#sethtaren

Darevas falls asleep in his chair under the moon. Felasel suggests letting him sleep outside among nature all night, so he can be close to it. If the suggestion had come from a mortal boy, one would think he wanted to play a cruel joke on his brother. But Felasel is a witch so his suggestion is sincere and kind - he wants his brother to experience the night as he does.

When a cloud begins to cover the moon, Ileth and Felasel both yawn and rub their eyes. Even a minor block in the moon’s light has a strong effect in their energy. Seeing it is time to retire, Selene and Serahlin take the boys inside to sleep. The boys insist in piling into the same room, or rather into the enormous pillow and blanket fort they made in Ileth’s room earlier. Serahlin chuckles as she kisses Ileth’s head.

“Good night, darling.”

Selene stays the night in a guest room.

Morning dawns rudely with a knock on the door.

It is all Serahlin can do to pull on a robe and head downstairs before the boys rouse from all the knocking. She cracks the door open to see two men in long trench coats and scowls.

“It’s awfully early for such calls, gentlemen,” Serahlin says, voice still husky from sleep.

“Are you Serahlin Elethari? I am Detective Stalton and this is Detective Crawford, can we come in? We have a few questions.”

Serahlin manages to maintain her smile even while panic begins to coil in her. Detectives, likely about Darris and perhaps even Haleir. She weighs her options. It is early, the children and Selene are asleep upstairs, she could reasonably send them away but that would only mean they would come back later. Or they may even bring her out of the house for questioning. Her power is here, and it would not be wise to separate from it.

“Detectives, well come on in, let me show you to the breakfast nook. I have a delightful batch of scones and my own brand of tea.” She opens the door wider and gestures them in. They take off their hats, but not their coats as they follow her into the kitchen.

Feigning warmth, she invites them to sit while she starts working on the tea. She makes sure to putter almost aimlessly so as to disguise the ingredients she is grabbing.

“Please let us keep our voices low, little children are sleeping.”

“Of course. This shouldn’t take long,” Detective Stalton says as Crawford takes out a notepad and pen.

“We got a call from one of your husband’s coworkers. Seems that he hasn’t shown up to work in over a month. In fact, your husband hasn’t been seen at all for a month,” Stalton continues. Serahlin’s frown wanes and she allows her expression to turn haunted and sad, pitiable even.

Serahlin pours tea into two cups while dropping into some suggestion elixir. Selene suspected that someone may show up asking questions, so she had stocked both her and Serahlin’s cupboards with a few potions to help with these situations. Serahlin stirs in some sugar to disguise the taste and brings the tea to the table.

“Officers, this is quite a painful subject, I…”

“We understand, Miss, but we need to investigate,” Crawford says. Stalton takes a sip of the tea.

Serahlin sighs and sinks dejectedly into the seat across from them, “Darris passed away. He had a heart attack after dinner about a month ago and he died.” The best lies are based in truth, and the elixir of suggestion works best when there is truth to work with. Serahlin can play the grieving widow if need be.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I had him buried as is tradition with my clan.” In the backyard, enchanted to become a tree.

Stalton looks like he isn’t believing it, even with the elixir, while Crawford seems happy to leave now. He closes the notepad and looks rather pleased with himself.

“He died, and you didn’t notify anyone? You didn’t take him to a hospital?”

“A hospital?” She asks softly, “when I came back in from the kitchen, he was just...there on the floor, dead. There was no heartbeat, no pulse, no breath. When that happens to someone, they are gone. There was nothing to be done.” She starts working up some tears for effect.

“No one knew -

“I informed our clan, his family, the bank - do I need to put it in the paper? For all to see?” She starts crying harder. “Some pain is private, Detective.”

Stalton looks conflicted and he sips more of the tea, good. “Miss, I do not mean to -

“Then what do you mean?” She asks, putting just the right amount of accusation to it.

Stalton sighs, “We are following up on a missing person. Do you have any concrete proof that he has passed?”

She briefly wonders if he asks the humans the same questions. No matter, “I have the death certificate. I will just get it for you.” She rises and goes into the office. In addition to the death certificate, she pulls out a small candle. Selene is good with potions, Serahlin is good with candles. The candle she procures is a candle of persuasion. She lights it and carries it in with her.

“Don’t mind me, I made fish two nights ago and I am still smelling it,” she says as she slips back into the kitchen. She plays at batting at the smoke when she is actually wafting it towards the men.

Listen to my words,

They speak truth,

It is all you heard.

She chants the spell three times in her head before setting the candle down and handing over the certificate.

“It’s notarized and everything.”

Stalton inspects the certificate, frowning, “This looks legitimate.”

“C’mon, Wylles, let the poor lady be. Her husband’s dead. You know how much my ma cried when my da died?” Crawford kindly beseeches, placing a hand on Stalton’s arm. Out of everything, that seems to affect Stalton the most.

“You are a kind soul, Monsieur Crawford,” Serahlin coos.

“Very well. Darris Elethari is deceased, we will notify his place of business. I suppose the bank is already taken care of… I hope you find peace, Miss Elethari.” Stalton rises from his seat and Serahlin escorts him back through the house to the front door.

“Thank you for understanding, Detective Stalton,” she says, holding the door open, “and please, call me Serahlin. Madame Serahlin.” She closes the door before he can say anything else. Her facade falls into a frown.

Stalton was entirely too resistant towards the elixir and the candle. Crawford was an ideal reaction to the magic, but Stalton…. Serahlin heads back into the kitchen and mixes up a powder between a few herbs. She pricks her finger and murmurs a few words over the mortar and pestle before grinding once more. Once finished, she sprinkles the dust over Stalton’s tea cup.

Where he drank turns pitch black.

She hisses and shrinks from the cup. Templar. Or at least, the descendant of one. He would of course be naturally resistant to her magic and suspicious of her. Dammit. This may be more complicated than she anticipated.

But it is no matter. It is handled for now. She has no regret in disposing of Darris and she is not going to start just because an unwitting Templar descendant came knocking on her door. She should warn Selene, however. Gods only know what sort of threat Stalton could pose to the boys.

**

“Who wants blueberries in their pancakes?” Serahlin asks and all three boys raise their hands high.

“I do! I do! I do!”

She chuckles and tosses the berries into the batter. When she went upstairs to speak to Selene about the potential trouble, she found the boys awake and already up to some mischief. She brought them downstairs instead, letting Selene sleep in for what may be the first time in a very long while.

Serahlin keeps the boys entertained for the morning with a mini-magic lesson. Since they’re all approaching the age of six, it is time they began to learn some rules about the power they will be receiving. They congregate in the sitting room with Serahlin’s book in the center of their circle.

“Magic, dear little ones, is all around us,” Serahlin begins, waving her hand so that all the candles light simultaneously.

“We know, Memae, we’re witches,” Ileth says and Serahlin nods.

“Yes, you are. And it is time to start understanding what that means, what is entails. You will be coming into your powers soon, and you need to be prepared.” Serahlin opens her book to the first page. The first section of each book is dedicated to the essential elements of witchcraft. Mortals would call them rules, but it’s not quite so simple. The elements are ever present, it’s not like they can broken like rules can be broken.

What most mortals fail to comprehend is that witchcraft is not inherently anything - the individual witch is what makes the craft beneficial or malevolent. And sometimes witches are neutral.

“The first element of witchcraft is freedom - freedom of choice, freedom to practice the type of magic that calls to you, freedom to be yourself, freedom from the black and white concepts of good and evil.” She tosses some pre-mixed Story Dust over the book to play out the story for freedom.

“Once, there was a witch. She was adopted into a mortal family that did not understand  witchcraft. On her sixth birthday, her familiar arrived - a beautiful hare, the goddess Andruil’s blessed animal. With her familiar, came her powers, and with her powers came the ability to create. Potions, spells, and incredible spectres of beasts that did not even exist! For years, the witch hid in secret, knowing that should she be discovered, she would surely be killed. Because she was a wise witch and saw the blessing her familiar was, she dedicated all of her beastly spectres to her patron goddess Andruil. But eventually, she was discovered.

“On her eighteenth birthday, only twelve years after receiving her familiar, she was tied to a stake to be burned alive. Furious that her blessed witch was to be burned at the stake, Andruil bade all the beasts the witch had made to attack the mortals. The spectres tore through the mortals as the witch’s familiar freed the witch. Andruil had granted her freedom, and so the witch, Ghilan’nain dedicated herself to freedom - and to Andruil herself, but as an equal partner, and not a servant.” The boys look up at her with wide eyes as she tells the story with the little figures of spoke over the book. Ghilan’nain, the youngest of the gods, raised to be a goddess for her dedication and creativity and love for Andruil. It’s a good story, though Serahlin knows it is greatly simplified for the sake of teaching the children a small lesson.

Only witch scholars of the old lore know the true stories of Ghilan’nain and Andruil. Knowing what she knows of Andruil’s preferred practices and Ghilan’nain’s desires, she would rather not know the story herself, or for the impressionable young boys to know either.

“I didn’t know Ghilan’nain was a witch first!” Ileth says at last.

Serahlin nods, “She was, and she chose to become a goddess to be with her love, Andruil. With freedom comes choice. Witches must be free to choose their paths and destinies.” She could tell them that is why she killed Darris and helped kill Haleir, but it is not yet time for that. The boys will know when they’re older and they understand better.

She flips to a different page and pulls the book to her to hide what it says from the boys.

“Now, to complete the lesson, each one of you will complete a path of questions. Who would like to go first?”

Darevas shoots his hand up first, “I would!” Felasel and Ileth both seem content to let Darevas go first, so Serahlin turns to him.

“Place your hand on the book,” he does as he is told and the first question appears on the page. “Ah. Darevas Lavellan, you are walking along a path in the woods. Describe the woods you see in your head.”

Darevas hums for a second, “They’re nice woods! With big trees and lots of leaf piles to jump into!” Around them the room appears to shift. The smoke from the candles coalesce into presenting the woods that Darevas describes. He gapes at them as Serahlin continues.

“Very good,” Serahlin replies as the words on the page shift, “as you walk, you come across a small lake. A great stag, a boy deer with large antlers, is drinking from the lake. He lifts his head when he hears your footsteps. He opens his mouth and tells you something. What does he say?”

“He says...he says, um, he says ‘Jump in! The water’s great!’ so I run and jump into the lake!” The smoke around them shifts to a sudden blue. Felasel and Ileth shift with unease but Darevas laughs, his hair beginning to rise as if he is actually in the water. Serahlin swallows as the words on the page shift.

“Very good, Darevas. You chose a path of trustworthiness and optimism. This means you have a very pure heart.” The boy beams with happiness and continues to laugh as he moves his head, hair still acting as though he is under water. Well, at least they know which element he will favor when he comes into his own.

“Can I go next, Memae?” Ileth asks and she nods.

“Alright, touch the book, darling.” Ileth reaches forward and presses his hand to the book. The smoke clears and Darevas’s hair falls much to his disappointment. The words swirl on the page until it comes to a scenario for Ileth.

“You are walking through a forest. What time is it?” She begins.

“Um, midnight! And there’s a full moon.” The smoke around them turns dark except for the coil ahead, which turns a bright white to simulate the moonlight.

“Nicely done, Ileth. It is midnight with a full moon. You hear several creatures in the woods - what creatures do you hear?”

“Umm, I hear wolves, but nice wolves! They’re singing to the moon. And owls because owls are nocturnal too. And bats too because they eat at night too.” Creatures leap and bound from the smoke around them - bats, owls, and wolves.

“How do you feel?” Serahlin asks and Ileth smiles.

“A little scared, but that’s okay, the moon will protect me.” The smoke turns bright and Ileth’s hair glows for a moment. He giggles at the sensation and the words on the book shift.

“Well done, Ileth. You chose a path of passion and reason. This means you have a rare and beautiful heart of dual nature - just like your eyes.” She smiles at her truly wonderful and unique son. His eyes shines and his hair glows and she doesn’t see a single ounce of his father in him. It heartens her greatly, even as Felasel scoots forward.

“Excuse me? Is it my turn now?” He asks and she nods.

“Yes, of course, Felasel. Touch the book.” He does so and the smoke clears. Ileth’s hair ceases to glow and the words begin to appear across the page.

“You are in a library, Felasel. Who else is in the library?”

“No one else,” Felasel says. The smoke churns so that it coils more densely around Felasel specifically, obscuring his view of everyone else, including Serahlin.

“You walk along an aisle and pull out a book. What is the book about?”

“Magic! Secret spells!” Felasel says excitedly, eyes darting through the smoke.

Serahlin almost frowns. Most five year olds, mortal and witch alike, typically choose fantastic stories rather than books about spells. But perhaps he is simply excited to learn about magic.

“You are reading the book when you hear a noise. Someone has entered the library. Who is it?”

“It’s Mama.” Serahlin keeps a sigh of relief to herself, something about this line of questioning has her on edge, but his answer is reassuring.

“What do you do with the book?” She asks the final question and Felasel smiles.

“I check it out with Mama! I bring it home and read it.”

The smoke surrounds Felasel, imitating a book in his hands.

“Lovely, Felasel. You chose a path of quiet and knowledge. You have a studious spirit, a curious heart.” She closes the book and waves for the smoke to dissipate. Instead, the smoke turns black and swirls purposefully around Felasel.

Serahlin gasps in horror and starts chanting her dissolution spell to clear the air. She pushes the other boys away and attempts to bat the smoke away, reaching for Felasel.

“MAMA!” Darevas shouts as Serahlin manages to get ahold of Felasel.

“FOUL SPIRITS BE, FROM THIS PLACE FLEE!” Serahlin cries.

Pop!

The smoke expands then suddenly retracts; Felasel makes a startle cry even as the smoke disappears in a rush. In its place, a book rests in Felasel’s hands.

Heart thundering against her rib cage, Serahlin reaches over to the book. Felase’s eyes are wide but he is reluctant to hand it over.

Just then, Selene bounds down the stairs, eyes wild and hair loose.

“What happened?”

“Auntie Serahlin was telling us stories and the smoke!” Darevas says, running to her. She picks him up quickly, holding him to her, even as Felasel stares transfixed by the book.

“I was walking them through the first element of witchcraft, of freedom. I went through the choice exercise. After Felasel completed his, the smoke acted as if it had its own mind. It only just left, but it left this book in its place.” Serahlin explains as Felasel squirms in her hold. She lets go of him only when Selene takes a seat next to him.

“Can you show Mama, please?” She asks, holding a free hand out while Darevas watches from the safety over her other arm. Felasel seems reluctant to hand it over, but he does. Carefully, Selene sets Darevas down and opens the book.

It is the size of a child’s book, square and thing with a firm, iridescent black cover with what appears to be a white raven on the front. The front page is white with neat print that reads -

Before I Turn Six: A Little Witch’s Hand Guide

No author is listed, but on the next page, Selene hisses in a breath. In perfect, flowing script -

To Felasel and Darevas

A single black feather rests below their names. Selene picks it up and stares.

“It...can’t be,” Serahlin whispers.

“No,” Selene echoes.

“What? What?” Ileth asks.

“It’s...a blessing,” Serahlin says, even as Selene begins to despair, “from the god Dirthamen himself.”

**

When Thenvunin is nineteen, he meets Sethtaren. A beautiful, courageous, well-to-do mortal man who makes Thenvunin’s heart flutter. He is suave and powerful in ways Thenvunin was unused to. His mamae is a powerful witch in her own right and he himself is the heir to a powerful lineage of witches, but Sethtaren is mortal and his power is so different.

They marry before Thenvunin is twenty. Eloping to a far off town in between the Free Marches, Orlais, and Nevara. When they arrive in their new house, purchased with money Thenvunin had conjured for them, he tells Sethtaren the truth of what he is.

“A witch!” Sethtaren screams, grabbing a knife from the kitchen.

“I’m not bad! I just have magic, please Sethtaren!” Thenvunin pleads.

“How can I trust you?! You... you bewitched me!” Sethtaren accuses and Thenvunin quickly shakes his head.

“I’m not good at enchantment like that, please Seth, I love you and would never hurt you.”

“How do I know that?” He demands. Thenvunin can think of only one thing. He pulls his book of spells out from the built-ins in the dining room.

“This is my book of spells, as long as you hold it, I cannot harm you. I...am beholden to you, but I want to be. I love you, Seth, that’s why I married you.”

Sethtaren takes the book and Thenvunin does not see it for years. He lives his life as if mortal, practicing no magic. Seth travels and he works, and he comes home to make sure his husband is adhering to no magical practices. He saw Thenvunin lit a candle for Mythal one night and had nearly kicked him out on the street.

He is twenty-two when Sethtaren dies in a car accident. His love was so young, it doesn’t seem fair at all.

He is about to sell the house and return to his coven, heart broken and weary, when he meets Stalking. He’s also lost people and says it’s because he wasn’t a strong enough witch at the time and that he has since become stronger to prevent such things from happening.

Stalking tells Thenvunin he can help, that he can teach Thenvunin to become stronger so he doesn’t lose anyone else. And surely if he went home now, he won’t be strong enough for the coven to take back. He’d be a liability.

He hasn’t practiced in years, hasn’t observed. Stalking is...right.

At twenty-two and a half, Stalking moves in with Thenvunin, taking over the master bedroom for Thenvunin’s sake of course. Too many bad memories. He needs Thenvunin’s book too, because how else is he going to help Thenvunin become stronger without knowing him as intimately as his book does?

At twenty-four, Thenvunin rarely leaves the house. He mostly stays in his room and tries not to cry too much. The weepiness and tiredness has gotten worse lately and Stalking tsks his tongue over it.

“You won’t return to your coven at this rate, Thenvunin, try another spell,” he urges. So Thenvunin tries to light a candle with his mind. It flickers, sputters...and fails to light.

“I’m so tired,” he says, leaning against his headboard, almost feeling feverish.

“Try again, this time, truly focus on the candle.” Thenvunin does Stalking says but only manages to keep the candle lit for three seconds before it peters out.

He does not remember it being this difficult to cast. He was not the greatest at being a witch but he was not completely without his abilities. He was good with small charms, illusions, and incantations. The more difficult spells or complicated rituals were lost on him, but he was not by far an incompetent witch. At least, he didn’t think he was until Stalking arrived and asked him to do the bare minimum of tasks.

Stalking’s own magic is so great it is hard to grasp. Thenvunin is lucky, he knows, to have such a powerful witch taking him under his wing. Even if it is difficult at times.

An hour later, he is covered in sweat from exertions. Stalking is right, at this rate, Thenvunin will never be strong enough to return to his coven, if he even has a coven left to return to.

**

Screecher cannot get to Husband.

Dark One has Husband and has barricaded the Nest! Screecher cannot get to Husband! This is wrong. He does the squawkings and the flappings and even castings of a spell. But barricade holds and Screecher still cannot get to Husband.

But Screecher hears things. Other Familiars tells him things. They whisper of other witches who know what to do with people like Dark One. The Familiars whisper of death and wickedness. They also whisper of hatchlings. Husband loves hatchlings.