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Thranduil
Wind whipped across the peaks still capped in ice and snow. It blew the clouds up in a frenzy above, rolling and tossing about like storm. But the storm was already passing. The rain and thunder had touched only these high peaks, but it had washed upon them with force. Perhaps that is what had drawn him here. The last full thunderstorm of summer. Now in the calm of morning, with the sun beginning to try and peak through the clouds a figure walks uneasily through the snow. It is not golden though, but black. A deer, small and dark moves with caution over the rocks. He steps high over the snow, stopping every few feet, and lets out a hesitant bleat before searching about him and moving on. It is Haldir. Only we can call him a fawn no longer. With the dawning of Orangemoon the babe of before was no longer. Now walking through was a growing deer. Upon his coat, circling his hips and stripping his shoulders and cheeks rose the markings of his ancestors. And on his nose, like a speak head, he wore a marking of white, which set out with his pupil less white eyes in the dull of morning. He carried himself differently as well. This wasn’t the care free babe that jumped across the Basin. Yet he had not quite settled the mantle of his ancestor’s reserve and grace. Especially here, in the dawn of day upon the snow the creature shows more childish worry than he probably should. Coming up to a high plateau the deer’s search proves not to be in vain. Standing there at the edge was the golden. Was he standing? No, he lays! His chin resting on the last rock before a cliff tumbles down. With a quick hop and skip the deer rushes to his bonded, laying ever so still. A bleat rings, and golden harks twitch, as if it’s the first movement he’s made in a decade. Coming to the crumbled form of the gold the dark deer nudges the still shoulder. It flinches at his touch, and that horned head rolls over, then picks up much to the deer’s relief. Slowly the head rises, and awakes. Flashes of the night before come back. A meeting about invasion. A major role. He had slipped out. Ready to leave, permanently. He would not risk his life for them. Ready to leave. Then, like the sounding of a trumpet, thunder rolled over the mountains of the Steppe, and a cool autumn wind blew up from the east. Then he could not remember. He could not remember much of how he shoved Haldir in a hole. He could not remember how he journeyed to the plateau to meet the thunder. He could not remember, and he didn’t want to. A groan rustles out through his system, and the deer at his side nudges him again. Snorting the golden man moves to rise. The last thunderstorm of the summer blew off quickly, but it still had the same effect it always did. Like in a trance the golden’s eyes opened, but were listless and far odd. It had happened as it had now for four years. He walked like a lost child in the storm, stumbling about himself, and locked away from this world in a past and memories made too vivid. Like this he walked until the storm broke, and he crumbled here. It had not ended the spell though. Still, the golden was trapped in the trance of the past. The realities of his running away, and the invasion were too small of matters to care. Had loved her, and that loss still trumped all other matters. Haldir watched as the gold still just stood, not moving any the more, but staring out into the distance. Never had he seen him like this, trapped away from what moved about him. For the first time the small deer’s heart broke. Not for the loss of a toy, or new friend, but a deeper break. A break to see a stallion usually so charismatic, and gracefully shattered upon the rock and snow. He loved this golden creature. Though all the world would look upon the two of them with a cold glare at his mistreatment, the deer knew it not. For hidden from their eyes the gold had shown care, and concern. And while rare as even that may have been, it make it all the more special to his little heart. So as he watched the deer moved his soul. The gold should not waste away like this. He should not stare off, but instead fill his eyes with the life of current. He needed to breathe faster. Feel lighter. Then a curious thing happened. While wishing such desires with all his little heart a mist began to rise up from the snow and his hooves. It was silent and slow, but it moved with purpose. The deer did not seem surprised. It did not spook or drop its thoughts. It only wished harder. It came like a warlock to his first magic. Accepted, and long awaited. The golden was not so calm about it. In his state the gold noticed not how he inhaled the mists about him. That is, until its affect began to awaken him. His heart began to pound, and for the first time he smelled the cold air about him. Cold, numb body began to feel warm, and head, swamped in the past, saw no longer their images, but the cliff before him. Slowly his head turned to the fawn who’s pitless white eyes stared back at him expectantly. Then he saw the mists. In the clarity of the magic’s most powerful first moments he understood. “Haldir.” The deer possessed magic. The deer’s dark tail began to wag as it always did at hearing his name kindly spoken. The shock of being under his own bonded’s spell was powerful to fully awaken him from the state he near fatally lingered in for too long. Though he was not sure he enjoyed the control the small deer just showed over him. At the moment though, the necessity, and salvation of such a display was much too needed to reprimand. Those twin horns rise and look about him. He grows confused, then paws at the snow. There, under a light cover lay his items. A sigh rattles through him, but is broken by the nudge at his knee. The golden turns back to the deer by his side, standing there, expectantly. It was time to go, to journey on. Now it was too late to ruin the plans of the Basin and Edge by warning the pitiful Falls. He would be sucked into battle. So he would just go. Perhaps to the Rotunda. He would not, determined he would not, waste about is life fighting because he was commanded. No job, no security was worth that. But then…was love? It stopped him in his tracks a bit, but the magic of Haldir kept away the darkness of the trance. Who would lead the warriors of the Edge? The damsel queen. Did she know how to fight? The golden remembered back to that day, her shivering and quaking beneath. Yes, she knew how. Snorting the gold shook his head, he cared not. But then….Looking at the items in the snow his mind merged thoughts and times. He had cared once. Once he had gone to the end of his might to do so. It had still failed. Faltering, and weak. A cloven hoof stomps, though Haldir does not move. He can read his bonded’s eyes. The gold’s attempt had failed in trying to care, and yet still he stood miserable for its attempt. What would have happened if he had never cared? If he had never let his heart release to show its strength? Would that fate be worse than this? It is better to have loved and lost then never loved. It was lie, the gold spat. But would fate let him break it? Horned head rises and looked over to the west. That painted mare would rise with the tide of the late sun whether the golden was there or not. She would march with her brethren to the slops of these very mountains. Blood would stain the fields and rivers, and life was sure to drain from souls long adored. A knot twisted in the gold’s gut, and face winced. Vision clouded, and his muscles, without his command, unwound, and breath eased back to normal. Head turns to see his small deer again shrouded in mist. Still he could not fault him. The image of that black and white damsel strewn and torn on the battlefield was enough. He could not run. Not as he wanted to. Perhaps this came from something the golden could not even name. Something in his heart, long turned dark and shady, still remained untouched by the twisting of his soul. Some small part remained as it had been. Some part was still able to love and feel hurt. He would go, but not for them. He would go for her. Pride may keep him from her side, or conversation, but in the throes of battle no other would have that golden man’s eye more. Cloven hooves squared and shoulders lifted, body leaned. For the first moment a smile broke on the small deer’s face. Now this was as it should be. Grabbing his items from the snow the golden slung them on, and then turned to the deer beside him. It was a rare moment. Never to be repeated, but the golden’s crowned head reached down and brushed against that small creature’s neck. Dark tail wagged and a mist began to rise from his hooves again. A serenity, but a happiness washed over the golden like a cool refreshing breeze. Then the golden stepped back and with a deliberate purpose exhaled. Gears turned, and clicked to unlock and released. Golden coat lightened and faded to black in parts. Tail filled out to full lengths. Horns, always proudly held, sank, like melting wax into his skull, and body shifted its weight about to size himself correctly. Cloven hooves joined and dyed a rich gold, such as what his coat had once been. Then from his sides burst forth two great wings, white, but dipped in gold. Where Thranduil had stood was now Midas, and the clever trick revealed. The gold looked to the small deer and found the creature happy as a lark beside him. For the first time in a while a wicked grin lifted up those lips, as he thought of the chaos it would bring. It did ease the struggle of oh his decisions. So that the bitterness of why he journeyed there when all else pulled him away was sweetened with the thought of such a cleaver trick. Pulling his golden cloak about him, over his satchel and carefully around his neck the hidden gold finally gave the last looks to the small deer. In reality it would be him all would need to thank. For the gold would still have laid there on the snow had that creature not come. The gold of course would not admit to such, but he could not deny the pang his heart felt to leave the child on this roof of Helovia again. Sighing the painted bird nudges the deer back towards the Arch. It gave a small nod, but moved not. Haldir always did love to watch the birds take off into the air. Especially when it was the gold, he would not miss it. At last turning to the cliff the painted gathered himself and with a practiced grace (unlike a born grace), he left from his perch, extended wings caught the breeze, and he leapt off. Haldir watched him go, walking to the cliff edge till his form disappeared into the distance. "talk talk talk" OOC:: This post isn't really for anyone. Its not necessary to reply. I just needed to let these moments happen. Identity Index:: Wardrobe:: Circlet (note, on his armor is a spark amulet), Golden Cloak, Satchel(hidden):: Knife, Polelarm, glowing rock |
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
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