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Tarsakh 1476
Baldur’s Gate
Eliwyn sets the final dish of brownbud and leek tart on the long trestle table. She twitches the platter of roasted blusterwing so as to better balance the array of food. Across the garden, now bathed in the golden light of dusk, her mother sets out one more pitcher of mint water.
Tonight is Secrets of the Heart, a holy day devoted to Hanali Celanil, the Seldarine goddess of love and beauty. Her mother observes the day every month at the full moon in some small way. Even her father still celebrates despite having converted. They leave each other love notes or share a meal alone together in the garden awash in moonlight.
But tonight is different. Tonight, they are celebrating Taran’s betrothal. Soon, the garden will be filled with elves from all over Faerûn. Most of these relatives will be of her brother’s betrothed, complete strangers to Eliwyn.
The intricate belt around her waist is suddenly too tight. The gold embroidery of her neckline scratches something awful. She fiddles with the adornment in her hair as its delicate chains once again catch in her strands.
“Stop fidgeting,” her mother murmurs as she rearranges the bowls of chive blossom salad. “Go fetch the goat cheese for these salads. The guests will be here any moment.”
Soon, the euphony of so many ethereal voices all conversing softly mingle in perfect harmony with the gentle music of the elven harpists and flutists her mother hired from Silverymoon. In the drawing room is a display of any artistic venture brought by guests who feel their endeavors might make a suitable offering to Hanali Celanil. Carvings, sculptures, glassworks, paintings, and bound books of poetry are admired by all as they meander around, plates of food in their hands. When the hired musicians take a reprieve, any of those present with musical talents play their compositions so as to honor the goddess.
Finally, as midnight draws near, Taran and Nylieraee take up a place beneath the arbor of wisteria. Nylieraee is breathtaking, even more so than usual. Besottedness suits Taran quite well. He is all glowing smiles.
The other couples in the party take turns renewing their vows of love and devotion to one other, as is tradition. Then, the young couple, now illuminated by the full moon’s shimmering light, speak their words of promise and exchange silver bands. Gentle applause fills the silence as Taran and Nylieraee share a kiss.
The garden explodes with lively music. Goblets of berry wine are passed about for toasts and cheers. The couple are given several rounds of Elverquisst and then urged to give the first dance of the night.
Eliwyn stands beneath the pear tree, head resting against the rough trunk. A placid smile sits on her lips as she watches the revel. As happy she is for her brother, the celebratory mood is wasted on her. Just a few tendays ago Ulder informed her that, come next summer, she would no longer be needed as Wyll’s governess.
She feels quite listless now…a ship out to see on a starless night with no map and no rudder…
“May I join you?”
A black haired elf hands her a glass of wine. His smile is kind enough, though it does not quite reach his eyes. Eliwyn takes the wine and gives him a nod. She scrambles to find his name amongst all the others she learned in rapid succession tonight.
Irathadril.
Irathadril Immeril. He’s a cousin of Nylieraee from Evereska.
“Nylieraee speaks very highly of you and your family,” he says. “She has even already decided to simplify her name to Lia as you all have done. May I ask, what was your full name before you accommodated the inelegance of human tongues?”
Eliwyn bristles at those last few haughty words. But she quickly shakes it off. He can no more help being a haughty elf than humans can help their difficulty with Tel-quessir names.
“‘Eliwyn’ is my full name. My parents chose something simple so as to make things easier. I was born here, you see.”
“Ah yes, forgive me. I do recall Nylieraee mentioning that.” Irathadril shifts his weight. “Your name means ‘musician,’ and yet you did not make a performance to honor Hanali Celanil. You are a musician, are you not? Surely your parents did not make such a grievous error when naming you?”
Once more Eliwyn must stop herself from recoiling at his blunt words. She covers her momentary frown with a quick and demure smile. “They did not. But I play the piano, and I did not think your Lady Goldenheart’s divine ears would be much pleased with my instrument.”
Irathadril laughs and nods in agreement. Then he shifts his weight once again. His finger drums the edge of his cup as he watches the dancing on the lawn. Eliwyn takes a long drink from her own glass and bites her lip as she thinks of what else to say to him.
“I much admired your painting,” she says, finally landing on something. “It is beautiful. Masterful. Where did you find such a view?”
“That is my home. It has taken me several decades to finally capture the way the mist settles into the midrows. Have you been to Evereska?”
Eliwyn shakes her head.
Without further invitation Irathadril tells her of his home. He spares no detail in describing the vineyard his family owns in the outskirts of the realm. She soon knows all about his family and how they are a branch of one the most notable merchant families in Evereska. His side of the family produces the wine while his cousin handles the business of selling it. Bottles from their cellars can be found as far as Waterdeep.
Eliwyn tilts her head as she watches him speak. His already striking gold eyes brighten even more and his smile softens. It is clear he loves his home very much.
When his words slow, he gives her a strange look. “I think you in particular might enjoy Evereska. It cannot be easy living among humans such as you have.”
She shrinks beneath his gaze. She wants to hide from his pity. For that is what fills his gilded stare. He pities her and the life to which she has been subjected, at least in his mind. She pastes on her placid smile as if it will hide her from his condolence. “It sounds incredible from your description. I hope to have a chance to see its wonders for myself someday.”
Irathadril takes her hand and lays a soft kiss onto the back of her fingers. “Should you ever find yourself there, I do hope you will seek me out.”
With that, he strides back to the others. Just beyond, Eliwyn’s mother glances from Irathadril to Eliwyn. Her mother’s stare bears into her with narrowed reckoning before she returns to her conversation.
***
“I think he is right. A visit to Evereska would do you tremendous good,” says Arnadareath.
Eliwyn and her mother are in the midst of preparing a late mornfeast. The festivities of the previous night lasted until dawn. Those guests staying with Eliwyn’s family are now rising from their reveries. Eliwyn has just finished apprising her mother and her mother’s cousin of the conversation with Irathadril.
“You are always welcome to stay with me. You’ll love Evereska City! And we can certainly arrange another introduction with Irathadril.” Arnadareath and Annwyl exchange sly glances.
Eliwyn tsks and rounds on her mother. “You’ve forbidden me from even stepping a foot outside of the Upper City and now you suddenly want me to fly off to Evereska?”
“Because I know you’ll be safe in Evereska. I think you would be far happier there than here. Even a few decades there will see you less…less…”
Eliwyn narrows her eyes. “Say it, Mother. Say what you mean.”
“Less Forlorn,” her mother says with a sigh. “And I will not deny I am quite gladdened by the prospect of you securing a marriage within the Immeril family—“
“Oh, Mother,” Eliwyn groans. Her knife chops heavily into the strawberries so that they are more masticated than sliced.
“He clearly took a liking to you,” Arnadareath says.
But Eliwyn shakes her head and fixes her eyes on the strawberries. The truth is, they did not see the terrible, sickening pity in his eyes. If he had any interest in her it was only because he saw her as someone who needs saving. To him she is a damsel caught in the distressing grief of life among humans. He would be her savior, sweeping her away to a mythical kingdom of nigh everlasting life.
No doubt he saw her, too, as a project. To him she is akin to a painting or sculpture that was crafted by the clumsy hands of human customs. He surely imagines that he could restore her to elven perfection.
Her mother’s hand stops her forceful chopping and guides Eliwyn’s eyes to hers with a hand beneath Eliwyn’s chin. “Think on it, little duck. I want only for you to be happy, and I fear happiness does not exist here for you.”
Eliwyn wants to retort. She may not have happiness here, but she at least has meaning.
Had meaning…
Ulder has now taken that meaning from her.
So…perhaps her mother is right?
After all, how long has she been living in that liminal space between happiness and melancholy? How long has she been trapped in an inescapable twilight, where the light of life is tinged always with the dark of death?
An entire life flashes before her eyes. One spent in a land of beauty and freedom from sorrowful loss. She has a husband who will live to see many, many centuries with her. She has children who she can love and find joy in without the fear of having to lay them to their eternal rest.
It would surely mean giving up who she is. Irathadril or any elf from a place like Evereska would likely expect her to forsake her piano, her preference for the Common tongue and human dress, her god…
But considering what her future holds—a life of either despair or loneliness—would it be so terrible, really, to let someone make her into something other than what she has always been? Would it be so awful to build a life in someone else’s shape when her own life is so very much like water spilling across the floor?