Mellia — Hope
????, Fire Season, Season/Illusion Week
Fire Season/Illusion Week/Clayday/mid-morning, not long before leaving Cinder Fox Tula. [[[s01:session-42|Session 42]]]
“Lord Silor? May we speak privately about your children?”
With an expression that says this is not in any way an unplanned pause just before a major relic leaves his Tula, Silor nods. “Of course.” He looks around to check for privacy, and then eases his weight by leaning against the outer wall of the house.
“Thank you. I understand what is wrong with your children, if not why.”
A slow breath eases into him, out of him. “Go on?” He suggests. He seems tense but not upset.
“They are both deeply touched by Death. Venlar is touched by Death in body. Yamia is touched by Death in mind. “
“All three,” he says. “Hengrast was one of the triplets. Whatever he is touched by, it makes his judgement awry. He cannot think beyond the immediate future. Admirable though he is, he can never be Chief here.”
Mellia gives Silor a compassionate look. “There might be a cure. What they need to do is rededicate themselves to Life. I do not know how that might be done. What I do not know, the priestesses of Ernalda at the Paps might.”
“I could send them abroad,” he says. “Do you think they would all have to go?”
“Maybe, maybe not. The priestesses would know. If they need to undertake a quest, they may need to be together. If a pilgrimage is needed, they may be able to do it separately.”
“Yamia will not,” Silor notes, but as a fact rather than an objection. “Still, she would guard her brother there.”
“I think Venlar would go. That leaves Hengrast.”
“He’ll do it. It will seem like a fine idea, and will make his brother happy.”
Mellia smiles at that. “I wish I could give you clearer answers, or more hope.”
“I have no need of hope. A plan is better than all the hope I could hold in my shield-hand.” Gently, he folds a fist. “Hope in the shield-hand, sword in the other. My dead brother used to say that. He called his shield Hope.”
“Your dead brother had quite a sense of humor,” Mellia comments. “Speaking of plans, I hope we will meet again someday. Today is an ill day to discuss hands and hearts.”
“Yes he did.” Silor falls silent for a moment, lost in the past, and then gives Mellia his attention once again. “Venlar has asked me to think about a marriage for him, but you are right. The shadow of what we escort is too deep for discussions of love.” His expression shows depths of emotion, the inner storm of an Orlanthi with a great heart.
“I wish it were not so,” Mellia replies. “I will just say that my mother sits on the Clan Ring of Clan Saiciae and leave it at that.”
“Letters later. These things are always tentative at the start. If you want to be sure of it, do not hope.” He stands straight, with a heave of his muscular body. The weight of age is on him, and he holds it lightly on his shoulders. “Is there anything else you require, or want, or have a whim for?”
Mellia nods and seems to be taking a note at the mention of letters. “No, Lord Silor. Thank you for your time.”
He bows, and already his expression indicates he is thinking of the next thing, the next plan, and off he goes.
Mellia curtseys, to be polite.