Lady Feywren Evenlight

A Beginning at an End

(( A response. ))

Winter’s Veil had passed in evergreen splendour at the Evenlight estate, which presently settled into an extended night’s sleep amidst the twinkling faerie lights, end of year excitement, and far too much wine. Feywren’s own glass, brimming with a rather generous portion of their family’s best chardonnay, courtesy of her cousin, sat largely untouched where it perched on her nightstand. 

A soft sigh ended in an amused smile as she recalled Vivlian’s expression upon glimpsing the assortment of gifts laid out on the quilted bedspread between the two of them. One after the other, everything Tori had sent Feywren was so lovely, with each carefully chosen item honouring the woman she was, even as they whispered promises of new experiences, new adventures to be had. They tickled the deepest parts of the young priestess, a certain eager poise about her slender frame as she ran her fingers over the soft woollen sweaters, the beautifully wrought instruments and real leather working gloves. There were chocolates- her favourites!- and a beautiful new copy of Master Sunspell’s latest work too. And then, of course, there had been the smallest box among her gifts.

Ever protective of Feywren herself as well as her feelings, the handmaiden’s dark features had remained pointedly unreadable in those first few seconds, as Feywren’s had grown wide-eyed and still as she read and reread the accompanying note. Questions had risen, nigh tangible around them, though they’d remained tactfully unspoken for the moment as the Evenlight heiress eventually set his words aside. 

Taking up the delicate little piece, still tucked in its velvet-lined bed, Feywren had been grateful when Vivlian began speaking of the full day they’d had, and she’d swiftly seen fit to bid her goodnight. Her cousin and handmaiden had simply grinned at her then, as she’d refilled her glass, bidding her a Happy Winter’s Veil before retiring, though Feywren knew without a doubt that she’d caught the way her fingers had trembled.

Quite simply, it was… beyond breathtaking, this gift. All the more so for what it truly meant. She held it, still, cradling the centuries of Tori’s family’s legacy against her as her smile grew fond in a way that few had ever seen. The immediate, practical thought was there… the stern ‘what was he thinking…?’ that sounded rather like her father’s voice in her head. And yet, could she truly claim she’d not been thinking much the same as recently as the week before, when while finishing of her Winter’s Veil shopping she’d paused in the midst of the bustling Bazaar to gaze upon a particular window display? 

She shook her head. Logic had its place in many things, and had served her well throughout her life; it had ever been a system of examination, of analysing facts and figures as a means to make her choices- limited as they’d been until now. It was, indeed, a reliable way of dealing with things, caught up in the decidedly cold realm of the mind, where truths existed with supporting evidence and trust was a given. As well, had it long since been her greatest struggle, reconciling this part of herself with the boundless warmth that lived in the heart of her. Here lay the source of her faith, the centre of her own unknowable strength in the Light. Where a lifetime of logical assessment and study could lead her to this conclusion or that, it was here, in this most secret, sacred place, where miracles were made. And it was here, she knew, that this choice had to be made.

The comfort of her own space as well as the remnants of the day’s revelry made it easy for her to slip into the solemn silence of that place, to allow all linear trains of thought to fall away, and simply feel for what it was she wanted. A gentle image of Renrael, in all his grinning, secret-keeping brilliance, greeted her there, and was just as gently carried off, fading away into treasured memory alongside those of her late brothers. 

She sat up straighter, breathing deep and venturing deeper still, drifting past summers at the seaside cabin and racing on the back of her hawkstrider, past positions at the Spire, or at the bedside of an injured soldier. Beneath books and ink and titles and responsibility, and even past an exquisite white gown and a telltale fluttering in her belly- it was here she would find herself alone with what she wanted. And it was here- oh, she should have known- that she’d find him waiting, with the promise of new experiences and new adventures in his arms.

Yes… yes I will.

She would write him straight away. No- she would meet with him instead, as early as she could! And when she saw him she would reach for him with hands that ceased to tremble, with promises of her own on her lips and an heirloom ring on her finger.

(( Mentions of Astorila Dal'fin'al, Vivlian, Renrael, and Alaris Sunspell's naughty novels! ))