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He hangs, half way committed to the question he posed, and half way already backing away. As the word left his lips, he trembles upon it, caught in the sudden questioning of why he had had to ask that question. Why his mind (or heart?) had reached for more, when it could barely handle the simple vagueness. Why was he searching for something more in this dark well of hopeless remembrance? There would not be anything there. Nothing would await him at its end. That he already knew. These stories don’t have happy endings, they don’t have morals and lessons. They are nothing but burdens, cast upon a back like burns upon a criminal, marking forever the wrong deeds of the past. He of all should have known, that questioning such marks never went well.
So why had he asked the gold could not say. He was not one to willingly share pain. His own memories were too guarded for that, though it was clear the watch was slipping. Perhaps in some ideal world, he thought to hear another would easy his own words. Or perhaps, more than likely, the bitterness had taken hold, and wanted to see her pay for those words so carelessly spoken. To remind her just what consequences they held.
As he watches her face fall, and the confidence blur into deeper lines upon her face as she begins. His body was frozen still, the illusion of normality he had (barely) possessed only moments was gone. Whatever the reason for asking such a thing of her, it was clear the answer was well awaited. A squeak causes the gold to jerk, and he looks to the shadows by the wall. He finds Haldir and some unfamiliar shape. The moon eyes though are on the cream mare as she begins, and his attention easily turns fully back to her. Haldir, glances back to the gold. He wasn’t watching the cream mare really. No, his eyes were only ever on his bonded, waiting, with baited breath. They had never gone this….far before. In all the reruns of these times, this was new, and the stag didn’t know yet whether to trust it or not.
With a steady, yet ever growing distant again gaze, the gold watches and listens. As she meets his eyes he does not turn away. An unusual patience settled in over him as he let her begin from the beginning. Let her explain, and describe the world she hailed from. Even as she paused the stallion did not interrupt, but nor did he move, forward or backward. Instead his eyes watched her. Watched her mull and confess. Watched her breath deep and look away. He did not revel in her discomfort, but nor did he offer her any escape. Instead, the gold only watched and listened….until…
Her head tucked to her chest, and the earth eyes follow, as she pause he looks on, yet finds there upon her a mark which he had missed before. A dark mark…a fresh mark…His eyes jerk back to hers as she speaks, but its with more unease now. If the past was so much so in the past, then what business had it in marking her coat in the present? It rose in confliction with his other thoughts as his head was becoming for the first time, too full of thoughts. As it spun in its usual mayhem, but now crashed into itself and roared out of control. The gold turned away, his constant gaze on her falling away, but ever as her soft voice carried over the distant rain, he listened.
She pauses, her words biting her own story now as her story climaxes. Even turned aside as he was, trapped in all the chains about him, he heard every breath of a whisper. In those moments, snitches he echoes…Three days…she had three days with it. Jealousy. Beautiful, ever so beautiful. Resentment. Not even a name-At his own name the gold flinches turning away bitterly. The venom of jealousy, resentment, and grief seeping into his skin once more. How long could this go on? How much longer could his body, his heart take this constant flux of despair and anger?
But don’t let that stop you. Harks pin down as the conversation shifted. The words were brighter now, charged, and echoing. She tumbles out her words fast now. And his storm within rises to a furious pitch. He wanted to let it crash. He didn’t have much strength left to hold it, and the idea of letting go…To let all the whipping winds drop their charges, to let the clothes which he clung to so tightly fall away in relief. He wanted to kneel. He wanted to confess. He wanted to morn. But he was the golden. And in the world which he lived, that option was never given to him.
A cloven hoof slams into the rock, but its force was weakened in its muteness. These stories don’t have morals. They are not meant to lift and comfort. Not for him.
“I won’t meet him.” It hissed, full of all that whirled inside of him. His hide began to tremble. Sideways to her, his face turns away fully from view, as the words lowered their dark charge. The bitter dead tones, speaking unasked, but flinging out from the whirlwind that was his head. “I don’t know his face.” His eyes, for the first time in years, grew hot and swollen as he clutched at the thin cloth across his body, feeling the scars underneath. He felt the broken skin…the jagged edges…. “Neither would she.” She was already gone whe- Eyes blink as a hot tear rolls down the line of jaw, burning in its cold touch. And the storm collapses in on itself.
He spins, his head tossing high, and eyes burning as the tears still press hot and many within them. “In the past? Move on?!” Her own words fly back at her, pitched and roaring with vicious venom. In the corner, Haldir shrinks from their echo. “You may know what pain is but you are blind as all the rest.” He hissed lower. The dark stag’s own eyes cloud as he sees the usual pattern return. As he sees the flames lashing out, and sees there source lies in nothing bearing her name. He can only beg, ”Not her, no, not this, not now-“ but he’s ignored above the roar in the gold’s own head. “Profess not the tired doctrine of moving on, when so clearly your nightmare ever follows and marks you.” His head tilts and in so motions to her shoulder. His dagger is thrown, but it’ll soon land in his own breast.
“You are just as weak as the rest. Painting yourself in the false hopes and promises of tomorrows.” His accusation went on, tearing out into the quiet cavern unyieldingly. Yet it was the last furious burst before the end. “There is not moving on.” He was losing the battle though, another tear rolls down his cheek. Yet he was not yielding. “There is no one day!” He was not ready to given in. He would fight every step of the way. To prove it, he tears the gold cloth covering those scars from his back. “Arwen is dead!” He breaks higher, reaching its peaks as he steps forward again, the whites in his eyes beginning to roll. Perhaps he was going mad. Perhaps he would die at this furious height. Though promises had been made against it, that sweet embrace seemed so promising. “And my son without a name or grave!” The voice began to crack, its harsh words now breaking with the bitter razor edges of confession. “Gone Rexanna.” And if he let them go….they’d be gone completely from this world.
His limbs shook threateningly, but he still held. His voice darker but just as cutting. “You pathetic child of hope.” The pain pressed so hot in his throat the insults rise again. To hiss them brought support to his own agony. “You, like all the rest, still ever know nothing.” Lies, but another tear rolls down his cheek. He wavered, but he was fully in the storm’s grip and in it he would stay till there was no more. “Do not show me your scars and pretend they do not ache every night.” That there wasn’t ever still some whole in her chest burning.
Then it was gone. His hinds gave first and he fell back to the floor, his white rimmed eyes rolling and shutting away as ever last ounce of strength failed. Oblivious to all around him. The strong storm was but a whisper now. “Do not pretend the nightmares ever end.” And the last thread was cut. About him the gold cloth which had for so many years covered those ridged scars lay in tatters. And within him was an exhaustion he hadn’t known for many an age. Darkness was calling him, and for once he flirted with the edge. For once its pitch black damask didn’t seem so cold and uninviting. Another tear trailed down his cheek. After all, within its dark halls, there would be no one to see him grieve.
Only now did Haldir move, only now did he dare intervene. He whined ever softly, as he tossed his head toward the still deathly silent golden, never more frustrated that he, in this life, could not speak as them. Now. He wanted to beg. Now it was done. For the first time, the gold’s vicious tirade at left him winded and empty. She couldn’t give space now, don’t give him what he seeks. The words tumbled through his mind, but all it could come across in was a soft mellow whine and stare.
OOC:: He's not dying, just wiped from the emotional rollercoaster which as become his life...
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