2022-07-17 – Home / gone – Dwirhian & Erceran (narrative)

The morning after the main events of Homecoming (14 July 2022). Co-written with DM_Youki


The morning after the Homecoming celebration, when the early light is slanting into the valley, Dwirhian quietly approaches and sits next to the figure who is meditating on the shore of the lake.

'Hey Erceran,' she greets him.

The old elf opens his eyes, slowly, and glances sideways. When he sees Dwirhian, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes deepen in a smile. 'Good morning. I almost forgot how peaceful it is here,' he says, taking a deep breath of cool air.

'When there aren't dragons and fruit-baskets appearing and disappearing,' Dwirhian smiles. 'You've heard about that, I guess?'

He nods. 'Never seen the lake do anything like that in all my 600 years… thought such a story warranted a visit home.'

Dwirhian stays quiet for a while and then asks: 'You know they say you're one of the "Parched"?'

Another slow nod. 'I dislike the labels. I decided to leave and wasn't planning on returning. So they called me Parched. Now I've returned and plan to bring more people back. So they call me a Reclaimer. Personally, I don't feel that different,' he says with a lopsided smile. After a short pause, he adds: 'Do you?'

'I, uh...' She laughs uncertainly. 'I feel a lot of things. But yeah, I don't like these names either. I'm sure some people probably called me Parched as well after I went east. But I'm not, I wasn't, not like they mean. I didn't give up on Galavir, I don't think it was all a sham. I just... couldn't bear how different it was. It didn't feel like home any more.' She runs her hands over her shaven head and finds a small downy feather caught in the short hair, maybe carried on the breeze from one of the chickens that the Turning Fielders brought with them. She looks at it between her fingers and then lets the gentle wind carry it away across the lake. 'Why did you leave?'

Erceran gives a small shrug, gazing into the blue mist over the mirror-like water. 'Same as you, I guess? To find hope. For Galavir. Although others would probably say I found a good excuse,' he chuckles and shakes his head. 'I've always been more keen on leaving than coming back. You know, the second part of the song Delynnen sang? I related more to that.' He sighs and looks up, at the few white clouds that flow lazily over the valley. 'I guess it was easier for me to leave. Besides, I had… things I needed to do out there.'

'Yeah, I was always excited to head out into the world too. But I didn't realize until coming back a couple of years ago how much I took the coming-home bit for granted. But you – you actually decided to never come back?'

'I did,' he says after a long pause. Wind worries Erceran's blond hair as he turns his face towards the fresh breeze, his expression weary with memories. 'But it didn't start with the Marid thing. I always found something annoying here. For instance, I found the lakereed weaves boring,' he chuckles, glancing down at his more than traditional attire. 'And I found the valley small and mundane. Life too sleepy. Lake too shallow,' he shakes his head, but there's a fond smile on his lips, like the memory of old grievances was in itself precious. Erceran gives Dwirhian a sideways glance. 'That's what set us apart, myself and Suliol. He always found something here to be fond of, and I found something to dislike. He'd be proud of your story. Of you finding something enjoyable here, despite all the change.' He says with a heavy sigh.

Dwirhian tilts her face up and looks into the empty, endless blue sky, avoiding the eye of her father's old friend. 'I don't know what I find here. I loved it all, more than I ever realized. The lakereed in the wind, the feel of the weave, people sitting outside their houses and weaving and talking, the sparkle on the water, people swimming, people setting out, people coming back... It's all different now, it's nice I guess, I'm glad the people from the foothills are happy here, the ceremony yesterday was nice...'

She looks back down at the lake ahead. 'They're not there, Erceran. The souls. Harlech told me, he saw it. After the... the marid... some tree angel, some servant of that new god came and did something to the lake and all these lights came out of it, up in the air, and flew away, and the angel said the souls were gone and they might not come back. I didn't believe it, I didn't want to believe it, but...'

Suddenly she feels her chin scrunching up and her vision is blurry. She tries to stop the tears but they're running in warm streaks down her face and her voice is choking. 'They're gone, they're all gone... he's gone and I don't know where... and I'll never see him again...' Her shaking, hunched shoulders fall heavily against the old man as she curls into him. 'And mum's going to go away too,' she sobs into his moss-like cloak, 'and Liavri... I don't want to go! I just want to go to the lake and be with dad... I don't... I don't know what's going to happen to any of us any more and I hate it! I hate it!'

A wiry arm wraps around her shoulders. 'I know, girl, I know,' Erceran says, rubbing comforting circles on her shoulder. 'I'd give everything to get them back, too. We all would.' He stays quiet for a while, letting Dwirhian to cry it out. Finally, he adds, voice barely above a whisper and breaking: 'I'm... I'm so sorry.'

After a while Dwirhian's shoulders stop shaking and she sits up a little, dragging her forearm a little roughly back and forth across her face to wipe the salt water away. 'Ugh, sorry. I just... That big battle down in the Dawnlands, it really scared me. You know I've been in danger before, we all have, right? But I always knew I was coming back here. Alive or dead, I'd come home. But this time –' Her face starts to crease up again but she draws in a deep, ragged breath and stops the tears. 'How do other people live like this?'

Erceran shakes his head with almost religious fervour. 'It's not exactly like that. Or… I prefer to think it's not,' he almost whispers. 'People don't just disappear. Like Suliol,' his voice abandons him completely. 'Yes, he's gone. Liavri and I spent years trying to find him, but to no avail. And in these years, I forgot the important part. That although he's gone, that you're still here,' he smiles through tears and squeezes Dwirhian's shoulder. 'You're alive, and so is Liavri. His beloved Delynnen still teaches her students the same beautiful dances we danced when we were young. My friend may be dead, but he is here. This is how others live. That is how we can live now. This is our hope,' he brings up his hand to cup Dwirhian's chin. 'I know it's a change, and it's scary… but a life without hope is… desolate. I know you might disagree,' he lowers his hand and averts his eyes, his features set. 'I probably would disagree when I was young, but… I'd rather have hope live through the future than observe its absence in the past.'

'What future, Erceran?' Her question is forceful, almost aggressive. 'A few hundred more years and then what? Die and go to this "Arvandor" place that Enmaris bangs on about? Get born in some other village or city in some other continent? Grow old and start remembering dad and mum and Liavri and all my friends who I always thought would be with me forever, again and again in the lake and on the shore, and realize that none of them are there, that they're all probably scattered all over the world?'

The tears are starting again as she throws her arm in a wide, angry arc from west to east across the rocky horizon. 'They say there are thousands of thousands of elves in the world! How can any of us ever be together again? That was my hope for the future, don't you understand? Every day for a hundred and sixty years I've hurt because dad died but at least I knew he was here' – she jabs a finger towards the water lapping near them – 'and one day I'd be there too, all of us would! Or we'd be born in the village and meet again, remember each other one day...'

She hunches forwards, kneeling by the edge of the water and bending her head toward it, sinking her hands into the wet sand as big hot tears drop onto them.
'"In the lake or on the shore",' she says quietly, the anger and frustration collapsing into deep sadness. 'When dad or mum went away... they'd always – they'd promise – I'd see them again – in the lake or on the shore... But it wasn't true.' Her fingers press deep into the sand. 'He's gone. I've lost him forever and I'm going to die and then I'll lose everyone and... and that's all there is.'

Erceran extends his hand towards her, but withdraws it before touching her shoulder. It curls into a helpless fist as he folds in on himself.

'I'm so sorry,' he says, fighting back the tears. 'He'd know what to tell you, but I've always been alone, so I don't. I don't… I've failed both of you,' he adds, quieter. 'I should've been there for him…' He looks away, into the depths of the lake, with a tight frown. Just as he's facing away, Dwirhian sees a tear run down a weathered cheek and disappear into the greying sideburns. Erceran takes a moment to steady his breath.

'I'm not saying that it's the same hope,' he adds finally. 'Not the same that we've had before, no. I don't expect this hope to eliminate that pain. But for me it felt like maybe… maybe there is something else for all of us, other than pain. Perhaps I was wrong…' he shakes his head and sighs.

He's startled at that moment to feel a big splash of water across his right-hand side. 'Hey!' says Dwirhian, 'This is my self-pity party, not yours!'
Erceran just huffs into his moustache.

'Look,' she carries on with a sigh, 'None of this is your fault. Not that dad's dead, and not that his soul is – is gone and we're all –' At risk of cracking again, Dwirhian takes a deep breath in and slowly out again before carrying on. 'I'm not angry with you, okay, I'm just angry. It just sucks. It's just horrible. I'm not expecting you to do anything about it. I appreciate you trying to help and I'm glad if the hope thing makes you feel better about stuff. I really am. Please don't beat yourself up about it.'

'Thank you for being so gracious, Dwirhian, but maybe you should be angry with me,' Erceran shakes his head, eyes still full of sorrow. 'Your mother certainly has been. And rightfully so. I…' his gaze darts to the lake and then back to Dwirhian. 'I was supposed to wait for him that day. For Suliol. We agreed to meet in the mountains and go north. And I got delayed. He moved on without me. And didn't come back. I don't know if I could have helped or simply would have been lost with him, but… I can't change what happened, maybe that's why I need hope so much.' He takes a staggered breath. 'I understand if you feel differently now. But I had to tell you.'

'You – that – hang on, he just left? How late were you?'

Erceran swallows painfully. 'For almost a day. Thought I'd make it in time but the path ended up being more difficult than than I anticipated.'

Dwirhian is frowning, puzzled. 'But still,' she says, 'mum always says he was very patient, wouldn't he have waited? Was there a hurry to get somewhere? Are you sure he left? Maybe gnolls came while he was waiting, or...'

Erceran shrugs, his shoulders slumping at the end of the movement. He looks older, like all his years have suddenly caught up with him. He starts talking quietly, deep voice uncertain: 'I don't know. He said there was something up north he wanted to explore, and we agreed to meet on a mountain path. When I got there, all I saw were the remains of his camp. It didn't look destroyed, just abandoned. I assumed he packed up and went ahead without me. But when I crossed the path and tried to follow his trail, I couldn't find it. There were no traces of a fight, nothing looked violent. It just looked like…' The old elf frowns, going through the picture in his memory. 'Like he was never there…' He shrugs helplessly. 'Maybe that's why I kept looking. It all looked… too peaceful.' He shakes his head, gaze wondering to the lake.

'How far north did you look?' Dwirhian asks intently, turning to face Erceran and brushing the damp sand off her hands. 'If he had a day's start on you –'
But then she stops, shakes her head.
'No, I can't do this again. I spent so long thinking about everything that might have happened, all the reasons he didn't come home. It doesn't matter. We can't know what happened and we can't know if you could have done anything to stop it.'

Erceran nods. 'Eventually, I resolved to think the same. Just to move on. Liavri disagreed, of course, and continued her search on her own. I…' His nose scrunches. 'I was getting too old. At some point, you have so much past that chasing even the best parts of it becomes tiresome.' He takes a deep calming breath and looks at the lake and the town next to it. The crow feet around his eyes deepen in a barely-there fond smile.

'Have you heard from her? When they said some of the Parched had come back, I thought... well, you know.'

'Not in some time, no. We've parted ways at the northernmost mountain. She kept trekking north, and I went west. That's the last I saw of her,' Erceran sighs. 'Although Delynnen told me she saw a vision of her, so I have little doubt that your sister is doing fine,' he adds with a smile. 'I hope in time she will find it possible to move on, same as you.'

'Is that why she left the village? To look for dad? Why now?'

Erceran frowns. 'I don't think she ever stopped looking… I had a suspicion she might have not told you the purpose of her travels north. I asked her once why you never joined, and she just… well, she didn't say anything, really.'

'I mean... I'll admit, the first few decades when I went travelling, I always hoped I'd find him or hear some sort of clue or something. I'd have denied it at the time. Probably to myself, even. But I was only doing that because I secretly hoped he was still alive. Once I accepted he wasn't... what's the point?' Dwirhian sighs. 'And I always thought she was the sensible one! Well, maybe that's why she never told me.'

Erceran nods with a sad smile. 'I suppose she wouldn't want to worry you. And your mother...' he frowns. 'To be honest, I'm surprised she hasn't mentioned anything. From the way she spoke it sounded like she found some clues.'

'What, recently?'

'When you're six hundred years old everything feels recent,' Erceran rolls his shoulders. 'But I cannot imagine it being more than a couple of years ago. I told her it would always feel like she was one more trip away from the solution, but she was convinced it was real this time.'

'Oh, Liavri...' Dwirhian begins another sigh and it turns into a groan. 'I can't get sucked into this again, I can't,' she says as the beginnings of tears shine in her eyes. She wipes them away with the back of her wrist. 'Look, I'd better get back to my friends. Some of them are heading home this morning. Are you sticking around?'

'Yes, for a while,' Erceran nods, and looks to the lake. 'I hope to understand what's going on. Or understand where to go with it… Either way - I'm around,' he says with conviction.

'Okay,' she replies, running her hands over the silvery stubble of her hair. 'Right. Well, I'll be here for a few days more so I'll see you around.' She stands up and gives her lakereed skirt a few pats to shake the loose sand off. 'Sorry about crying on you. And – hm, no, I'm a little bit sorry about splashing you but mostly not. But listen, I'll talk to mum, she shouldn't be giving you a hard time. None of this is your fault.'

Erceran lifts his hand up in a placating gesture. 'Dwirhian, it's alright. Me and your parents go way back. Delynnen will figure things out for herself,' he pauses, and looks back to the lake with an unfocused gaze. 'I'll be here if you need me. I've got a lot to think about…' he sighs, and the breeze picks up his breath, carrying it over the glimmering surface.

Dwirhian nods and pats him on the shoulder before walking back towards the middle of the village. Turning back for a moment, she sees the seated figure dark against the shining water. In years gone by she'd have thought of him as one of her people spending a moment in the quiet company of old friends and family, of generations of his – and her own – ancestors and generations yet to be born, of a story that would never end. On this bright, beautiful morning she sheds one more tear for an old man sitting alone.