Chapter 103 — What Arlen Discovered

Arlen spent the following days researching whatever old texts might illuminate how such a meeting could be safely facilitated, while I continued my own careful, measured contact with Morrigan, each conversation building incrementally on the fragile foundation our first exchange had established.

I spoke with Cressida, I told Morrigan, during our third careful conversation, held once more in the chapel's protective quiet with Kael and Arlen standing watchful guard. She told me about Hollowmere. About the night the gate first opened, and what happened after.

The silence that followed carried an unmistakable weight, old grief and something that might have been fear tangled together across the strange connection.

She survived, then, Morrigan said finally, something aching and uncertain in her distant voice. I wondered, across all these years, whether she had. I searched for her once, long ago, before I understood that searching for the living among those I'd lost was its own kind of cruel distraction from my true purpose.

She's been trying to save you, I said gently. Across however many lives you've both lived since that night. She blames herself for not being able to help you close the gate properly, for not being strong enough to prevent whatever you became afterward.

That's absurd, Morrigan said, sharp grief cutting through her words. She was a child, same as I was. There was nothing she could have done differently that would have saved my daughter, or spared either of us from what followed.

Perhaps you should tell her that yourself, I offered carefully. I believe, if you're both willing, that a direct meeting might be possible. Not through me as mediator, but genuinely between the two of you, across whatever channel connects Reweavers to one another.

The silence that followed stretched long enough that I began to wonder whether I had finally overstepped some boundary neither of us had yet tested. When Morrigan spoke again, her voice carried a vulnerability I hadn't heard from her before.

I don't know if I'm ready for that, she admitted. Two centuries of guilt and grief, finally facing the one person who might actually understand its full weight. I find myself more frightened of that reunion than I've been of anything in longer than I care to remember.

Take whatever time you need, I said, echoing my own earlier offer. But I believe, Morrigan, that this might finally be the path toward something other than continued war. For both of you.

I withdrew from the connection slowly, my whole body trembling with the accumulated strain of three careful conversations across as many days, and found Kael waiting close beside me, his expression carrying equal parts concern and cautious hope.

"She's considering it," I told him, once I'd gathered enough breath to speak properly. "I don't know whether she'll agree. But she's genuinely considering it, Kael, which feels like more progress than I dared hope for when we first began this uncertain path."

"You've accomplished something remarkable," Kael said, drawing me carefully into the steady comfort of his arms. "Whatever happens next, I hope you understand that. Two centuries of war, and you've managed, through patience and genuine compassion, to crack open a possibility no one else ever thought to attempt."

"I couldn't have done it without understanding what Hollowmere revealed," I said. "Without Cressida's own painful honesty about her history with Morrigan. This isn't simply my accomplishment, Kael. It belongs to everyone who's contributed their own piece toward finally understanding this terrible, ancient grief properly."

Arlen, who had remained quiet through most of the exchange, finally spoke, his weathered face thoughtful. "I'll begin researching the logistics immediately," he said. "Whatever this meeting requires, I want to ensure we're prepared as thoroughly as possible before Morrigan makes her final decision."

I nodded gratefully, and we made our way back toward the house together, each of us carrying our own private hope that this fragile, unprecedented path might finally lead somewhere other than the continued violence this long war had, until now, seemed destined to demand indefinitely.

That evening, I found myself unable to settle into sleep, my mind circling restlessly through everything Morrigan's eventual answer might bring. Kael found me still awake near midnight, settled on my windowsill watching the quiet grounds below, and joined me without needing to ask what kept sleep so thoroughly at bay.

"Whatever she decides," he said quietly, "you've already accomplished something remarkable simply by opening this possibility. Don't let the uncertainty of her final answer diminish that."

"I keep thinking about her daughter," I admitted. "A child who died two centuries ago, who never had the chance to grow older, to live whatever ordinary life should have been hers. I keep wondering whether any resolution we manage to find will feel like justice to that lost little girl, or whether some griefs simply can't be properly resolved, no matter how carefully we approach them."

"Perhaps resolution isn't always about undoing harm already done," Kael said gently. "Perhaps sometimes it's simply about preventing further harm, honoring what was lost by refusing to let its memory fuel still more tragedy going forward. That, I think, might be the truest justice available to a grief this old and this profound."

I leaned into his steady presence, grateful for his thoughtful perspective, and watched the quiet night settle around us both, carrying whatever hope and uncertainty the coming week would demand.

Eventually, drowsiness began to overtake my restless thoughts, and Kael walked me back to my own room, pausing at the door with the particular gentle reluctance that had become familiar across these months of careful, deliberate courtship. "Sleep well," he said softly. "Tomorrow brings us one day closer to whatever this meeting ultimately holds, and I'd rather you face it rested than exhausted from worry that accomplishes nothing beyond draining the strength you'll actually need."

I managed a tired, grateful smile, and let him go, carrying his steady wisdom with me into whatever uneasy sleep the night finally offered.