his voice as he gave the answer. Promises were easily made at a father's bedside – and not always easily afterwards kept. Strange, he had meant to keep it so fully, only to discover afterwards that he hated Orden all the more because the respect for it had cost his father his standing, his freedom, and his life...

Lord Rolsan bent his head before the dais. "Talnvar hior, you sent for me."

Edron King's sharp eyes, shrewd and strangely tired, bored into him. "And you wonder why, Rolsan?"