6th of Searing, Year 120
The woman hummed. He could hear it from somewhat far away -- that soft, melodic voice, muffled through the barrier of her lips. He felt himself, stepping endlessly towards the upward slope of the hill, beginning to feel the sorrow in her song. And that sorrow reverberated through him. He remembered the words to that song, and that she used to sing it to him all the time. Whenever he was unhappy, like now. And... whenever she was. Whenever she was afraid, which was often.
It was his mother beyond the sea of grass, and it was her tune that he absently followed. It was the tune that she sung to him as she absently wailed, harrowed by fear, lain on the mold-covered bed of their Bedlam hovel. It was on the night of her death, as she perhaps finally realized that the day had come and the sickness had become too much to bear. She invited him to her side, and together they cried, because even as a little boy Taelian finally knew.
He missed her. Even as cold as she had often been, staring malignantly towards the distance, regretting the choices of her life. Even... regretting him. There was something within her beyond the dread; a feeling of guilt that perhaps he had only mistaken for love. And then, reminiscence of her earlier life, living near the interior portions of Sil-Elaine away from the vile undercity. He couldn't have imagined what her life had been like before marrying his father, at least not at first. Having wealth. As laughable as 'wealth' was in Sil-Elaine.
"Mother," he whispered beneath his breath. He'd been partially awake for a while, and only now would he acknowledge it. Of course, the word was said only as emotion overwhelmed him; tears were already in his eyes. Lately, contrary to how he normally was, he couldn't stop feeling. He was burgeoning with emotions all the time -- and he didn't always want to be. Strangely enough, a part of Taelian longed for the simplicity that was being Famished. He had never fully been that way... but, he'd almost mastered that null feeling, like flicking on a lantern. Right now... he wondered if he could...
"Ah," he sighed. That was it.
It was dark in his room. The lantern quickly turned on, the small fire glowing through the glass and brimming out against the walls.
The Siltori's lips settled into what looked like a half-frown. He supposed it was good a time as any to practice magic; he needed to learn portalwork better than he knew, certainly to become a Thespian and even just to manage the travel required of him. Taelian had decided recently that he would stay as an Ebon Knight. That meant, unfortunately, involvement with Eleanor's dangerous game in Kamdin, and the continued fight against the Huntsmen and their ilk.
There was only one of him, though, and all of these ideals. All of these goals. He scarcely knew how to manage them -- and his involvement with the two groups had been somewhat minimal. It did weigh on his mind, whether or not he would be able to sustain his tenure in the Covenant. Fighting the Court of Dusk would be so tiring, and so endangering. It was a long game.
