HOME | DD

Description
The cold of the night enters slowly through my window, the wind makes little swirls on the silk of the red drapery. It would seem they dance before me. Perhaps it’s just nostalgia, that which makes me see detail so small in things that to anyone else would appear as the simplest, most common thing in the world.
I smile, though I’m alone in my room as usual, as if it were different, as if I expected someone to smile back at me…

Though I’m cold even beneath the cloak that wraps me almost entirely, I dare not close the window. I can’t remember even a single time I sat there with the window closed.
Some have seen me sitting here before, with no other company besides the stars and the light of the moons. Some ask me if everything’s all right, if I’m ill or something, and sometimes others even offer to sit beside me; this ones are usually the youngest, or men, because almost everyone else knows my habits.
Every night, after praying, I dedicate a couple moments to myself, I hope the gods forgive their humble servant for daring to do so.

I’m younger than most of my brothers and sisters, but many who come in here for the first time speak to me as if I were a venerable old lady, as if the look in my eyes had the weight of years in it, maybe because they’ve seen me here, immerse in memories.
I’ve been told our people have long lives and the long memories that come with them. I want to take as a compliment, the times people have said my memory seems even longer than that of the elders themselves.

It is not longer, of my best knowledge. It’s harsh, it’s filled with wounds I do not expect to ever see healed, not even in my life’s end; but it’s beautiful: If only in my eyes.

Is this a test from above? Maybe.
We’ve been taught nighttime is sacred; devoted to serving The Shimmering One, but I confess there are times I can’t concentrate on my prayers or my singing. Above all when there is wind, like tonight.
My body and all my dedication are here, in the temple… but my mind is far away, not somewhere else, but in another time.

I once lived with the joy of having a family to belong to, beyond my brothers and sisters, and I once did love, as well…
Nirai often asks me if I still do, with that light and joyful tone in her voice. Sometimes she plays around with me and calls me “old widow”. Then she quickly takes it back, knowing she hurts me. I know she doesn’t mean to. We both know. Sometimes… I ask myself, too.

How long it’s been? Ten, maybe twelve years? This old widow can’t remember anything accurately. By the gods! Not even something that important!
My blood falls as little tears on the cold tiles of the floor, just after I realize my blasphemy. The only thing to be heard in the room asides the slight whistling of the wind it’s a weak wail of agony and frustration, not of pain. My nails bite into the flesh of my palms.

Thirteen! It’s been thirteen years, you old wretch!

As I open my eyes I can see everything again, through my tears: The room, the window, the drapes.
I was only a child back then. My mother is with me.

I remember every detail with horrible perfection. It’s so beautiful, yet… it’s what makes it so painful to remember. The precision, the clarity with which sound, smell and scent come to me again.

It was so cold that night; it must be the coldest night I can remember. On top of my dress I wear my mother’s cloak too, and her scarf on my neck. I long for those days now, so full of joy, when there was no more than the temple and its gorgeous gardens, when there was something else than the cell I call my room.
We weren’t alone: Lord and Lady Whiteriver had gone on a trip, and little Nirai was with us as well. She’s one of the few memories which today are still with me. Her playful smiles and her freckles are in every image from my childhood like a beautiful seal, a shine of light in the dark of the night.

We used to be always together, like sun and dawn, like fire and smoke.

We laughed and talked about some game we made up on the temple gardens, while my mother lay down the table and served dinner.
Outside snow fell gently, the trees and the ground of the forest were completely white.

Suddenly, quick and repetitive knocks on the door pulled us three from what which we were doing.
Mom took a coat that was hanging from the wall, lifted a lantern from the ground, and went outside to find out what was the source of the noise. Nirai and I followed her along on the tips of our feet, with quick and short steps, curious, but still wary.

I remember with painful fidelity, the snow falling between trees, that; the first time I ever payed such attention to the sound of the whispering breeze.

There was no one on the door. My mother’s lantern shone on an object which was lying wrapped in blankets on the snow, moving around in a strange way.

Never before had we seen neither me nor my friend, a baby.

My mother took him inside, looking at him with her eyes full of pity and tenderness. He was pale and he was shaking because of the biting cold.

I put some more wood into the fireplace as my mother instructed me to do, and when everything stood calm again, she took the baby in her arms and cradled him. I heard her sing for that helpless, graceful creature. My mother’s voice was beautiful, more beautiful than the most beautiful chant of the forest birds. I smiled, because I knew that sweet song. I didn’t know where I had heard it, but still it echoed in my ears. Every note, every gesture of sweetness and mercy on my mother’s face… I’d seen them somewhere else.
Even if for it I should condemn myself to eternal suffering, I’d never, never forget the light caress, the warmth of the gentleness in her voice…

The boy had hair of the color of silver, like many of my brothers and sisters. Though he wasn’t cold anymore, his skin still was the same pale white. His two little eyes were grey, looking at us so sweetly, as if we were his true mothers.

All who lived in the temple quickly fell in love with that baby, and almost everyone took care of him. One day, the elders decided the child needed a nurse, and tough many wanted to adopt him as did we, they decided to leave him to the care of a woman who lived in our charity, an elderly woman, an old minstrel which had no one else left in this world. The name of that woman was Silien Nightbreeze.
The years went fast, the seasons changed once and many times before us, and everyone went on with their lives as they had done before that night, with the little exception that there was something new: the temple had become a happier, busier place since then.

We watched him grow little by little. Nirai and I grew as well. There were times when the two of us, full of curiosity, followed the boy, hiding and sneaking down the halls, trying not to laugh, and watching his gracious walks.
He was a playful boy, but very obedient and not even a bit lazy: he was always trying his best at the chores that priests gave him to keep him busy.
I remember clearly, when he was not sweeping the stairways or washing the face of one of the statues, he used to sit long whiles and stare at the night sky, as if he was looking for something in it, until his mother came to look for him, when it was time to sleep.

I always felt, even if it was only me, a certain obligation to him. Every time I was allowed to help Mrs. Silien with her child, I did. I was something like his older sister, or at least I liked to imagine that.
We three were the youngest, and none of us had the name we now bear. Nirai and I were almost as young as Sigivel, which was the name Mrs. Silien had given to her son.

If any man would have seen us, in his eyes we two would’ve been two young women, while he’d been just a child, as he hadn’t grown yet, and we two were getting close to the form we would hold for many years.
Life went by. New people kept coming, and we saw our brothers depart, with pain in our hearts. Some went in pilgrimages, and some others we knew we wouldn’t see ever again.

It was then, the time Nirai remembers more often when we speak, even if it is not as often as twenty years ago. I met Drivias, the one I would later call my own.
We couldn’t take our eyes off the other nor for a single moment. When it was time for prayer my hands cried, missing the warmth on his’.
Nirai then went here and there, singing and smiling like a fool, throwing spring flowers all around me.
I believed my life had perfect sense, that I have at last found that which made me happy.

Blessed be the dreams of a girl…! How wrong was I!

My mother looked sweetly at me in my comings and goings, blessing with all her strength in her soul the day her child had finally found her loved one.
She became ill.
A mysterious sickness had my only family drowning in fever, driven mad through delirium.
It was the darkest torment, to walk into my mother’s room. There she was, writhing in her bed, the sheets drenched in sweat, her eyes staring deep into her, screaming in despair.
For every single moment that it lasted, nothing was heard in the halls other than prayers asking for protection for my mother, and the echoes of her horrible screams in the main hall.
My mother died then, I remember the night precisely as well.

Everyone was in line beside her bedroom, candles in their hands and the mourning cloak covering them completely. They went in one by one, to give her one last goodbye. All of them loved my mother in life; it could be seen in their faces, as full of sorrow as their candles.
We were convinced then that miracles were real, as the poor woman did not shake in nightmares anymore, nor she let out sound that wasn’t that of her calm breathing.

That same night the high priest united Drivias and me in marriage. There, in front of my mother’s bed, because we couldn’t move her elsewhere.
Blessed be our Lady eternally, for one more miracle was conceded to us. My mother spoke, conscious for the first time in a long time. She looked so sweetly at us both: our eyes were overrun with tears, and we were covered with our mourning clothes, and then she smiled, with her most tender and sincere smile.
Her words became forever etched in my mind, as I kneeled down crying, unable to utter a single word.
She blessed us both, looked at Drivias lovingly, and called him her son. And then she closed her two beautiful eyes, never to open them again. A smile remained on her lips, and her forehead was dry, without that cursed sweat we all had seen in it when we looked at her, with eyes lowered.

I could not leave the temple, so had I vowed, and we started living in those rooms, the ones that had once belonged to my mother. I was never left by memories of that night. I never kept of it the whole pain, instead that final smile.

Later I came to know, poor old Silien Nightbreeze had passed away days later, in a quiet, feverish slumber.

It is told many who dwelled in the surroundings of the forest also died to that cursed fever, the one which had taken my mother away from me.

Sigivel could be seen roaming the hallways, silent and afflicted, for he knew the truth about Silien and his true mother.
Someone once told me life’s always got to go on, come what may. It is an advice I’ve held on tightly near my heart since those times.

Drivias and I were happy for many years. He was a hunter, and there were times he worked as courier for the temple. I continued to serve The Lady, as my mother had taught me.
I saw Sigivel occasionally in the temple halls or in the gardens. I was filled with joy, because most of those times he was beside some brother, learning to read, to write, or some other positive thing.
In no time we heard him in the chorus, or helping with the daily chores. He quickly became a part of the temple. Even if he had always been one, now he wore the white tunic and cloak.
He was cheerful most of the time. His smile brightened up the days in which we were feeling down; and when he was not studying with an elder or praying in the altar, we could hear faintly, as if brought by the breeze from faraway places, Silien’s favorite melody.
He held onto his mysterious custom; at night he looked for hours at the night sky. He used to pray in a hollow and sit on a tree stump, immerse in his own thoughts. He then played the old oak flute old lady Silien used to always carry with her. There was always some melancholy in his notes, even if it was not a sad song.
I remember clearly a time it was raining, and even so he was there, praying near the old tree stump. I gave him some blankets, but I dared not question his presence there.
From there on we grew closer. We both had lost everything we had, and save Drivias and Nirai, he was everything I had close to a family. Strangely, I was all he had, apart his studies and the old songs the minstrel used to play.

We saw the seasons pass by time and time again, and life had seemed to return to its ideal rhythm. Only a few times we did look back, to remember what we had left behind.
Sigivel quickly became a priest of The Shimmering One. In a blink he had grown from a child into a man. He never stopped praying near the old tree stump, nor he stopped playing his music in the middle of the night.
When there were no chores, he practiced vigorously with his sword, even though I recall he was never very good at it.
The autumn wind and twilight gave a strange, almost magical glitter to his eyes, to the way his long, clear hair blowed with the wind.

Nirai always came from her house in the village to visit Drivias, Sigivel and I. She always took some food and drink from her home and brought them here for the four of us to share.
My memory isn’t long enough, but moments like those are the ones that make it worthwhile to remember.

My husband and I were extremely happy together; those sunny afternoons slowly erased the dark nights in my past. I let another tear fall as I evoke the shining of the spring sun atop the trees, and one more, for the scent of the blooming flowers.

One day everyone who lived in the temple gathered around. It was the day our youngest brother finally became an adult. It was a truly beautiful ceremony, if yet modest. The high priests searched deep in the cellars, and the most sought after wines were served.
Those who had seen Sigivel grow so quickly were sitting in several tables, telling our stories and experiences amongst sincere laughter and nostalgia.
We were filled with pride as we saw him rising his head after the rite. It made us feel grateful, to see all our efforts, as well as our failures, reflected upon the bright and gentle face of the man from that day we began calling Ivellius, as poor Silien had wanted.

Cruel life! Why do you must take from my side everyone I have ever loved?! Have I not served the Gods well in the years I have lived, devoted in body and soul to them?

The room is filled with bitter wailing, as behind my window the storm breaks. Lightning illuminates everything briefly. I start crying, with my face hidden behind my hands. I don’t usually do it, but today is a special day. Each year more or less on these days; when the wind blows strongly, when the cold of the north enters through my window.

Is it true that all happiness is ephemera? It would seem the world around me still goes on, while I’m here in my room, imprisoned in a different time, far from everyone else…
Everyone must be in bed right now, because my crying echoes, running through hallways and empty rooms, with no one who’s willing to make it stop. There is no one by my side. There is not a sincere shoulder to lay my head upon.

In a corner of the room, hidden in shadow, there’s the empty scabbard of Dúrsael; in the same place it was thirteen years ago. Every time I look upon it, every time I hold it in my hands, I can’t help but gazing to the heavens and pray for Ivellius and Drivias. Pray so that the two of them are safe, for the moons to protect my brother, who carries the sword that belongs to this empty scabbard.
I take it once more in my shaking hands, and pull it near my heart, among my sobbing.

Behind my tears I see myself again in the room. It’s raining outside, but it is not just rain. I recognize it easily.

It hadn’t stopped raining for three days in a row. Drivias hadn’t returned from his trip, as he had been asked to deliver a letter to a far off kingdom.
I had been told that he should have returned a week ago. Each moment I spent waiting was full of anguish.
I hadn’t the courage; I didn’t want to believe he, too, had left me.
Nirai hadn’t come to visit us, even though she said she would, while Drivias was away.

Many things that happened in that dark night thirteen years ago still elude me. To me, those memories are just distant and vague moments, of pure misery and loneliness.
I was broken. I didn’t want anyone to speak to me. I was on the ground, brought to my knees, staring desperately at the heavens above, with my hands together, praying among the sobbing. The storm was the only thing that hushed my plea to the gods. I cried then like I do now, like a child who has lost herself in the woods, frightened… lonely.
I didn’t know what happened in the temple as I was in my room, but this is what I’ve been told:

They say that every moment of my lament Ivellius was there, at the threshold of my room, looking at me and praying with one hand in his chest for me and Drivias. They say he couldn’t stand seeing me in that state, and that some saw him take his trail cape and put on a pair of high boots.
The ones who claim to have seen him that night say that he went to the rooms of high priest Celebven, and as he made way through the ones that guarded him he asked to be told what had became of Drivias.
Those who sadly tell the tale say that Celebven was moved by his Zeal, so much that he dared tell him the truth. They say none heard that which was said, for it was for his ears alone. The high priest gave him a ragged, battered cape. The only thing they had found from the courier.

I lost my voice from screaming and crying, with my clothes soaked because of the rain that came in from the window.
A noise pulled me from myself, and as I turned my head, I saw a white figure at the door. He quickly came to me, and he laid his knee on the ground beside me.
He cried too, but his words were only to tell me the truth, and to help me wipe away my tears.
His resolve found me off guard. I was still fearful, fearing the worst. I believed every word of what he said to me, as a child does. His sweet voice... I’ll never forget what I heard him say…
He swore on everything we are allowed to that he would come back with Drivias. He helped me sit on the bed, and he gently put his finger on my lips, asking me to hush.
In his gaze I saw the deepest compassion and tenderness, compassion so strong it hurts us when a loved one is hurt.
He rose, as he was kneeling in front of me, holding my hands, and he smiled one last time, with tears running down his face.

Wordless. “Why?” I still wonder. Why didn’t I tell him anything, in that time when I should had said all that was hidden inside me. I cried strongly one last time as I held him tight, as one must hold onto and angel who comes down to help you on your darkest hour.
The only thing I could do them was to put Dúrsael in his hands. The sword my mother had long treasured. It wasn’t a true weapon, as I had never learnt to wield it in a duel. To me it was like an amulet, the only way I had to protect Ivellius.
With great care I knelt and replaced his sword with it. And there I remained, still; uniting my hands in prayer, with my head lowered, praying with all the strength I had left to the heavens so that kept him safe.
I didn’t want to lose him too, but I knew I couldn’t stop him. I had stopped crying, but two tears still rolled down my cheeks as I prayed.
Even if I couldn’t have Drivias back, I prayed so that Ivellius would return.
They say he prepared a horse hastily, that he took the path north through the storm riding as fast as he could, shouting Drivias’ name until he lost his voice completely.
That night is the most bitter memory I keep.

I didn’t hear of Ivellius the next day.
I kept praying.
I didn’t hear about him the week that came after that.

And so it was. Weeks turned to months, and the seasons changed. Every day I prayed. At least two hours of my day were for them. I knelt down before the altar full of hope, and waited with the faith of a young girl for them to come back.
They always tell me to forget that night, to try and start again, but I don’t listen to them.
Every day I keep praying for them. I wonder every time I look at the sky, under what skies is the boy with silver hair.
Every time time I see a spring blossom I can’t help but let out a tear and smile.

Today’s been thirteen years since I was left alone in this world.

Yes, I do live with my brothers and sisters, but no one will ever fill the void that Drivias and Ivellius left in me.
Oh! If they only knew how much I miss them…!
I’d leave this life eagerly if I could only see them safe once more…

It’s not raining outside anymore. In here sobbing can’t be heard anymore. The only sound is the hard breathing of someone who’s been crying.

I live with the hope that tomorrow I’ll be in front of the altar, looking at the sky with my hands united, and that then they’ll come back, joyful and smiling, to tell me all they have been through in their way home. It’s hope, and my memories, what keeps me breathing every day.
It’s silent in here. The moons and stars shimmer once again in the sky. The only sound is that of the breeze that comes into my room.
With a smile in my lips I say hello to the cold breeze of the night, and before falling asleep, I swear I can hear something. The melancholy of a familiar melody. A gift that the breeze brings for me…

-Laeriel, priestess of Kalokopeli-

Description
The cold of the night enters slowly through my window, the wind makes little swirls on the silk of the red drapery. It would seem they dance before me. Perhaps it’s just nostalgia, that which makes me see detail so small in things that to anyone else would appear as the simplest, most common thing in the world.
I smile, though I’m alone in my room as usual, as if it were different, as if I expected someone to smile back at me…

Though I’m cold even beneath the cloak that wraps me almost entirely, I dare not close the window. I can’t remember even a single time I sat there with the window closed.
Some have seen me sitting here before, with no other company besides the stars and the light of the moons. Some ask me if everything’s all right, if I’m ill or something, and sometimes others even offer to sit beside me; this ones are usually the youngest, or men, because almost everyone else knows my habits.
Every night, after praying, I dedicate a couple moments to myself, I hope the gods forgive their humble servant for daring to do so.

I’m younger than most of my brothers and sisters, but many who come in here for the first time speak to me as if I were a venerable old lady, as if the look in my eyes had the weight of years in it, maybe because they’ve seen me here, immerse in memories.
I’ve been told our people have long lives and the long memories that come with them. I want to take as a compliment, the times people have said my memory seems even longer than that of the elders themselves.

It is not longer, of my best knowledge. It’s harsh, it’s filled with wounds I do not expect to ever see healed, not even in my life’s end; but it’s beautiful: If only in my eyes.

Is this a test from above? Maybe.
We’ve been taught nighttime is sacred; devoted to serving The Shimmering One, but I confess there are times I can’t concentrate on my prayers or my singing. Above all when there is wind, like tonight.
My body and all my dedication are here, in the temple… but my mind is far away, not somewhere else, but in another time.

I once lived with the joy of having a family to belong to, beyond my brothers and sisters, and I once did love, as well…
Nirai often asks me if I still do, with that light and joyful tone in her voice. Sometimes she plays around with me and calls me “old widow”. Then she quickly takes it back, knowing she hurts me. I know she doesn’t mean to. We both know. Sometimes… I ask myself, too.

How long it’s been? Ten, maybe twelve years? This old widow can’t remember anything accurately. By the gods! Not even something that important!
My blood falls as little tears on the cold tiles of the floor, just after I realize my blasphemy. The only thing to be heard in the room asides the slight whistling of the wind it’s a weak wail of agony and frustration, not of pain. My nails bite into the flesh of my palms.

Thirteen! It’s been thirteen years, you old wretch!

As I open my eyes I can see everything again, through my tears: The room, the window, the drapes.
I was only a child back then. My mother is with me.

I remember every detail with horrible perfection. It’s so beautiful, yet… it’s what makes it so painful to remember. The precision, the clarity with which sound, smell and scent come to me again.

It was so cold that night; it must be the coldest night I can remember. On top of my dress I wear my mother’s cloak too, and her scarf on my neck. I long for those days now, so full of joy, when there was no more than the temple and its gorgeous gardens, when there was something else than the cell I call my room.
We weren’t alone: Lord and Lady Whiteriver had gone on a trip, and little Nirai was with us as well. She’s one of the few memories which today are still with me. Her playful smiles and her freckles are in every image from my childhood like a beautiful seal, a shine of light in the dark of the night.

We used to be always together, like sun and dawn, like fire and smoke.

We laughed and talked about some game we made up on the temple gardens, while my mother lay down the table and served dinner.
Outside snow fell gently, the trees and the ground of the forest were completely white.

Suddenly, quick and repetitive knocks on the door pulled us three from what which we were doing.
Mom took a coat that was hanging from the wall, lifted a lantern from the ground, and went outside to find out what was the source of the noise. Nirai and I followed her along on the tips of our feet, with quick and short steps, curious, but still wary.

I remember with painful fidelity, the snow falling between trees, that; the first time I ever payed such attention to the sound of the whispering breeze.

There was no one on the door. My mother’s lantern shone on an object which was lying wrapped in blankets on the snow, moving around in a strange way.

Never before had we seen neither me nor my friend, a baby.

My mother took him inside, looking at him with her eyes full of pity and tenderness. He was pale and he was shaking because of the biting cold.

I put some more wood into the fireplace as my mother instructed me to do, and when everything stood calm again, she took the baby in her arms and cradled him. I heard her sing for that helpless, graceful creature. My mother’s voice was beautiful, more beautiful than the most beautiful chant of the forest birds. I smiled, because I knew that sweet song. I didn’t know where I had heard it, but still it echoed in my ears. Every note, every gesture of sweetness and mercy on my mother’s face… I’d seen them somewhere else.
Even if for it I should condemn myself to eternal suffering, I’d never, never forget the light caress, the warmth of the gentleness in her voice…

The boy had hair of the color of silver, like many of my brothers and sisters. Though he wasn’t cold anymore, his skin still was the same pale white. His two little eyes were grey, looking at us so sweetly, as if we were his true mothers.

All who lived in the temple quickly fell in love with that baby, and almost everyone took care of him. One day, the elders decided the child needed a nurse, and tough many wanted to adopt him as did we, they decided to leave him to the care of a woman who lived in our charity, an elderly woman, an old minstrel which had no one else left in this world. The name of that woman was Silien Nightbreeze.
The years went fast, the seasons changed once and many times before us, and everyone went on with their lives as they had done before that night, with the little exception that there was something new: the temple had become a happier, busier place since then.

We watched him grow little by little. Nirai and I grew as well. There were times when the two of us, full of curiosity, followed the boy, hiding and sneaking down the halls, trying not to laugh, and watching his gracious walks.
He was a playful boy, but very obedient and not even a bit lazy: he was always trying his best at the chores that priests gave him to keep him busy.
I remember clearly, when he was not sweeping the stairways or washing the face of one of the statues, he used to sit long whiles and stare at the night sky, as if he was looking for something in it, until his mother came to look for him, when it was time to sleep.

I always felt, even if it was only me, a certain obligation to him. Every time I was allowed to help Mrs. Silien with her child, I did. I was something like his older sister, or at least I liked to imagine that.
We three were the youngest, and none of us had the name we now bear. Nirai and I were almost as young as Sigivel, which was the name Mrs. Silien had given to her son.

If any man would have seen us, in his eyes we two would’ve been two young women, while he’d been just a child, as he hadn’t grown yet, and we two were getting close to the form we would hold for many years.
Life went by. New people kept coming, and we saw our brothers depart, with pain in our hearts. Some went in pilgrimages, and some others we knew we wouldn’t see ever again.

It was then, the time Nirai remembers more often when we speak, even if it is not as often as twenty years ago. I met Drivias, the one I would later call my own.
We couldn’t take our eyes off the other nor for a single moment. When it was time for prayer my hands cried, missing the warmth on his’.
Nirai then went here and there, singing and smiling like a fool, throwing spring flowers all around me.
I believed my life had perfect sense, that I have at last found that which made me happy.

Blessed be the dreams of a girl…! How wrong was I!

My mother looked sweetly at me in my comings and goings, blessing with all her strength in her soul the day her child had finally found her loved one.
She became ill.
A mysterious sickness had my only family drowning in fever, driven mad through delirium.
It was the darkest torment, to walk into my mother’s room. There she was, writhing in her bed, the sheets drenched in sweat, her eyes staring deep into her, screaming in despair.
For every single moment that it lasted, nothing was heard in the halls other than prayers asking for protection for my mother, and the echoes of her horrible screams in the main hall.
My mother died then, I remember the night precisely as well.

Everyone was in line beside her bedroom, candles in their hands and the mourning cloak covering them completely. They went in one by one, to give her one last goodbye. All of them loved my mother in life; it could be seen in their faces, as full of sorrow as their candles.
We were convinced then that miracles were real, as the poor woman did not shake in nightmares anymore, nor she let out sound that wasn’t that of her calm breathing.

That same night the high priest united Drivias and me in marriage. There, in front of my mother’s bed, because we couldn’t move her elsewhere.
Blessed be our Lady eternally, for one more miracle was conceded to us. My mother spoke, conscious for the first time in a long time. She looked so sweetly at us both: our eyes were overrun with tears, and we were covered with our mourning clothes, and then she smiled, with her most tender and sincere smile.
Her words became forever etched in my mind, as I kneeled down crying, unable to utter a single word.
She blessed us both, looked at Drivias lovingly, and called him her son. And then she closed her two beautiful eyes, never to open them again. A smile remained on her lips, and her forehead was dry, without that cursed sweat we all had seen in it when we looked at her, with eyes lowered.

I could not leave the temple, so had I vowed, and we started living in those rooms, the ones that had once belonged to my mother. I was never left by memories of that night. I never kept of it the whole pain, instead that final smile.

Later I came to know, poor old Silien Nightbreeze had passed away days later, in a quiet, feverish slumber.

It is told many who dwelled in the surroundings of the forest also died to that cursed fever, the one which had taken my mother away from me.

Sigivel could be seen roaming the hallways, silent and afflicted, for he knew the truth about Silien and his true mother.
Someone once told me life’s always got to go on, come what may. It is an advice I’ve held on tightly near my heart since those times.

Drivias and I were happy for many years. He was a hunter, and there were times he worked as courier for the temple. I continued to serve The Lady, as my mother had taught me.
I saw Sigivel occasionally in the temple halls or in the gardens. I was filled with joy, because most of those times he was beside some brother, learning to read, to write, or some other positive thing.
In no time we heard him in the chorus, or helping with the daily chores. He quickly became a part of the temple. Even if he had always been one, now he wore the white tunic and cloak.
He was cheerful most of the time. His smile brightened up the days in which we were feeling down; and when he was not studying with an elder or praying in the altar, we could hear faintly, as if brought by the breeze from faraway places, Silien’s favorite melody.
He held onto his mysterious custom; at night he looked for hours at the night sky. He used to pray in a hollow and sit on a tree stump, immerse in his own thoughts. He then played the old oak flute old lady Silien used to always carry with her. There was always some melancholy in his notes, even if it was not a sad song.
I remember clearly a time it was raining, and even so he was there, praying near the old tree stump. I gave him some blankets, but I dared not question his presence there.
From there on we grew closer. We both had lost everything we had, and save Drivias and Nirai, he was everything I had close to a family. Strangely, I was all he had, apart his studies and the old songs the minstrel used to play.

We saw the seasons pass by time and time again, and life had seemed to return to its ideal rhythm. Only a few times we did look back, to remember what we had left behind.
Sigivel quickly became a priest of The Shimmering One. In a blink he had grown from a child into a man. He never stopped praying near the old tree stump, nor he stopped playing his music in the middle of the night.
When there were no chores, he practiced vigorously with his sword, even though I recall he was never very good at it.
The autumn wind and twilight gave a strange, almost magical glitter to his eyes, to the way his long, clear hair blowed with the wind.

Nirai always came from her house in the village to visit Drivias, Sigivel and I. She always took some food and drink from her home and brought them here for the four of us to share.
My memory isn’t long enough, but moments like those are the ones that make it worthwhile to remember.

My husband and I were extremely happy together; those sunny afternoons slowly erased the dark nights in my past. I let another tear fall as I evoke the shining of the spring sun atop the trees, and one more, for the scent of the blooming flowers.

One day everyone who lived in the temple gathered around. It was the day our youngest brother finally became an adult. It was a truly beautiful ceremony, if yet modest. The high priests searched deep in the cellars, and the most sought after wines were served.
Those who had seen Sigivel grow so quickly were sitting in several tables, telling our stories and experiences amongst sincere laughter and nostalgia.
We were filled with pride as we saw him rising his head after the rite. It made us feel grateful, to see all our efforts, as well as our failures, reflected upon the bright and gentle face of the man from that day we began calling Ivellius, as poor Silien had wanted.

Cruel life! Why do you must take from my side everyone I have ever loved?! Have I not served the Gods well in the years I have lived, devoted in body and soul to them?

The room is filled with bitter wailing, as behind my window the storm breaks. Lightning illuminates everything briefly. I start crying, with my face hidden behind my hands. I don’t usually do it, but today is a special day. Each year more or less on these days; when the wind blows strongly, when the cold of the north enters through my window.

Is it true that all happiness is ephemera? It would seem the world around me still goes on, while I’m here in my room, imprisoned in a different time, far from everyone else…
Everyone must be in bed right now, because my crying echoes, running through hallways and empty rooms, with no one who’s willing to make it stop. There is no one by my side. There is not a sincere shoulder to lay my head upon.

In a corner of the room, hidden in shadow, there’s the empty scabbard of Dúrsael; in the same place it was thirteen years ago. Every time I look upon it, every time I hold it in my hands, I can’t help but gazing to the heavens and pray for Ivellius and Drivias. Pray so that the two of them are safe, for the moons to protect my brother, who carries the sword that belongs to this empty scabbard.
I take it once more in my shaking hands, and pull it near my heart, among my sobbing.

Behind my tears I see myself again in the room. It’s raining outside, but it is not just rain. I recognize it easily.

It hadn’t stopped raining for three days in a row. Drivias hadn’t returned from his trip, as he had been asked to deliver a letter to a far off kingdom.
I had been told that he should have returned a week ago. Each moment I spent waiting was full of anguish.
I hadn’t the courage; I didn’t want to believe he, too, had left me.
Nirai hadn’t come to visit us, even though she said she would, while Drivias was away.

Many things that happened in that dark night thirteen years ago still elude me. To me, those memories are just distant and vague moments, of pure misery and loneliness.
I was broken. I didn’t want anyone to speak to me. I was on the ground, brought to my knees, staring desperately at the heavens above, with my hands together, praying among the sobbing. The storm was the only thing that hushed my plea to the gods. I cried then like I do now, like a child who has lost herself in the woods, frightened… lonely.
I didn’t know what happened in the temple as I was in my room, but this is what I’ve been told:

They say that every moment of my lament Ivellius was there, at the threshold of my room, looking at me and praying with one hand in his chest for me and Drivias. They say he couldn’t stand seeing me in that state, and that some saw him take his trail cape and put on a pair of high boots.
The ones who claim to have seen him that night say that he went to the rooms of high priest Celebven, and as he made way through the ones that guarded him he asked to be told what had became of Drivias.
Those who sadly tell the tale say that Celebven was moved by his Zeal, so much that he dared tell him the truth. They say none heard that which was said, for it was for his ears alone. The high priest gave him a ragged, battered cape. The only thing they had found from the courier.

I lost my voice from screaming and crying, with my clothes soaked because of the rain that came in from the window.
A noise pulled me from myself, and as I turned my head, I saw a white figure at the door. He quickly came to me, and he laid his knee on the ground beside me.
He cried too, but his words were only to tell me the truth, and to help me wipe away my tears.
His resolve found me off guard. I was still fearful, fearing the worst. I believed every word of what he said to me, as a child does. His sweet voice... I’ll never forget what I heard him say…
He swore on everything we are allowed to that he would come back with Drivias. He helped me sit on the bed, and he gently put his finger on my lips, asking me to hush.
In his gaze I saw the deepest compassion and tenderness, compassion so strong it hurts us when a loved one is hurt.
He rose, as he was kneeling in front of me, holding my hands, and he smiled one last time, with tears running down his face.

Wordless. “Why?” I still wonder. Why didn’t I tell him anything, in that time when I should had said all that was hidden inside me. I cried strongly one last time as I held him tight, as one must hold onto and angel who comes down to help you on your darkest hour.
The only thing I could do them was to put Dúrsael in his hands. The sword my mother had long treasured. It wasn’t a true weapon, as I had never learnt to wield it in a duel. To me it was like an amulet, the only way I had to protect Ivellius.
With great care I knelt and replaced his sword with it. And there I remained, still; uniting my hands in prayer, with my head lowered, praying with all the strength I had left to the heavens so that kept him safe.
I didn’t want to lose him too, but I knew I couldn’t stop him. I had stopped crying, but two tears still rolled down my cheeks as I prayed.
Even if I couldn’t have Drivias back, I prayed so that Ivellius would return.
They say he prepared a horse hastily, that he took the path north through the storm riding as fast as he could, shouting Drivias’ name until he lost his voice completely.
That night is the most bitter memory I keep.

I didn’t hear of Ivellius the next day.
I kept praying.
I didn’t hear about him the week that came after that.

And so it was. Weeks turned to months, and the seasons changed. Every day I prayed. At least two hours of my day were for them. I knelt down before the altar full of hope, and waited with the faith of a young girl for them to come back.
They always tell me to forget that night, to try and start again, but I don’t listen to them.
Every day I keep praying for them. I wonder every time I look at the sky, under what skies is the boy with silver hair.
Every time time I see a spring blossom I can’t help but let out a tear and smile.

Today’s been thirteen years since I was left alone in this world.

Yes, I do live with my brothers and sisters, but no one will ever fill the void that Drivias and Ivellius left in me.
Oh! If they only knew how much I miss them…!
I’d leave this life eagerly if I could only see them safe once more…

It’s not raining outside anymore. In here sobbing can’t be heard anymore. The only sound is the hard breathing of someone who’s been crying.

I live with the hope that tomorrow I’ll be in front of the altar, looking at the sky with my hands united, and that then they’ll come back, joyful and smiling, to tell me all they have been through in their way home. It’s hope, and my memories, what keeps me breathing every day.
It’s silent in here. The moons and stars shimmer once again in the sky. The only sound is that of the breeze that comes into my room.
With a smile in my lips I say hello to the cold breeze of the night, and before falling asleep, I swear I can hear something. The melancholy of a familiar melody. A gift that the breeze brings for me…

-Laeriel, priestess of Kalokopeli-