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06-05-2015, 11:07 AM
It was a beautiful moment. How strange to call it such, as the darkness of death and grief begin to wrap around their communion, yet it was beautiful. A life of old and new parting through the mists, while giving heart to another. It sounds so lovely to call it such rather than to degrade it with phrases such as the blackness of death, the torture of grief. The darkness though is not pure, here where a child cradles her mother’s head there is a stroke of grace, and love, so often the conqueror of death. There in the golden a heart beats with a faint but determined struggle. It paints the continuing life and loss. And she who centers so much in this frame, will find hope in the darkness. You see it is not the pure black of horror and terror in this image. There are beautiful strokes of other colors melding into it. Perhaps that is why it is so beautiful, yet tragic. The golden rolls his head. His mind was on another beauty. His crowned head rolled to the side, letting though earth eyes close, giving himself permission to go to that place. That place long ago. He had been so confused by the detangling of stories, by trying to remember his own. It came to him that unlike when he looked like she still, their faces no longer flashed like twisted horror shows when he thought about them. He actually had to try to remember, and it made the golden groan with the struggle. Yet if the shattered mirror on the floor did not show him the faces, perhaps that black wrapped text could. If you write and rewrite a story so many times, do you lose its meaning? Do you forget the names in the senselessness of the task? What happens to the images, so detailed and painful, where do they go? Did they even exist anymore? While the mare and child hold their precious moment, the golden too, finds himself in memories. He for once was searching. Where had his story began? What had lifted his soul above her state. What did her face look like? Had he sunk so low as to forget her face? It was pale…no white. White as the fresh fallen snow, yet instead of melting in the spring it blossomed. Her hair, like the gathering of dandelion wishes would drift in the breeze, lighter than the clouds above. What else had captured that golden’s eye? That’s right gold. Defiant of her heritage the gold and curled about her shoulders and hips. Their link she always said. They were meant to be, he and she, tied by heart and coat. Though she always said her’s was the only one to shine brighter than his. Her pride of such fact ever showing. How he had laughed to hear such a thing, and yet let her have what she desired. Of course her shown brighter than his, for hers sprang from a royal heart. Or was it just the light she always seemed to stand in? The golden’s face twists as he struggles to remember, as each moment brings the twisted happiness which stabbed him. There had been other things, what where they…Something clacked against his. When they laughed and rattled them against her cages. Antlers. She had had antlers, that’s right. Huge tines of her ancestors rising above her head as her permanent crown. She hadn’t wanted them, maybe that’s why they were so hard to picture. They always bore the mark of her attempt to rid them. Why had she not, oh, he had been there. His head wrapped about her shivering frame, and her tears staining his gold shoulder. His mind struggled to picture her fully. Had she a tail, well of course she had. It was, was it full? Yes, full and thick. It was hard to remember. His memory twisted. It was red, and tangled. No, no that was just the last he saw. Before it had been silken, and white, sweet as it brushed his face or flew back at him as he let her win. That was before, before it had become the only soft cradle their too young son had felt. Wait, no…that had not been seen. That was drawn. Etched in by another’s rough tongue. It had made it burn all the more. A shiver runs down his entire body, but he stays, for there was one more thing he could not remember. It burned in his chest, and his mind compounded to think. Her eyes, where were her eyes. Like a blind man he reached out to his memories. His touches yield nothing. They were closed. As they had been seen and last touched, they were closed. But underneath. Desperate he struggled on, underneath what had they been? Had he truly forgotten? Had he forgotten how they shown in the moonlight mists, capturing the holy stars above? Had he forgotten how they eased to look at him, and the strain of any ill wash away? Had he forgotten their spark and life as they laughed to see what trouble they were in? Had he forgotten the sweet golden glass that for three years made his heart pound in his thr-Gold. That’s right gold. They had been golden… A long exhale came from the golden body. The steam wrapping around the scene and he seemed to ease, and be at peace. The pain still shattered his soul, and it burned worse than before, but she was there, standing before him. Her face bathed in light, with those solid golden eyes gleaming back to him. Earth eyes flutter open and for a moment his heart pauses. Those eyes were there. Looking out. Face startles. She was-no, that was another tale. Africa’s golden eyes were turned from him to the child, and were no his to hold. His face fell, and heart ached anew in his breast, but the spiraling downfall was sliced short but words which did not belong. Rough and harsh, it collided with the tragic melody of the scene, in discord. Crowned head lifts from the snow, its weight causing him to swoon and spin, the image not quite placed together. A white but dark face grins back and earth eyes instantly clear their haze. He knows that face, and it does not belong here. It awakens like an electric shock, that these were gone memories, and not revolving any more on this earth. It reminds him of anger, and hate, of what had finally crushed that tragic love. It reminded him of what made him forget. Pain follows next. He wanted the beast to go, for he of all knew what would come of colliding these two images, these two worlds. He wanted to be free of it, to relinquish the causes of this moment. He wanted to remain alone. Alone with his sweet memories. So his body answers, quickly. In the spur of survival and desires it activates mechanically. The golden’s form shivers in sight, and then falls away like dust. He is gone. But only to their eyes. For see he still lays there at the feet of the painted brute. Screams fill his ears even though they see him not. They terrorize him, and anger him. This foul creature disturbs what was won back. Not so much for the safety of the child or the memories of the mother, but he angers more for the breaking of his peace, a hard won peace. Now it all as it was. Her eyes closed, her tail in blood, till in a snap it was gone, and he could remember her face no more. Shoulders heave up, horns rising up dangerously, threatening. Body, wet and cold from the snow, rose, and turned. Never more than a few inches were his horns to the other as it leaned over the mare. But it was a blind anger. Like one waken too sharply from sleep. He had forgotten this place and this time, and as he looked to the mare at his feet for what she was, limp and stained with red, he remembered her already determined fate could be no worse. It might even be a blessing, to pass quicker. So he moves back, his hidden face twisted, but once more solemn. He is pulling back, giving in, and letting life do as it must. Cloven hooves move him to leave, but a figure leaps in his path and onto the grey ghost. Harks pin back and legs shuffle, confused as it tears at her. It swells in him that he cannot watch such tragedies, even though he knows they must be so, for he still feels them. But the small creature tumbles loose. Snorting the gold continues to shift, swaying with the reactions. It was not taking her life, it was taking her satchel. Snorting, and shaking his head the gold tries to gather himself. He struggling, with all his shell thrown about, but he knows his goodbye must be swift. His head swings, much in the same way hers did at first, to look one last time upon her fallen figure. As he sees the shadow over it, the small piece of him which continues to force his lungs to open to air again, reaches out. Was he really going to doom her to this fate? This pain from a brute that dared call him brother? It begged him, it pleaded with him to stand over her body and protect its solemn rest. Its not your story. Torn and shaking with the conflict the golden steps to her. He will save all his soul is able. Teeth reach out and pluck from their place two long grey feathers. They are all he can save, all he can protect in his shattered heart. These he will keep, and these will he be reminded of, that death offered him her picture one day, and he could not let it take him. The golden sighs and turns away. Hooves clink on an object in the snow. A gem tossed from the run of the companion. Absentmindedly he takes it and stores it with the feathers in his satchel. Stumbling he walks, ready now to let the dull sleep take hold. His body can take the struggle no more. There was still one tragedy to face. One heart still breaking. A dark figure appears in the snow, and at first the golden nearly stumbles past. But he is stopped by a soft sob, trailing, and in the string of a long trail before it. The golden knew that cry. He had heard it before, but not in this tone. Suddenly their bond shivered across his frame the low rocky place his companion had fallen. Haldir. A parting of his lips and agony twist his face, and the connection with the present shivers his form back into sight. Haldir, oh sweet Haldir. The golden thinks. Never did the gold link the deer so close to his breast as in that moment. Low golden head turns to the shadow in the snow, and his eyes find it wrapped around a limp black figure. They are confused for a moment, but then it washes away in a pity and pain again. The deer’s state and its causes understood. All creatures will know the time they first found the pain of death on their soul. The golden especially knew its bitterness, and the utter defeat it brought. The small deer had laid there still as he had fallen, crying as he wrapped around the dead bird, pouring out his heart in hopes it would take him someplace else. Then his face feels warm. Skin, which was dead with cold, shivered and leaned to it. A cold wet nose it finds. The dark head, confused, but ready to be taken, rises. Those large moon eyes finding not the end, but the earth eyed golden. A sharp bitterness flew up in him all over. It was the golden’s fault he was here. The golden’s fault he felt things his young, innocent heart should never feel. In rejection, he turns away again. The golden does not move though. His eyes only reflect the added hurt of it. Always had Haldir leapt to him, even when the gold had been determined to leave him to death. Now, when the deer turned away, a new crack formed over him. It shivered over, and broke all anew. Yet this pain he could fix. He could yet mend, instead of leave broken. The warm breath came over the deer again, and the small creature tightened against it, not wanting to reveal how good it felt. Then comes a now warmer touch, gently brushing his neck and stroking his back. It pulls him, and seduces him to give in, but the bitterness was deep and still throbbed with hurt, so he remains turned away. The golden left more dejected. His earth eyes move to the figure the deer wraps around. It reminds him of the need, the desperation his soul (unwillingly) felt to console the deer. In the ancient tongue the deer knew well, his voice cracked but soothing, whispers to the deer. “They are not lost.” An ancient speech, filled with the lore of his past swells through. “They are found, together above in the stars.” The deer softened, but did not move. Nearly begging the gold goes on. “Haldir, hearts need each other, and as he died for she, so mine will for you, and yours mine.” It was a hated notion, for long as he tried to abandon the deer it had come to him in its truth. But here it was true. What happened that day in the cave where his egg was won, even in sickness, could not be changed. Some events are out of our control to understand or to know the hand that made it so. The deer, with eyes still swelling and glassy with tears, looks to him. His small notions of love, and life wrapping around this ideal that the gold needed him. And that he needed the golden. “I am sorry.” It cracks and breaks upon the golden as he says it, and his head falls away, lost in it. A warm touch graces the plan of his head on the white leaf, and then leans into it. Earth eyes open with a suddenness and see a dark small figure there. Haldir leans into his bonded, and the gold, with eyes closing back, leans in as well, and the world is still. When the pair moves again, the golden breaks the contact, leaving with a nuzzle against the deer. The crowned head looks off at the towering mountains, and a whisper from their tops promises rest can be found in their midst. Rest. That is what they needed. Haldir looks up waiting, his own body weighted down. The gold looks to it, and knows once more that they must move on. Nosing the creature forward they walk. Each dragging their hooves. But there was something left unfinished. A task yet complete. Haldir was a part of him. He needed to know every part. The story was half begun, with her image awoken again, it could not be left open, or a madness, he could feel, threatened. So as they walk the rolling sweet musical melodies of his olden tongue came again. “There is a tale you must now know.” It pauses as a rise of bitter, sickness rises in his speech. But there comes a warm touch on his moving leg. He turns to see Haldir, with sunken eyes, concerned but waiting. Tell me. They commanded for the deer could feel the weight in his soul as well, like holding a cannonball in the sea. So the golden shutters as he walks, but speaks. “When I was born I was not what this world sees…..” And he tells as they walk the story. Never before had it been told on this earth, and each who had known it, near and far did not dare repeat it. Now the silence was broken. Here the golden speaks, and his bonded listens, as the winds carry its long sorrowful tale to the stars. "talk talk talk" OOC:: ;-; Thranduil is speaking in elvish to Haldir, but it is beyond my small skill to translate just yet. He has taken with him an amulet and two flight feathers. Tag:: @[Africa] @[Crash Course] Wardrobe:: circlet, golden cloak, hawk necklace, armband, satchel (invisibility cloak, polearm, knife) Identities:: Ampere, Cashmere Thranduil
His words are clever and bright
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