Bellara Week Day 1
Day 1: Loss/ Reclamation
There was a point to it, I promise. Is it coming through? I'm not sure but it's 1 am and I think this is good.
A few lone stars still blinked on the ink-black sky, sparkling glitter, fighting against the inevitable rising of the sun. The forest whispered with soft rustling of the leaves and first, shy bird songs welcoming a new day.
Embers had all but died out by now, their faint warmth more like a memory than an actual sensation, licking lazily against Bellara's feet. She blinked slowly, clearing the haze from her eyes, whatever dream she had escaping from her mind like a spooked bird.
Against her back, clinging to her and keeping her close, was Hugo, snoring softly. Her head rested against his chest, lifted by the rhythm of steady breathing. She recalled Keeper of Clan Alerion narrating the tales of the last Emerald Knights, but they must have drifted off some time before their tragic end. Or perhaps they triumphed for once when she wasn't listening.
She didn't know what to expect when the word reached her about the Arlathvhen. How could they repeat the tales of Evaniuris when the two of them nearly plunged the entire continent into chaos and Blight? What traditions could they share when all of them tied back to the time they knew even less about than they could imagine?
Yet from the second they joined the steady stream of the Clans heading for the meeting spot in the Emerald Graves the Dalish proved once more to be more resilient than the history itself. Songs carried in the summer air, stories of both joy and pain weaved together like gossamer.
But what she swiftly noticed was that the focus of the tales had shifted. From the myths of Creators to the stories of Elvhen heroes, from the praises of Arlathan to the recollections of more recent history.
As the sky above her regained its blue hues and the golden beams of sunrise finally cut through the thicket of the forest, Bellara could hear the distant snickering of the youngest members of the Clans, unmistakably preparing to wake the adults with an elaborate prank.
It would include some magic, some smarts, and at least a significant dash of aiding and abetting from the oldest among the Clans. Such were the rules of the last day of Arlathvhen. The old would pass on their skill and craft to the young and they would test their newfound knowledge in a feat of trickery.
The old legends said it was to prove they would outsmart the Fen'Harel himself if needed. The new ones… didn't say anything yet about it. Yet somehow, as the not-so-quiet steps grew nearer and nearer, followed by giggles and hushed whispers, Bellara knew that soon they would have a new tale to tell to the young ones.
And as she closed her eyes, not wanting to spoil the tradition, the last stars twinkled away on the sky. Warmed by both the fading embers and familiar arms she was no longer worried about the fate of the Elvhen tales and traditions. The truth of their history may have been largely lost and what was known may not have been as bright or simple as they had hoped for.
But perhaps reclamation was as much looking forward as it was looking into the past.