THE HARUSPEX
on his own

As the storm died, so too did (in Ashamin's mind), the reign of Thranduil the Laurelin. For as long as Ashamin breathed in that herd, held rank and power of any sort, he would make an enemy of the stallion he had once called his friend.

Hotaru's magic, the twist of the storm, was a final blow that would be the one going down in history. These blades of the rosenshade mare, wielded by the one who had dubbed himself her protector, would be the blades of Thranduil's execution. Let the liar be torn down, the righteous remain.

Whether Ashamin, so possessed in his rage that he had done as the Moon Goddess demanded in more ways than one, was virtuous was unclear. But as he stood armed and strong, finding no evidence of the Laurelin's existence but hoofprints in the frost and dust still unsettled, he considered himself to be of the right mind and moral compass.

"BE GONE, LAURELIN!" Ashamin shouted, his voice a bark now so clearly backed by his bite. The haruspex blinked the last of ashes from his eyes, shaking off the liar's magic but grinning at the knowledge of how it would help him. One more magical attack withstood, one more injury taken to prove his worth, his potential as protector. What had Thranduil done but prove his own cowardice in running? The gold one had hoped to shame Ashamin, but instead he had armed him, fitted him in a powerful warrior's suit of leather and fangs, brought strength out of his heart and soul that Ashamin had never before seen.

Ashamin had command of a new magic, now. He had a trophy to wear and a talent to control, all because of Thranduil. He looked for someone, anyone, to declare his victory to but found only wide emptiness. Where was the cerndyr belonging to the fallen lord now? Where was that scrap of kindness, had even he fled?

"You're a coward!" Ashamin called out, finding nothing but an echo as his reply. The edges of his eyes, still scoured by Thranduil's magic, burned still as a reminder of his quest. Hadn't he done all that she had asked for now, hurt and be hurt?

He snorted, picking across the earth in search of a sign. He went back to the ruins of that old king's cave, found nothing but a hollow sense of abandonment. Had he not gone here once as a colt more than stallion, found shelter in a friendship? Thranduil was gone, now. Ashamin had chased him out. But hadn't they once been friends, hadn't their companions danced around each other like brothers, like two creatures born of the same womb?

The haruspex turned back, looked out over the Basin and down the hill atop which the cave rested. Where was Thranduil now, where had he gone? Where was his friend?

As the last of the magic faded, Ashamin found his vision returned to him with absolute clarity. There at the bottom of the hill was a black spot, the trinket given to him by Haldir. Ashamin moved down to it now, its small body sharpening in his sight with every step. What had the offering meant, what had it signaled?

Had it been Haldier begging Ashamin to stop, to move on, to stand above Thranduil's insult and fury? Or had it been another sign, a sign of Thranduil's true feeling? Had this small gift, revealed now by Ashamin's soft scraping of hoof through frost to be an ebony stag, been an emblem of pain?

Hurt shot through Ashamin with more ferocity than the flame of his hatred. In a matter of seconds the heat faded to wounds, and the little black stag figurine became a symbol of all of his wrongs. Perhaps Thranduil had lied, had beaten him down, but...

...hadn't everyone hurt the ones they had loved before? And now Thranduil was gone, perhaps torn in countless ways by the storm and Ashamin's malice. And now Thranduil was gone, perhaps never to return. The figurine stared up at the haruspex, its hollow black eyes matching his own, and he realized he could no longer swallow, could no longer breathe. He felt, suddenly, the weight of the armor upon his shoulders and wondered:

Was this what Thranduil had always felt?

""