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edenfallingSummary: Because she had stopped counting the passing of daymonths after reaching one thousand, Aeriel could scarcely believe the change wrought in Avaric. (425 words)
Note: This is a response to the "Leave me the first sentence of a fic and I will write the next five" meme, for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rosaxx50, who gave me the summary sentence as a prompt.
[AO3 crosspost]
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Tomorrow's Memory
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Because she had stopped counting the passing of daymonths after reaching one thousand, Aeriel could scarcely believe the change wrought in Avaric. For all that she had seen life spring anew in other lands, Avaric was fixed in her mind like crystal, a bare white plain where nothing grew save dust and shadows as Solstar made its endless rounds in heaven.
Now the plain was tawny gold with glitter-grass that rose high as her breast, each stalk tipped with green-white florets that shed gleaming pollen into the wind that carried Aeriel and her throw of woven lampwing dust and wonder across the plains toward the castle she had known as a captive and a bride. Patches of firethorn broke the gold with exclamations of crimson, and the castle heights themselves were cloaked in silver spindle-grass, brittle-fruit trees, and wine-blossom vines with their sweet golden blooms. And everywhere, looking down, she saw traces of people: their tents and herds moving light upon the land in bursts of color and song.
Avaric lived, as she had never dared to dream. Perhaps even Irrylath, another child of the long drought, born into a parched and dying land, had never dreamed to see his home thus verdant.
Aeriel's heart panged at the thought of her once-husband, but it was a warm and familiar hurt, worn smooth like river-rock under the flow of years. She had closed her eyes and stopped her ears to any sign of his fate, but she knew he must be long since dead, his body fallen to ash and his soul among the stars. The chieftess who now held the castle and had sent to Crystalglass to beg her aid was his grandchild's grandchild, no different from any other pilgrim and supplicant who wished the Lady's wisdom and favor.
Even so, as Aeriel's throw neared the castle and drifted down to the stones, the air of the heights too thin to carry even the slight weight of heartspun threads, she almost thought she saw Irrylath in the lee of the garden wall, behind the chieftess and her gathered court: saw him still youthful, and cloaked in shadow like the memory of wings.
But she blinked, and in the shifting panoply of the welcome party sinking to their knees, the half-seen figure was gone.
Aeriel stepped from her throw, the weight of Ravenna's crown on her brow and the murmur of pearlstuff in her blood awkward and strange as they had not been for longer than she cared to remember, and drew her husband's many-times-distant daughter to her feet.
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End of Story
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If I continued this, Irrylath might not actually be as dead as Aeriel thinks he is. Or maybe not; maybe he really is ash and gone. I kind of like the uncertainty. (Related to that point, you may have noticed I'm not saying anything about Erin's fate. She may still be around, either given an undying body like Aeriel was, or lingering as a spirit of some sort. Or maybe she lived and died and made an end of her tale, whether bitterly or joyfully as you prefer. I'm not going to disprove anybody's theories.)
Every plant except the glitter-grass is mentioned as part of the castle garden in The Darkangel, so I assumed they were native to the region and would spread out given a chance.
And now I am off for my afternoon constitutional. :-)
Note: This is a response to the "Leave me the first sentence of a fic and I will write the next five" meme, for
rosaxx50, who gave me the summary sentence as a prompt.[AO3 crosspost]
---------------------------------------------
Tomorrow's Memory
---------------------------------------------
Because she had stopped counting the passing of daymonths after reaching one thousand, Aeriel could scarcely believe the change wrought in Avaric. For all that she had seen life spring anew in other lands, Avaric was fixed in her mind like crystal, a bare white plain where nothing grew save dust and shadows as Solstar made its endless rounds in heaven.
Now the plain was tawny gold with glitter-grass that rose high as her breast, each stalk tipped with green-white florets that shed gleaming pollen into the wind that carried Aeriel and her throw of woven lampwing dust and wonder across the plains toward the castle she had known as a captive and a bride. Patches of firethorn broke the gold with exclamations of crimson, and the castle heights themselves were cloaked in silver spindle-grass, brittle-fruit trees, and wine-blossom vines with their sweet golden blooms. And everywhere, looking down, she saw traces of people: their tents and herds moving light upon the land in bursts of color and song.
Avaric lived, as she had never dared to dream. Perhaps even Irrylath, another child of the long drought, born into a parched and dying land, had never dreamed to see his home thus verdant.
Aeriel's heart panged at the thought of her once-husband, but it was a warm and familiar hurt, worn smooth like river-rock under the flow of years. She had closed her eyes and stopped her ears to any sign of his fate, but she knew he must be long since dead, his body fallen to ash and his soul among the stars. The chieftess who now held the castle and had sent to Crystalglass to beg her aid was his grandchild's grandchild, no different from any other pilgrim and supplicant who wished the Lady's wisdom and favor.
Even so, as Aeriel's throw neared the castle and drifted down to the stones, the air of the heights too thin to carry even the slight weight of heartspun threads, she almost thought she saw Irrylath in the lee of the garden wall, behind the chieftess and her gathered court: saw him still youthful, and cloaked in shadow like the memory of wings.
But she blinked, and in the shifting panoply of the welcome party sinking to their knees, the half-seen figure was gone.
Aeriel stepped from her throw, the weight of Ravenna's crown on her brow and the murmur of pearlstuff in her blood awkward and strange as they had not been for longer than she cared to remember, and drew her husband's many-times-distant daughter to her feet.
---------------------------------------------
End of Story
---------------------------------------------
If I continued this, Irrylath might not actually be as dead as Aeriel thinks he is. Or maybe not; maybe he really is ash and gone. I kind of like the uncertainty. (Related to that point, you may have noticed I'm not saying anything about Erin's fate. She may still be around, either given an undying body like Aeriel was, or lingering as a spirit of some sort. Or maybe she lived and died and made an end of her tale, whether bitterly or joyfully as you prefer. I'm not going to disprove anybody's theories.)
Every plant except the glitter-grass is mentioned as part of the castle garden in The Darkangel, so I assumed they were native to the region and would spread out given a chance.
And now I am off for my afternoon constitutional. :-)
