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Children |
Kaylin K'Tral
Jason Arina
Julian Arina
Conlan Alcarin
Melaina Alcarin
Aisling Alcarin
Cathaior Alcarin
Anelain Alcarin
Avathar Alcarin
Galain Alcarin Jr.
Tysane Alcarin
Culaelin Alcarin
Gloraelin Alcarin
Menelanna Alcarin
Makilnar Alcarin
Vanyalin Alcarin
Marius Agrippa
Aarien Alcarin
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Grand Children |
Catelyn
Willem
Galen
Cassey
Carrick
Kiana
Rilya
Nendil
Cuivienen
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This story begins with Galain’s request of
a visiting artist to mark him with a tattoo to help him better undertand
himself.
The high elf came as soon as he was bidden, following
the artist’s messenger with a mix of curiosity and anxiety.
Galain knew there was a reason why he wanted this
tattoo. He didn’t go about marking his body just because. He already bore
one tattoo on his right arm – the special symbol that marked him as an
Amazon’s first lover and beloved. One day he would bear another symbol
that would proclaim his surrender to the Dark for a time. He had no knowledge
of this future mark of course, but something deep within his soul told
him to ask the artist for this new tattoo, and to have it placed in a spot
he would always have difficulty seeing – a symbol of never-ending seeking,
that sometimes he couldn’t quite see his path in the Light. In many ways
he felt unworthy and lost – something that spurred some of the more spontaneous
actions in his life.
“I’m wondering if you might place the *symbol
of my people upon me,” he told the artist, looking slightly abashed as
he turned a bit and pulled the top of his trousers down just enough to
indicate a spot on his left side where his back and hind end met. He shrugged.
“I can’t see there unless I work at it or use a mirror.” The high elf was
quiet for a moment and then smiled.
“I suppose I should tell you what’s uppermost
in my mind as I think about this tattoo.”
*Galain lives on a planet named Berelath –
his people are called the Elen which means Star in Elvish. Their symbol
is a rising star. It’s left to the artist of course to interpret and decide
exactly what she will create though. Galain settled down then, sitting on the edge
of his chair as he nervously drummed fingers on one knee. He hated talking
and he realized he would be doing all the talking for a while here. He
sighed and then dove in, closing his eyes as the images of his past came
to him.
“I’m not exactly known for being overly serious,
or for accepting responsibility or even for thinking much of myself. This
tends to drive at least one person in my life, Enchanted, crazy. But perhaps
she sees only the best… not what is truly there. I don’t know.” Galain
shrugged and the words began to come.
He’d never been the most well-behaved child. Later
his escapades as a child would become legendary amongst the elven nobles,
but at the time his parents found him to be aggravating, rebellious and
beyond control.
He was the nephew of the Elen King, but Adarin’s
wife had died without children and the heartbroken high elf had refused
to marry again. Galain’s older sister, Summerlin, was already far into
her training as the future Most High Elder and lead mage of her people.
The right of succession was left to Galain then, and his father, Gareth,
bore down hard upon the child quickly, instilling in the Crown Prince the
necessity for decorum… for understanding the Elen magic that coursed through
his blood… for recognizing that one day he would lead his people and be
their example of the perfect Elen high elf.
Galain had resisted every step of the way. He’d
hidden when it was time for lessons, pulled wild pranks during court ceremonies
(imagine the King greeting the Dwarven delegation and inviting them to
sit down to a main course of meat pies that instead consisted of thousands
of enraged fairies escaping their pastried prisons as soon as forks were
dug into the meal), and generally disregarding everything his father and
uncle tried to teach him. He dressed slovenly, insisted that he manipulate
his magic his own way and grew angry when he was corrected.
As far as Galain was concerned, he could do it
all on his own. He had his own life to live and he would figure it all
out when the time came. And oddly, his people still loved him. He was generous
to a fault with those in need, a soft touch when it came to children younger
than he… he could charm the grumpiest dowager with the slightest upturn
of his mouth. He loved life and it loved him. But one day it all caught
up with him.
“Delanna, I honestly am at my wit’s end with the
boy. He won’t listen. He doesn’t care.” Gareth had entered the atrium behind
the throne room and sat down heavily in a chair beside his wife where she
was poring over several parchments and making notations. She watched her
husband run a hand through his blonde hair before he pinched the bridge
of his nose.
“He actually convinced the other noble boys to
charge off into the Forest today on a bear hunt. Every last one of them
followed him.”
Delanna smiled. “Perhaps that’s a good sign? They
all listened and followed, yes?” She chuckled at the jaundiced look she
received. “We just have to find a way to channel that energy and show him
more appropriate pursuits.” She’d been saying this for years, always hopeful,
continuously disappointed. She felt the underlying anger in her husband
and quaked in silent fear for her son. Gareth was a hard man – driven and
dedicated to preserving the Elen way of life – its beliefs, traditions…
its very people. Their son seemed the exact opposite. Gareth merely nodded,
his mouth a thin, grim line of determination.
“We’ll see. I may end up tossing him out on his
ear first.”
“That’ll be the day, atto,” a young Galain entered
the atrium. He was flushed from the impromptu hunt and grinned insouciantly
at his parents before tossing himself down in the nearest chair and propping
his boots on the table. Delanna hastily removed some of the more delicate
parchments, tapping her son’s feet in disapproval. Galain immediately sat
up and Gareth’s eyebrows shot up.
“Sorry, father,” the prince mumbled. Gareth merely
leveled a green-eyed stare at him, silence reigning supreme for several
long minutes. Finally Galain’s father cleared his throat.
“Enjoy yourself today?” He arched an eyebrow as
Galain started.
“Yes,” he ventured a reply. “We’ll probably go
out again tomorrow.” He swallowed as his father began to drum his fingers
on the table. Delanna watched both husband and son and she, as well as
Galain were startled when Gareth suddenly shot to his feet. His face was
dark, fists tightly clenched.
“I don’t think so. It’s time to teach you something
you won’t forget. Come with me.” He grasped Galain by the shoulder and
hauled him out of his chair, propelling him out of the room, unmindful
of his son’s protests as he hit the door post and then stumbled down the
corridor to another door that led into the throne room itself.
“I want to show you something about yourself,
son. Something you may choose to accept and rectify. Or reject and wallow
in.” Galain already felt the rumblings of rebellion in him at these words,
but found no time to reply.
They rounded the upraised dais and throne before
Gareth pushed Galain to the floor. Delanna was close on their heels, her
face white with worry.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Galain demanded,
rising slowly to his feet. His father was silently measuring out a circle
as elven nobles watched curiously. Adarin himself stood to one side, his
eyes meeting Delanna’s before looking away. This was between father and
son and he wouldn’t interfere for now.
“Since you think you don’t need to hang around
here I think it’s time you show me how much you know, boy. You have all
the time in the world to pursue your own interests…” Gareth’s voice trailed
off and Galain stiffened as his father drew upon the energies of the earth
around them, letting them course through his blood and manifest as wards
around the circle. Galain had tried this once, walking away in disgust
with himself when all he’d managed to do was sever every plant and tree
in the vicinity in half.
He stood quietly, hands flexing nervously as Gareth
fairly glowed with power, gently channeling the excess away. The mage flicked
his wrist, instantly forming a small arc of balefire that danced in his
hand. He held it in a seemingly negligent manner and then sent it flickering
jaggedly toward his son.
Galain reacted reflexively, rolling away and crashing
into the wards, gasping in pain when the energies enveloped him for a moment
before freeing him – only to be caught by the singeing agony of balefire
as it wrapped around one leg. Frantic, Galain slapped at it before recalling
how to quench it, twisting the fire into harmless rays of light. He blinked
and stared up at his father who only nodded before raising one finger.
Galain was immediately pulled to his feet, and
he staggered drunkenly as he tried to wrest back control of his body. His
mind flailed wildly at the energies flowing about him, but they slipped
out of his grasp as his father wove them flawlessly into controlled power.
This was what Gareth had been trying to teach his son all these years.
Control of mind, body and soul to create a leader worthy of being followed.
Galain’s wild attempts spoke volumes.
Gareth merley raised another finger in response
to his son and Galain found himself suspended in the air. He cursed and
twisted about, completely at a loss for escape. He would have reached into
his boot to retrieve his knife and fling it in anger toward his father,
but his arms were suddenly frozen, extended out from his body.
“Gods!” He yelled in frustration. He’d always
prided himself on his strength, his athletic abilities, even his ways with
those of the female persuasion. He was horribly conscious of the eyes focused
on his humiliation as his father twisted him about before he plummeted
to the ground, cracking his head against the hard marble.. A gash opened
above his right temple and he struggled to a low crouch, dizziness overtaking
him a moment.
Bootsteps told him that his father approached,
and vaguely he heard the protests of his mother. He clenched his teeth
as he was yanked to his knees, his father’s fingers laced painfully in
his hair. In a frenzy of anger, Galain twisted about and wrapped his arms
around Gareth’s legs, pushing him backward until he crashed to the ground.
Galain moved swiftly, thinking to keep his father
off-balance, but failed miserably as he found his throat suddenly constricted
by an invisible vise of air. Gareth merely looked at him, easing himself
to his feet as Galain felt the air slowly leaving his body. The mage raised
an eyebrow and suddenly his son was free, gasping as he regained his breath.
Galain stayed on his hands and knees, defeat etched into every line of
his body. He couldn’t bring himself to stare up at Gareth as stinging words
echoed in his ears.
“You bear much ability, but little wisdom. Despite
the strength of your body and the quickness of your mind you would have
died at the hands of anyone not your father. Not once did I have to lay
a single hand on you.” Gareth knelt down beside Galain. He want to embrace
his son, but the harsh words poured out of him instead.
“You’re not worthy of the title ‘Prince’. You
are wild, undisciplined and beyond redemption at this point.” The younger
elf flinched at these words, each syllable burning itself into his psyche.
“I despair of ever teaching you, Galain. You must
learn on your own.” Gareth stood as Galain struggled to his feet, wiping
blood from his eyes as he glared at his father’s turned back.
“Then you’ll not see me again until I’m ‘worthy’,”
Galain said in a low voice. Rage shook his body and without thought he
channeled the wards’ energies, blinking them out of existence before stalking
away, stopping only long enough in his rooms to gather a pack together,
his sword and bow and arrows, before he was gone. He didn’t dare look back,
the word "unworthy" dogging his every footstep as he melted into the Forest.
He would never know until later that his father
had turned abruptly when Galain had shattered the wards so totally. Had
stood and watched his son walk away before slumping in grief against his
wife and trying to meet the eyes of his brother.
Galain was extremely young by Elen standards…
a mere seventy – an elf in his late teens. Where he would go and what he
would do was anyone’s guess and his parents shook with worry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“My mother told me much of this later by letter.
She wanted me to return. I haven’t… I can’t. Not yet.” Galain ran a hand
over his eyes, tired. The more he replayed the story in his mind, the more
anger he felt at himself, the more hopeless he became. What had he done
with his life thus far? A string of lovers… a daughter he could never quite
understand or acknowledge, fascinating adventures to be sure… but for what?
Plastering a smile onto his face, Galain gazed
at the artist, not quite seeing her.
“Does this make sense at all? I’ve been gone for
centuries now and I’m not sure I’ll ever find my way back home or truly
be… worthy.” He went completely quiet now, listening to the sounds of the
castle around them.
And the artist’s reply and handiwork...
“That is what you and your father try to see in
each other. You are both stubborn headstrong men, leaders of your people,
whether you want to accept that or not.” The woman spoke quietly as she
looked at the high elf. The turmoil in his heart was written like words
on his face. She motioned towards the work area as she rose, waiting for
him to rise and follow her.
She worked in silence. The only sounds were those
of the fire crackling in the lounge. She paused once or twice to wipe the welling
blood and excess ink away from the image. The high elf lay motionless as
she continued. Smiling to herself she added a few final details and stepped
back, wiping her hands on a clean cloth. “You gave me liberty with this
image Prince.” She chuckled inwardly as he flinched at the title. “Stand
at the mirror and let me explain my interpretation.
Galain rose slowly to his feet, holding a small
hand mirror so that he could see the image reflected in the larger glass.
“The star is there as you requested, a symbol of a proud race. At its heart
is life, symbolized by a blood red stone.” She paused as she watched his
reaction. “Unconditional love, peace, harmony... that is the dove. Its
heart and that of your people are the same.” Her words trailed off to a
whisper. “It’s within you, Prince of Elen, when you choose to accept it.
Stepping into his line of sight, the Artist bowed
deeply. “My work is finished. You should begin yours.” Without another
word, the woman turned and walked from the room, leaving Galain staring
after her.
My thanks to Gileain Elf for her insight and
her artwork.
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