we live like thieves
     kings among men

Perhaps they would have walked right past it and never noticed. It might have been better. But the world wanted to remind them of the its harsher side one more time. Haldir saw it first. Having been glued to the golden’s side his sudden stop, concerns the gold. Looking where his companion did the scene unfolds in slow motion tragedy. A dark mass lay heaped, broken and still. And by it a white angel, no child. The pair, he knew them, from where…oh. “Fuck.” His narled voice sighes. His chest begins to ache and breath gros ever more shallow, the reaction to the scene unbidden comes storming in. It was too late to turn back now, and knowing that hell was all that awaited him he could do nothing else but turn towards the growing gathering.

He comes like the others around, silent sentinels watching the harsh realities of the world crash upon the fair child. But inside the sinking pit was pulling him down. Though face was cold as stone, locked in the strain of its own struggle, inside he was anything but still. He had been doing alright. The scene in the Basin, it had left him weak, the mountains before that had threatened, but the golden was still here. But this. Now. In this moment. His knees quaked and the old long treaded threads of thought that ever seeped into his nightmares begin to play before him again.

Why must he witness the too soon turning of the world? Always see the mother fall with the child still clutching their breast. Why must all be so much the same. So much like… Crowned head wavers, heavy with the thoughts, falling low. Always a babe. Always beyond his control. The black bird and her snow child had come into his world like hated trespassers. They should be gaining doing this to him! They couldn’t. It was not sane. The reaction did not match their tale. But you see, that is where the insanity of it lies. Their faces could be replaced by any around him, and it would still grip his chest in the forming ice of fear.

He was the golden son, the thief of the Basin, the golden lord of the north. A picture of power, pride, and skill. A captive. Lies wrapped around like chains forming his prison. Old wounds made sore and more tender from their constant reawakening. How many ages is it becoming now, how many seasons where someone seemed to barge into the sacred halls and pull at them. Where they gripped his neck tighter with their cold iron touch. And in the weakness of his sickness, in the near constant blur of remembrance, it took only the sight of the pair to drag his head down into hell of his own making.

God he couldn’t do this. A strained breath fails to come and he’s left to gasp and rack for air again. A soft nudge nearly threatens his balance. Haldir. The deer looks up to the gold with worry in his eyes, and already instinctive smoke rising at his hooves. Earth eyes narrow, but then a voice breaks through. Haldir looks and the gold does as well. Others were here. Watching. Next to the stoic creatures alongside him, a pathetic lord. Good gods. It breaks the scene and the trance. The lies wrapping back around him quickly, restoring the bleeding chest to its golden gleam. And just like that, even in weakness, and sickness, he is the golden.

Earth eyes grow distant and cold, dull, and the crowned head rises back up again. Harks twitch as the creature steps forward to touch the snow child. Now though his heart was locked away, and the lies ruling by some insane hand, hold their vice grip on the reins. [in elvish] “Take her home.” The dark deer looked with pained face to the gold, but found on strained and careless earth eyes waiting. ”We all go home.” The deer’s reply was stronger than the golden expected, but it was rejected. “No. Go.” The deer languished, but his frame sank, and he slinks forward. The gold watches on in forced distance, yet caught for a moment in a coughing. He does his best to stifle it again, wiping the blood upon his foreleg.

Small and meek the injured deer come closer to the snow child. He was not much taller than she. It was long ago he had come to her before, to use her for her own good. Now he hesitates on the edge, knowing what the golden wanted but too anguished to touch the child. The golden, his senses coming back after his struggle sees the hesitation. Gut clinches, threatening a relapse. “Erthe, ho-….” A cough breaks his speech and he never finishes….home waits. ....Haldir will take you to the Basin. Will get you out of my sight. Will stop you from threatening my sanity. But he couldn’t say it yet. When the trembling frame stills again he is silent.


"Talk?"
OOC:: Crap post is crap, I'm so sorry. This deserves so much more. Haldir will escort Erthe home to the Basin if she wishes. =]