Finding the location of Muro’s death-day celebration had proven to be a tedious effort, with Lance leading Hoplite and Michael through crowds of elves and bunches of massive roots for what felt like an eternity. Moving through the crowds had proven to be a tiresome affair, with their pace slowed by the sheer amount of people present in the Ilum-shadowed valley. Hoplite had been beginning to wonder if Lance had really known just where she was going. She had acted quite confident guiding them through the milling crowds of silent elves, but perhaps those in charge of managing the funeral gave her wrong directions by mistake?

Hoplite pondered this possibility until finally, they crested the top of a tall root cluster overlooking a wide field packed to the brim with mourners. The recognition on Lance’s face all but confirmed that this was the place the funeral would be held. The area was completely encircled by the roots, trapping all below in a bowl of black dirt. Decorations and confections had been set up, as they had been across the other gatherings they had passed by before finally arriving here.

Long rows of tables with a thin lightish green cloth laid over top of them separated the crowd in the root-bowl into three sections. The tables stretched from end to end of the wide field, connecting to the large roots surrounding the elves. In actuality, Hoplite realized, these weren’t really tables, just thin sections of root that the elves had taken to using as furniture. The top of the table-roots seemed flat enough to give the food a stable surface… maybe the elves had gotten ‘consent’ from the Ilum tree to carve these particular roots flat?

He zoomed in on the tables, spotting all manner of food and drink contained on fine white plates or within large bowls of silver. Fruits and vegetables, meats and wines, it was a practical cornucopia. Despite the feast laid before them ,however, the elves simply stood around the tables silently, not even bothering to look at the still-steaming plates. It had been this way with the other groups of mourners they had passed, though those had been using tables crafted out of imported wood, rather than roots. This bowl must have been unique in some way… Muro must have been fairly well-liked in elven society have an event like this arranged for him.

P

Would all the elves down there come and try to talk with him? The other crowds that Hoplite had passed on the way here certainly hadn’t seemed all too interested in speaking with him… Sure, they had stared after him as he went, but they hadn’t made attempts to interact with Hoplite beyond that. It was likely that would come after the celebrations began, which Lance had claimed would last well into the morning. He would have to talk with her about that, surely it would be satisfactory for Lance if they attended the party for only an hour or so before leaving? Overnight was simply too long a time for a party, but perhaps to the sleepless elves, such a lengthy event was hardly a struggle to get through.

“This is the place.” Lance said, letting out a nervous sounding sigh before turning to the two Ternans “Alright, when we enter the bowl and merge with the crowd, remain silent.” She finished with a stare for Michael, her green eyes locked onto the young man intently.

Michael stared back flatly at her before shaking his head in disbelief.

“You tellin’ me that this,” Michael whispered with a gesture for the crowd of quiet elves below “Is supposed to be a party? What, are we just supposed to keep quiet all night? That sucks.”

“Of course not,” Lance snapped back quietly “We don’t begin until you hear the Harkmother’s voice in your head.”

Michael frowned, as did Hoplite beneath the helmet. Hearing the Harkmother in his head? Hoplite did not have the necessary bionic implant for telepathic communication installed, but even if he did, the Harkmother certainly couldn’t-

He had to stop himself from dismissing the idea of elven telepathy completely. This was a different world in a different realm, with rules that he scarcely understood. Perhaps she really could project her voice to his mind? An uncomfortable thought, for if she could speak in one's mind, what else could the Harkmother do? Could she implant subliminal messages? Wouldn’t other elves recognize that for what it was and accuse her of attacks on the mind? Or perhaps she could even melt brains?

Hoplite had no idea.

These elves were potentially far more dangerous to Hoplite than he had initially thought. Then again… all the elves seemed to think slaying a Pillar-Born was an impossibility, yet Hoplite had done it. If they couldn’t kill Tuji, then they likely couldn’t neutralize Hoplite… at least not easily.

Had the Harkmother been capable of melting brains from a distance, there wouldn’t have been too much concern for Tuji, yet she hadn’t come to try and deal with the threat by way of her aforementioned theoretical brain-melting abilities.

Maybe Terlin could melt brains, and that was why he had come after Tuji, but if Terlin had really been frightened of Hoplite like he suspected… Then could Terlin really cook internal organs?

“Hoplite?” Lance asked, patting his elbow plate to get his attention.

“No speaking.” Hoplite replied, to which he received a relieved nod from her and a scoff from Michael.

“Sir don’t tell me that you actually believe this crap, Lord Jyn’s the only fella who can-”

“I thought you came to terms with our situation private.” Hoplite told Michael, cutting him off “For now, keep an open mind. We’re learning as we go.”

“Yes sir.” Michael said, exhaling and clicking his tongue as he stared down at the gathering of elves.

They were all dressed in formal attire cut from the same cloth as Lance’s garb, though theirs seemed to fit better for the most part. They seemed as individual leaves, gently shifting in a breeze across the field as they only rarely moved.

“Guess we should head down there huh?” Michael asked, first looking at Hoplite, then to Lance.

Lance pursed her lips, before looking up to Hoplite one last time and saying “Please. Do not. Ask. About. Sex.” She said, cutting off every word with a sharp pause, maintaining an unblinking stare focused purely on Hoplite.

Hoplite nodded, and Lance breathed a sigh of relief “Alright, let's head down there, it shouldn’t be long now before she begins to speak. Again, celebrations at the Ilum are… different than the ones normally held. Just be ready.”

Again, Hoplite and Michael both looked at one another, with Michael now looking somewhat concerned.

“What do you mean? How is it different?” Hoplite asked, turning back to Lance “Is it… magic?” The words were strange coming off his tongue, but he had to know.

“Not… exactly.” Lance said “I’m not really sure if it is or not, but being around the Ilum during a celebration has… interesting effects on the mind. Nothing dangerous mind you,” She said quickly “Just that you’ll end up feeling deeply at peace.”

“Some kind of narcotic in the air.” Hoplite said “My suit will filter that out; private, did you bring an environmental mask?”

“Yes sir, have it in my tac pouch.” Michael said, reaching down to pat a small kevlar sack tied to his waist.

“Full face or partial?” Hoplite asked, prompting Michael to pull the mask from the pouch.

“Full face, mark three ballistic glass.” Michael replied, holding it up for Hoplite to see.

One of the sturdier models to be sure, the glass was opaque and dark on this side, but Michael would be able to see out of it just fine once he put it on. Mark three meant that it would be capable of withstanding small arms fire without suffering any cracks, but a direct plasma shot would melt right through it with hardly any issue. A mark four would have been preferable, but mark three was still the standard and Hoplite could hardly blame Michael for having standard issue equipment.

“It isn’t a drug,” Lance whispered “You won’t feel any euphoria from the effect itself, you’ll just feel completely at ease.”

“Yes.” Hoplite replied flatly “Like a drug. I don’t know if it's some kind of pollen or something else entirely, but we will not become intoxicated in any way with our filters.”

“Uh, sir?” Michael asked “I’ll equip the mask, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know if these can deal with pollen.”

Hoplite cocked his helmet towards Michael, somewhat baffled by the young man’s words.

“Private, that mask can keep you breathing in the vacuum of space, why wouldn’t it keep out pollen?” Hoplite asked, his brows knit.

Did the mask have some kind of flaw in it? Perhaps the filter had been damaged in Michael’s crash. Michael’s jaw hung open for a brief instant before snapping shut, his face slowly turning a shade of bright red.

“I- I didn’t think about that sir.” Michael said with a slight stutter.

Ah, it was just a purely human error then. The mask wasn’t compromised in any way, that was reassuring. The next issue to deal with was actually getting down to the objective. The root wall encircling this field was very steep, and with how big his feet were, maneuvering down without causing a scene would be nigh impossible. Michael may be able to awkwardly shimmy down, but if Hoplite himself were to try something like that, the weight of his armor would scrape any footholds clean off. Lance then shook her head with a sigh, and began walking down the steep root as if she were some kind of mountain goat.

Even in her sandals, she didn’t falter a single step as she made her way down, not even bothering to use her hands to aid in her descent. She moved down the narrow grooves as if they were simple stairs, it was if she were defying gravity itself. Considering the fact that Lance’s bones never shattered after dropping from heights that would kill most men… perhaps she did.

Michael goggled at Lance, turning to look back up at Hoplite once she finally reached the bottom. Every elf in the field was staring at them now… particularly at Hoplite. It was probably a twenty-foot drop, something he could easily withstand even outside of his armor, but the sound of his landing might be offensively loud.

Yet Hoplite found that he didn’t really care. He wasn’t speaking to disturb the silence, therefore he wasn’t really breaking any kind of rule. Lance couldn’t honestly expect him to scrape his way down the Ilum root, these elves were far more likely to take offense at his potential damaging of the tree, rather than a simple jump onto some soft soil. Now, what to do with Michael? Hoplite could simply pick him up and carry him with the jump… but that could be jarring, and Hoplite would rather not risk injuring Michael in any way.

The marine would have to find his own way down, but climbing would be far easier for Michael than it would be for Hoplite. Sure, Michael may be a tad on the larger side for a standard human, but those crags didn’t look narrow enough for Michael’s feet to immediately slip off them. It was unfortunate that they didn’t bring any climbing equipment for this event, but it was what it was.

Lance received several quiet nods from the elves that noticed her descent, some even offering up smiles as if for an old comrade. Knowing Lance’s and Muro’s occupation, it was likely that the attending elves and Lance really were comrades, several of the people at this party all had lean frames similar to Lance. Were they off-duty night watchers? That would make sense, as Muro was supposed to be their commanding officer. He must have been looked upon fondly to have so many people attending his funeral.

With that thought, Hoplite leaped from the top of the root, clearing its bulk and aiming for a landing behind Lance, approached the crowd of elves. Michael gasped as Hoplite’s feet left the root, falling like a brick toward the soft earth before colliding with a dull crash. His armored boots sunk a couple of feet into the soft soil, the impact kicking up small clumps that flew far, only barely missing the gathered crowd of elves by inches. Lance was, unfortunately, was a fair bit closer than that.

Clumps of soft dirt collided with the back of Lance’s dress, with a particularly large chunk hitting her directly in the back of the head. The blow knocked her off balance before she fell flat on her face before the crowd of elves. The crowd’s necks all strained, as if they were all forcing their jaws to be clenched shut to prevent gasps. Hoplite pulled his feet free of the soil, running to Lance across the short distance between them to come kneeling at her side.

Had he given her a concussion? Hoplite would have to carry Lance to someone capable of treating her if so. He grabbed her shoulder, turning her to face him to see green eyes widened in shock. Suddenly, she lifted a finger to her lips, pressing it against them with a warning stare. Right, he was not to speak… the fact that she responded to him must have meant that she was alright. Oddly, Lance began hiding her face as Hoplite helped her stand, not looking at the crowd of elves that were still staring in shock.

Lance’s face had turned a feverish red as she clung to his arm, circling around to hide behind him. What was this strange behavior? Perhaps she really did get some kind of injury… Yet she didn’t seem to have anything wrong with her besides the crimson hue on her cheeks…

Hoplite blinked. Her face wasn’t red from trauma… It was red because she was embarrassed, just as Hoplite had been earlier. He had just humiliated Lance in front of several of her colleagues… A small pit of guilt formed in his chest, and suddenly he felt as if he too would like to go unseen before these elves. Only for the briefest of moments, but the feeling had definitely been there.

Hoplite hadn’t felt guilt in a long while… These emotions needed to be re-suppressed before they became a problem. He could not serve Lord Jyn properly if he became a person again. As Lance began plucking out clumps of dirt from her pitch-dark hair, Hoplite thought on the words of a cryo-officer that he had eavesdropped on a long time ago.

“The longer they’re out of the fridge, the less stable they get.” Was what that man had said, though Hoplite had lacked the previous context to know if the cryo-officer had been truly referring to the Hoplite’s or not.

Certainly, it was protocol to leave Hoplites in cryogenic storage until it was time to use them… but they did not become mentally unstable unless they were kept out of combat situations for too long. Ever since landing on Ahkoolis… there had been far too much downtime without fighting… too much time to think, to feel. He yearned to be numb again, to not feel these emotions. They were simply not wanted.

“Let the celebrations for those lost begin,” A woman’s voice said from inside Hoplite’s head “Be at ease, to help remember fonder times with the fallen, and to make new memories in this; their final farewells.”

Hoplite blinked in confusion when he heard what had to be the Harkmother’s voice, cutting off his previous train of thought completely. It was strange, as if he had heard the words yet… not with his ears. It had simply flowed into his thoughts like a crystal clear stream… and he felt…

He…

Hoplite took a deep breath, and released it. Lance let go of him to stand straight, the redness from her face fading as she began wiping away the dirt that clung to the leafy fabric of her dress in an almost casual manner.

Hoplite felt…

“That wasn’t exactly pleasant, I’m glad the Harkmother decided to get started a bit early. I think I may have been about to cry, so good timing on her part.” Lance said with a small smile “It feels nice doesn’t it?” She asked, turning to look up at Michael.

The marine was only now beginning to climb down the root, cursing as he went but in a more…lighthearted manner. As if he hadn’t a care in the world, no sense of urgency to accomplish any kind of task aside from getting down into the root-bowl. Hoplite struggled with this new feeling, audibly sighing as he let his shoulders sag somewhat.

He normally would have felt foolish, letting his stance falter in such a way before so many people. Yet Hoplite found that he simply… didn’t care. Weight comparable to that of a Dragon-Class cruiser had been lifted from his shoulders by means he didn’t quite understand. Hoplite just… he wanted to eat something, maybe get a drink? The elves ahead of them were all beginning to chat, completely forgetting he and Lance for a moment to speak of Muro, the captain of the night-watchers.

Hoplite picked up on all kinds of things from the flurry of conversations. The time Muro had met the Dragon of the East and walked away alive, when Muro had dealt the final blow to end the Akan-Dari Expansion War, and another… ‘accomplishment’ that involved three female dwarves. From the snippets he caught, Hoplite determined that Muro had outdrank the three dwarven women, and after that, had ‘outlasted’ them. Whatever that meant.

Perhaps it was outlasting a hangover? Yes that had to be it. Was this helmet really necessary? There wasn’t any real danger here, and Hoplite could hardly eat or drink anything with it on. Hoplite would magnetize it to his hip in case he needed it, but he doubted that he would. There wasn’t any pollen in the air he could see anywhere, and his suits oxygen reader didn’t warn him of any airborne threats.

Hoplite blinked as he realized what had just happened to him. This narcotic had affected him, despite his suit’s filters. Meaning it simply had to be magic, any physical drug entering his system could be removed from his blood by way of his arterial filters. That was if he activated them. All it took was a thought to turn on the filter… but he was still sure that this was something magical in nature, despite what Lance had told him earlier.

After all… it would take some kind of magic to make him feel this way… to make Hoplite feel…

At peace.