Eryshae

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Vael

Vael strolled alongside her mother through the gently winding garden path, their arms linked in a manner that felt both comforting and mildly constricting. The morning sun had begun to crest above the hedgerow walls, warming the dew-speckled petals of the blooming foxglove and lavender. Elowen moved with the grace of practiced authority, her long robes swaying like willow branches, her expression serene but curious.

"So," Elowen began, voice soft but laced with intent. "You seem rested." Vael allowed a small smile to pull at the corners of her lips. "I am. It was a long week."

"I imagine it was. And your... companion? He seemed quite composed," Elowen asked firmly. "Sam," Vael supplied gently. "He's thoughtful. He doesn't flinch in front of Father."

"No, he doesn't," Elowen murmured with a quiet amusement. She paused near a rose bush, touching a blossom lightly with her fingertips. "But there's more to him than composure." Vael tilted her head. "What do you see?"

Her mother looked at her then, eyes old with wisdom, warm but watchful. "A man who is still finding his shape. But he has roots. He just hasn't realized how deep they go yet." They walked on in silence for a time, the buzz of bees and the rustle of wind their only company. Vael breathed in the sweetness of garden air, letting it fill her chest, slow her thoughts. Her fingers still tingled with the memory of Sam's skin, of the way he had held her close that morning, his arm glowing faintly with life and warmth.

"You love him," Elowen said gently, not as a question. Vael nodded, lips pressing together. "Yes. And I know things are complicated. With the vote. With the factions. But I trust him. Even now, no longer only an Outsider from the Root-Rip."

Elowen's gaze softened, and she squeezed her daughter's arm. "Then that's where we begin. Trust, like anything sacred, must be nurtured." They turned the final bend in the garden, the manor house now visible in the distance. The scent of baked bread drifted faintly from the kitchens. Vael felt something settle in her chest; like a stone she hadn't known she carried had finally touched ground.

"Lunch at noon," Elowen reminded her with a conspiratorial smile. "Try not to keep your father waiting. He may pretend to be stone, but he softens when he's hungry."

Vael walked beside her mother down the winding stone path that led to the family garden, their arms still linked. The late morning sun filtered through the canopy overhead, dappled light dancing across the earth and flowers. There was a quiet peace to this part of the estate, the scent of rosemary and blooming nightshade lingering in the warm breeze. Elowen guided her daughter gently toward a shaded bench beneath an arbor woven with wild roses.

Elowen watched her daughter carefully, her expression serene but inquisitive. "You've changed. Something within you... It's like a fire has been stirred, but it's soft, not consuming." Vael tucked her hands into her lap, glancing down at the soft green velvet of her gown. "I suppose I'm still figuring out who I am when I'm not just the daughter of the Chief and Chieftess. Or the future leader of the Eryshae Tribe."

Elowen reached out and took her hand. "And this young man, Sam; he stirs something deeper in you?" Vael looked up, surprised by the gentleness in her mother's tone. She nodded. "He makes me feel... rooted, and free. It's strange. I'm used to being in control, to knowing the boundaries. But with him, the world feels bigger."

Elowen smiled knowingly. "That's what the right kind of bond does. It doesn't diminish you. It reveals more of you." They sat in silence for a few moments, the hush of the garden wrapping around them. Birds trilled above, and the scent of honeysuckle drifted lazily in the breeze.

"Your father has his worries," Elowen said at last. "He's old-spirited and protective. But he'll see what I see. Give him time." Vael leaned against her mother's shoulder, closing her eyes. "He's not like anyone I've ever known. He carries so much, but he still looks at me like I'm the only thing that matters."

Elowen placed a kiss to her temple. "That kind of love, Vael, is rare. And worth fighting for." They stayed like that a while longer, the garden wrapping them in its sanctuary, until the bell in the distance called for midday.

"Come," Elowen said, rising and extending her hand. "Let's not keep them waiting." Vael took it, heart lighter, fingers curling around the comfort of her mother's hand. Together, they walked toward the house, toward the unknown paths ahead; but not alone.

As the garden path curved back toward the manor, sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling Vael and Elowen in a golden wash. The soft hush of wind in the trees gave way to the low hum of voices and the comforting clatter of ceramic and cutlery.

They entered the dining room together, arm in arm. A long table stretched beneath hanging vines and handwoven lanterns that glowed gently with embedded fireflies. Platters of roasted vegetables, fresh breads, and glazed meats filled the center, and the scent of herbs and honeyed root spread warmly through the air.

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Corven sat at the head of the table, his presence as commanding as ever. His dark eyes flicked up with measured calm as the women entered. To his left, Sam sat tall and quiet, his posture respectful, but his gaze immediately softened the moment he saw Vael. The seat to Corven's right waited for Elowen. Another chair beside Sam; closer, as if knowingly placed; remained open for Vael.

Corven rose, just slightly, long enough to greet his wife with a firm kiss pressed to her temple. "My wildflower," he murmured, before offering her his hand and guiding her to her seat. Then he took the round of dark-crusted bread from a central basket. With steady fingers, he broke the loaf in two, steam rising from the tender middle. Turning to his right, he offered the first piece to Elowen.

"For you," he said simply, reverently. She accepted with a smile that seemed to hold centuries. Once she had taken a bite, Corven nodded, and the meal began.

Vael moved to the open seat beside Sam, heart hammering with a quiet intensity she couldn't name. As she sat, Sam reached beneath the table and gave her hand a brief, grounding squeeze. When she looked over at him, he only gave a small, private smile; nothing boastful, nothing expectant. Just present.

Safe.

The hum of lunch unfolded in waves; the scrape of cutlery on glazed plates, the soft clink of glass, the rustle of linen napkins. A gentle quiet, filled not with tension, but with a measured sort of reverence. A gathering of leaders, and the man Vael had chosen. Or perhaps the man who had chosen her, too.

Vael sat beside Sam, her shoulder close enough to his that she could feel the low, even heat he carried. His presence was steadying, like stone warmed in the sun. She glanced at him briefly, noting the subtle twitch of his jaw as he worked through a bite of root-braised venison, the way his hand stayed politely on the table, never reaching across or rushing. He moved with quiet confidence; attuned, deferent, but not diminished.

Across the table, Corven was deep in thought between chews, his eyes flicking from Sam to Elowen, then to Vael. Her father had always been a man of silence before words; a long pause before a statement, a measured breath before a decision. He watched people the way a hunter watched wind. Not for weakness, but for movement. For truth.

Vael swallowed the tightness in her throat along with a bite of bread soaked in herbed oil. Her father knew something. Or perhaps he only suspected. She wasn't sure which made her heart beat faster. And yet… there was no anger. No sharpness in his tone. He had kissed Elowen gently. He had smiled when he broke the bread. He had invited Sam to walk with him, not interrogated him.

Still, her thoughts tangled like vines. Was he testing Sam now? Was this all still a weighing of worth? She took a slow sip from her goblet; ginger root, lime, and run, soothing and familiar.

"Elowen," Corven said after a long pause, breaking the stillness, "the gardens are as well-kept as I've ever seen them." Elowen smiled with the quiet pride of a woman who had chosen every seed with care. "Thank Vael for that. She's been tending the southern beds while we were gone. The new fireblossoms are already blooming."

Corven turned to Vael, giving her a brief nod of approval. "Good. It suits you." Vael gave a small smile, unsure if he meant the flowers, the work… or the way she now sat at Sam's side. Sam cleared his throat gently. "The southern beds are the warmest," he offered, his tone respectful. "It makes sense the fireblossoms would thrive there." Corven looked at him. Not unkindly. "You know plants, then."

"I know how to listen to them," Sam replied. A pause. Corven let out the ghost of a chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "A rare skill, outside of our Tribe."

"Rarer still to speak back," Elowen added softly, her eyes drifting to Vael for just a moment, before returning to Sam. Vael's chest tightened again; but not from worry. From hope. The table was still quiet, still formal, but not cold. Her parents weren't drawing lines; they were laying stones. Testing the ground, yes… but also preparing to build.

Sam reached for his water and took a slow drink, his hand brushing against hers beneath the table once more. She didn't pull away.

The final course had been cleared, and the dining room had settled into a comfortable hush. The midday sun poured through the high windows, casting slow-moving shadows along the edges of the stone floor. Corven leaned back slightly in his seat, cradling his tea, his sharp eyes resting thoughtfully on his daughter.

"Vael," he said in that familiar even-toned voice; an invitation, not a command. "Catch me up. What has happened in the week we were gone?" Vael met her father's eyes, feeling Sam's steady presence beside her. She straightened her back and took a breath, the warmth of her mother's hand still lingering where it had brushed hers earlier.

"It began with the Root-Rip," she said. "I felt it before anyone spoke of it. The forest... it pulled away. Something old shifted. And then, that same morning, Sam appeared." Corven's eyes sharpened, but he said nothing. Vael continued. "The oldest Cardinal retired the same day."bShe saw the flicker of surprise on both her parents' faces. Corven leaned forward slightly. "And then?"

"The Council called for a vote. Yesterday. Elder Thornhollow stepped forward and nominated Sam to stand as the Wood Faction's candidate. The others didn't expect it." "Did he accept?" Corven asked. Vael nodded. "He did. Reluctantly, but... with purpose."

Corven gave a quiet grunt, processing. "But the vote didn't go to him. Serene Liri won the majority." There was a pause as that settled between them. "I also believe Durnan and Ruwan may have tried to poison me," Vael added, her voice steady. "Myrtle suspects it too, but couldn't prove anything."

Corven's jaw ticked, but he didn't interrupt. "I haven't confronted them due to the Laws; yet. But I will." Corven's expression was unreadable now, his fingers tented in front of him, listening more than judging. "And then," Vael said, more softly now, "Sam proposed." She extended her left hand, slowly turning it so that the faint gleam of the carved wooden ring caught the light.

A quiet breath escaped Elowen, and her lips parted in surprise; followed quickly by a hand to her chest and a small, radiant smile. Corven looked at the ring, then at Sam. And then; at Vael.

"Well," the Chief said finally, voice low but not without warmth. "That is certainly a week." Vael exhaled, unsure whether she had been holding her breath. Corven reached out, picked up a small pastry, and broke it into four. He handed the first piece to Elowen with a kiss to her temple, then looked across the table once more. "Congratulations," he said, eyes locked on Vael's. Then onto Sam.