Waiting for the Night to End

by **Fia Eaven** on December 23rd, 2012, 7:02 pm

Fia waited for the echo of the rocks she dropped down a well. After a thick peace, Laszlo shifted. She barely heard him move. They made so little sound... Through strands of her hair, she watched him open his mouth and try to make answers jump out. Something slim but honest managed the distance. It didn't feel alright. It felt selfish and silly.
Her tangent was swept up in two arms and thrown between them with relish. The concept of home would be bittersweet for either. Hers swallowed by Laviku and Ivak, his untouchable in both memory and space. A name he couldn't say? Fia drew together and upward in curiosity, about to ask what he meant.
And then an osprey made an unexpected delivery.
"Sweet Priskil!"
Fia jerked away from the falling object, losing hold on her blanket. She looked a flapping owl scratching for a perch. Laszlo had stood immediately, more agile than anything that tall should have been. His sudden unnatural motion only compounded her fright. When the feathers settled, Fia's hand was spread over her heart and the package was wobbling in place.
"Cap'n keep me," she said with breath trilling from laughter, "'Tisn't fair to startle me now. Not when I'm all wound…" Fia trailed off, letting that sentiment die an early death. Her scar speckled hand cautiously reached for the parcel. When her fingers rested on it unscathed, she began to handle it more easily. A look or two was sent Laszlo's direction, as if he'd have answers. Both objects did drop from the sky. Perhaps there was some understanding to be shared.
As Fia carefully unwrapped the layers of moist paper, a sudden perfume plumed upward. Bracken tartness turned sweet, reaching for memory. Fia made a feminine hum as she breathed in the warm tones.
"It smells so pretty and lady-like."
The journal, mottled with all the colors of the sea and kelp, rolled into her lap. Fia turned it over in her hands, admiring more of its color and weight than purpose. It was the only thing she could appreciate without aid. She examined the beads a moment, feeling the glass between her fingertips before unwinding the string.
"Hope t'isn't spelled. What I've seen of human magic was frightening stuff."
Fia stared at the pages and saw nothing. Looping lines, sharp peaks and a letter or two she recognized. Without looking at Laszlo, she handed the tome to him. Another warm flush spread over her face, reminding her of inability.

by **Laszlo** on December 24th, 2012, 12:30 am

While waiting for an answer, unusual movement drew Laszlo's sharp eyes upward. When he still couldn't identify what was moving through the sky (it had a very odd shape), it stole more of his attention. A bird of a familiar size—carrying something?

Not for long. The book fell toward Fia, startling both of them. After a careful glance to ensure she was unhurt, Laszlo rose quickly to his feet, as it to defend her from further assault. Nothing else happened; the bird merely flew away, arcing over the sky until it dove out of sight behind a taller rooftop. Laszlo stood silently, watching the area as if the bird might circle around and reappear. Of all the unlikely things…

Dor? It seemed the only explanation. It was the only bird Laszlo had any acquaintance with. But it wouldn't be like her not to crudely insert herself into whatever he was doing. And perhaps the coloration wasn't quite right either. Dor had more white on her. She was sleeker in shape too, come to think of it.

"What in the world…" Laszlo could only turn to examine what the animal had brought them. This was too random an occurrence to be natural, forcing him to consider the idea of divine intervention. That seemed unlikelier. What gods would notice them? His last resort was to feel suspicious. Someone was behind this… but the wonder in Fia's eyes killed off the notion. To his complete surprise, she actually seemed delighted.

He knelt down to her, one clawed hand hanging off his knee while the other balanced him on the rooftop. Fia was more fascinated by the parcel than its delivery, which Laszlo found peculiar. Subscribing to her perspective, he forgot the bird for the moment and watched her unravel its casing.

She held a book of all things, oddly colorful and giving off a curiously pleasing scent. Most of the books from the Bharani Library smelled of must and age. Even the Cribellum was acrid with ink. This was beyond unusual.

"Strike me blind," Laszlo muttered, taking the book as it was offered. He shifted, sitting himself down properly again, but remained visibly tense. "I don't think so. It doesn't feel magic." He offered no explanation for the remark while his claws picked at the edges of pages and brushed them aside. Mages were often sensitive to the use of djed, but he wasn't sure whether that would apply to inanimate objects. If it were enchanted somehow, it just seemed like he would know. He hoped he would.

A quiet moment passed as he continued to turn pages, violet eyes skimming over the contents of the journal. "Letters," Laszlo remarked after a span. "Old ones, dated about ten years ago. They go back and forth to the same two people. Look, the handwriting alternates." Carefully, trying not damage the papers, Laszlo flipped back to the first page. "Someone must have collected them all and bound them into a book. For posterity, perhaps? Not sure what a bird was doing with it…"

Seeking answers, Laszlo began to more closely read the first letter, idly entangling the beaded twine around his nails. There was no mention of birds or magic, or even Lhavit. Only details of someone else's life, far from here. The handwriting was neat and well scripted, written by an educated hand. Far nicer than Laszlo's own.

He reached the end of the letter, filled with more questions than answers.

"No explanation at all. This wasn't meant for me to read. Perhaps I shouldn't have… " He rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "No one to stop us though. Unless that bird comes back, this book is ours." Laszlo finally glanced from the book at Fia, wearing a sudden, mischievous smirk. "Would you like to know to know what it says?"

A glance was spared to Laszlo's own writing materials, reminding him to cap his ink vial. He gathered up his own writing in one hand and neatened the papers in his lap. Appearing to be organizing his thoughts, his next question arrived from nowhere. "Are you cold?"

by **Fia Eaven** on December 26th, 2012, 11:44 am

Laszlo retreated from his unsettling perch as he took the book in his gray hands. His claws toyed with the pages as he spoke. When Fia's glance followed the journal, it was those vicious little crescents that drew her eye. They wound the string and clicked against the beads, reminding her of their density. Good as bone, those, able to split pink flesh with enough pressure.
Fia closed her eyes in the midst of Laszlo's explanation, as if listening for voices from another room. Having cast the memory out for a time, she returned to the conversation.
"Letters." She exhaled the word with a sweet weariness. Perhaps she thought of the last missive to have touched her hands. "Oft dear things. I've collected them afore. Just for sentiment." It didn't matter that she couldn't understand those gently bundled rolls of wadj. She could remember them being read, and the lace of ink reminded her they were not penned by an inconsequential phantom.
Lifting his interest from the book, Laszlo took a moment to remind Fia who inhabited the gaunt terror before her. He smirked and teased her as if still exalted by the sun.
The human laughed across her words, unable to pair his playfulness with her fear. "No, I've no keenness on a pack of letters dropped from the sky by a bird. Keep them quiet… You're dreadful or daft." Her laughter crested, "Course I want to hear what they say!"
Symenestra hands crept about the roof a bit, pulling Laszlo's materials into orderly piles. He'd either completed for the night or was moving onto a new task. His question dropped on her with the same suddenness as the book. Was she cold? Fia asked her body for an answer and it obliged.
"A wee bit, but you bundled me up proper."

by **Laszlo** on December 26th, 2012, 8:35 pm

She laughed, and Laszlo smiled. "I'm usually levels of both at all times." It was nice to see her relaxing at all despite the fear he kept seeing in her face. He noticed her eyes kept wandering to his nails, and he wondered whether he should have tried to be more subtle about them, or build her tolerance through exposure. Duvalyon, probably, would favor truth over comforting deceptions.

It had taken effort to become as comfortable with his evening form as he was in a city full of humans. Allowing himself to feel timid around Fia would be a step in the wrong direction.

Seeing that Fia was not terribly cold, nor showed any sign that she wanted to go back inside, Laszlo nodded and dismissed any notion of relocating. Hopefully there would be no more birds dropping by with forgotten books or other heavy items. Clearing his throat, Laszlo returned his eyes to the top of the page and began to read off the date.

"Tenth day of Summer, Year Five Hundred and One after the Valterrian.

"Dearest Gwyneth,

"By now you should be safely back in Denval with your mother. Please send her my best. I only wish there was something more I could do for her.

"I deeply regret being unable to return with you at a time like this. Believe me when I say that I seriously considered it, and if you had so much as asked me to, I would have abandoned these men whose livelihoods depend on this expedition. At your insistence, I will reluctantly remain loyal to my obligations, but you should know that I would be in Denval tomorrow if you so much as gave the word.

"Ah, I can imagine the doubt in your eyes now, but I am sincere. Test me at my word. I dare you."

Laszlo paused, rubbing his chin. Although he had read over the letter once already, the words sounded different coming out of his own mouth. That this letter was addressed to a city now in ruins, he couldn't help but wonder where this Gwyneth was now, whether she still lived or was killed in the disaster. Perhaps it was even someone Fia knew. He glanced at her for signs of recognition, despite the lack of surname.

Setting his own thoughts aside, Laszlo resumed reading.

"By the time you read this, our caravan will have already left the walls of Syliras, going north along the sea. We're very close to finding what we've been searching for, but without you here, the thought of ancient and forgotten relics seems so mundane. My interest was always purely academic, and now I find that waning to nothing. I only hope we finish this before winterfall, so that crossing Kalea will be less treacherous.

"I have a man waiting in Syliras who collects messages for me. Should you send letters from Denval, he will receive them and see that they are delivered to me. I pray your journey back was safe and that your mother's health improves. And I hope you can forgive me for not being there with you. I would give anything now to be in two places at once.

"Captain Reiner sends his regards and wishes good health for your family. I think, aside from me, he may be missing you the most. The cook we've hired in your stead leaves something to be desired. And he isn't nearly as pleasant to look at.

"And now I'm running out of ink. I still have so much to say, but perhaps you already know every word. I will see you soon, Gwyneth, I promise it. Know that you are never far from my thoughts.

"With love, Persei."

Growing a little tired of hearing his own voice by now, Laszlo took a breath and made an effort to rewet his tongue. His claws picked at the letter and turned the page, onto Gwyneth's reply. It was dated much later, which made him frown. He opted not to read it right away.

"Lovers," Laszlo said with a small laugh, as if he found the idea quaint. Truthfully, it was more poignant than charming. He glanced up at Fia. "Curious that these letters went to and from Denval. Do you know anyone called Gwyneth?"

by **Fia Eaven** on December 27th, 2012, 1:08 am

Fia recognized a lover's voice with only the greeting. It kindled her heart and brightened old words like breath on coals. There was a time she was 'dearest' too. Perhaps the knowledge was enough. That she had been capable of inspiring devotion seemed a small miracle. Love so ardent and wide between once unfamiliar creatures had always struck her as astonishing and beautiful. There was no tie of kin, kind or necessity. Strangers collided and found something enchanting in the dust they raised. They leaned toward one another until the lines and borders became trite. One day they would forget walls ever existed and claim that they had always stood thus, hand in hand.
Fia's mouth made pretty shapes as she listened, though Laszlo's smooth tone snatched some of the warmth from the words. She tenderly dressed them again before letting them settle in her head. His amused laughter drew her chin off her knees. Did the idea of lovers seem small and mortal to him? Of course it did, Fia reasoned, Laszlo had eternity in his lap. He could pick up a human lifetime and waste it on seeking a single page or sitting on a peak. Lovers were probably pretty baubles, lasting no longer than Fia's pleasure in a meal. It did not seem a mean indifference, more like a parent's understanding of a child's doll. Laszlo's following question was a new ledge she tripped into.
"Denval is—was right cozy," Fia explained as she pulled the blanket tighter. "I remember a Gwyneth. Younger than me aunts, older than me. Pretty as summer," she sighed thinking on how she had pined for the older girl's noble looks. "Tallish with yellow hair. I knew her from visits to the forge, but nothing dear. Didna know she had a love. Must've been a city sort. She left Denval afore me."
Fia's dreamy look was whisked away as she considered this tenuous familiarity. "Don't seem quite as right to pry now. If it was old stiff stuff, might seem less meddling. More like a story." Her eyes dipped to the edges of the book. "But—there's got to be some purpose round this. Like some power that be means for it. I just wonder what?" Her face wore perplexity with a child's openness. She was not afraid of showing where her knowledge stopped. "I 'spose there's only the telling of the tale to show us." Fia pulled her cupped hands to her mouth and breathed into her fingers. The tip of her nose felt chilled where it touched her hands. She was going to continue to ignore the mounting cold, for fear of breaking the chain of their hard won company.
"Can I hear the next?" she asked.

To My Heart and Star,

How does one begin with something as plain as paper? I can't say what I need in such neat lines and tiny parcels. I'd tell you about the season's changes and what fills hearth and home, but by the time this reaches you, all the colors will have changed. So imagine me as you like in a place of your choosing. Will it be the shore? The kitchen's table? The borders of the gray peaks? Wherever you see me, know I wish you were there too.

I appreciate your goodwill for my mother, but I will not be so silly as to demand you rush back to hold my hand. It's sorely tempting. I am Denvali though. We pride ourselves in our pragmatism and oaths to duty. Mother does not mend, but she does not suffer more. I feel raised above the floor on strings, unable to walk forward. Poor mother, she bears it like a priestess of Priskil.
So, you are forgiven for your inability to split yourself in two and honor both your duty and me. But if a charming Pycon comes to Denval and fancies me, you may have to rush back and persuade me from his detachable arms. Having a lover able to divide himself into pieces is an attractive trait.

Nothing has altered much in your absence. I think only I feel the change. Salinda asks about you and tried to pry into my letters. I have taken to keeping them in my pillowcase. I read them before bed and keep them near while I sleep. Do you think that silly? Be kind to me and my indulgences and don't laugh too much.

What have you seen, my star? I wonder where you are now. I sometimes visit cousin Finnickan just to look at his map of Mizahar and point at where I think you are. It helps to see the world made small on that piece of vellum. I could simply fold the edges and you and I are close again. I'm sure your expedition wouldn't mind the proximity. I don't tout my abilities much save when it comes to pot and pan. Syna knows what you all have been supping on lately. Tell Captain Renier I miss him too and to not let the new cook stew the meat too long. And if all else fails, just be generous with the salt, oil and rosemary.

My mother calls from the other room and I am ruining this quill from the force in my hand. Salinda scolds me when I write, saying the words will not read more powerfully no matter how hard I press. It only makes the ink bloom. I have tried to make the smears into flowers and shapes. I always did have a knack for making an ill thing fair. I'm recalling your attempts at a pie in particular. Your secret will ever be safe. I still claim I'm the one who made it. My mother marvels at it to this day, calling it the only plain thing I ever made. Considering the chaotic state I snatched it from, this is a compliment. If I didn't know better, I would think Ivak was imprisoned beneath the crust. I am writing for too long and the light wanes, but it is hard to let go of even these small recollections.

I send my love and my hopes. They are not fragile things, but carry them softly nonetheless.

Ever Yours, Gwyneth

"I like her," Fia pronounced of the letter writer, "Makes me wish I wasn't too young to know her. Awful how time and place can make us miss one another, t'isn't it?"

by **Laszlo** on December 27th, 2012, 9:12 am

Fia's meek voice pulled Laszlo's eyes from Gwyneth's writing. The corners of his mouth pulled by fractions as he thoughtfully nodded.

"Or bring them to meet." Every pairing seemed to happen—or not happen—by pure chance. Abalia's death could have been avoided if Laszlo had only sailed to Kalinor instead of crossed the mountains, but he'd hastily taken the first ship sailing out of Syliras. If he had just fallen in a different place, at a different time, nothing would have happened the way it did. "As new as I am in the world, I still find myself amazed by things that happened before I fell. These letters were written when I was still…" He gave a sad smile. "It's something to consider."

Curiously, Laszlo stole a quick glance at the journal's next page. There was some strange comfort in knowing that kind of love, the all-powerful force usually described in children's tales, could exist and persevere in this world. Something simple and honest. Nothing like what he had with Abalia.

Laszlo sighed. The letters were fascinating, but he'd had enough of them for moment. They stirred thoughts in him he had been trying to keep silent, now he struggled to quiet his mind again. Even he had forgotten that he was still grieving.

"I think it's about to rain again," he said quietly, glancing upward at the sky. The biting air did feel damp and heavy, but it had been that way since the beginning of Fall. The rain came and went as it pleased without ceremony. "And you're starting to look half frozen. Perhaps we should move these things inside. We can finish the cider in front of the fire. Read more of these letters, if you like."

The Ethaefal's papers and vial of ink disappeared somewhere in the confines of his cloak, while the bottle of cider was returned to the pail Fia had carried onto the roof. He made no move that suggested Fia should pick up anything, quietly insisting that he would carry all of it himself. Being a Symenestra had its benefits.

"Random birds and unexplained deliveries aside, I'm glad you joined me up here tonight." Holding the book in one hand and Fia's pail in the other, Laszlo rose to his feet. Surprisingly, reading the letters did not inspire the same warm appreciation it had in Fia. Now he seemed more distant and neutral than he had been all evening. "Next time I'll let you lay out the blanket proper. And perhaps the weather will be kinder. Do you need help getting down?"

by **Fia Eaven** on December 28th, 2012, 7:55 am

A fine veil of melancholy was pulled over the moment as Laszlo considered what he had lost, before and after the fall. The world was full of fragile things, not everything had the resiliency of a divinely blessed shape.
"I wonder what you were like," Fia mused, "I mean when you were there. If the horns and such are the earthy bit...Must've been something." She had fallen into the trap of her curiosity and said something foolish again. Trying to let the observation drift away unnoticed, she didn't prolong it with an amends. One was made on her face instead of her tongue.
Fia didn't move from her place as the things were gathered, and nodded when Laszlo asked if she would need help. Most of her suspected she could make it down on her own. It was the up that was the difficult direction. There was a value in accepting Laszlo's help though, and Fia chose to take it as a gesture more than necessity.
"I'm glad too," she said with a smile that approached pretty. "After you take the things down, could you be a dear and watch the ladder for me? I might toss the blanket to you."
As promised, the lobbed blanket preceded her to the ground. She only slid once in the descent, and laughed at the hitch more than startled. For a human, she wasn't too clumsy, but she was not at perfect ease with heights.
With a bit of maneuvering, the ladder and all else was brought inside. The hearth had gone low and Fia was quick to waken it. She had a talent when it came to stoking a fire.
"That'll do for now." She rubbed her hands together vigorously over the fire, and began to recall what the tips of her fingers felt like. Laszlo's manner had drawn in some of the coolness of the evening. Fia wondered if it was boredom with the miraculous gift that had shown so much promise. Intrigue pecked on her heart regarding the lover's story and why it was in their hands, but she had pulled at Laszlo's elbow enough for the evening. Children's tales and flowery letters were not the lofty stuff of fallen suns.
"I think I've had enough of reading for the night. Me head can't hold much. Especially after nigh quarter a bottle of cider. By Priskil, you best watch me or I'll fall off the roof next time. Can't hold me drink at all." Daring to look back at him for a breath, Fia fashioned an invitation before she thought wiser. "Bring me your fetching new scarf. I'll show you how me clever Uncle wore his. You likely know the way, but I was giddy when he showed me." She had begun to regret her decision by the third sentence, remembering the proximity it required, but she wasn't going to crinkle up the whole sentiment and start again.

by **Laszlo** on December 28th, 2012, 10:48 am

While Fia tended the fire, Laszlo offloaded some of his materials onto the sofa and set the bucket on the floor. The scented book of letters was the last item he parted with, lingering in his hands for moments longer. He pulled open the cover again, compelled by a quiet curiosity, and fanned through the letters with his fingertips. Like Fia, he was in no mood to read more, but to know this tome contained the heartfelt stories of someone else's life was intriguing.

The blacksmith must have felt this way every time she saw any book. It was almost a terrifying thought, to live behind the insurmountable wall of not knowing.

Thankfully, his thoughts were cut by Fia mentioning she couldn't hold her liquor. Laszlo chuckled softly as he set the book on a small table next to the sofa, alongside an unlit oil lamp. His claws fiddled with the chain clasp at his neck, then drew the long, sweeping cloak from his slender form. Mercifully, Laszlo was still wearing layers—he was prepared to spend hours alone on the rooftop after all. The thick brown coat he wore managed to diminish some of his spindly appearance.

Inspired by Fia's remark, he stooped and picked up the cider from the pail. He'd read enough letters for tonight, but he wasn't done drinking.

Although it wasn't the first time she had mentioned Priskil, Laszlo was comforted to be reminded that Fia had faith in the divine. Priskil was a decent choice. The Goddess of Hope may have been the only thing that kept the poor human afloat in these trying times. She had lost everything. Laszlo could relate, and at the same time he couldn't.

"Hm?" It took Laszlo a moment to process Fia's invitation. The polite neutrality in his features drifted into mild surprise. Her courage was powerful tonight. The cider, possibly. Laszlo broke into a small smile, fidgeting with his scarf as he acquiesced and approached her. "Sure. I'd be honored to learn your uncle's technique." It was the truth. Laszlo had no family of his own, and it was still a wonder that every mortal had a cache of blood relatives who had made her.

Standing closer to her, Laszlo sent his eyes to the floor and pocketed both hands. Fia was giving this her best, and he did not want to discourage her.

by **Fia Eaven** on December 28th, 2012, 12:08 pm

By the lit lady, she had forgotten how tall he was. Fia had expected Laszlo to unwind the scarf, but he was waiting in front of her blithely ignorant. She had asked for the scarf and he had obliged, granted it was still attached to him, but his male understanding already considered this a job well done. Pity she hadn't polished off more of the cider.
Nothing left to be done. His eyes were cast down, missing all the subtle clues she was trying to render.
"Tilt for me a bit, Laszlo." The name was a cord between the Ethaefal and the grim thing stretched before her. It consoled her, giving her enough courage to reach for the gray head. Gently, she unwrapped the scarf from around his neck. It was a slightly laborious process and conducted with held breath. She hoped he didn't notice her especially long exhale when the fabric was in her hands. "Watch for a mite, then I fix it on you."
Blessedly, Fia had something in her hands to net her eyes. She folded the fabric in half, then threw it about her neck in demonstration. The dangling ends were then drawn through the loop the folded side made. "There! Doubly warm and none too hard."
She smoothly pulled the scarf off her neck, and inched into the second portion promised. While Laszlo was mindful of her, she was courteous with him as she drew the scarf across his shoulders. "Fold in half," she murmured the lesson again as she performed it, "Wrap about, then pull the loose bits through the loop." She withdrew fluidly, admiring her handiwork while avoiding the head above it. "And now you look proper bundled. 'Tisn't knowledge of the gods, but 'tis plenty useful."