#fannah

It had been a long day and I had let my emotions get the better of me. But such outbursts were not my reason for stopping Fanar here in the hall. Wiping away the last of my tears, it seemed the proper time. "You remember my disappearance right?" I began. He nodded, yawning and resting against the doorframe. "Well, back then, I saw something that may be related to the things you told us about. I shared my story with Grandfather and he thought it best to keep it to myself. I SPECIFICALLY asked if I could at least tell you, but no. He didn't put much faith in it, but it is relevant now. So if I could pry you away from your "to-be" for a little longer, I would appreciate your ear. I've never been one to do as I'm told anyway." He chuckled to himself. "The grand tale long-teased."

"Do not call it grand, you'll do naught but stress me out. It is hard enough to remember it all without tripping over words and expectations." We ducked into the storeroom, finding it near-frozen and dark. Mother had already snuffed out all but the foyer candles. As we brushed past many a cluttered shelf, Fanar would occasionally lift a glowing palm, leaving a freshly lit wick in our wake. Aunt Cuo's "secret" lab, tucked neatly behind a row of curtains at the first crossroads, hummed softly as ever. I debating having our conversation there for the sake of privacy but feared that it would be too noisy. As we passed under the first arch, Fanar dug through a pocket, pulling out his dark oak pipe, loading it with but a pinch of Elves Ears and snapping a finger to set it alight.

Past the foodstores, I brushed aside a pile of straw and dusted off a fine spot for us to sit below the shelf. "Should that we want a snack" and that I did, immediately pouring myself a bit of honey and taking a few bits of bread for dipping. As I nibbled away, I began my tale. "This will be a bit long-winded and all over the place, but I will try my hardest, Fanar."

He sat quietly, savoring the taste of his vice as I began. "As you know, I was with the Temple in Riften at that time. I had been there a handful of years and had really just began to learn the way of things. Mother had urged me down that path for many a year and in those earliest of days, I had tackled books upon books on the subject. I came to the Temple well aware of what we should be teaching and of the services we would render. But once I arrived and was subjected to their "lessons", their DOGMA, something was very off. At first it confounded me, but such confusions quickly gave way to anger. The head-priestess and I did not see eye to eye, to put it lightly. I dare not speak her name for fear of riling myself further! She and I had traded words on several occasions, threats to have me sent back home were not uncommon. In truth, the people of that Temple do not really worship Mara. Nay, they worship a Cyrodyllic mockery of her. Their vision is more about the sobriety, "good feelings" brought about by marriage, and above all else, fattening their own pockets. Yes, our little Temple was all about coin. She would PUSH for donations and have interested parties pay for their amulets. HIGH BLASPHEMEY! As you know me, every time I caught her out of the room, I would advise visitors in the correct manner and give them amulets for free. The look on her face when she returned and found our entire supply of amulets gone and not a coin in their place is a prized and cherished thing, I'll have you know! Let me ask you, Fanar." I hissed, rising up on my knees and sending an empty honey-bowl soaring across the room. My heated gaze fell upon him no lighter than my words. "Do you think things would have been different should Father have never brought mead to his lips? I think not! He is no drunkard. We have had many a picnic drink ourselves, but would you not consider us good in Her eyes? Is Mother not the very image of Her? She is likewise no stranger to drink. My superior would have the Bee and Barb razed to the ground if not for fear of the wrath that would follow. MUCH DESERVED WRATH! That place is important to Mother and Father, they essentially met there. To think that one who devotes herself to a god of families would hate a place that brought about our very family is just so... so... offensive! If ANYONE knows Mara life, it is I, it is you, it is Mother and Father!"

Fanar brought a finger to his temple.  Every screeched word shaking him from his near-slumber as the next pulled him deeper into it. The meat of the story would have to come quicker than I had planned. "I'm sorry, Fanar. I suppose I got a little carried away." My words gave way to slightly more open eyes and the hint of a smile. "NO MATTER. One night after a particularly fiery fight with my superiors, I lay in bed quite frustrated and unable to fall asleep, when a loud fluttering sound outside of the window caught my attention. I opened it and peered out, only to be greeted by the flapping of blue wings. A butterfly, one unlike any I had ever seen. A butterfly, not a moth. It had no business out at night, the curious thing. You know the statue of Mara out in the yard? It was always surrounded by little blue butterflies year round if you'll recall. I have always associated them with Her in a way, so such a sight struck something deep within me. As quietly as I could, I donned my robe, strung satchel and dagger from my belt and slipped into some sandals. I can't believe I forgot to grab a hat or hood. It was storming terribly. Making my way outside, I trudged around the building to get a better look at it."

Fanar studied my every word, occasionally lifting a brow in acknowledgement.

"I tiptoed through the mud of the garden until I found her. She of course fled at the sight of me, but I had my look. There was an unreal dust about her, flaking off of her wings with every bound and clinging to the air for some seconds before being blown away. "Wait, little one!" I called to her with waggling finger for good measure, giving chase as best my sandals would allow in the mud. The butterfly lead me across town square, up and down many a damp stairwell,  dockwork and sidewalk-long before flapping high over the south wall. Devastated, I fell to my knees and watched the last of her dancing dust fade into the night. I wanted her. I darted off to the front gate and after lying to the guard that I would be but a moment, found the butterfly a few yards from the gate as though it were waiting for me. Closer and closer, but again, she fled and I did follow. I lost her at the edge of the yellowed woods, bound South and East at that point. Not about to give up, I slipped past many a trunk until I again caught sight of her breathtaking glow. It went on in this way for a few hours. Yes, hours. Through the mud of a fresh rain and the dead of night, in naught but a muddied robe atop sleeping garments, with mud-caked sandals between I and the soaked grass. I have never been lower, but it was for good cause.

We traveled past the border and into Morrowind. My first visit in adulthood was met not with trumpets but with rain and muck."

"It is always like that." Fanar chuckled, emptying the contents of his pipe into the hay pile and giving it a solid stomp to settle it.

"Hours became days, through terrible swamps the whole first day. The first night, I rested beneath a fallen log. "Stay here, please, just until morning", I would whisper in slowly more labored breaths until sleep at last saw fit to snuff out the night. Morning came and I found her dancing about above the log as though she understood and wished to continue our game. From the log, she carried me out of the swamp and to a small town. I sought lodgings and supplies, and with the last of my coin, adorned myself in some Silver armor. My ruined robe would not suffice for the road ahead. The butterfly would always wait just out of view as though she had nothing better to do. When I ran low on supplies, she would lead me to things I could sell or hidden stashes of coin, whether intentional or not. When I was thirsty, it seemed she would always bring me to water. It is odd looking back at it. But after a while, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, but things were not always so simple.

She lead me to danger at times. Vampires, thieves, monsters of every size. You would have been proud of me, Fanar. I tackled them as a true Nord. I would of course avoid bloodshed when possible, as you do. I have not forgotten the times I accompanied you as you worked. When possible I would negotiate or take the stealthy path in chase of Her. When my magicks would cooperate, I would use Invisibility, but as you well know, my Illusionist ways are, for the most part, a thing of the past. Let me just say that there was a great deal of crawling and sneaking. Once the deed was done, She would miraculously lead me to those that they had been plagued, to bounty papers, and into the reward for their end." With that, I held aloft a finger.

"Before you ask, yes, there were times that I turned down their gold as you would do. But this obsession of mine, I could not risk being stranded nor could I stand one more night stuck out in the rain! You will have to forgive me for not being quite so charitable as you, dear Brother." I cackled to myself, kicking my heels against the stone cellar floor. Satisfied with my teasing, I carried on. "By the dawn of the second week, coin was little issue. My Silver armor had grown worn and in it's place, I took a set of Telvanni Bonemold, handcrafted by the blacksmith himself. It would bring me luck, he claimed. It was around then that I came to terms with what exactly She was, my prey. An aspect or envoy of Mara. I thought perhaps at the end of this journey, she would lead me to my fated one. This was to be my test and I would not fail. One day, She saw fit to stick to the road instead of leading me into the countryside as she had been like to do thus far. Tiring of toting my helmet on my hip, I slipped it over my head. It was QUITE uncomfortable. I came then to find a highway, and there found a fancifully armored man standing firm beneath a high-stalked mushroom. I glanced at him, nodded and continued past. As I passed, he greeted me by gesture of hand. A fellow pilgrim, judging by his armor. An Ordinator in Mourning, I remember our studies, Fanar. I wonder if you would have recognized the mask should the shoe have been on the other foot. I like to think not! I was always the more studious of the two. I bid him "Good Morning" but he offered not a reply, instead beckoning for me to accompany him down the path. He took maybe three or four steps before stopping.

As though he had been looking for a suitable spot, he knelt and dusted off a portion of dirt from the path. In the clean slate, he pondered for a moment then wrote the word "Alam" in Daedric lettering. "Is that your name?" I asked, prompting him to stare on with that crying mask of his. A bit below his words, I dusted off a spot and wrote "Lissa", the name of a friend from the Temple. I believe the two of you have met, though I take it she caught not your fancy at the time." I giggled before continuing. "I would of course not share my real name with a stranger in such foreign lands, one would have to be crazy. He looked to the name that I had written, then to his own, shaking his head, he then swept a finger through both names, then drew a series of circles and lines. One above the other, with each below and offset from the former. He touched the top one, then himself, then traced a path down from it, dipping up to other points every so often, a winding path like the branches of a tree. His finger at last came to the lower circle and his gaze toward me. I shrugged, not quite grasping whatever it was that he intended to convey. I elected to simply call him "Alam". He did not object! And so off we went, new acquaintances in strange lands.

There was something off-putting about him. It was merely a suggestion at first but with every step it became more obvious. There was illusion at play. No doubt. Yet, he seemed harmless, troubled, pitiful in a way, but innocent. But above all else, familiar. I could have sworn it was you or Grandfather under that suit of armor if I knew no better! As we continued on, I divulged bits of my life and current pilgrimage, a lie for every truth, but as time went on there was far more truth than lie. That I was with the Temple in Riften and that I had been following what I thought to be an aspect of Mara. The word "Mara" struck him profoundly, bringing him down on one knee. I felt as though I was in like-minded company from then on. In the North, with Solstheim visible on the horizon, my prey lead us into a blackened wood, the mid-day sun vanishing betwixt the weave of it's many branches. Such a haunting site had hidden a long-forgotten town, or what remained of it. This ruined settlement, toppled of stone and rotted of wood. Centuries old, I gathered, as the forest had all but overtaken it. Night arrived with the last shafts of light leaving us in utter darkness. As we bumped into walls and felt our way forward, wood frames and supports soon disappeared entirely, the ruins that of stone and stone alone. Truly ancient ruins. Past one final spattering of stone, we burst into broad moonlight.

A clearing, and in it's midst, a Temple of some sort, half-embedded in an embankment. The butterfly paused, seemingly making certain that I saw it's intent before darting inside.

"Let's have a peek." I motioned toward the Temple. Some sort of brass rubble lay at the far end with a broken table and monument between it and us. Above, the high ceiling rose to meet bare sky. He stepped up to the rubble and looked down at the table, running his finger through the dust, no, ASH that coated it. He then spoke, in a way. "A great fall. Struck my head. Forgot. Here." He placed his hand on the table, patting the ash long-since disturbed.

His words caught me off guard, foreign yet familiar. I stumbled out of the chamber and against a table in the hall. I had thought him mute. When next he began, I realized that his words came not of voice but in my head, etching themselves onto the walls of my mind like quill to parchment. Every word immovable and absolute, stood in it's place, steadfast against all time. I recall them like the names of friends and memories of our youth long-passed yet long-yearned. It was as though I was there. With eyes of fire at my back, I saw Alam in Necrom, The City of the Dead. He walked past mausoleums of marble, his head down. "I once had a woman. Telvanni council." I saw man and woman and that which came between them. "A son. My fault. My duty. I could not." The vision faded, bringing attention to his armor briefly before smudging back into view. I saw him patrol the city, tend to Ancestral rites, pray, he was never able to see his son. "We would speak by letter. She found another. Cruel Tedalen. Powerful beyond words. I lost her. They took his name. He took my son. My fault. I walked. Shrine to shrine. Make things right." I saw his son in adulthood, a despicable man, encapsulating the worst of the Telvanni. To atone for his failure, Alam traveled the lands near and far visiting one shrine after another, seeking forgiveness which could not be found.

I saw years pass as though I sat amongst the swaying reeds watching countless sunsets. "Firewatch." With his words, I saw behemoth oaken doors gliding on axles, well-oiled and maintained. "A man in need." The scene uncoiled like a scroll, centering on a Bosmer crying for help as a Dunmer in Chitin held him at knife-point. They bickered about ship fare, his hired guard refused to follow him. Too dangerous, he would rather die than go there. Wherever there was. Their argument grew more heated by the moment until the dagger was brought flat against Bosmer throat. "Twice, thrice, and it was done." Alam summoned a bound longsword and struck the aggressor down. The Bosmer shook his hands, a long talk, a new guard found, together they departed for the docks and set about by ship in no small hurry. I saw them sail North, to the great isle in full splendor. "A mistake." His words hung low, as though he was near tears. I saw the party travel inland over many days, through the threshold and into the peaks.

Up spiraling cliffs and winding paths, they came to the summit but something was amiss. In but an instant, the mountain bellowed and quaked, throwing it's lifeblood high and far as smoke funneled out from the depths of Dagoth Ur itself. The vision quickly grew dark, cataclysmic. Rocks slid, fissures opened up, lakes of molten rock filled the lowlands below. The mountain itself did crumble and give way. He split from his companions, leaving them to their fates as he raced off, trying to save himself. Back in reality, Alam buckled on one knee, wailing in silent motion and beating his fist against the table. His companions fell one by one until none but he still stood. His voice screeched in my head. " A mistake!"

In all but a whisper, I heard him pray. To every Aedra and Daedra, to every ancestor he could bring to tongue. "Let me not be swallowed by this beast!" Second to last, he evoked Mara. "Let me make things right before the end!" He pleaded to no avail. With no other gods to turn to, his thoughts turned to the namesake of the forsaken pit. The mask of Dagoth Ur filled my mind as he uttered the name. No sooner did the vile name cross his lips than did his eyes spy an enormous ritual bell, shaken from it's post by the trembling. It beckoned like an inn amidst the most dreadful storm even to I, an onlooker worlds away. He crawled inside the bell, fingers bleeding as they frantically dug for any hold. Then it happened. A roaring explosion filled my head, the likes of which drove me to clutch at my ears, though it did nothing to dampen the sound. His eardrums ruptured, eyes pounding in their sockets, as the world itself was sundered unto and the mountain fell from beneath his feet. The loudest sound imaginable, an explosion to shake the fabric of all things.

The bell fell and was then hurled skyward, and he with it. As it soared, it gonged. Chimed. Bellowed. Each note louder than the explosion. His head shook and struck the sides of the bell, denting it like the blows of a hammer. He ripped at his boiling armor, shedding it and sending pieces raining down to the world below. Down to nothing but his reddened skin and ragged trousers, all grew black. From this blackness, he and I saw a door like the door of Firewatch. On axles greased and well-maintained, it swiveled and swung. Behind it we saw this man, long of face, malnourished and bearded in auburn. From his pocket he took and key and brought it to the bridge of his nose. At the tip of the key, his skin folded into a keyhole and upon inserting and turning the key, his face fell away like Red Mountain, leaving only a churning abyss in it's place. My view shifted, we saw this gaped pit from side-on. A flat ring of skin and inside it, nothing. From whence the nothing came a tower of brass, a mechanical arm or trunk. It flailed and quivered, exhaled steam from it's joints, and grew ever longer. It extended forever, shuddering with life and meaning despite it's unnatural appearance. This trunk of brass was all the mattered in his world. When we acknowledged this fact, the flesh around the hole grew black and from the void came came tendrils of discolored flesh, fastening themselves onto the face of the face. From the pit came a coating of skin, a liquid rising from the opening, and extending into the horizon. It consumed the brass and all that remained was the flesh. A momentous crash, the bell striking stone, his limp body shattered an ancient table. The bell had carried him long and far from the peak and unto this Temple by the mainland shore.

"I did terrible things." I welcomed the return of his words, though too soon as more nightmarish sights were soon to follow. I saw Alam... No, The Illusionist and Cultist, ASSUT!" Fanar's eyes jolted open at the name." Before his wounds had even healed, his work began. Disappearances abound, strange dreams, things lurking in the dark. His hands did tinker and the result, monsters of brass, mockeries of the Sixth House. Another great passage of time, and then... Grandfather. I saw them come together in battle. Many, many, many times. I saw Grandfather with hammer in hand, he struck Assut in the head, twice, thrice. He could have killed him but he let him go, turning to save his companions instead. An illusion in the sky, he watched from afoot as Grandfather had his fall.

I saw Assut, pitiful and crazed in the days following, memories would leap from the void as fish on an open sea, bounding off of his head, only to quickly fall back into the unknown. Leaving naught but a ripple, a reminder of their mirrored fall. I saw the fragile bearded man, half clothed and caked in paints, traveling far south and into the marshes. "I began again. It was all I knew." He fled into contested land, spreading his delusion and lunacy. He made things worse, taking so many, he came to call no fewer than one hundred his children. More than half were Dunmer, though stragglers of other races blindly followed his banner. He lied to them, there would be no place for them if he succeeded. Three portions were modified in the likeness of the flesh, with the others transformed into acolytes. An entourage of monstrosities shuffled past, with one figure in the back remaining still.

Among his most regarded, there was one more well-regarded than the rest. An even more pitiful sort. Marked from scalp to sole, his flesh twisted and charred, blistered and blemished, his left arm amputated at the elbow. He, like Assut had a certain familiarity about him, though I could not place him. "His mind like brass. Cold. Dense. He knows none but revenge." A Quarra, he had obviously walked a treacherous road and faced many hardships. I bore witnesses to several conversations between them. By his own admission, he had inflicted himself with Vampyrism in an attempt to cure his ailments. It of course failed to better his condition by any means, adding an unending thirst to his unending itch. "Make me whole" he would cry, prostrating himself at Assut's feet. He would take him by the chin and lift him high. Casting his horrific visage before him and whispering into his head. He gave him an arm of brass, a gift from his Lord to tide him over until the coming of His flesh. "Betrayed me. He took my children." With that arm was Assut nearly strangled to death. The Quarra left Assut for dead, combing through his mind for all of his secrets. Satisfied with what he had found, he left with all his secrets and monsters in tow. Assut, having lost his world for the third time, returned to this temple, casting an illusion of his former self at the crossroads to await... me?

With that, the vision ended. As I tried to come to terms with what I had been shown, Assut turned to face me, assuming a stance as though inviting me into an embrace. Clutching the dagger beneath my sash, I hesitated for a moment then stepped forward, wrapping my arms around his waist. In his arms, as though in the arms of a family member, his drawing in the dirt sprang to mind. Our family tree. His voice bellowed one last time. "Even after my crimes, She did not forsake me." With that, he and his magicks vanished in but an instant. As the last of his figure dissipated into vapor, I plucked the helmet from my head, gulping in some much needed fresh air. As my eyes adjusted to the world outside of their verdant glass goggles, the glint of powdered wings forced them to focus. Mind still racing, I drew close, and for once, the butterfly did not flee. My hand came forward to stroke Her powdered wing.

I try not to let her see it. My eyes turn skywards or to the toe of my boots, my mind like this smoke, curled and twisted. The pipe and thoughts of last night do well to ease it, but it is a fleeting thing. I like to think it normal to be this nervous, that I am not losing my mind. The fingers fiddle with belt loops or jingle keys maddeningly, tightening about the axe shaft until the leather wears thin. It is like that. A certain mood just hangs overhead and will not part, the thought of monsters in the dark, the Berne and those yet to show themselves, and the ever-present chime of coming temple-bells. I hear it in the ambience, be it in the blacksmith's hammer or call of crows at dusk. Beneath the chime and quick to overtake it, a bellowing thunder and the steady winding of clocks, the turn of gears and the roaring engines of the deep. That thing on the peak reminded me of those times long passed. The sounds it made and the way it moved in the end. Those days are like a fever dream, but what we fought was no dream. Or maybe it was. Sometimes it feels as though I am still down there doing the work. Perhaps this life is the dream. No.

Yesterday, our carriage ride came to an end and we set about town. I booked a room at the Bannered Mare to rest and collect our thoughts. I thought it best to start fresh on the morrow, affording us some time to find Gili more fitting attire above all else. If Mother saw her like that, "A blouse cut that low will be the death of us both" I jested, taking her hand into mine. Surely she would find something more conservative in that luggage of hers, but that would have to wait, the night was ours. With sunrise, I left her to her devices, thinking to take in some morning air and find a quiet place for a smoke. So it was for an hour, perhaps a bit more, just I and my thoughts, my thoughts and I. What a terrible combination. Thankfully Gili's visage soon parted the smoke to my left. "Apologies for the wait." She said, stepping out into the sunlight. Mortified and jaw agape, my pipe clattered to the cobbled ground.

"I thought you were going to cover up?"

Before me stood Gili, clad in tight black trousers and a loose black sweater, cut to leave little to the imagination. "Be glad that I opted not to just go in the nude. I had debated as much, I'll have you know! If she'll not have me based on my clothes, then perhaps it is not to be? No. It will be fine." She giggled to herself, locking her golden gaze with mine. "And if not, we'll go together, you said as much yourself."

And so we began the dreaded march down the road toward the Snakestone homeplace in silence. Gili was in high spirits, often turning to give reassuring glances and enthused smiles. The fifteen minute walk felt like hours, the final eight steps, like years.

"Just be yourself, I suppose" With those words, we disappeared beneath the awning. I extended an unsteady hand, inching closer and closer to the door handle. Taking it into my grasp, I turned to Gili to find her with a finger held high and about to speak. "It will be fine." I took her hand, and pushed forward. The door squealed on hinges long since oiled, bringing to mind the door to the Berne's hiding place, but the aroma of homecooked food lashed at my nostrils most pleasurably. Inside stood two little Dunmer, one far more little than the other, grinning ear to ear. My Mother in a red corseted dress, and hair tied in the front as is the fashion since Cuo departed and Fannah, to her right and clasped about her waist, wore one of her light travel skirts.

As we stepped through the threshold, Mother looked up at me, eyes welling with joy. Freeing herself from Fannah, she rose to her tiptoes and into a loving embrace, whispering "Welcome home." into the leather of my vest. Holding me as though she had no intent to let go, Mother and Sister vied for control of my waist until Fannah at least seized control. She likewise looked upon me like she had that day I crawled out from the deep. It had been a good long while. Satisfied, they broke off and stepped back, taking notice of the figure behind me. "It is so good to see you again, and to meet you, Fannah." A voice called out from my back. Gili brushed past and curtsied in such a way as to emphasize her outfit or lack thereof. Mother's gaze shifted from Gili's golden eyes, down to her boots then back up to her distracting cleavage. Tiny auburn brows furled, teeth gnashed, and a unanimous inaudible hiss erupted from the pair. Gili proceeded to embrace them, one after the other, leaving them stunned.

"Pleased to meet you, Gili." Mother choked out with more than a degree of malice. She continued, "Again, you say?"

"Briefly, you attended one of my Father's balls when I was but a young girl. My father is one Tunenil Elakiit, lord of a keep and mines some ways to the East of here. He tended to invite mercenaries and the like to his events, it was his favored manner of making connections in the world. My Mother was court wizard at the time and since her unfortunate passing, I have followed in her shoes much like Fanar has followed in those of his Father. We have been through much, he and I. You've raised a fearless man." Her words prompted a scoff from Fannah. Gili glanced over at me before continuing. "Our meeting was the result of one such invitation, though I had heard tale of a many of his exploits long before ever laying eyes upon him."

Mother toyed with the brass bands below her chin, turning each one in turn, seemingly combing through the years before at last placing her finger on it. "A masquerade ball, I can see it now. Snake and I in matched-silk, flecked with gold. A bronze face for he and a beaked porcelain for I. Your Mother in a fine yellow, veiled and masked, gave us a tour of the grounds before the ball began proper. By it's end, all masks were off and we caught a rather brief glance at the three of you. Quite the resemblance, as I recall."

"You are a court wizard too then? A mage?" probed Fannah, bring her hands together.

Gili looked to me, seemingly unsure where this was heading. She contemplated a moment then lifted a drooped sleeve. "I suppose, but-", Fannah's palms ignited with a blinding flash. "So you ARE a witch! You've bewitched my brother!" She screamed, bolting forward as though she were to vaporize her with light. Just in time, I extended an arm to hold her back. "There will be none of that."

Taking her by the arm, I tugged her into the hall while Mother and Gili resumed. My first question, "Why are you here? We were heading your way on the next leg of the journey. I promised, remember?." She turned her back to me, pouting. "Did you burn my letters before reading them again?" She twirled, smacking me across the face firmly. "“Fanar wake up! I'll not have that siren whisk you away again." Oh how I've missed her. Just in time to see the blow, Father stepped out from the bathroom in a matching vest. "Caught, red-handed." I chuckled. Father's expression spoke volumes, certainly bringing back like-wise warm memories of our antics. "Here for a while, I hope." He remarked, peeking into the family room then joining us. Towering over Fannah and but an inch taller than I, he put his arms across both of our shoulders and looked to Mother and Gili. He smiled and gave me a look of total approval. "Good work, boy." He whispered, patting me on the back as he broke off and continued toward the doorway.

"Mister Snakestone himself, I presume. A pleasure to see you again as well." Gili said mid-embrace. Mother glared on, annoyed but far less so than earlier. They spoke for a few moments as Fannah and I caught up. She had long since planned this meeting and had prepared a variety of wards along the road to know of our coming. Fiolette came up in the conversation a few times before I finally interrupted to ask where she was. Mother had just finished feeding her in time to meet us at the door, our presence long announced, and had left her in the family room, sleeping soundly far and away from any potential "conflict". With much pleading, Mother agreed to allow the entire party to see her under the expectation of quiet. Seated atop the leather sofa in a lined basket not unlike what Fannah and I used as infants, lay little Fiolette. She is quite new to the world, born sometime after my first meeting Gili. I had visited a few times since her birth, but as fate is swift to call me away, we have had little interaction. Perhaps once things are settled, really settled, she'll have her big brother around more often. Gili knelt before her, much to Fannah's displeasure, brushing the back of her hand across her cheek. My wife-to-be spoke on words barely audible to those not long of ear, "May you grow as strong as Fanar, and taller than Fannah." Above her, Fannah grumbled while the rest of us smiled contently.

As the night carried on, Mother brought the sleeping Fiolette upstairs and watched over her while finishing up our meal. Summoned by bells, the rest of us shuffled upstairs and lined about a table long with many chairs. Mother and Father sat at one side, Gili and I at the other. Fannah sat with Fiolette to the outward side, where she was free to glare at Gili throughout the ordeal. The conversation bounded from one topic to another, firstly a deeper dive into Gili's past. From there, to our meeting, the search for her Mother's statue, the disappointing conclusion and continued outings to meet with me. A brief touch on Father and Mother's lives, then of my travels above and below. Next on to Fannah's profession, though she dodged the question of how it came to be as she always does. Moods went high and low depending on the story. During one such high point, I took the opportunity to make known our intent to marry, as if there were any doubt at this point, and that Fannah's temple would be our next stop after a quick visit with the Grandparents. The conversation at last came to things of late and our reason for visiting Grandfather, the thing on the peak, the Berne, the fears that this could all relate to Assut. Once she had finished her meal, Fannah pushed herself off from the table and stormed off with Fiolette. Thinking she had finally given up, I kicked back, somewhat relieved. Father and I met eye to eye, already knowing what the other was thinking. With the baby out of the room, it was a fine a time as any to light up some Elves Ears.

The family moved from room to room for a while. Gili and Mother mended well as the night carried on, there was talk of repairing her turban in the morning. I even saw she and Fannah speak without the glow of magic on several occasions toward the end. I expected worse, truth be told. The festivities continued until just before midnight, we then went our separate ways. I saw Gili to our room-to-be downstairs, Theo's old room. As Gili settled into bed, I returned to the kitchen for but a moment to see if Mother needed help with the dishes. I found her humming and rocking little Fiolette back to sleep. Best not to disturb them, I made my way back downstairs. In the long hall, I found Fannah motioning for me in front of the storeroom door. With a sigh I walked over to see what she had up her sleeve.

"Fanar, I'm sorry about tonight. I just miss how things used to be when we were little, it's more about that than about her. I'm sure she's fine, I just don't want to lose you." All but in tears, she collapsed against my chest and held tight. "You are still little, Fannah." She smiled and nestled her head closer. "You and I are leaves shaken by the same winds. I too know well the longing for days since past, I obsess over it whether I talk about it or not. But times change and all must move on, somehow." Unsure what else to say, I held her and drew long of mind, swimming through the waters of my life in search of that which I needed.