#look at me delighted the uniforms are so much simpler to draw now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jakey-beefed-it · 7 years

Text

An Exchange of Gifts

Short (long for a tumblr post, short for a story) bit about my dumb space elves under the cut.

Tarren Calraenon, High King and Suzerain of the Sunset Kingdom and all its subject lands, sole autocrat over millions, looked out upon Craftworld Tel-Rethan and felt …small.

The plaza where he stood overlooked the greatest city he had ever seen- miles across, full of tall, elegant spires and domes interwoven with winding paths, terraced gardens, and bustling activity. The streets were spotlessly clean, the gardens and parks as well-kept as any in his own palace. The people were tall and well-made, with skin in more hues than he had ever seen or thought possible, clothing in many varied and strange, subdued styles. Some were golden or olive-skinned, like his own people, and some few of those wore draped robes that would not have been entirely unremarkable among the scholarly bureaucracy, but even they had subtle differences that would have marked them as foreign to his eyes- most of their ears stuck out further from their heads than his own, there were many, many more eye colors than the greens and ambers to which he was accustomed, and there was something in the bearing of nearly every Rethani… a confidence and pride he would never have expected among the little people- the citizenry, he mentally corrected, using the Rethani word. The idea was strange, but exciting- each person almost a sovereign in and of themselves, with collective power to govern.

Arching above the city was, to all appearances, a soft azure sky, with drifting white clouds. He’d seen it from the outside, and knew it to be a vast dome enclosing the city- one of dozens strewn across the craftworld -but from within, he never would have known it to be illusory. The only clues to the city’s artificial nature were the absence of a breeze, the uniform temperature, the absence of a sun within that perfect blue dome.

Striding across the plaza came the High Farseer. People moved to let her pass, many seeming more annoyed with the interruption of their routine than overawed by the appearance of their leader. Her long white hair was gathered loosely at the back, rather than the tight topknot she had worn when they first met, and she wore simpler robes, with no evident armor plates. A small creature trotted beside her, in appearance very like one of the longtusk tigers that prowled the southern jungles, save that it was so small, and blue, of all colors.

She gave him a small, polite smile, and inclined her head. “High King Tarren,” she said, glancing to her left and awaiting her translator, a ranger named Lirien.

Tarren raised a hand to forestall the translator, inclining his own head in return. “High Farseer Siamun,” he said, carefully, in her own language.

Her smile widened. “Is that the extent of your Rethani, or do you have more surprises for me?”

There was a beat while he parsed what she had said- her language was simultaneously ancient and sophisticated, like the oldest writings upon Almenori ruins, but more fraught with subtleties in tone and inflection than he could have imagined. At last he replied, slowly, “I am learning what I can.”

“As I am learning what I may of your speech.” She spoke his tongue with a bit more confidence than he had in hers, with a curious accent that elongated some vowels and elided some consonants. “Perhaps between us, we may dispense with translators?”

“It would please me,” he said “to hear and understand your words in your own voice.”

“Then it is agreed. Lirien, if you would be so kind, remain with us in case we run into confusion but don’t translate anything unless we ask.” The ranger took a step back with a small nod, giving them a bit of space. The Farseer led on.

* * * * * * * * * *

By the time they returned to the transit plaza, his head was spinning. Not since he had been a boy, learning from the finest scholars, the wisest elders, the canniest generals, had Tarren felt so overwhelmed with new information. The Farseer had shown him around the first city, answering all his questions first with simplicity, but soon with more care and detail. The small creature, for example, was called a gyrinx, and it was linked to her, mind and soul. That it rubbed on his legs and purred seemed to him a very good sign that he was earning her respect and regard.

Then they had visited another city. And another. And another. Each was different, with its own style, customs, culture. Each was more like one of the kingdoms of Almenor in their complexity and linked identities than mere cities within the same star-faring structure, yet the people all clearly considered themselves Rethani. More than that, they expressed what he could only describe as kinship with himself once he explained to a few curious Rethani who he was and why he was visiting- they found it pleasing to hold themselves and him alike as Aeldari above all. He had long known of the many worlds spread like gems among the stars, but never before felt anything like kinship with them. His own kingdom had been the greatest power he knew all his life, until Tel-Rethan appeared in the skies. And vast as it was, as dense with people as it was, Tel-Rethan was but one craftworld. The Farseer told him of other craftworlds by the dozens, of other worlds more like his own by the thousands, of a labyrinthine city somehow beneath or beyond the universe that teemed with yet more- all of them Aeldari. It was… humbling, to consider himself but a very small part of such a thing.

“Tell me your thoughts,” the Farseer asked.

Tarren exhaled slowly. “Every time I believe I understand, I find that there is still more beyond my grasp.”

“So all the wisest say. It is a true fool who thinks he knows everything.”

“You are kind. I speak not as a scholar marveling at infinity, but as a… a country rube who is staggered by his first sight of a city.”

“I did not mean to disturb you,” she said. “We have tried to be cautious in what we share with your people, that we not overwhelm them all at once but introduce new ideas gradually. But when you asked to visit, I overruled the other Seers and offered to escort you and answer your questions.”

“I am grateful. And I am not disturbed… I will adapt, at any rate. If I am… overwhelmed, it is like a man who has eaten too large a meal and must recline and groan until he has digested it some. There is much for me to… digest,” he tapped his temple with a finger to make the figurative meaning clear. “But I will be well once I have done so.”

She laughed softly, reserved but genuine. Her smile remained even after she stopped laughing. “I have no doubt- your people are no less clever than we, simply less developed. And you have a keen mind, for your people or mine.”

His cheeks heated slightly. “Not as keen as yours, certainly, but I thank you all the same.”

“Before you return to Almenor, I want to present you with a gift.” At his raised eyebrows, she raised a hand and beckoned to some of her people. They brought forth a number of scaled beasts, as tall as a grown person and twice as long, fearsome in tooth and claw, saddled like the great plainstrider birds his own people rode. “These are sanddragons from a distant world- our allies of the Caliranite Empire gave them to us as a gift when my… when I took my mother’s place as High Farseer. But our own people find them… not to their taste. Since your people ride animals rather than machines, I thought, perhaps, you might…” She broke off, looking at her boots. “Forgive me. It must seem as though I am burdening you with something we do not want. I will find a more suitable gift.”

“These…” he shut his mouth, which had fallen open. “These creatures are amazing. If you can somehow bear to part with them, they will make a priceless gift.”

“We can bear to part with them,” she said with a chuckle. “My own people prefer mounts that do not bite.”

“Their loss is our gain,” he laughed. “Delightful.” He turned to her and gave a full bow from the waist, something that would have utterly scandalized any of his own people who saw it. The High King did not bow to anyone. “Thank you. Thank you.” He shook his head. “Well now I truly feel like a fool, for my own gift is as a puddle beside the sea in comparison. But if you will forgive me for such a meager offering…” He drew a small pouch from where it hung at his waist, and offered it on both palms.

She took it in her hands, drawing the bag open with a curious look. Within was dark, rich soil, a few reddish shoots peeking up through the surface. “When you first arrived in the palace gardens, I noticed you watching the petals fall… these are seeds and shoots from some of those trees that bear flowers in the garden. I thought perhaps you would enjoy watching them shed their blossoms once they grow beside your own home, whether you remain here or come to live upon Almenor.”

She said nothing for a time, and his nerves began to fray, but at long last she bowed as he had, upper body parallel with the ground. When she rose and turned her face to him her eyes were bright, shining with unshed tears. “This gift puts mine to shame, not the other way around. It is thoughtful- you noticed me admiring them -but more than that, it is meaningful. Those falling blossoms were my first true sight of Almenor, of the promised home my people have sought for generations. They are beautiful, yes, but to me they mean… home. At long last, home.” She took a breath. “Seeing them… it was the first time since my parents left upon their final campaign that I felt at peace.”

“I understand,” he said, and he did. The ache of his parents’ absence had first been soothed by the poetry of Valashen. All these years later, it still moved him to tears in unguarded moments. “And I am glad if anything of my world helped ease your burden.” He closed her hands over the pouch. “You are always welcome to return to the gardens and sit among the blossoms, High Farseer.” Your beauty surpasses theirs, he did not say. She had shown she disliked flattery, however sincere.

“And you are always welcome upon Tel-Rethan,” she said softly. “But please… call me Alethea. It is my given name, for use by family and friends.”

“Then you must call me Cal. Tarren is too formal by far for friends, and Calraenon takes too long to say.”

She chuckled. “Go in peace… Cal. I will visit your gardens when I can.”

“May it be soon.”

Her mouth twitched in a more wry smile than he’d seen yet from her. “Oh, it may.”

#jake is a writer or something #jake's dumb space elves #craftworld tel-rethan #almenori exodites #jake's dumb characters #high farseer alethea #high king tarren calraenon

19 notes · View notes