Cleomithir and Quaemilya are delighted to receive their grandchildren for a second visit. They have had time to get a letter ready for them to take to Thrandolil, and Quaemilya lays it on the table in front of them as they all sit down to share more drinks and treats. After exchanging greetings, Tric shares what has been on his mind the last couple days. “After working with the woses and talking to the Ka’lian, I realize I need to take more responsibility for Anador’s heritage—my heritage. Whether I want to or not, that is a responsibility I have to society.”
Cleomithir’s eyes light up and he leans in. “Tell me more.”
“But this is a sensitive topic in Estbryn Forest,” Tric draws out. “So I thought, what if instead of claiming an existing line, I bring up raising a new line with High Lord Volas? That this might be more palatable to the council there.”
Heppa watches their grandparents closely, monitoring their reactions. She does not think Tric should have to go through hoops for his inheritance. It’s not what the council wants, it’s what Mother wants that is the problem, she grumbles internally. As he gives his response, it is clear that their grandfather also thinks Tric should not have to.
“If this is about picking up Anador’s mantle and continuing the family’s responsibilities for the maintenance of Estbryn Forest, you shouldn’t have to hide under some new house’s name,” Cleomithir argues. “It is wonderful that you wish to embrace your noble elvish lineage,” which is also his noble elvish lineage, after all, “and I will help you in any way I can. What can we do? How can we make this work?” Looking to both of the grandchildren, he asks, “What is the lay of the land in Estbryn Forest these days? We’ve been gone twenty years. We exchange letters with Thrandolil, and he seems pretty level.”
“Level is the correct word for him,” Tric agrees.
“Has he put his grief behind him?” Quaemilya asks. “When is long enough that we can start to fondly remember somebody who we tragically lost?”
Tric turns to Heppa. “You said you mentioned Anador’s name once at breakfast…”
“That didn’t go well,” Heppa says quietly. She is not sure how much her grandparents know about everything that happened, but she decides to be straightforward with them. “Mother is concerned that anything that reminds him of Anador will disrupt whatever magic was done.” Heppa knows so little about this secret topic, not even who performed the casting.
In the discussion that follows, Cleomithir and Quaemilya reveal that they do know magic was involved in helping Thrandolil. They left Estbryn Forest to make things easier, both for themselves and for him. Obviously they had their own grief to work through, and that was impinged upon by how carefully Thrandolil needed to be handled. But also, just being there risked causing him cognitive dissonance, as Thrandolil would see his parents but his brother would be missing from the scene. However, the solution Penna presented to them was supposed to be a healing magic; she said she was working with a druid to help Thrandolil recover. “But from what you are saying, it sounds like there has not been space for healing. It sounds like it has all just been snuffed out,” Cleomithir says with a frown.
Heppa shrugs. “I’m not an expert, but I don’t know how it could have truly healed if it could be undone.”
“Also, we’ve known him no other way than he is,” Tric comments. “We have nothing to compare to.” Like, for example, did he always have an unusual interest in unsettling artifacts?
“But I don’t think it’s the council that would have a problem,” Heppa says, returning to the topic of Tric’s lofty aspirations. “I think it would just be Mother.”
“Yes, but she is on the council, and she has a lot of sway.” To their grandparents, Tric adds, “As I’m sure you can imagine, she has become very well connected.”
“House Cleomithir is well-respected for good reason,” their grandfather says with satisfaction.
Now that the idea is out in the open, Tric asks more practical questions on becoming an elvish lord. “Do I just sit in on some shaman classes? How is that supposed to work?”
“Well, you need to get a sorceress tutor for several years of intense training…” Cleomithir begins. Tric and Heppa exchange glances. That sounds like a lot of schooling, but also like something maybe Heppa could help Tric with. Or maybe he can do some sort of crash course with her sister. He cracks a joke about accelerating the process since he is only half-elvish and has less time. Even though training for high lords tends to be private so that it can be highly personalized and focused on military applications, Tric returns to the idea of starting by just auditing some shaman classes. At the very least, it will make a good excuse to not do other work.
“The idea is that if you are responsible for leading a group of elves into battle, you need to be able to lead them with your force of presence, with your martial skill, and with the very power of the forest behind you,” Cleomithir concludes.
“Well, I’ve got at least two of those,” Tric quips, and the cousins devolve into joking hypotheticals about riding woses into battle.
Cleomithir offers to write to Volas to endorse Tric taking this up. “That wouldn’t hurt,” Tric agrees. “But Volas will decide what he wants to decide; you know Volas.”
“He has the forest’s best interests at heart,” Cleomithir insists.
“He does, he does,” Tric acknowledges. “So thank you… Grandfather.” It sounds strange as Tric says it, but it is part of Anador’s legacy. Which is part of Cleomithir’s. That part of the line will end here if Tric does nothing, since it seems like Ash was not interested. Inclined as he is to stir up trouble wherever he goes, Tric prods, “So, did Ash ever ask you about any of this?”
Quaemilya’s features wilt in sadness, and Cleomithir says, “Ash most definitely never asked us anything.” He sighs. “Ash has his own life, and, to be fair, he was already established in a career and an adult when we first met him.”
That’s interesting, Tric thinks. Had they not met at all until Cleomithir and Quaemilya moved to Wesmere twenty years ago?
“But still,” Cleomithir continues, proud of his family’s nobility, “I would have hoped that Ash would see the value and want to pick it up. Who wouldn’t? You do.”
Who wouldn’t? Someone who does not want official responsibility, Tric reflects, recalling his brother’s response to the invitation to be a sentry for the woses. But what he says aloud is, “You make some good points.”
“What was Uncle Anador like?” Heppa asks into the brief silence that follows. She is curious herself, but she also wants Tric to get a sympathetic perspective on his father.
“Anador was a natural leader,” Cleomithir says, eyes growing misty, but lips quirking up into a fond smile. “While of course I am sad that Anador was cut down in his prime, I’m not sure he would have wanted it any other way. He was very charismatic but also very restless, constantly looking for new challenges.”
Heppa turns to her grandmother, who has a far-off look in her eyes, thinking of her lost son. Earlier in the conversation, Quaemilya expressed that she felt Thrandolil should have healed by now. Maybe truly healing her father means breaking him open first. Heppa decides to move forward on that tack. “From a medical perspective, do you think it is time for you to come visit?” she asks her sorceress grandmother.
“Oh!” Tric exclaims, surprised that Heppa is the one introducing chaos to a situation this time. “Might want to add a postscript to this letter…” He taps the folded parchment on the table before them, the message for Thrandolil that he and Heppa are supposed to deliver.
Cleomithir and Quaemilya are pleased with Heppa’s suggestion, and they think the beginning of spring would be a good time to arrive. Heppa is excited at the prospect, but also nervous about taking this kind of action against her mother. She will need to spend the next few months thinking through this to plan out her approach. She is committed to this action now, and when she frames it that way, her stomach drops even more. At the very least, she will need to be there in the village—not visiting South Tower—when the grandparents arrive. And she needs to decide whether to try to bring her mother in on this. Is her goal to make her father well or to show her mother up? She has to figure that out. Regardless, this visit will certainly catalyze something. And there is plenty of time for me to sort this all out!
* * *
Before Tric and Heppa depart with Ash, Tric seeks out the local water dowsers so that he can pick up a souvenir for his dad, a rod made from a local wood. From talking with Ash, he knows that a type of tree found in Wesmere but not Estbryn is called aspen, so he asks for one made of that. He has inadvertently absorbed enough of the craft that he can talk convincingly about dowsing, even if he still does not really know how to reliably do it himself. The local dowsers accept him as one of their own and provide the requested item. With that in hand, their business in Wesmere is complete, and Tric and Heppa turn their sights toward the Heart Mountains and home.
Fin