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04-30-2016, 11:11 PM
He was shaking all over. Haldir, the faithful stag, walks alongside, his own gait broken, but his pale eyes only on his bonded. It had been so naïve when it began, the spar with Ophelia. The gold had laughed and took hits without care, but now….The crowned head hung low, his steps were jerked and unsteady, and his whole entire being shook. The deer dared not say a word though. Not that he could, his own mind was screaming in pain at the labor it took to keep up with the gold considering his own injuries. A cracked rib may not sound like much, but it made every rushed step agony. In the setting of the day they were a ragged pair, and nights are long and dark. The gold stumbled, his face contorting but he goes on, moving forward without direction or care. Once again, he was headed north. The deer by his side, seeing such a direction, feels his soul flutter. He knows what lies north. He knows why the steps travel there. And he fears what may happen there. Yet he struggles on. His body was not conditioned to hell though. Black spots begin to dot the golden horizon, and his steps grow listless. The gold takes no notice until a crash sounds behind him and a cry of pain flares into the sweet night. Crowned head turns back, drunkenly, taking a minute to focus. The dark stag lay collapsed on a rock bed of the hillside. Hillside? Earth eyes look about in the night. A chill runs through him and he shakes all the more. No, no no….A meek cry draws his attention back to the deer, who was struggling to stand and step forward. Something else breaks inside the gold, and he shakes all the more. Another crack wrenched in the door. Another voice trying to get in. He couldn’t let it. He would with stand it. He would go. He would escape. The deer staggers forward. The gold couldn’t escape if he was followed. ”Go home Haldir.” The face of pain and concentration shocks into fear and surprise. Haldir stops, his sides trembling with cold and weariness, but his eyes are locked on the other. He knew. The dark stag knew. And his heart broke because he could see it coming. See something dark and twisted building. ”No…please..” It begs. His little body on the edge. If the gold were to go. There was no good to come. This wasn’t some childish prank of sneaking into a herd, or torturing some soul in the night. This was worse. Much worse. Because this was real. Every fiber in his bonded he could feel held no heightened fancy, no pretending airs. It was real this time. Meaning the desperation, exasperation, devastation, and utter exhaustion in that soul was real. The tipping point reached. The breaking point climaxed. The gold stood upon a razor’s edge. And the deer knew not if the Laurelin could come back. If he would come back at all. The deer stumbles forward. The gold takes two steps back. ”Go!” It commanded, but it was shaky and fragile. The deer was fully panicked. He couldn’t leave. He mustn’t leave. Now most of all he was needed. Now most of all he must keep the gold from harm by his own hand. So he begs and pleads, struggling on as the world grows darker. ”Mithrandir, please no, please, a healer. I shall get a healer. Please let me just…” Tears stain the dark stag’s cheeks, but the golden’s harks were pinned, his trembling steeled as he shakes his head. Voices roaring his head, ghosts in ever shadow, weakness and cracks on every side, and a quibbling deer’s voice begging. It was too much. Crowned head swings, broken gait lunges, and he sacks the deer to the ground. The begging stops. The golden stands over the fallen deer, who lay still, awake but silent. Tears of pain and deep sadness rolling onto the cold stones. Breathless the gold whispers, his own pain lacing the words. “Go home.” And to this the deer did not refute. As he slowly and agonizingly rose with a now broken rib to head south, the gold slips further up the slops north. The deer had every reason to be worried. What was passing through the golden’s mind was really not right. He walks one like a drunkard, hooves stumbling, body swaying ever shaking but not from the cold. He pulls on forward, his body straining against the pain and exhaustion. Against the muscles. The heart. The memories. Ophelia’s voice slips like a serpent in his mind, rolling over and over. Love. Her. A bile rises in his throat, eyes dot with black. But his heart is racing. It can’t be. How could she see what he held so hidden, so safe. How could it be. How could he be here again. This feeling so cursed and hated, how had it risen again without his consent? Had that damned organ of a heart not learned the first time how weak and fragile it was? How easily someone could grab it? Pure white coat trembles at his touch, making his soul quiver. This was going places it hadn’t before, and the colt was nervous. Tension built in his limbs, causing them to jerk and twitch with nerves. She always was a clever girl though. Arwen. Her solid gold eyes turn to him, gleaming to see his. His breath is sucked from is lungs. She held such power in that gaze. It was like a thousand ramming horns sacking him, but she never touched him. Such was Arwen’s power over him, and she knew it, for though he was clueless, he had the same way over her. The night wind blew between then, her white mane twirling with his as their heads rested upon each other’s backs. He hadn’t dared breathe a word, but she did. Her hot breath rolled down his spine. “Thranduil, I love you.” The shock transcends the memory and the gold jerks to a halt like being struck by lightening. He staggers slightly, trying to catch his breath. After all these years, after all the ages spent forgetting it still could shatter him, enrapture him, even pull his seared nerves to awakening. Now the fragile lines of repair that made his broken shell whole were beginning to show again. His fears, so long hidden and denied were rising up with a ferocity mortals can not withstand. It was biting into him, tearing him. His worst fear. The terrible truth. Over and over it repeated like a broken record in his brain. History happens. History repeats. Love and broken. Unstoppable. No, no no! Out there, go on, he thinks. He could escape the thoughts. To stay standing let the broken record go father, and that was even worse than its repeating tracks. So despite his wounds he walks on, the ground levelling, but he still strains against his own doom. His trail of red in the snow grows thicker. But it serves to bleed the truth from him. The gold colt shivers, his eyes wide, and body tingling with anxiety. Slowly his head lifts from her back, though she whines for it. The young head turns back. And he’s struck by lightening again as her sweet face looks back at his. The wind blow her locks between the proud antlers and over her golden eyes, making her more of a vision than reality. She loved him. He can’t seem to catch his breath, and she sees it with a smile. To see it makes his knees wobble, but the colt was driven by that unending strength of love. “Arwen….” The voice is broken, cracked, bending to her, but sounding with an unbreakable vow. “I’ll never leave your side…I love you.” A cry roars like from a wounded lion echos across the high cliffs. “WRETCH” And the golden falls to the snow. It had broken, that vow. What she had called forth had been so enormous, so vast a love, it was doomed to break as it tried to survive with waves of fate. Damn her. Tears rose for the first time in five years. Though he wanted to curse Arwen’s sweet name, it was still holy. Still sacred. Yet here….here where his blood and hers mixed still fresh… Damn Hotaru. Curse the wicked rosen queen. To hell with the northern lady. He searched in his heart and soul but found no rights on her titles to his heart. This wasn’t tender and sweet either. Now it had been tainted by reality into a proud, cold, suicidal love. She dared to pull it forward. Dared to command him. You’re mine… The anger which had been waging against her since she had last turned her back on him rose again. She’s a whore… A pink backed child follows a rosen shadow. Head tucks to his chest as it began to burn. How could such a low creature call this forth. This love was so great, so real, that to feed his denial against it brought insanity. No, his mind was not right. His actions unholy. And all he now thought was the worst of sins. He couldn’t let such a dark mistress become as the white ghost had. He couldn’t let her name join the other’s. The gold could not let something of mud be an idol. A noise sounds behind him and the trembling body steels against it. In the gold’s broken body his heart races. His damn fucking heart alive and racing. The rosen necromancer breaths life in its whispers which burn his ears, and the dark corners are brought back to the light. His whole being shivers, trying still to close the iron doors. Tears which had pooled do not fall. Trying to keep the uncaring darkness in. So with a cold dead voice his commands. “Come here.” "talk talk talk" OOC: Permission from wanda to PP him hearing her. Set immediately after his challenge/spar with Ophelia Thranduil
His words are clever and bright
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@ Nymeria
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