eachdraidh | 1: Video (Seelie)

[ Kevin Regnard is seated at a desk. Several books are open before him: thick volumes with heavy vellum pages intricately decorated with illuminated lettering. It’s darker in this part of the library, the Restricted Section, to preserve the ancient tomes. Fairies float about in the air, lending their light; Kevin would be more grateful for this, except they keep making off with his quills. He has been taking careful notes, and has already covered over a stack of parchment papers with his cramped handwriting.

His face, when he looks into the locket, has that pinched look of too much reading, and his shoulders are raised and stiff; clearly he hasn’t moved from this spot for hours. His expression is dubious, conflicted. He glances away from the locket almost as soon as he activates it, as if he were going to shut it off again without saying anything.

But finally: ]

My lords and ladies. Gentlemen; gentlewomen. I am given to understand that any skill we learn here, we might bring back to our lands after this war is won. Thus I… I beg your assistance. If there is any among you with knowledge of magical healing…

[ Now he looks up. His single red eye bores into the locket, burning like hellfire. ]

I wish to learn how to raise the dead.

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[How well he knows that desire, to raise the dead. Even knowing his kin as he does.]

My knowledge of the healing arts has never, nor will it ever, consist of how to raise the departed.

Little comfort, I am certain. And none to a weary heart. For that, you have my apologies and condolences.

You must've lost someone dear to you.

[ Experts love to demonstrate their expertise: this the reason he'd decided to ask, in the end. If he found someone who knew how to do it, he could then discuss terms. If not, nothing was lost by the effort. He had expected to be disappointed. ]

What?

I — no. I don't...

[ But he hadn't expected to be so thoroughly seen through. ]

You... you needn't apologize, my lord.

[ Thickly: ]

I seek only to make things right.

[If he had a better answer, he'd consider giving it. But he doesn't. Still, Elrond shakes his head a little, gentle warmth in his expression.]

Life is precious. It is understandable for some to wish to learn how to pull it back from beyond.

[Centuries of experience, Kevin, Elrond has it.]

I'm afraid I have no knowledge of it. But such magic must exist here, I know that for certain.

[This is Complicated, to say the least. Where she comes from, that could mean any number of things, and not all of them happen out of grief.

But, she's never been one to assume the worst of people, and he hardly seems like he's asking because of some sort of power trip. Then again, the wizards didn't seem that way, either. Appearances can be so deceiving.

...

In the end, her voice is very kind and nothing else, yet.]

I'm sorry, if you mean for people, this is not anything I can do, but I would ask why, if I may.

Sir Kevin. I am trained as a healer but...

[Elincia frowns, looking deeply concerned. If his desire was out of grief, she could empathise. How many nights had she spent weeping to herself and wishing for her dearly loved ones to return when she had been but seventeen?]

Raising the dead has never been part of the healing arts.

[She puts it as gently as possible]

[ There's a scrambling noise on the other side, the thump of books knocked over, and a sharp intake of breath. ]

H-how do you know this? You must tell me!

[ Ever since arriving in this golden, fairy-lit land, he has had the sensation that he does not belong here. It's a strange thought: to "not belong" to a place, when one had been forcibly kidnapped. Yet everyone here seems to have a light within them; whereas he feels in his heart, by turns, uncertainty, hope, guilt, and bleak despair.

This lady seems light to him, even through the medium of the locket. ]

I —

Because —

[ How to even explain? How dark he feels. ]

I may not need it. It may not be... necessary. But I must be prepared for every eventuality. I was careless before. I won't ever be, again.

[She's surprised by the urgency in his voice.]

There are those from my world who would not be here otherwise, my lord.

[ Quickly: ]

You mistake me. I do not...

[ How to even explain? His inclination is to say nothing, but there's something about the man's... pity? It sounds like pity. He cannot bear it, particularly when it's pity under a false impression. ]

I don't know... I don't know if I will need it.

[ A possibly false impression. ]

Who is that? Who do you know? What happened to them? What do they remember? Who did it?

[ He had been hesitant and tentative in his post, but now his questions come off in rapid fire. ]

[But it isn't pity. Just understanding.

He waits patiently, wondering how the conversation had turned so awry.]

Is it then an intellectual question?

[ He recognizes her. It is Lady Elincia, who found him at the walls that day, and...

All right, that was probably not his finest hour. He colors, remembering. But when she says she is a healer, his gaze lights up, all shame forgotten. ]

You must teach me —

[ But the words die on his lips when she says it isn't possible. Tentatively: ]

N-no.

No, I don't accept that.

[ And now he feels judged on top of that pity. Teeth clenched, fists shaking: he is suddenly furious. ]

Of course not! It's not the least bit — you don't know anything!

[Another pause, this one a little surprised.]

I had not intended to offend you.

I can teach you to heal but--there is a reason raising the dead is not a healing art.

[She hesitates]

May I ask why you wish to learn?

I...my lord, he was pulled from a time from before his death. It was like seeing a ghost returned to flesh.

W-what you intend doesn't mean anything. You —

[ But Elrond's placidity has its effect. One can't have a proper argument, after all, if the other party won't engage.

...

He has been unspeakably rude. It's a show of strength, to apologize immediately when one is in the wrong. Lord Sinclair had taught him that. ]

I —

Forgive me, my lord.

A time —

[ A ghost returned to flesh.

He clutches the locket against his heart. He has to breathe for a few moments before he can speak. In a small voice: ]

Is he... is he all right? Is he as he was?

Reason? What reason? I don't —

[ His voice rises in pitch, becoming increasingly unstrung: ]

The will of fate, is that it? Is that the reason? Because I don't accept that, either!

Completely. As sound in mind and body as he ever was.

I'm sorry, you sound a little distressed. I didn't mean to cause it.

Sir Kevin. Calm yourself, please.

[She frowns and laces her fingers together. This was a pain she could understand but she could not agree with how he was handling it]

I am sorry for your loss.

You needn't apologize, my lady. And I...

[ Something tightly bound inside him begins to unwind. He relaxes his grip on the locket and exhales. ]

I'm not distressed. Far from it, in fact. It is as I suspected. The way to conquer death is to turn back time.

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