as solstice nears, Nesta visits their dilapidated cottage—the one Elain looked at with hope, as Sarah reminded us in the live—and takes Elain’s carved rose from the mantel.
She didn’t mean to, but she looked toward the dark fireplace. Toward the mantel.
She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”
She clenched the wooden rose in her pocket. “I think I just needed to see this place. One last time. To know we got out. That there’s nothing left here except dust and bad memories.”
Nesta then leaves with the rose, a symbol of love and beauty, and sets it on another mantel in the House of Wind, where she stares at it as she faces bad memories.
Instantly, the House had a tiny blaze going in the fireplace. A log popped, and Nesta straightened, stomach twisting.
It was a fire. Not her father’s neck. Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer.
Another log cracked, and Nesta flinched. But she remained sitting there. Staring at that carved rose.
mantels are above the hearth—the heart of the home. and mantel is a variation of mantle, with several other meanings: n., cloak or other covering, a bird’s back, a part of the earth’s interior, passing a role or responsibility onto another, etc. it can also be used as a verb, covering or veiling something, like when a bird of prey mantles its prey from view as it feeds. interesting, then, that Elain’s rose—veiled in shadows—is moved from mantle to mantle [and hearth to hearth, like a lovely little witch].
when spring blooms and light shines bright in her heart, Nesta takes that dark rose and places it on Papa Archeron’s gravestone, as if passing the mantle from one sister to the next [and we are mind twins, so of course @offtorivendell has also thought of this]. after hearing the whisper of wings, she joins her sisters, one of whom is calmly holding the future in her arms.
Her father had died for her, with love in his heart, and Nesta held love in her own heart as she pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he’d tried to bring into the world.
i don’t know about you, but i hope this means we will finally see behind the veil of our quiet dreamer soon. since her story is inspired by Blodeuwedd, it might just involve a winged predator and witch [which is really perfect because owls have long been linked to witches], one who hears the song of the wind and travels like a shadow.