As an ooc note, this is simply a creative writing post depicting the return of Fynenar and marking the hopeful conclusion of my personal hiatus. Enjoy the read!
1545
But fate is a fickle mistress, and even the mightiest among us are not immune to her whims. It began with a subtle unease, a lingering feeling of fatigue that refused to dissipate. Fynenar dismissed it at first, attributing it to the rigors of his duties and the weight of his responsibilities. But as days turned into weeks, the fatigue grew more pronounced, sapping his strength and clouding his mind. The days had blurred into an indistinct haze for Fynenar, a procession of lingering illness that had left him bedridden, his once vital frame reduced to a mere shadow of its former self. The weight of his duties as the Theri'Cill of Luminion had been replaced by the heavy burden of sickness, each breath a struggle, each moment a battle against the creeping tendrils of malady.
Concern turned to alarm as Fynenar's health declined rapidly. What had started as a mere malaise transformed into a debilitating illness, confining him to his bed. Desperate, the high elven healers were summoned, their expertise and magic focused on restoring the Theri'Cill to health. Days turned into weeks, with Fynenar's condition teetering on the brink of despair. Yet, the healers persisted, their efforts unwavering in the face of uncertainty. His trusted advisors were then summoned, their expertise sought to unravel the mystery of his ailment. They tended to him with the utmost care, their every effort focused on restoring him to his former glory. Days blurred into nights as Fynenar lay bedridden, his body weakened but his spirit unbroken. Despite their best efforts, the cause of his illness remained elusive, shrouded in mystery. Some whispered of foul play, of dark forces conspiring to weaken the Theri'cill. Others spoke of a divine trial, a test of faith and resilience sent by the mother herself.
Priestesses would soon gather around his bedside, their chants and incantations a soothing symphony against the backdrop of his fevered dreams. They tended to him with care and diligence, their hands guided by the divine wisdom and light of the mother, their God, as they worked tirelessly to restore their leader to health. There were moments of clarity amidst the fog of illness, fleeting glimpses of the world outside his chamber window. Fynenar would muster all his strength, pushing himself to rise from his sickbed, each step a testament to his unwavering resolve. He would make his way to the balcony on those rare days, supported by the strong arms of his attendants, and there, under the open sky, he would breathe in the fresh air of the silver city, his thoughts mangled and his words precisely repeated... what waking thoughts he had were all but preoccupied by the thought of his dutiful wife.
1546
As the days stretched into weeks and the weeks into months, hope seemed to wane, replaced by a somber acceptance of the inevitable. Yet, fate had one last twist in store. One morning, as the sun cast its golden rays over the silver halls of Luminion, the doctors and attendants entered Fynenar’s chambers to find an empty bed and an open door leading to the balcony. With bated breath and hearts pounding, they stepped outside to witness a sight that would be etched in their memories forever. There, standing tall and resolute, was Fynenar. His once-pale complexion now radiant with health, his eyes ablaze with vitality. The Theri’cill had emerged from his trial of sickness, his body perhaps shattered, his resolve unyielding. The sun bathed him in its warm embrace, casting a halo of light around him, as if the very sky were celebrating his return to health. And soon.. the word spread like wildfire through the silver city..
“He has returned!” They called out, in cheers as criers ran through the streets much to the bemused expression of onlookers, word spread then from the silver city to Sapherum and Ariel alike.
“The Therri’cill has Returned.”
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