The spring sun shines warm and full upon the face of the land, bathing the mountains and valleys, and the plains rippling away to the east, in a gentle and yet brilliant light. Peaks still capped with snow look down, as if turning a kind and gentle eye, upon the small hamlet—but a group of houses spread about—that resides in the wide plain of Telonis. Among the newly sown fields of grain and the vegetable gardens showing the first sprouts peeking from the earth, among the trees swaying and singing in the soft wind, weaves a path upon which walks a figure, cloak billowing behind it as if delighting in the caress of the breeze.
The figure passes a field in which children play, their voices echoing as they call to one another in some game of their own devising and discovery, which captures them and carries them forth to their heart’s content in wonder, earth and sky encircling, protecting, and fostering their play. And on the figure goes, down the path, toward a house that lies at the very edge of the plain, with a small field and a barn for animals. And were it the figure’s intention to knock upon the door and ask for the owners of the homestead, this proves unnecessary, as an aged man and woman sit together upon the shaded porch, watching the figure walk up the way.
“Hail, friend,” calls the man, though he knows not whether the figure is such.
The response comes in a voice so kind and so gentle that any caution that they had before is now dispelled. “Hail, dear friends.” The man and woman arise and take a few steps from the porch, allowing the sun to fall upon their faces, and they watch as the man approaches them at a short distance, the full light of day like a halo around his head and illuminating his kind features as if with enduring light shining forth, not only from above, but from within.
“We welcome you to our humble home,” says the woman. “What might be the reason for your visit this day?”
“I thank you for your warm welcome,” says the man. “I come bearing news both joyful and sorrowful. Perhaps we should sit somewhere, so that my tale may be told in full.”
“If that is your wish,” replies the aged man, “though the weather is fine today, and I would not mind remaining outside.”
“Nor would I,” replies the visitor.
“Then let me draw a few chairs into the sunlight, and we can speak together in its rays.”
When this is done, and they sit together facing one another, the visitor speaks, “I would like to introduce myself, for I know you even though you do not yet know me. My name is Eldarien Illomiel. By grace and mercy, I am the new king of this land, guardian and custodian of her people. I am also the blood-brother of your daughter, whom you loved so deeply even though she was not sprung of your flesh. I would like now to speak to you in her name, and to share with you her story.”
† † †
In the city of Minstead great anguish followed upon the tremors caused by the earthrend, even as its ill effects were also turned to good. Despite everything battle still occurred within the city, though both the eötenga and the forces of men were dismayed by the bizarre occurrences happening around them. And further, the Lord of Death, crushed by the weight of the collapsing roof of the throne room, fled from the city for a time, leaving his minions in chaos. But in his stead came forth a power far deeper and far more terrifying, one which deigned neither to take mortal form nor to speak in the words of men, but sought only to suffocate out all hope for light in the heart and, casting the spirit into despair, to carry all in an endless train unto death. Fueled, and indeed maddened, by this new energy, the eötenga rediscovered the vigor in battle that the flight of the Lord of Death had caused, and the men who opposed them were pressed to the limit, indeed beyond the limit, in resisting them.
And certain of their number joined with those who had been liberated from captivity in the bowels of the citadel in another task, as pressing as the former. For many men and women were still trapped in the prison, having been forbidden escape through the collapsing stairwell. Cirien, too old to have the vigor for such a task, nonetheless worked himself to exhaustion in tending to the wounded in a sheltered camp set up and guarded on a side street not far from the citadel.
Tilliana, for her part, with the collapsing of the roof in the throne room, had expected death. And yet soon it became apparent that the ceiling had bowed inward as it fell, creating a wedge that had speared the oncoming Draia and yet had left the edges of the chamber untouched except by the smaller falling debris. She found herself, therefore, crouched over the body of Rorlain, unmoving and apparently lifeless. In the darkness she had laid her hands upon his face and his chest, and felt the slightest hints of breath. Carrying him, therefore, as she had once carried him from the pits of the forge far beneath the earth, she escaped to a side chamber, a small room that appeared to be a bedroom for some minor officer of the city, and there tended to him. He awoke after a few hours, though he spoke little, and remained frail. She instead spoke unto him, in words of solace and consolation, even as the darkness deepened around them and filled their minds and their hearts to the point of breaking.
When Rorlain rested she would depart for short periods of time to gauge the state of affairs around them, and to assist in what little way that she could. Many there were who were wounded either in battle or in the chaos resulting from the quaking earth. But soon she learned that they had narrowly escaped a much worse fate: a great and massive chasm had opened in the earth, marring the face of Telmerion for many miles, just to the south of the city. Yet of such things she had little time to take thought, for the more intimate and yet more important matters drew her attention: the tending of wounded bodies and hurting hearts. Yet all the while her heart wept within her, both at the visible destruction and spiritual anguish all around her, but also at the agonizing pressure of the weight that lay upon her own heart. And yet in the midst of this, sensing the manner of evil presence that was besieging the city, she could not but think with longing and with fear of her dear friends, Eldarien and Elmariyë, who walked into direct confrontation with precisely this evil.
The turning-point came suddenly and unexpectedly, with no signs to herald its coming. In the midst of the raging battle and the anguished care for the fallen and wounded, a pillar of light had burst forth above the mountains far in the east, joining heaven and earth. And for a long moment it was as though time had stopped. All turned and looked toward the light, the eötenga in horror and the children of humanity in hope. Then an orb of radiance in the form of a man shone forth in the midst of the pillar, as if descending with arms outstretched; and then in the next moment another figure, of lesser light, arose from the earth, and met the former. When they met there was a burst of brilliant light that, like an explosion of greatest intensity, spread forth from the pillar. And yet this explosion spread, not to destroy, but to heal. The black mist was cast away like a lingering nocturnal fog before the burning rays of the rising sun. And behold! To the east, they saw precisely this, the sun just now cresting the mountains and showing his warm and consoling face: the first sunrise after many days of darkness.
† † †
For many days they knew not whether their companions had survived the ordeal that they faced in the citadel of Sera Galaptes, in their confrontation with the heart of darkness. All in Minstead attended now to the care of the wounded and the honorable burial of the fallen, for with the coming of the light the creatures of darkness, one and all, had disappeared into nothingness, and the land was at peace. The hearts of Rorlain, Tilliana, and Cirien, reached out with longing and with hope, and they wished to go in pursuit of their friends. Yet even if something could be done, the trail was long and circuitous, and more immediate and pressing matters called for their attention. All that they could do was abide in trust and in waiting.
But on the eighteenth day after the ending of the great darkness, Eldarien rode into the city on a steed that he had acquired in the city of Winfreya. Immediately they saw in his countenance what had occurred, for in his eyes he bore a deep sorrow, serene and peaceful, and upon his brow shone a mysterious light, a joy deeper and wider than any they had yet known. Upon his coming many fell down before him, prostrating to the earth, for in their hearts they knew that he was the promised king. “Hail, savior king,” many had exclaimed. “Light has come after this time of darkness, and, when faced with destruction, we have been given instead life and light unto gladness forevermore.”
But his dearest friends had another greeting to give to him: the warmth of embrace and the kindness of love that burns in face and heart. But then they spoke together in sorrow of the one who rode not back with Eldarien from the heart of darkness; and he revealed unto them the sadness of her parting and the beauty of her gift. All four companions then bowed their heads, remembering Elmariyë, their sister, so innocent and so pure, whose presence shall be dearly missed even as her sacrifice, and her radiant beauty, shall be ever remembered. Then they went forth together to the castle wherein the great part of the battle had been fought—and many went with them—and they looked upon the loss and the destruction, and wept.
After this there was a great mourning for all who had fallen in the War of Darkness, and the king led them in prayers for those who had been lost. The fields to the north of the city became the burial place of hundreds, and the remembrance also of the many whose bodies could not be found or had been lost in the prior siege of the city. Stones from the fallen and crippled buildings of Minstead were carried forth upon carts and used to mark the burial-places, with words of blessing etched upon them.
But after the time of mourning had passed—though mourning always continues in the heart as long as this life lasts—the time of rejoicing began. Messengers were sent out to all the towns and cities of Telmerion with the joyous message that the enemy had been vanquished and the land liberated, and that a king had arisen who had led the people from darkness and would be their guide unto light in the dawning future that awaited them. And remembrance of the sister-queen was not absent, either, and she would henceforth be remembered by all the generations of the people, and her name would be forever blessed.
† † †
Eldarien rides on horseback across the land, his sights set on returning to the citadel of Sera Galaptes. But his eyes are for his people. He rides now on the longer way, around the southwest end of the great chasm, the earthrend, and again through the city of Onylandun. He stops along the way at as many villages and settlements as he can, seeing for himself the damage that they and their people have sustained. And in each he does something that he did not know he could do. No longer is the light needed to banish the creatures of darkness from the face of Telmerion, but it remains in him nonetheless, an inheritance and a gift entrusted to his care for the sake of those for whom he has received guardianship and a role of guidance. What surprises him now, not in desire but in capacity, is that it is also a role of healing.
For before departing from Minstead he had stood on the battlements of the city looking south across the chasm, whose far end was barely visible in the afternoon light. All the land around the earthrend for leagues was scarred and blighted, the grass and the trees dying or already dead. Though the land was spared, and her people, the scars remain. Moved by this, he had descended from the wall and walked out of the city, to the graveyard and remembrance of the fallen that lies to the north. Standing in its midst he had looked around, lamenting not only at the number of tombs, but also at the deadness of the land.
Many stood about nearby, either mourning for their lost or working to clear the land of blighted vegetation, in the frail hopes that, whether this spring or some other, new life would sprout where death had been. But Eldarien himself knew that it was not to be. The land was sick and barren, all fruitfulness having fled from it with the wound inflicted upon its very heart. Yet what Eldarien did not know was that he could bring healing to this wound. Kneeling down against the earth, he had placed his hands against it in a gesture of tenderness and sorrow, as if bidding farewell to the Telmerion that had been. But in a moment, light had begun to spread forth from his hands, curling like water channeling in hollows of the earth, like streamlets widening from a wellspring across a broad, flat plain. Soon the entire field, and beyond, all the way to the edge of the great chasm, was bathed in light, and glowing gently. And then to the astonishment of all, green buds sprouted up from the earth where but a moment before only lifelessness had been. Trees and grasses, bushes and flowers, all sprang forth and waved gently in the breeze, turning a blackened landscape immediately into an ocean of green.
One man far to Eldarien’s left exclaimed, “And it is hardly the beginning of spring!” while others simply laughed in sheer wonder and delight. Tilliana, who stood a few paces behind her king, made the remark, “Telmerion shall henceforth be, by the ministrations of the light, a garden, where death is replaced by life and barrenness by abundant creativity and radiant fecundity.”
And so Eldarien has done in every place through which, on his journey, he has passed, bringing life back into a land that was scarred and poisoned unto death. And all who see him know and are convinced, with the deep consolation of the heart, that their king has indeed come. And hence he comes forth again to the great citadel in which the darkness was conquered and the light victorious, and in which his beloved sister departed this world, leaving both peace and painful longing in her wake. He ascends the great stairs up the side of the mountain and beholds the citadel, so different in appearance and feel than it had been in its time of darkness. Now its massive stone walls, ancient and yet so white and pure that their faces shine brilliant in the sun, stand visible like a beacon upon a hill, and the lines and curves of the citadel’s architecture show forth not only masterful craftsmanship, but an eye that had gazed long and deeply into the light. Henceforth for many ages people would look up toward the Teldren Mountains and, if the day were especially clear or the sun particularly bright, they would exclaim: “Look! It is the great white citadel, the home of the king!”
For so it is to be. Eldarien returns to the citadel, and many shall follow him hence in the coming days. With the destruction of many towns and villages throughout the center of Telmerion, and even with the aftereffects of the terrible conflict in which the Empire engaged in its last push for power in the lands of Rhovas and Mineäs, a new settlement is to be built. In conjunction with the rebuilding that is taking place throughout the rest of the land, the ancient seat of the high kings of Telmerion, the people of the Galapteä, righteous in fidelity and friends both of the One and of the Velasi, the gifted custodians of his memory, is being reborn. And even if such people have long passed away in the ages past and in the calamities of recent days, they still continue to live in Eldarien, their blood flowing in his veins. And this inheritance he receives in humility and awe, allowing it to hold him and to flow forth within him, that he may be a custodian of the people entrusted to his care, the safeguard and protector of their peace, their joy, and the wonder that he wishes to mark every moment of their life.
He climbs the spiral staircase that he and Elmariyë once climbed in such anguish and darkness, recalling all the while the path that they had walked, and the decisive moments that had unfolded when they reached the crystal chamber. And he looks out now from the crystal chamber, whose windows have now become translucent once again, bathed in a radiant light that comes both from without, from the sun and the sky, and from within, from the blessing that they have received both from their makers long past and from the gift that has been imbued anew into them by the light that descended hence. But in looking through these windows, Eldarien does not see as one ordinarily sees, or rather his ordinary sight is enhanced and extended, and he can look out for many miles across the face of Telmerion, a king keeping guardianship of his people with some small share of the vision of the One who is their true Guardian. Eldarien only prays that he may ever share in the love and compassion, the wisdom and the gentleness, of the heart of this true King, and that his kingship may but manifest and extend the reign of the light in the world. Such are his thoughts and his desires as he stands in the crystal chamber and gazes forth upon the land, scarred and wounded but radiant in beauty, that has been entrusted to him.
And as he looks, he sees three riders approaching from the south, directing their horses leisurely through the heart of Galas Basin, the location of the new settlement that shall soon spring up for those who wish to make a new start under the shadow of the ancient citadel reborn. And he knows these riders as much from what he sees as from the sense in his heart as he looks upon them. “My friends…” he sighs, and without further hesitation he descends the stairs and makes ready for their arrival.
When they step together into the entrance chamber to the citadel, he embraces each of them in turn, speaking their names with love and with gratitude. “My heart rejoices that you have come so soon,” says Eldarien. “I was not particularly looking forward to tidying up this old castle all on my own in the coming days.” He smiles softly, and adds, “But to speak more truly, I had begun to miss deeply those who have become so dear to my heart. The months of my travel through the land, healing as I went, were long ones. I yearned for your presence and your companionship.”
“But especially for the presence of your sister,” Cirien says tenderly.
“Yes. And so it shall be henceforth until the end of my life. She has taken me with her where she has gone, and yet she is also here with me,” he says, touching his hand to his breast. “Of this I am certain.”
“Never would I have known that our path would lead unto this,” remarks Rorlain, his body now fully recovered from the trauma inflicted upon it, though he now also bears scars of his own. “When I first vowed to accompany you to whatever end, I did not know that it would lead unto the revival of the high kingship of Telmerion in the one in whose very flesh live the mysteries of our heritage and of the truth entrusted to our people, long forgotten for many ages, but manifest now and, through you, made to live again.”
“It has always lived,” says Eldarien in response. “It is only that we had forgotten it, and what great grief such forgetfulness caused. But come, now is not the time to recall the ills of the past, but to let life spring anew in the present and to blossom unto the future. Let us only walk with humility and awe of heart, with gratitude and with confidence, for an inexpressible and eternal Love goes before us, and walks with us at every step of the way.”
“I speak a wholehearted ‘yes’ to that!” Rorlain says with a heartfelt and joyful laugh, and in this moment Eldarien is moved to witness the newness of being that his friend has discovered, a lightness found not in any earthly home alone, but in the home of the heart that fills every home while surpassing them all, the true and enduring repose.
“You know, Rorlain,” Eldarien begins, a twinkle of gratitude and wonder in his eyes, “let us go together to visit your father soon. I would like to see him again, and to do so with you.”
“That would be wonderful,” agrees Rorlain, “but then I come back with you. You shall never be rid of me as long as you live.”
“Nor would I wish for it to be otherwise.” Eldarien says. And then, as if taken by a deep remembrance of the pain and beauty of their journey and its ending, and of the meaning that has lived radiant and pure within it all, he continues: “I once told your father that the measure of a man lies in his home. And I said that this is even more true of the home of his choice than the home of his origin. A man is not bound to his earthly home, whether good or ill, in an absolute sense. It has formed him, fashioned him, effected him, sometimes beneficially, sometimes harmfully. But as he grows into mature fullness, the home that he chooses reveals even more deeply what kind of man he is, and what he values. And I still stand by what I said. Yet I also see now that there is an even deeper truth: beyond what is revealed by a man’s choosing is what is revealed in his being chosen. Or rather, I would say, by his being loved. By his being desired. We cannot fashion ourselves however we wish, not only because so many influences go before us on this earth, and we swim in their tide to one degree or another. But even more deeply, this is because our origin, the tender predilection of the Love that gives birth to our very being in this world, and beyond it, contains in itself the capacity for every choice and the hope of every destiny. To turn against this Love is not freedom, not liberation, but the destruction of myself. It is like a branch cutting itself off from the tree in the false pursuit of a liberty which brings only loss and the anguish of aloneness.”
He pauses and runs his hands through his hair in thought, and then concludes, “I suppose what I am trying to say is that the deeper truth revealed to me is that the measure of man lies not only in a man’s choice of his home, but in the fact that his home has chosen him. No matter what the contours of our life on this earth may be, no matter what the particular contours of the home that we may find in this life—and may we ever provide a home both beautiful and transparent to the people of our land—our true home is both deeper and wider. It alone is unchanging and eternally enduring; it alone reaches into the deepest depths and the highest heights. Yes, this very home in which our heart finds rest is not a mere earthly home—which can never be more than a way-station on the journey—but our very Origin himself, who, because he is our origin, is also our true destination and full Consummation.”
“In the embrace of infinite and eternal Love,” Rorlain replies, and the others nod in agreement as he speaks, “lies the beginning and the end of man, and also his journey throughout this life. I wish for all to know this Love, and to experience the tenderness of his embrace, the sweetness of his gaze, the blessedness of his communion.”
Laughing softly, Tilliana says, “How I delight to hear your words, my friends! But come, we shall have time to speak much more later.”
“Indeed, shall you show us this chamber of which you spoke?” Cirien says. “I would like to see the place in which our dear Elmariyë departed from us. My heart longs to say a final goodbye, or perhaps better, to reach out and receive her anew, though the eyes of my flesh can see her no more.”
“Of course, I will guide you there,” Eldarien answers, and he leads his three companions back to the crystal chamber, where they all look together upon the land, and marvel, as in their hearts they pray in both grief and in gratitude for their sister and their friend, whose sacrifice allowed the Light itself, in a land condemned in darkness unto death, to work such wonders of restoration and life.
† † †
The day before his official coronation, which occurs one year to the day on the anniversary of his and Rorlain’s arrival in Ristfand, he exercises his first official act as the ruler of the realm. As his first act of righteous rule, just mercy he shows unto those men who had sided with the darkness. Irilof and the other soldiers and officers of the Empire who had sold their honor in exchange for their lives are granted a sentence that is both healing punishment and merciful pardon. “There is nowhere you may now go in which you shall be welcome,” Eldarien says to them. “The Empire of Væliria has fallen and a republic is springing up in its place. Would you go hence expecting to find refuge, when you sided with the very order that they seek to surpass? But you have also made enemies of the people of Telmerion and have brought great ills upon them. For your deeds you deserve imprisonment, or even death, though such is not mine to give, but only for him who is ruler of both death and life. I therefore offer you two choices: you may remain in Telmerion as humble workers aiding in her restoration and her flourishing, free servants of all, rehabilitated in society without titles or stature except those accruing from your good character and the integrity of your actions. Or you can depart from our shores on whatever boat will take you, but henceforth you shall be banished, never to return during the ages of the world, though our prayers go with you that you shall find a greater and better home, indeed the true home of every human heart.” They all, to a man, decide to remain in Telmerion and to aid in her rebirth.
And so it is: the day of coronation arrives, and the Galas Basin is filled to overflowing with people from across the continent, who have come with great enthusiasm to witness an event unlike any that has happened in a millennium: the coronation of their king, who is already becoming dearly beloved to the hearts of his people. But this coronation is not just a coronation, but also a wedding. For on this day Eldarien Illomiel receives unto himself in marriage Tilliana Valesa, who shall henceforth be his wife and the queen of the land, exercising at his side a rule both benevolent and wise.
On a raised dais at the foot of the ancient stairs leading to the citadel, they are wed, the sun shining bright upon them as if to show forth the pleasure and delight of the heavens on this day. And then they sit together, side by side, upon humble thrones erected for the occasion, and Cirien, representative of the people and now great-father of the cult of Eldaru, the One, places upon their heads glittering crowns of gold and silver. And around Eldarien’s neck and upon his breast he places the amulet that he had once received, so many years ago, when in fleeing from the destruction of his village he had taken refuge in the barrow of the king, Sera Galaptes, his ancestor.
When this has concluded, Eldarien and Tilliana rise to their feet, hands joined, and step forth to the edge of the dais. Cheers and shouts of joy greet them, echoing across the basin from mountain peak to mountain peak. The cheers continue for many moments, as the anguish and loss, the hope and the longing of the people well up into an outburst of relief and of joy, and all faces are streaked with tears, the tears in which mourning and loss give birth to joy and new life.
At last Eldarien raises a hand in gesture, and gradually the sounds return to silence. Then he addresses the people, his voice sounding freely across the basin, “My dearly beloved people, I cannot express in words what my heart would wish to say to you on this day. For this is a day that we almost lost, and, were we left to our own resources and power, we would surely have lost. But here we stand today, overwhelmed with the goodness and mercy of the One who fashioned us, and who, when our people were sinking into the darkness once again, sent forth his light to liberate and to save, and to mark out for us anew a path from life unto life, even beyond the death that was our due. So let us rejoice this day, and every day hence, knowing that this is the reason that we were made, and the deepest delight of the One who made us.
“Rejoice, I say! Look upon the ones whom your heart loves, look upon your friends and the members of your family, look upon all, even strangers and those whom you may not natively love—look upon them from this happiness, and let joy give birth to newfound depths of love within you. Remember too, in the sorrows of loss, those who have died, and lament their absence; and let the same light of joy beget hope within you that there is yet a land beyond ours which knows no death. I myself do this, thinking of all those valiant souls who have died during the terrible war from which we now emerge, and even of the broken souls who turned from the light. Let us think of them all and pray for them, holding their image before the eyes of the heart. I myself do this in the remembrance of my dear sister, Elmariyë Siliari, whose adopted parents and siblings are here with us today. We were separated not long after my birth through circumstances far beyond our control or comprehension; but by a plan greater than that of any man, we were reunited and given to understand what had happened to us, and the gift that had been entrusted to our care.
“I remember her as I remember so many others, even those men whom I had slain, or who in my company had died, when in my waywardness I had fought for the Empire in the wilderness of Tel-Velfana. Yes, I share this with you that you may know that I, too, am a recipient of mercy and have found life undeserving. As have we all, my dear friends, as have we all. So let us receive this gift, and let us rejoice. For only in the receiving, only in the gratitude that springs up in the heart, can we find joy in the present and hope for the future.
“Let every dawning day be a new hope of life abundant; let every budding tree or blossoming flower thrill your heart with the joy of first discovery; let every moment you live, every word you speak or hear, and the very fabric of time and space that makes up our life in this world, in this land that is ours, be a song of rejoicing and a hymn of praise. That is my wish for you, my people, and that is my intention. And I vow before you now, humbled by your beauty and by your trust, that I shall be the custodian of the goodness that is intended for you, and that I shall ever rejoice in your happiness as if it were my own, just as I join you in your sorrows. Let us walk together, hand in hand, heart joined to heart, toward the land where sorrow shall be no more and endless happiness shall be our lot, in the Love that knows no darkness or dusk, but only endless Day.”