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Description
If the girl before Arrats had inherited anything from her mother other than her beauty, it was her ability to cry. Like her mother, there was a steel that held Selice up. A steel that showed itself as a harshness when it was first shown, but was brilliant and clean when polished lightly.

Once more Arrats was jealous of the way her old companion could move. Perhaps from his angle he had been better able to see the tears begin in Selice's eyes. But that was no explanation for how he could be holding her so kindly at the moment Arrats saw the sadness begin. He was a snake bathed in butter, slithering in ways that were impossible to a human.

And yet she was more touched by the compassion he showed. A man with whom, though Selice tried her best to conceal--and had done well, in fact--her disgust, the princess was obviously unimpressed, to be kind. Arrats knew well the signs to watch for, as she was sure Fernweh did. Yet still, knowing the girl hated him, the old wanderer was unhesitatingly kind.

Thinking back to it, Arrats watched as this self-same man relieved himself in the bushes unabashed and without even attempting privacy. The two stood outside the entrance to the royal catacombs, awaiting the return of Inlé and the princess. The garden they were surrounded by was tribute to the beauty of the women of the line, but Arrats looked only at the statues denoting the positions of the royal mothers. Three of these she had known well, and had loved them.

"Well, Arryn," Arrats said, greeting one statue as she stood beneath it. "Your daughter certainly has your looks. A bit of your steel, too, dear. She has grown into a fine princess. A fine ruler when she marries. And she will have her choice of men."

She walked slowly around the statue. "There isn't much to it, I suppose. It's a shame the laws prevent her from ruling alone. She'd do almost as well as you would have. Almost as well as your mother and hers before her. But then, the laws would be lacking in some other way if not in succession.

"But why do I try to talk to you now? Your love is once more with you, and that is all on your mind, I suppose. It must be a happy reunion, my dear. Kiss Dusan for me, once. I would have one last kiss for my baby brother if I could. But I can't bear to see him dead, dear." Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke. "To think how long it's been. I still remember holding him in my arms and rocking him to sleep. Seeing him lie in his last sleep would ruin me."

"So he was yer brother?" Fernweh asked from the other side of the statue.

Surprised, Arrats wiped the tears away, saying, "No. Not quite. But he may as well have been."

"Ah," was all Fernweh said in response. The sorrow in his eyes said more than any words he could have spoken. With a pat on Arrats' shoulder, he left her to her own thoughts. She sat at the feet of her friend and remembered all the memories they had shared. She was getting old, she realized. The funerals for friends decades younger than her would be far too frequent by now, were she not always cloistered away.

Perhaps this is the double-edged gift of the mage, she mused. An extended life, and no one to share it with. Few in the arcane orders grew powerful enough to slow the passage of time. Those who did were less social in nature, and so made few friends. This was likely a gift from the goddesses, because without this aloofness, this distancing from others, what fail-safe could be had for the eventual crash? It is only natural to mourn the loss of loved ones. But, of course, with fewer loved ones, the sorrow felt for each loss is greater, and impossible to divide among many, there being too few for commiseration.

Inlé and Selice stepped back into the sunlight. Arrats had lost the time due to her contemplation. A thing far too common, she wryly mused. No more, she vowed.

Selice looked slightly paler than she had when she went into the chamber, and a thin veil of well-trained composure tried to mask some shock. Arrats wondered what had happened in the catacomb, but would not breach the private thoughts of a girl who'd just seen her father laid out for the long rest.

"A meal," the princess said after a moment. "First we should eat."

"Yes," Inlé agreed, a step behind her. "Food strengthens resolve and composure."

Fernweh laughed. "'Mendin' hearts feast f'r peace o' mind'? Boy, ye should use the old sayin's more. Ye've a way with words about ye, but like it's wrong, t' be sure."

The four walked back toward the castle, silently flanked by the princess' guard. Conversation was by no means prohibited, but none in the solemn party felt right walking down the Path of the Old House. Arrats wondered what the princess was thinking as she walked quietly among her ancestors' remains so soon after adding her father to them.

Description
If the girl before Arrats had inherited anything from her mother other than her beauty, it was her ability to cry. Like her mother, there was a steel that held Selice up. A steel that showed itself as a harshness when it was first shown, but was brilliant and clean when polished lightly.

Once more Arrats was jealous of the way her old companion could move. Perhaps from his angle he had been better able to see the tears begin in Selice's eyes. But that was no explanation for how he could be holding her so kindly at the moment Arrats saw the sadness begin. He was a snake bathed in butter, slithering in ways that were impossible to a human.

And yet she was more touched by the compassion he showed. A man with whom, though Selice tried her best to conceal--and had done well, in fact--her disgust, the princess was obviously unimpressed, to be kind. Arrats knew well the signs to watch for, as she was sure Fernweh did. Yet still, knowing the girl hated him, the old wanderer was unhesitatingly kind.

Thinking back to it, Arrats watched as this self-same man relieved himself in the bushes unabashed and without even attempting privacy. The two stood outside the entrance to the royal catacombs, awaiting the return of Inlé and the princess. The garden they were surrounded by was tribute to the beauty of the women of the line, but Arrats looked only at the statues denoting the positions of the royal mothers. Three of these she had known well, and had loved them.

"Well, Arryn," Arrats said, greeting one statue as she stood beneath it. "Your daughter certainly has your looks. A bit of your steel, too, dear. She has grown into a fine princess. A fine ruler when she marries. And she will have her choice of men."

She walked slowly around the statue. "There isn't much to it, I suppose. It's a shame the laws prevent her from ruling alone. She'd do almost as well as you would have. Almost as well as your mother and hers before her. But then, the laws would be lacking in some other way if not in succession.

"But why do I try to talk to you now? Your love is once more with you, and that is all on your mind, I suppose. It must be a happy reunion, my dear. Kiss Dusan for me, once. I would have one last kiss for my baby brother if I could. But I can't bear to see him dead, dear." Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke. "To think how long it's been. I still remember holding him in my arms and rocking him to sleep. Seeing him lie in his last sleep would ruin me."

"So he was yer brother?" Fernweh asked from the other side of the statue.

Surprised, Arrats wiped the tears away, saying, "No. Not quite. But he may as well have been."

"Ah," was all Fernweh said in response. The sorrow in his eyes said more than any words he could have spoken. With a pat on Arrats' shoulder, he left her to her own thoughts. She sat at the feet of her friend and remembered all the memories they had shared. She was getting old, she realized. The funerals for friends decades younger than her would be far too frequent by now, were she not always cloistered away.

Perhaps this is the double-edged gift of the mage, she mused. An extended life, and no one to share it with. Few in the arcane orders grew powerful enough to slow the passage of time. Those who did were less social in nature, and so made few friends. This was likely a gift from the goddesses, because without this aloofness, this distancing from others, what fail-safe could be had for the eventual crash? It is only natural to mourn the loss of loved ones. But, of course, with fewer loved ones, the sorrow felt for each loss is greater, and impossible to divide among many, there being too few for commiseration.

Inlé and Selice stepped back into the sunlight. Arrats had lost the time due to her contemplation. A thing far too common, she wryly mused. No more, she vowed.

Selice looked slightly paler than she had when she went into the chamber, and a thin veil of well-trained composure tried to mask some shock. Arrats wondered what had happened in the catacomb, but would not breach the private thoughts of a girl who'd just seen her father laid out for the long rest.

"A meal," the princess said after a moment. "First we should eat."

"Yes," Inlé agreed, a step behind her. "Food strengthens resolve and composure."

Fernweh laughed. "'Mendin' hearts feast f'r peace o' mind'? Boy, ye should use the old sayin's more. Ye've a way with words about ye, but like it's wrong, t' be sure."

The four walked back toward the castle, silently flanked by the princess' guard. Conversation was by no means prohibited, but none in the solemn party felt right walking down the Path of the Old House. Arrats wondered what the princess was thinking as she walked quietly among her ancestors' remains so soon after adding her father to them.