Sketches In The Snow

"Sketches In the Snow" is © 1997 by Melissa Van Houton and is printed here with permission.
SKETCHES IN THE SNOW
by Melissa Van Houton
Tower year 1179

     Dead?
     Doreel turned a stunned face to his guest. He could see the grief in Ceyte's eyes. He sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms. It was an automatic reaction, comforting her, but that made it no less meaningful. He stroked her hair gently while his mind conveyed messages of love and warmth to hers. He cradled her body against his and waited a few moments while the worst of her sobs passed.
When he looked up, he saw his human servant Silan placing a tray with a carafe of wine and two glasses on the table. The dark-haired, dark-eyed girl filled one of the two glasses and left as quietly as she had arrived. Doreel lifted the glass and held it to Ceyte's lips. When she'd taken a few sips he replaced the glass on the tray.
"And you said Shadaln is arranging for a wake. Tonight."
"Yes. I thought you'd like to know."
**Of course I would, Ceytelove. Thank you.** He turned away andstared off at nothing for a moment. "You'd best go, Ceyte," he said softly, "so you can get ready."
She rose to go. "Would you like me to come get you before the wake?"
Doreel shook his head, his long white tresses swinging back and forth. "No, thank you, Ceytelove. I'll be along. But I'd like a little time to myself. You understand, don't you?"
She nodded, then reached out and ran her fingers through the close-cropped hair on the top of his head, letting her hand trail down the side of his face. He leaned into the caress and turned to gently nip one of her knuckles. Ceyte smiled sadly and left the room.
Doreel looked up to see a stricken expression on his servant's face.   "Nana," she said as she stepped forward, her hands pulling nervously at her waist-length braid. "D-did you say th-the Great Spirit is d-d-dead?"
"Yes."
"B-but how can that be? The Spirits cannot die."
"Unfortunately, Silan," he said as he rose, "that's not quite true. We can die, we just don't age." He shook his head again, a tear rolling down his cheek as he thought of his brother Lyris, dead for nearly two eights of eights. "But we can die."
He picked up the carafe and the wine glass and turned to the stairway. "I'm not to be disturbed," he said softly as he climbed the first few steps. "Not for any reason." He left without waiting for her answer.
When he got to his workroom he went to turn up wick in one of his wall lamps, but stopped, drawn by the view outside his window. It was a storm, magnificent in its fury. He set the wine down on a worktable and walked to the window as if in a trance. Placing his hands on the sill, he poked his head outside until the ends of his wind-whipped hair began to sting his cheeks. Tears rolled down his face, though he couldn't have named their cause.
Lost in the wild beauty of the blizzard, he was unaware of anything else: of climbing to sit in the window, of shivering from the chill, of his servants lighting the fires beneath the dye vats for warmth, of anything but the voices and visions in the storm.
All of them of Tyaar.
The wind spoke to him in Tyaar's voice, laughed with a warmth Doreel hadn't heard in centuries. Not since Wisprian....
The memories came flooding back unchecked. Doreel let them wash over him, remembering things he'd forgotten he knew. Each and every memory reminded him of how much he loved his lord. Even the recent memories, the ones from after the change, didn't diminish that love. Even a fleeting memory of Tyaar's explanation for the Functionality of Vriana, Doreel's lifemate didn't touch that love. Doreel had been at times confused, disappointed and angry, but he still loved Lord Tyaar.
That revelation was, somehow, not as startling as he thought it should have been. Doreel turned part of his awareness inward, though that only helped the memories come even clearer than they had been so far.
He felt a touch, spiderlight, on the fringes of his mind: Ceyte. He could tell by its familiar flavor; warm, sweet and feathersoft. What he couldn't figure out was why she was calling him...nor did it matter. He blocked her from his mind, and once again he turned to look out into the blizzard, losing himself in memories....
Silan stepped from the corridor into the large, spacious bedroom and gasped. "Nana," she breathed quietly. She turned to back to the servants' quarters. She returned in only moments with Doreel's other bodyservant, Trumbol, and his apprentice. The three humans went to the elf slumped on a stool in the corner. They carefully lifted him to an upright position and carried him to his bed. Silan turned back the sheets, then went back to the corner while the others undressed Doreel and out him to bed.
Before the stool was a painting, still wet in places. Silan stared at it a moment before covering it with a protective cloth, propping some blocks before it so the cover wouldn't touch the drying canvas. When she turned back, Trumbol was tucking the sheets under Doreel's chin.
"He must've been up all night," she whispered when she returned to the others. "He'll need his sleep."
The human males nodded. "We'll make sure he's not disturbed," the older man said before turning down the wick by the easel and leaving the room, his apprentice following behind him. Silan watched her master's face, so peaceful in repose, for another moment or two before following the others out of the bedroom.
"I'm sorry, Honored One, but I was told that Nana cannot be disturbed."
Ceyte was confused. Doreel had never sent her away before, not since that time long ago when he'd first lost his lifemate. After that, she'd been exempt from his "go away" commands. She was worried, but decided the young Mraal was only following instructions, and nodded. "In that case, could you tell him I stopped by?"
"Of course, Honored One." The servant hesitated, looking as if he was going to say something more, so Ceyte waited, smiling warmly. "Um...will you come back later, Honored One, or would you prefer I ask him to seek you?"
"I'll come back later."
"That won't be necessary." Ceyte looked over the human's shoulder to see a very groggy-looking Doreel stepping through the bedroom doorway.   "Thank you for letting me sleep, Joffrin, but I am awake now, and accepting visitors."
"Yes, Nana." The lad stepped aside, allowing Ceyte to enter the room.
"Good morning, Ceytelove," Doreel said in greeting.
"Morning? It's early evening. If we could see the sun through the storm it probably wouldn't be more than a span or two from setting." Se went over to Doreel who was standing near the stairs. "How are you feeling?"
"Exhausted. Why?"
"Well, after you blocked my sending last ni--"
"I what?!"
"You blocked my sending," she repeated. "I tried to reach you to find out why you weren't at the wake, and you blocked me out."
"LAST night?" Doreel looked confused and appalled. "Oh, Ceyte, I'm sorry. I don't remember. After you left me, I went upstairs to my workroom. I remember seeing the storm and seeing how beautiful it was, and I then I woke up in my bed. Has it truly been a full day since I last saw you?"
Ceyte's features softened as she reached out a hand to stroke his face. She sent a wordless affirmation enveloped in warmth and concern as he leaned into her caress.
Joffrin coughed nervously, still unused to the presence of spirits, especially when they showed what to him were very human emotions. The idea that a spirit such as the one he served would admit to not remembering the events of the night before made him extremely uncomfortable. He coughed again.
Doreel was distracted by the noise, and looked beyond Ceyte to see the human lad shuffling his feet. "You may go, Joffrin."
The boy smiled his relief, and, after a perfunctory bow, turned to leave the room. As he passed the elfin pair, Doreel laid a hand on his shoulder. "Wait." The boy stood without looking up, and waited.
"Perhaps you can tell me." This time Joffrin looked up. "How did I get into my bed?"
"W-we carried you there, Honored One; Silan, Trumbol and I."
"All the way from upstairs?" He looked even more confused as he continued under his breath, "But Silan and Trumbol both know I can sleep in my office as well. Why would they bring me to my room?"
"Excuse me, Nana, but you weren't upstairs. You were in your room. We just carried you from your painting to your bed."
"My painting?!" Doreel turned from both Ceyte and the young human and returned to his bedroom. He all but ran through the doorway, carelessly flinging the tapestry aside. Moments later, Ceyte heard him call her name, and walked to the door of his bedroom.
When she got there, she saw Doreel staring at a painting on his easel. Stepping beside him, she drew in her breath. "Doreel, its lovely."
He looked at her, a frightened expression on his face. "But I don't remember doing it!" Then he turned back to the canvas, which displayed a montage of scenes, obviously done by his hand, of Tyaar. Tyaar at the Old Settlement. Tyaar at the rim of Redrock Valley, showing his folk their new home. Working side by side with his people, building the Tower into a home. Holding his infant daughter. Accepting the Declarations from Nalkor and Mikail. Threatening Peysol with yet another vile and vicious death should a commission not be finished in time. Each scene almost glowed with the golden light of Tyaar as he had once been. Doreel stared, horrified, until he heard Ceyte's soft sobs beside him.
"Doreel," she whispered as he folded her into his arms, "it's beautiful. He would've been so proud...."
He held her as she cried, again staring at the painting. He felt a sunny warmth enfold him, coming from the smiles on the faces in the painting. Before he could stop himself, or even know what he was doing, he sent a message to the mind of his deceased ruler. **You will be missed, Tyaar, beloved lord.**
A smile crept across his face as he realized the truth of his sending, his tears both for the loss of Tyaar and the discovery of his love...too late. He lifted Ceyte in his arms and carried her to his bed, where they lay wrapped around each other in shared grief and comforting.
Doreel woke, feeling both empty and fulfilled. Ceyte was nestled snugly against him, sleeping peacefully. He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and smiled down at her. Then he looked across the room, his eyes drawn to the painting. His smile broadened as he caught hold of an idea that had been growing since last night. Last night, when Ceyte had told him of the wakes for Tyaar, both the public one and Shadaln's more private one.
**Hanlir?** he sent, deciding to act on the idea.
**Doreel?**
**Yes. I need a favor.** He sat up carefully, so as not to wake Ceyte. **Can we meet? Your rooms...or mine.**
**I guess so,** the woodworker sent, an edge of reluctance in his mental voice. **Come to my workroom.**
**Would a span be too soon?**
**No,** Hanlir answered. **I'll be waiting.**
Doreel entered Hanlir's workroom carrying a well-wrapped squarish parcel under one arm. Hanlir greeted him pleasantly, but was clearly intrigued by the parcel. In answer to the unspoken question, Doreel set his package down on a worktable and began unwrapping it.
"I'm sorry to charge in at such short notice," the white-haired elf said as his nimble fingers undid the knots in the twine, "But I need a favor."
The woodworker smiled at Doreel's hyperactive breeziness. "So you've said. What's the favor?"
The silk was pulled aside, exposing the back of a canvas. Doreel carefully held the wooden crosspieces and lifted the painting from the table. "I need a frame for this." He turned as he spoke, showing the painting to Hanlir as he finished speaking. "Will you do it?"
"Yes," came the whispered response.
"It has to be beautiful, not that your work is ever anything else, of course. But this time it has to be especially beautiful," Doreel chattered on as Hanlir looked more closely at the painting. "I'll make you whatever you want, of course, in return; a tunic, a robe, a whole outfit, a tapestry, whatever. But this frame has to be extra special. I'm giving it as a gift, you see. The painting that is...."
He trailed off as Hanlir waved a hand as if to silence him. He stayed silent and allowed Hanlir to take the painting from him. Hanlir set it upright against the wall. "A gift, you said?"
"Mm-hmm."
"May I ask for whom?"
"Of course. I don't mind. You'd have to know, wouldn't you? After all, how could you design something to someone's tastes without knowing who would be receiving it? Silly me. I should've told you before...."
"Doreel," Hanlir interrupted with a sigh.
"Oops. Sorry. Was I babbling?" The white-haired elf giggled slightly. "Did you want something?"
Hanlir shook his head. As much as he liked the clothier, Doreel was a bit much at times. "I asked whom this was for?"
**Shadaln.**
Hanlir looked closely at his visitor. There was something in that sending that belied Doreel's image as a mindless fool who couldn't remember his own name from one moment to the next. He thought he saw something in the clothier's eyes as well, but decided he was mistaken as Doreel's usual vacant expression settled on his face.
"When do you need it?"
"When can you have it for me?"
Hanlir again looked closely at the painting, this time judging its dimensions and deciding what sort of frame would suit it best. "Three, maybe four days. For Shadaln, I'd keep it simple, nothing too elaborate or ornate." He turned back to Doreel. "Five days at most."
Doreel sighed with relief. "It's a deal, then?"
"Yes. It's a deal."
"Well, then I'll leave you to your work." Doreel turned to leave without waiting for a response. He knew what he himself was like when interested in a new commission and expected that Hanlir was much the same. **Whatever you ask for in return, should it be within my abilities, is yours.**
Hanlir again looked up, startled by both the clarity and the content of Doreel's sending. But Doreel was gone. After a slight shrug, Hanlir returned his attention to the painting, inspiration already forming a design in his mind's eye.
"Shadaln." The seneschal looked up to see who wanted her this time, and saw Doreel leaning against the wall beside her doorway. In her opinion he was a little overdressed, wearing a tunic whose collar fanned out to form a cape that brushed the floor. She couldn't remember a time she'd seen him dressed similarly that wasn't a "command" performance. The normally barefoot elf was even wearing his boots for the first time in recent memory. She was tired, edgy, annoyed, and wanted nothing more than to crawl into the privacy of her own bed and collapse for a few days. But she was curious, curious as a...as a Mouse. She decided to put off collapsing for a few moments so she could find out what Doreel wanted. And why he was dressed so unusually.
"Hello, Doreel. What can I do for you?"
He stood, but didn't move from the wall. "Actually, I was wondering if you could take something off my hands."
"Is one of your servants--"
"No, nothing like that." He stepped aside and she saw a thin rectangular something wrapped in silk and ribbon. "It's just this."
"What is it?"
He gestured to her doorway. "Perhaps it would be best if we continued this conversation inside before someone else commandeers your skills."
Shadaln looked around, wondering if he was talking about anyone in particular. She didn't see anyone, but decided it was better to be safe than sorry and held the curtain aside so that he could precede her into her chambers.
He tucked the package under one arm and walked into her foyer. When she stepped into the room herself, he held the parcel out to her. She set the package on a table and looked sidelong at it.
"Open it."
She carefully untied the ribbons holding the silk in place, until ribbon and silk fell over her hands, and saw the back of a picture frame.   Even more curious, she managed to forget she was exhausted. The seneschal lifted the frame and turned it to face her.
   And just about dropped it. Luckily Doreel was prepared for such a reaction, and held onto it with a steadying hand.
"By the Palace, Doreel. This is beautiful."
"I was hoping you'd like it." He took it from her unresisting fingers and propped it against a wall. Than he stepped back until he was beside her, and they were both looking at the painting. He draped an arm over her shoulders, and smiled when he felt her arm slip around his waist.
"Yup. It definitely looks better in here." He turned to her and smiled. She caught him up in bear hug that knocked the wind out of him. He chuckled at the unexpected response. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Shadaln give in to a spontaneous display of emotion. He wrapped his own arms around her, hugging her right back. "Does that mean you'll take it?"
The Tower seneschal laughed, her shoulders shaking in release. Doreel wasn't sure just when it happened, but her laughs became sobs. He held on tightly, willing to be the one to be strong for her for a change.   When her sobs subsided, he pushed her away from him slightly, just enough to see her face. A gentle hand wiped the remaining tears from her eyes, a tentative smile encouraging her to do the same.
"Hey," he said in a soothing voice. "Easy with that stuff. You don't want to mess up my new clothes, do you?"
Shadaln smiled; she couldn't help herself. "Well, that's what you get for playing dress-up."
Doreel joined in her chuckles. "How about you go to sleep for a few days? You look like you could use it." When she nodded, he leaned over and kissed the top of her forehead. "I'll tell the Mraal that you're not to be disturbed until you want to be disturbed. Do you think the Torcs will listen to me?"
"Probably not."
"Oh well. In that case, I'll ask Kesik to tell them that if something comes up, they're to take it to Beliel or Doleera. They both want a hand in running the place, right? Well, for the next few days they can see just how difficult it is."
"But they can bring it to Kesik--he is my lieutenant."
Doreel turned her toward her bedroom and gave her a little shove. **Yes, but it'd serve them right. Pay them back for their little power play the other night.**
**Doreel?**
**Go to sleep!**
With that last thought he left the room, smiling as he thought of how well his it had been received. Then he went off in search of the Tower castellan to ask him to make sure the seneschal was not disturbed.

FINIS

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