ioduanlogs | silent, in the trees [open]

Entry tags:

silent, in the trees [open]

Characters: Trahearne, open to everyone
Date: Early February
Location: In and around the Dreaming Bridge
Situation: There's a quiet plant guy lurking around. That might be a little weird.
Warnings/Rating: Nothing yet

A. During the day - outside the Dreaming Bridge
When he's not busy with other matters, Trahearne has been spending some time right outside the Dreaming Bridge building. He mostly walks around the outside of the Quayside wing, though sometimes he makes a circle around the Breakwater wing as well, to cover all his bases.

What exactly he's doing out there might not be immediately obvious. When he's not just walking around, examining the dirt and peering under bushes like he's looking for something, he's been leaving little pieces of jerky in specific, tucked-away places. Trahearne later returns to check to see if the jerky is gone, but even when it's disappeared, he seems to keep walking away with nothing to show for the endeavor.

Whatever kind of animal Trahearne is trying to lure out hasn't yet revealed itself, but he's certainly patient enough to continue trying.

B. At night - in the Dreaming Bridge lounge/lobby
Trahearne hasn't been sleeping well. Tossing and turning is one thing, but after the first night when he kept waking from terrible nightmares, he decided that persisting in a useless endeavor would only end in disturbing his roommates. The idea of having to explain what he was seeing in his dreams to two complete strangers wasn't just unappealing, he knew that it wouldn't help matters any. He'd still have trouble sleeping, and he'd still wake them with it, whether they knew what was happening or not.

Instead, he's taken to slipping out of his room after the others are asleep, taking with him a small pile of books on the Planes that he's obtained from one of the local libraries. Trahearne then curls up in one of the more comfortable chairs in the public lounge, reading by the light of a lamp, up until he dozes off or simply can't see straight anymore. Whether he's found awake or asleep, he's always gone before sunrise, either to get breakfast or to return to his room to prepare for another day.

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Trahearne certainly wasn't always observant, and less so at this time of night, when he was somewhat drowsy himself. He had just sat down, his pile of books set on a table next to his chair, when the sudden voice nearly startles him into dropping the book he had picked off the top.

"Oh! My apologies, I didn't see you over there." Offering him a small smile in return, Trahearne shakes his head. "It's not for the solitude that I'm here - but if you'd rather I leave, I could do that. There's other places I could sit and read."

Friendliness offered earns friendliness in return. The Fool quirks a warm smile and unfolds himself from his seat at the window to stand and stretch; perhaps he'd been seated there, gazing out towards the city and the sea, for some time. "I would welcome the company, to be truthful," he replies, and comes towards the strange looking man to find a vacant seat near one of the lamps. This one looks more inviting anyway; more plush cushions, fewer hard angles. He settles into it, folding his legs beneath himself again.

"It's somewhat reassuring," he begins tiredly, pushing hair from his eyes, "to discover I'm not the only one here struggling with sleep."

Trahearne nods, watching him approach before placing the first book in the pile on his lap. He's not opening it yet, though, more liking the thought of a pleasant conversation right now than delving straight into something as meaty as a treatise on the metaphysics of the Plane of Death.

"You'd be surprised how many different people I've seen here at night since I started keeping these hours. For some it seems natural, and for others it's down to the difficulty of living in a strange new place." He continues in a wistful tone, "I do envy the ones that can sleep soundly. This city doesn't seem particularly dangerous, but it's still something of an unknown quantity."

The Fool's eyes wander to the book regardless, his interest piqued, though not enough to delve into the subject. He's more interested in the friendly stranger with the peculiar appearance, and while he could prevent his eyes from wandering to those leaves, the green skin, why bother? Trahearne would know his curiosity anyway.

"A mystery city populated by mysteries," the Fool ventures, still smiling, and rests his chin on his curled knuckles. "And I hope I don't offend, but your appearance is truly mystifying. I've only seen similar markings upon those touched by dragons, in my world."

"By dragons...?"

Trahearne's eyes widen, his shock not well disguised. He's looking at the Fool now like he might very well start demanding how he stumbled across that information, how did he know?, but instead he holds his tongue until he can say something less accusatory. Being so belligerent had never been in his nature.

"I - I would be happy to explain, if you'd care to tell me what the dragons in your world are like. That seems like a fair exchange."

There's something in Trahearne's expression that makes the Fool's smile fade. He tips his head, frowning. "Certainly," he murmurs in response, distracted, wondering whether he ought to offer some apology, or make amends, before he answers. He elects not to, not yet.

"They're not so different from men and women, in their various conceits," he begins slowly, as though trying to determine the best way to go about describing the dragons of his world. There is a lot to cover. "Their lifespans may cover an age and the boundaries of our little nations are meaningless to them, but their vanity can be flattered or their dignity insulted the same as any man. Humans who spend much time in their company," he adds, eyes wandering across Trahearne's face, "are... changed. It is difficult to describe, but, with a dragon's guidance, they can be changed to resemble, in many ways, dragons themselves."

A pause, and then a small smile. "We call such people Elderlings. They're gifted with lifespans that far exceed those of their forefathers."

Trahearne starts to relax again during that explanation. It's quite interesting to hear of dragons being as fallible as any other intelligent being, but more importantly, it was completely different from his own experiences.

"Ah, then the two of us are from two very different places. I am one of the sylvari, and none of my kind were ever human to begin with. As for the dragons on my world... they aren't nearly so benign. The elder dragons are like forces of nature, driven to consume the world's magic. There's only one dragon I know of that was a friend to the mortal races, and she herself was a former champion to an elder dragon."

Still, that he held a resemblance to those 'Elderlings' was a little disquieting.

To hear the dragons of his world described as benign, even in comparison to the ones of Trahearne's world, brings a wry smile to the Fool's lips. "I'm not sure I would consider our dragons benign," he ventures, his voice almost sing-song, then grows quiet as his companion of the evening speaks.

"They sound as though they possess a terrible presence," he says at length, his tone and expression sympathetic. Then, recalling his manners, he smiles again and gestures to himself. "I am called the Fool. What may I call you?"

"They do. The elder dragons are terrible beyond imagining."

Trahearne's gaze goes a little distant, focused more on past memories than the present - but he seems to shake himself out of it a moment later, regarding the Fool with a quirk of his brows.

"My name is Trahearne. It's good to meet you... but is that something you're willingly called?"

Trahearne's skepticism is not unexpected. In response, the Fool's lips curl in amusement. "Not always," he replies wryly and shifts some in the plush seat to make himself more comfortable, adjusting the fall of his scarlet sleeves so that they don't bunch uncomfortably. "The court of the Six Duchies called me such while I lived there as their simple court jester. The king's grandson, reviled by the court, is the one who turned it into a name." His tone grows soft, fond, as he speaks of Fitz, his eyes distant.

Then he comes back to the moment and smiles at Trahearne again. In a move that is a bit theatrical--understandable, knowing that he once tumbled and entertained as a jester--he dips his head and makes an artful gesture with one hand. "It is good to meet you, Trahearne."

Trahearne's expression brightens into a near-smile at the flourish. "That's fascinating," he said, quite sincerely. There weren't many true kingdoms left on his world, except for the human kingdom of Kryta. What he knew of courts and royalty was mostly the result of his studies of history, of places where time and disaster had lent a sad veneer to it all.

"You must have so many incredible stories - perhaps of your time outside of the court as well, from the sound of it. I can't imagine that being a jester is nearly as simple as you claim it is."

"You must have so many incredible stories..."

The Fool smiles, but the expression possesses a distant, almost listless quality. He looks away. "Yes," he says rather faintly, "I do. Yet so many of them are not truthfully mine to tell." A pause, before he laughs a little and looks to Trahearne again, as though to reassure him that he hasn't accidentally trod upon some forbidden subject. "Not that that has stopped me previously."

He twists some in his seat to more fully face Trahearne, looking inquisitive. "But tell me more of your world. I fear I could go on at great length about my calling, but perhaps on another night." Another night, when nightmares weren't keeping him awake.

"Well, that's quite alright," Trahearne responded, though with a slight, inquisitive tilt of his head. As curious as he is, he just wasn't inclined to pry into someone else's affairs. "Another night, then."

Trahearne set the book on his lap aside completely, then paused, realizing he had no idea where to start. How do you go about describing an entire world? "Is there anything in particular you'd like to know? I could tell you about the sylvari or the other races, our history, or magic, or any number of topics. I can't claim to be an expert on everything to do with my world, but I am at least familiar with the basics."

That question did paint with a bit of a broad brush, didn't it? The Fool smiles again and rests his chin against his curled knuckles.

"Tell me of the sylvari," he suggests, his eyes wandering with thoughtful attentiveness to Trahearne's appearance. The similarities between him and what he knows of the Elderlings are indeed striking.

Trahearne turns to face the Fool more directly, getting comfortable in his chair. "We're a very new race, in the scheme of things. You might like the story of how our Mother Tree came to be - I always thought it was a hopeful tale."

He softly clears his throat before beginning, "Well over 250 years ago during the Krytan Civil War, there was a soldier named Ronan who found across a special seed. He took it home with him after his battles, only to find that in his absence, his village had been raided and his family killed. In his grief, he swore to lay down his weapons, and so he planted the seed over their graves.

Afterward, he met the centaur Ventari, who had before fought against humans but since then sworn himself to peace. The two founded a safe haven near where the tree was planted. The two of them remained in that small sanctuary until Ronan grew old and died, with Ventari to join him some years later. Before Ventari's passing, he carved his lessons of peace upon a large stone tablet, left at the tree's roots.

But even after their deaths, the tree continued to grow - until us sylvari emerged, those two centuries later. There were only twelve of us 'firstborn' to begin with, until the secondborn came two years later, and many more sylvari after that. The Pale Tree cannot move around like we do, but she can show a manifestation of herself to us. She is our mother, and the steward of the Dream we all share. We have also kept Ventari's Tablet, and we have been guided by its lessons ever since we left our pods."

The Fool sits very still as Trahearne speaks, folded up into his seat with his chin in his hand. His inquisitive expression shifts and changes with the twists and turns in Trahearne's tale: curiosity about the war; interest in the soldier's collection of the seed; genuine sorrow over the loss of Ronan's family, and a wistful melancholy over the life he and Ventari shared.

There is something in him that shifts viscerally at the words, 'the Pale Tree,' but he masters it quickly. It can only be coincidence that such a peaceful entity from an entirely different universe might share such a title with his own tormentor. He keeps those words private.

"It sounds as though you are all of you a family, though far removed from each other by time and distance," the Fool muses pensively aloud instead. "You sylvari and your Mother Tree, as well as the soldier and the centaur...?" He says the last word almost as a question, as though not quite sure what to make of it. Clearly judging by his confusion, centaurs are not even figures of legend in his world; they do not exist at all.

Noticing his confusion, Trahearne clarified, "The centaur are a race of people that have an equine lower half, and an upper torso that resembles that of a human. They have been at war with humans for a very long time. It's part of what made Ventari so unique in both seeking peace and not rejecting Ronan's friendship."

The idea of family does draw a faint smile out of him. There were complications to an idea like that, of course, but it was still a pleasant way of looking at it. "All sylvari consider each other siblings, even if those ties aren't as strong as they are within the other races. After all, I have a great many younger brothers and sisters I've never met." Possibly numbering in the thousands by now - Trahearne isn't sure if any of the many efforts to do a census were ever successful. "Ventari's memory exists in the Dream we have before awakening, though I'm not sure if Ronan's memory does. It's possible that the Pale Tree was too young to have known him before his passing."

The Fool listens in silence as Trahearne explains and clarifies, and tips his head to the side some as he considers what he's heard. For a time he remains quiet after his new friend has finished speaking.

Then, rather gently, he says, "I imagine it must be lonely for you here, without your many siblings, and the Pale Tree."

Hearing that sentiment makes Trahearne momentarily fall quiet, his gaze shifting away from the Fool to one of the windows. He could have argued, and spoke of how he'd alienated most other sylvari through his work, but that wouldn't change how close to the heart of the matter the Fool had managed to strike.

"I'm supposed to be dead. Such a thing would have been denied to me either way. I do feel like... like I've been cheated out of my deserved rest. If there was an afterlife for me, I expected one where I'd be able to greet the friends that came before me. Yet I found myself here instead, and I still don't know if this was some cosmic accident, or if there is something more I'm meant to do."

"...I still don't know if this was some cosmic accident, or if there is something more I'm meant to do."

"Your words make me wish I could offer you some reassurance on the matter," the Fool says, his smile twisting wryly. "Where I am from, there was a time when I might have been able to glean your destiny--" or his fate, "--through my dreams. But.." His words taper off, and he looks away. "I'm like you in many ways, it seems. I, too, am supposed to be dead."

For a few moments he is quiet. Then, with a short, bitter little laugh, he asks, "What good is a prophet who can no longer prophesy?" It's a rhetorical, self-critical question. Doubtless, he doesn't expect an answer to it.

He looks back to the Fool with some surprise, before dipping his head in a slow nod. "I know all too well how you feel. Little of my own experience matters for anything on a world like this." Even before Trahearne had died, he had finished his Wyld Hunt to cleanse Orr - something he'd spent most of his life working towards. He had then thrown himself into leading the Pact forces a short time before he died, with no opportunity to reinvent himself. Here, Trahearne was both a scholar of a dead land on another world, and a marshal without an army.

"It seems that we'll both need to find new ways to thrive here. It feels daunting, doesn't it? I'm sure that Mother would say to not give up hope."

Trahearne has certainly been trying not to, but he still wished he could have heard the words from her instead of trying to imagine what advice she might give.

"I'm sure that Mother would say not to give up hope."

"Sage advice," the Fool replies, smiling softly. "I shall try to be less Foolish, for a time, and heed it."

He carefully unfolds his legs from beneath himself and gets to his feet, securing his robe around himself. "I think I may make another attempt at sleep," he decides, "but thank you for taking the time to speak with me, tonight. It is," a slight pause, "easy, to feel alone here."

Trahearne chuckled softly at the joke. "You don't seem foolish to me at all, so I'll have to take your word for it."

He nodded to the Fool, but made no move to get up himself. Trahearne still had his stack of books, and dawn was too far off for him to go slipping back into his room yet. "Yes, it is easy," he agreed. "But I'm sure all of the Dreamfolk go through that. I hope the remainder of your night will be restful."

In response, the Fool smiles. "I hope to see you again soon," he says, and takes his leave from the lounge as quietly as he arrived.

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silent, in the trees [open]

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