[Even better, Illarion had lived the myth--at least part of it. The splits that had riven a united elvenkind into deep and high, iron and wood and ice, were all well before his time, but the iron elves' decision to become both more and less than once they'd been was one he'd had a voice in.
Which is why he grimaces, in turn, and shakes his head at Vyng's praise.]
My Prince was that sort of person. I was young and very stupid and like all of us, did not know what we would be giving up. I did know we had to do something, and thought it would be a very fine thing to have more than two children before I died in some war, and that with larger families I would have to go to fewer funerals where we burned an entire line.
[Noble aspirations, noble oaths, but feet of clay, even so. Much as Illarion tells the best and brightest version of their story, he's also had centuries to think about how much of its momentous arcs were built out of tiny, day-to-day decisions on tiny, day-to-day worries.
These musings he lays as an offering, unprompted, before his companion's discomfort.]
Technically, I have already died once, [surprise undead! And he says it with such rueful humor,] so being mortal is no longer a worry of mine. Even so, I have heard we Sleepers come back from death eventually?
[It makes mortality even less of a concern.] So one thing I will not do: Worry about us all being killed.
As for my oaths--I was already released from the old ones, dying how I did, but keeping a form of them is--comforting, to me. For most of us, who are in my order--the Knights Pariah. We serve the living of Nephele; I can do as much here in Trench, once I have learned more of this world.
[And then--] A question for you, before we go on: You did not like something about my story. What does it make you think of?
no subject
Which is why he grimaces, in turn, and shakes his head at Vyng's praise.]
My Prince was that sort of person. I was young and very stupid and like all of us, did not know what we would be giving up. I did know we had to do something, and thought it would be a very fine thing to have more than two children before I died in some war, and that with larger families I would have to go to fewer funerals where we burned an entire line.
[Noble aspirations, noble oaths, but feet of clay, even so. Much as Illarion tells the best and brightest version of their story, he's also had centuries to think about how much of its momentous arcs were built out of tiny, day-to-day decisions on tiny, day-to-day worries.
These musings he lays as an offering, unprompted, before his companion's discomfort.]
Technically, I have already died once, [surprise undead! And he says it with such rueful humor,] so being mortal is no longer a worry of mine. Even so, I have heard we Sleepers come back from death eventually?
[It makes mortality even less of a concern.] So one thing I will not do: Worry about us all being killed.
As for my oaths--I was already released from the old ones, dying how I did, but keeping a form of them is--comforting, to me. For most of us, who are in my order--the Knights Pariah. We serve the living of Nephele; I can do as much here in Trench, once I have learned more of this world.
[And then--] A question for you, before we go on: You did not like something about my story. What does it make you think of?