Rotierre, personal advisor and longtime friend to the Ri, looked upon his replacement with a gentle smile. Varying emotions warred behind his serene visage as he gazed upon the young elf, chief among them being profound relief. After 1,100 years, he would finally, blessedly, step down from his role.
A gentle and kind face, which he knew hid a powerful ambition and even more capable mind, looked upon the ground, refusing to meet his gaze until afforded the opportunity to do so. Like so many of the light elves, the elf before him had flowing blond hair the color of corn silk and piercing blue eyes.
And when she spoke, her cultured voice filled the room.
“Grand Arborist,” the young elf greeted Rotierre from a kneeling position, as was proper. “It is the honor of my life to be welcomed into the House of Serevlir by your grace. As requested, I offer myself to the service of his eminence the Ri, may his reign continue in the Overseer’s light.”
Rotierre took in his replacement’s schooled demeanor and impeccable clothing in a glance. She wore the traditional arborist robes of a master, layers of green with accents of creamy white silk. The symbol of the silverthread tree prominently displayed on her outer robe.
She was perfect, as expected.
“Lo’Thyma, former Arborist of house Sol, I bid you welcome to the luminous city. Please stand and give this old elf a proper welcome,” Rotierre’s gentle voice echoed throughout the empty hall.
Typically, anyone found worthy of being elevated to the royal house would be greeted with a grand audience, followed by an even grander celebration. Rotierre knew because such events usually fell under his purview to administer. But not for this. Today, the hall of the highest elvish court stood empty, not a soul bearing witness to what was likely the most important transition of power throughout the known realms.
Well, not a soul that was visible anyway.
Thyma rose from where she knelt and gently embraced him with one arm, the other holding her staff of Golden Willow out of the way. He too returned the embrace, his staff from the Silverthread itself held in his opposite hand.
The embrace was genuine and lasted as long as was proper.
“I trust your journey was uneventful?” Rotierre asked politely as he gestured for her to follow.
“Yes, Grand Arborist,” Thyma said, matching his footsteps as they crossed the hall toward his personal entrance. Letting the girl walk with him through the doorway should drive home the reality that she was truly on the path to replace him. “I have had the pleasure of escorting the Ri’s own daughter, Da’Astraea, back to her home. She is surprisingly inquisitive for one her age. I was pleased to learn that she has cultivated her light attunement to the Compatible level. If I’m not mistaken, that is her third attunement to reach such heights. A true accomplishment for one so young.”
“Yes,” Rotierre chuckled, knowing full well of the royal’s advancement. The light elves had stuffed the girl to bursting with regents and natural light treasures so they would not be outdone by the other houses who had previously hosted her. Pride, after all, was an effective tool if used correctly. “I believe she intends to beat her father’s record before coming of age. The girl has already begun planning a visit to the Foln house next.”
“To the aquatic elves?” Thyma asked with a hint of surprise as they walked down a long corridor. “I would think the house water magi would make for better tutors than the water breathers.”
A pretentious response, though not wholly unexpected. Thyma was a light elf after all. However, such open biases were intolerable for the Grand Arborist in training.
Still, she was only 139 years old, and it was her first day. One did not nurture a sapling to its full potential by breaking its tender branches. A gentle, guiding hand was needed. And time. Blessed time.
“Though the Foln house is one of the unrepresented elvish races within the courts, it is still a house under the Silverthread’s light,” Rotierre explained with gentle patience. “Hence, they remain under the purview of the Ri. It is right that a potential heir visits their domain and learn from them. Only then can trust and value be engendered by all parties.”
“I… see,” Thyma responded, a slight frown finding its way onto her otherwise serene face. “There is still much for me to learn.”
“Yes, young Lo’Thyma, there is always much to learn. We may only have a mere 50 years to train you, but it will be enough. Our way is one of patience and measured application. You have done well to administer our craft within the house of Sol. But here, you must elevate your thoughts so you can guide your new house to greater heights.”
“Yes, Grand Arborist,” she intoned, dipping her head in proper deference without having expressed a single apology. Yes, she will do well here.
As they crossed into the Ri’s private garden, his trainee gasped. He couldn’t blame the girl for the momentary lapse in decorum. After so many years in service to the throne, this particular view still took his breath away.
The royal garden was the central point of Heaven’s Reach, the royal palace. From this vantage point Rotierre and Thyma could see the eight spired towers in all their glory and many storied levels of the palace enclosing the gardens on all sides, protecting the carefully balanced ecosystem from any would-be trespassers. Vibrant flowers, exotic fruit trees, and other rare plants flourished, each hand selected and meticulously cultivated for their raw beauty and unparalleled value as natural treasures.
Each area was meticulously groomed by junior Arborists whose sole duties were to nurture every growth to its fullest potential.
The truth was that few ever appreciated the beauty, their gazes drawn inexorably toward the garden’s center.
A massive tree of burnished silver stood 50 stories tall, its boughs of shining limbs and shadowy recesses drawing the eye like bees to pollen. Light pulsed along its burnt silver bark like a living thing, bringing wonder to any elf who had the privilege to look upon such a sight.
“Welcome, Lo’Thyma, to the silverthread. Matriarch of all silverthreads and the catalyst that brought about the elven race,” Rotierre explained, enjoying his trainee’s shocked face.
“The life giver,” she whispered, looking like she might faint. “I… I didn’t think to gaze upon it soon! I am unprepared…”
“Peace,” Rotierre said, resting a calming hand on her shoulder. “This is why you are here, is it not? You are the Grand Arborist in training. It is only right that you see what you will be working with from the start.”
Gently, he helped his new protégé forward until they were at the base of the tree.
“It is much larger than I expected,” Thyma said, the awe evident in her voice.
“Yes, that is by design,” Rotierre explained. “The garden floor is much lower than the palace ground level, which is why most believe the Matriarch to be shorter than it is, seeing as only the treetop is visible from the outside. In truth, she stands at 150 feet and has a base of 32 feet around. Not as large as some of the Ice Aspens to the north, or the Sleeping Maples in the Verdant Woods. But I believe our patron tree outshines them all.”
He said the last part with humble pride, letting the younger elf take in the wonder of the legend come to life. After an appropriate amount of time, Rotierre gently placed his hand on her elbow.
“While its height and width are truly a wonder, the tree’s roots are what we will be exploring today.”
Again, Thyma looked as if she was about to faint.
“The roots,” she breathed.
“Yes, where the true role of the Grand Arborist takes place,” he said with his ever-present smile.
Rotierre led his trainee to the base of the tree where he whispered a quick incantation.
An opening grew from the silvery wood large enough for both to enter unhindered.
“Are we the only ones who can come here?” Thyma asked as they entered, the opening silently closing behind them. A curved hallway with a gentle slope led them downward, the halls illuminated by a soft light emanating from the walls themselves. There was even a gentle breeze that brought with it the subtle scents of spring.
“No, child. Every bonded royal has access, and for good reason. As they work with the silverthread, their advancement potential can grow to be incalculable. We are the only non-royals granted unfettered access,” Rotierre explained, leading her downward. “Can you tell me why?”
“As Arborists, our roles are to guide the future growth of our house,” Thyma said automatically, still in awe of where they were.
“And how do we do that?” He asked.
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“With gentle guidance and patience.”
“Good,” Rotierre replied, though even the junior Arborists could answer those questions with ease. The reason Thyma had been chosen above other master level Arborists was because she had proven her understanding of an Arborist’s many roles through decades of dedicated application. Afterall, knowing and applying understanding were two very different things entirely.
They walked further down until they came to an elaborate curtain draped on the corridor wall.
“Ah, here we are. This is a good place to start,” Rotierre said, pulling the curtain aside to reveal what could only be described as a status screen. But instead of the ethereal image it normally took, this was made from the silverthread itself.
“This is what we call a royal’s manifestation. Every royal elf, regardless if they have bonded a silverthread or not, has one. Though they must bond to receive the power offered by the Matriarch. This specific manifestation belongs to a Na’Kol,” Rotierre explained.
“An illegitimate royal?” Thyma gasped at Rotierre’s use of the Na honorific, a label frowned upon throughout all elvish houses.
“It happens from time to time,” Rotierre replied in his gentle way. “When it does, we Arborists determine if the offending royal and their illegitimate offspring are worth nurturing. In this case, the boy was. As you can see on Na’Kol’s manifestation he has more than a 54% pure bloodline and has increased his Corporeal and Air attunements to incredible levels for one so young.”
“I… see,” Thyma said with a guarded look.
“I can understand your confusion,” Rotierre said. “As the Arborist for the Sol house, one of your responsibilities was to prune the unwanted branches, was it not?”
“Yes, Grand Arborist. I thought that was the primary role of all our kind.”
“And you would be right. In this instance, the sire of Na’Kol was pruned. He had a propensity for… liberally sowing his seed. But the babe had a higher-than-average pure bloodline, which may allow for future royal elf births. Of course, he has been hidden away from the public eye in the northern borders where he goes by another name. The Bladed Cyclone. Have you heard of him?”
Thyma’s eyes widened in understanding.
“Isn’t the Bladed Cyclone in negotiations to couple with a minor noble from the Cier house? Something, I assume, you have nurtured?”
Rotierre smiled. Not only was she well informed, but she could connect information quickly. He was pleased.
“There is proof that this particular minor noble within the Cier house has a measure of the true blood, however minuscule, running through their veins. By joining, Na’Kol and his future coupling partner increases the chance to have a royal elf, which we can then nurture and introduce as recognized and legitimate.”
“Are there really so few royals left?” Thyma asked, genuine surprise on her face.
“There are sufficient numbers, but it has taken many centuries of caring for the Serevlir line to make it that way. Our goal now is to introduce quantity so we may have the luxury of nurturing quality,” Rotierre smiled.
“What else does the manifestation tell you?” Thyma asked, a gleam of excitement reflected in her eyes.
The next hour was spent in explaining the true role of the Grand Arborist. Guiding and directing the growth, and in some cases the pruning, of the Serevlir line.
“Please forgive this humble trainee’s lack of understanding,” Thyma asked toward the end of their discussion. “To clarify, the manifestations with curtains are those royals that still live. Through their manifestation, a royal, or the Grand Arborist, can adjust the energies of the silverthread to nurture advancement in specific areas, which is tied to the purity of their blood?”
“Yes, and the only ones that can access a manifestation is the royal it belongs to, so long as they have bonded to a silverthread. It is closed to all others. Except for the Grand Arborist, naturally. As my trainee you have already been granted access to all royal manifestations,” Rotierre clarified, his gentle smile never wavering.
“Now that you have a working understanding, would you like to see some of the more famous manifestations? We have the first Ri, Bei’Mahvin, at the root’s heart. I can even show you Bei’Kedryn’s if you’d like.”
“Kedryn’s manifestation?” the young elf was so shocked she left off the honorific, but in this case Rotierre wasn’t going to correct her. It was the betrayer’s name after all. “As in, the elf from the drinking song ‘Kedryn’s Folly?’ I thought he was nothing more than a fairy tale.”
“Oh my, yes,” Rotierre said. “He lived approximately 1600 years ago, though I do understand why you might have questioned his existence. Not many records of him exist today. You see, he is the only one who has ever destroyed a silverthread tree.”
Thyma stumbled, bracing herself against the wall. When she looked at him, her face was as white as a ghost.
“What?” she finally worked out. “How?”
“It is true, young one,” he said, patting her shoulder. “While it may be hard to accept truth, accept it an Arborist must. The silverthread can be destroyed. Naturally, Bei’Kedryn didn’t destroy the Matriarch, seeing as we are walking within her benevolent halls. Only one of her seedlings. He was on a unique fire path that led him to this most horrific discovery. After his demise, we Arborists purposefully removed most records of him as we did not want others to stumble upon this most sacred of secrets. Or worse, follow in his footsteps.”
“A wise measure,” Thyma replied, visibly shaken.
“Today has been filled with many revelations and I do not wish to overwhelm you too quickly. Why don’t we head back so you can meditate on what you have learned thus far? When your mind has settled, we can come back to explore the heart.”
“Thank you for your consideration, Grand Arborist,” Thyma replied, visibly gathering herself. “I can continue. But if you don’t mind answering one more question, when you mentioned that records were removed of Bei’Kedryn, you alluded that you had a hand in that. Am I correct in assuming…”
She trailed off, searching his gentle visage to see if she had overstepped in her questioning.
“Yes, my young trainee, I can validate the rumors,” he said with a chuckle. “The silverthread grants extended life to any that are tied to it. It is why the elves across the world live such long lives after all, seeing as we were born from the initial bond. Those like the royals and myself enjoy the gift of extended life. Why, I will celebrate my 1,802nd year next month. However, please do not share that confirmation with others, even those within your new house. It may be a bit of an open secret, but it is a secret that serves a purpose.”
Thyma nodded, opening her mouth to ask another question when they were interrupted.
“Tha’Rotierre!” a voice called from below. “Attend me!”
While the voice surprised Rotierre, many centuries of masking his true emotions kept his gentle smile from turning into a frown. He had not expected the Ri to be here of all places. He was usually found training, meditating, or hunting. An introduction to Thyma needed to be handled… gently.
“Coming my Ri,” he called back, still smiling at Thyma. “Why don’t you peruse the various manifestations while I see what his eminence needs?”
Thyma curtsied. Both knew what he had asked wasn’t a request.
Rotierre moved at his normal pace, passing the Ri’s own covered manifestation before turning into the tree’s heart.
A giant of an elf stood facing away from Rotierre, hands clasped behind his back and wearing a simple training robe. The Ri’s ponytail of burnished silver hair reached to his well-defined shoulders.
Strange. The Ri appeared to be studying one of the ancient manifestations, though Rotierre could have sworn that particular corner of the heart had been bare.
“What may your humble Arborist…” Rotierre began but was interrupted mid-sentence.
“When did you last visit the heart?” the Ri asked bluntly.
Only one being had the authority to interrupt the Grand Arborist, and he was standing before him. Still, it rankled. Which was likely why the man had done it in the first place.
“It has been nearly a fortnight since I have meditated within the heart, your eminence,” Rotierre replied, knowing only a direct answer would be accepted. They had been working together for more than 1600 years and knew each other’s habits and proclivities better than anyone. Likely because few beings within all the known realms had outlived them.
“I assume you have not seen the new manifestation within the heart then?” the Ri asked, turning his silver eyed gaze upon the Grand Arborist.
Rotierre’s eyebrow twitched. For the first time in many centuries, he found himself well and truly surprised.
Instead of answering, he stepped beside the Ri and looked at the newest manifestation for himself.
The next surprise caused his perpetual smile to falter.
“It can’t be,” he whispered as he read the betrayer’s name, wanting to ask who would make such a distasteful joke. But he of all people knew that a manifestation could not be faked or altered. The abyss knew he had tried.
“Yes,” the Ri said. “There appears to be a new Bei within the Serevlir line. Have you seen the purity of his blood?”
“100%!” Rotierre hissed, looking through the salient points of the manifestation. “And he is only 19 years of age, which means he wasn’t born to the line.”
There were a few artifacts that could change one’s race, they were not unheard of in the right circles. He had three such artifacts within the royal treasury alone. But the best they could do was to create a 50% pure bloodline, and that was under the best of conditions. Not only that, if he was reading the manifestation correctly, the boy had only been on Veil for a week. How had that happened?
“It has to be the Adjudicators,” the Ri said, echoing Rotierre’s line of thinking. “They are reaching beyond their mandates yet again. I want this fledgling royal hunted down and killed.”
“Pruning needs to be done with measured care,” Rotierre responded, thinking quickly how he could use this to their advantage. “I agree the young Bei needs to be eliminated, but not before his coming of age. We could use him in other ways. Any of his offspring would have, at minimum, a 50% pure bloodline. Not to mention I have an Arborist in mind who could bond with him. They would grow in power and be in a position to rip his life away, root and branch, when the time came.”
“You need to read the rest of the boy’s manifestation,” the Ri said bluntly.
Rotierre did. With each line, his carefully constructed mask of serenity crumbled.
“I will dispatch the shadows immediately,” he whispered. “There are two who were presented to me recently. They are ready for their final test. I will send a third to oversee their mission to ensure it is completed.”
That was another issue he had wanted to look into further. The shadow elves had surprised him with the two new candidates. While he wasn’t going to turn them away, shadow elves were irreplaceable after all, it bothered him that he hadn’t heard of these two before.
“And the others tied to this… Bei’Kedryn?” the Ri said with a sneer.
“They will be pruned as well,” Rotierre replied. “I only wish we could remove the manifestation itself. How the boy has tied himself to the banished house through a human appointed protector who happens to be his bonded is beyond me.”
“I can smell the Adjudicator’s stench from here,” the Ri spat. Actually spat. Within the silverthread itself!
“My Ri,” Rotierre began, preparing to remind his liege of proper respect when he heard a gasp from around the corner.
The Ri vanished in an explosion of wind.
Rotierre wasn’t far behind, dreading what he would find.
“Who, pray tell, is this?” the Ri said, holding Thyma by her neck in a grip that could crush iron.
“My Ri,” Rotierre interjected in a calm voice, his serene mask in place once again. “This is Lo’Thyma, a recent addition to house Serevlir and my replacement. I have the pleasure to train her in the roles of the Grand Arborist…”
“She was looking at my manifestation,” the Ri interrupted in a deadpan voice as Thyma’s face turned purple.
Rotierre turned to the Ri’s exposed manifestation and sighed.
This was his fault. As he had said before, no manifestations were off limits to the Grand Arborist. But a wise Arborist knew not to push at boundaries. Thyma should have known that. He would have shared those secrets with her in time, but after she had been properly prepared.
“Is her rebirth point tied to our hall yet?” the Ri asked. Thyma’s eyes bulged in fear.
With a gesture, Rotierre put Thyma to sleep.
“I’ll take care of it, my Ri,” he sighed, gently taking the girl from his liege’s grip. Afterall, it was the Grand Arborist’s job to prune. Especially, when a branch had been found… wanting.