In the Blood: Part V

"Shane is safe. He is on his way home"

Just that. No salutation, no signature. A simple note, on plain parchment, with good news. And written in the graceful flowing script of the Sithryn elven race.

Ian stood under a wall sconce, reading the note once more by torchlight as he leaned against the wall. There were only three... no, make that four now who spoke the tongue on this plane. And of those four, Shane was still too young to have written this. That left two others. Yarrowvathallion would never have written such a note to Ian. Especially after he had been wounded by Blackhawke the other eve in the frenzied search for Arista. That left only one. And Skye had confirmed it tonight in the firehall with a simple question: Ashe. Ashevathallion. Yarrow's twin. And the other member of that triad of souls so closely entwined they seemed to shut everyone else out.

Ian shook his head, and crumpled the note into his fist. Only one small boy had ever come between them, a half-elven bastard sired on one Midsummer's Night in deceit and revenge. And because of that boy, that triad was now forever sundered. Rowan was gone on to the Summerlands. Yarrow was still seeking his revenge on Ian. And Ashe, the uncle who had taken Ian under his wing and shown him the first lessons of magic and the Ways of Life, the uncle who had put down his sword and refused to continue the war against humans, Ashe had vanished. Although Ian occasionally could sense his favorite uncle's soul somewhere in the world, he had not seen or spoken with the elf for over twenty years.

"Has it been that long, truly, nephew? You have been amongst the humans for that long? To me, it seems you were but a child in Rowan's arms a few days ago." Out of the shadows where the walls met stepped a tall figure, clad in the green and blue colors of the Silver Rose, cloak held by a large silver brooch in the likeness of the flower the House was named after. The face, once perfection, now marked by a scar; the voice, once melodious, now rough. Ian watched as his uncle walked towards him. That, at least, was still the same. Ashe still walked with all the inherent grace and presence of the Sithryn. He came closer, then stopped only a foot away, close enough for his nephew to take in the extent of damage from that day when Ian's whole world collapsed around him. He looked until his shame at what he had done made him turn away. "No wonder you have stayed away .Uncle, I am sorry. I truly did not... "

"Saaaa. Hush. It was not your fault. You could not have known, none of us could, save for the one who planned it." Ian turned back. "And does Grandfather agree? Or does he still name me Kin-Slayer, and curse my name each sunset as he told me he would? Ah! Nevermind, Uncle. I see it in your eyes. You may have forgiven me. But he hasn't. Neither has Yarrow. He still seeks `tsi im `tsi. The Sithryn have turned their back on me."

"My father still will not speak your name, Ianno. But, he does not curse it, has not for many days. I think he has sorrow over what he has done, but pride... "Ashe shrugged. "Well, you know of Sithryn pride. Pride will not allow him to admit he was wrong. His own words hold his heart hostage, and he has not the humility to set himself free." He took a step back, giving Ian a closer inspection. "Your years have been hard on you as well. I see scars, not just on your body, but on your spirit... And I see a healing. You are part of a triad now yourself, Sithryn and human mixed with dragons soul. You have been blessed."

Ian nodded slowly. "Aye, with a brother, Corwin, and a soul mate, Skye. And children. I have children, Uncle! Shane, I take it, you have met. And two other sons, and three daughters. I am rich in my family."

"Yes, yes you are." Then Ashe stepped forwards once more, and set his hand on Ian's shoulders. "Are you too rich to add a roving uncle to your trove? I would stay awhile, and teach your children of what they carry in their soul and blood. May I?"

No words were spoken. Ian simply threw his arms around his uncle, that gesture being the only answer needed between the two. Then the younger man stood back, and in a clear precise voice recited words in Sithryn that the older had taught him so many years ago in a glade bathed in sunlight:

"Be welcomed to my home and hearth. Be welcomed to my soul, oh my kinsman."