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It never snowed in Arlathan. The climate tended to be moderate year-round, with warm seasons that stretched out - and the cold seasons were rainy, but it didn’t snow. She had never actually seen snow, although she knew of it through the books and the memories. It was a curious desire, to see it, and something she was hesitant to ask for, but Andruil had asked her what she wanted for her feastday and the truth was simple.
She wanted to see snow. Not conjured but natural. She did not want to simply witness the drifting flakes but to be immersed in it, to feel the cold and hear the hush that it supposedly brought and to see her every breath fog into the air.
“You still haven’t told me what you want, vhenan,” Andruil said as she slipped her toned arms over Ghilan’nain’s shoulders, drawing her near. She always seemed to know her thoughts. She raised her hands to hold Andruil’s arm as she leaned back into her embrace.
“It is a strange thing to want,” she admitted after a moment. “I do not wish to be a burden to you.” Andruil’s laugh was sharp but somehow charming, at least to Ghilan’nain. A bright laugh like this spoke to her good mood.
“This sounds intriguing,” the huntress pointed out. “Please, share your desires. I would see you happy.” Ghilan’nain felt herself flush at that and Andruil pulled her tighter. Her embrace was a comfort.
“I want to see snow,” she said quietly, wincing as the silence stretched on. “I know, it is strange, we can-”
“Snow?” Andruil sounded startled and Ghilan’nain began to pull away, but her arms did not budge. “No, it is fine. A surprise, but fine. Why do you want to see snow, of all things?”
“It sounds so beautiful,” she admitted quietly as she leaned back once more, Andruil’s grip easing. “I want to be in the middle of it, to hear it, see it, smell it. To know it.”
“A very simple request, my love,” she said after a moment. “Why have you not pursued it yourself? The Eluvians are open to you, and some of them certainly lead to snowy climes.”
“I...” she bit her lip as she considered her answer, Andruil waiting. She knew she was of the Evanuris, now. Her beloved had brought her into their fold, speaking fondly of Ghilan’nain’s power, her gift, her strength. Still, the Evanuris were more of a family than a position, and the title continued to feel hollow. She had been permitted to join their ranks - what would be too much, when would that permission fold? And what would happen to someone once embraced by Arlathan’s strongest, and then discarded? “It is difficult,” she said after a long pause, “to pursue my own ends. I feel as if I need permission.” She winced again, hating the weakness of the admission, but did not try to pull away this time.
“My foolish darling,” Andruil murmured, voice rich and warm. “You can take what you want. Will you ever learn this?” There was a fondness to the question, Ghilan’nain feeling strangely like an animal being coaxed out of hiding. And perhaps she still was.
“I’m trying,” she admitted. Andruil hummed, leaning her cheek against Ghilan'nain's hair, then eventually gave her a gentle squeeze.
“Well, there is time for all that. For now... let us see the snow, curious girl.” She drew away to stand before Ghilan'nain, offering her hand. She took it with a smile, one Andruil returned, and they walked hand in hand towards Arlathan's Eluvian hall, with its curved walls and arched, high ceiling, a series of mirrors facing them. All were different: some plain, others highly decorated; some narrow, others wide; some very tall, others scarcely taller than her. The distinctions helped denote where they led or their purpose - the largest served to move soldiers or equipment through, while the smallest tended to lead to either peaceful areas where an individual could go alone without fear, or to a nexus.
Not all mirrors were so distinct. In fact, many of them looked remarkably similar, an intentional design so that only those who knew their way could proceed. But, as with everything else in Arlathan, their craftsmanship was unique.
Andruil led her to one that would open to a nexus and she followed her love readily, familiar with the tactile flow of the mirror across her body. It was a disconcerting sensation, a brief, clinging pressure that always felt like it left a residue against her skin, although she knew better. Andruil was waiting before an unmarked mirror, smiling as Ghilan'nain emerged before stepping through. She followed and-
Snow.
“Oh,” she breathed, smiling at the small cloud the single word produced before her. It was so bright - she hadn't expected that, realizing now that she'd been squinting ever since she'd come through the Eluvian, but it wasn't actively snowing here and the sun was out, the white snow reflecting it like a mirror. “It's beautiful.” Another charming little cloud and she stepped forward, giggling at the unique sound as she crunched through the snow. She wasn't dressed for this in the least but casting a barrier for warmth was utterly habitual, although she released it briefly to really feel how cold it was - before quickly restoring it as she started to shiver.
She looked up, finally adjusting enough to open her eyes properly and meet Andruil's gaze - and her smile. “My strange little love,” the huntress said, her affection evident in her voice. “You are beautiful. Snow suits you.” It was enough to make Ghilan'nain blush, which made Andruil's smile grow. “Do me a favor?” She nodded eagerly. “Let down your hair.” She glanced down, her blush growing, charmed. But she didn't delay, reaching up to unknot the strip of leather she used to tie her hair back, the thick, dark weight of it falling around her face in soft waves. Andruil approached, cupping her cheeks as she stared - before leaning in and kissing her.
Andruil's own hair was braided down her back, but as usual some strands had been left loose, framing her face. Her blonde mixed with Ghilan'nain's brown, a shade so dark it looked black in most lights, although here the rich, warm tones were highlighted by the brightness.
She never wanted this moment to end. The stark beauty around them, the gentle hush, the crunch of the snow, the way each word formed clouds, it was all so beautiful.
She felt that the snow suited Andruil, as well.