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[ FIC ] touched by frost
his footfalls fade into the dark. it is in the dark he finds her, cold and lifeless, the starlight escaping her skin into the night. her face is dimmed in the shadows but there is no heartening smile to show she died in peace. no, it is a tragedy that she should die here, far from her people, in the wastelands.
it was a tragedy, he speaks to the darkness, but his grief has no sound in the empty cells.
train him well, is thranduil's only instruction, train him to be the best. let him move like river-water down the path. let him be nimble and quick in all things.
my lord, they question, why must a prince excel in the art of war?
a prince must know how to defend himself against the world, was his reply.
a prince would not be caught by the dark, he thinks to himself.
legolas asks for a grave.
the wound is never stale, so he refuses.
the darkness encroaches on his land, seeping and feeding into the very bark and leaves. thranduil increases the guard, and pushes his powers to its extent. the land breathes to his tempest and it shudders under his weight. his hair fades to the starlight she had loved and he curses it daily.
he has no elven-ring, no divine power to keep his lands safe. nothing but a cold heart warmed over by falling leaves in the fall.
he restricts access to the woods. the realm is kept safe but the trees weep.
they celebrate under the stars. thranduil takes legolas by arm's length to walk under the light of Earendil, their beloved star. his son is marked by no darkness, no curling frost in his veins and the brightness of the eldar bleeds in his eyes.
thranduil is grateful (he thinks)
tauriel is in love.
his heart fractures a little bit more, but what is a fracture to the maze of wounds?
he brings his people home. they no longer call him the ill-tempered king. he does not know what they see in him now that make them look upon him in wonder and awe, touched by majesty. he does not know and he does not ask.
( there were tears on his cheeks, like stardrops from the moon )
( our poor king has learned and lost his wealth on a winter's day )
it was a tragedy, he speaks to the darkness, but his grief has no sound in the empty cells.
train him well, is thranduil's only instruction, train him to be the best. let him move like river-water down the path. let him be nimble and quick in all things.
my lord, they question, why must a prince excel in the art of war?
a prince must know how to defend himself against the world, was his reply.
a prince would not be caught by the dark, he thinks to himself.
legolas asks for a grave.
the wound is never stale, so he refuses.
the darkness encroaches on his land, seeping and feeding into the very bark and leaves. thranduil increases the guard, and pushes his powers to its extent. the land breathes to his tempest and it shudders under his weight. his hair fades to the starlight she had loved and he curses it daily.
he has no elven-ring, no divine power to keep his lands safe. nothing but a cold heart warmed over by falling leaves in the fall.
he restricts access to the woods. the realm is kept safe but the trees weep.
they celebrate under the stars. thranduil takes legolas by arm's length to walk under the light of Earendil, their beloved star. his son is marked by no darkness, no curling frost in his veins and the brightness of the eldar bleeds in his eyes.
thranduil is grateful (he thinks)
tauriel is in love.
his heart fractures a little bit more, but what is a fracture to the maze of wounds?
he brings his people home. they no longer call him the ill-tempered king. he does not know what they see in him now that make them look upon him in wonder and awe, touched by majesty. he does not know and he does not ask.
( there were tears on his cheeks, like stardrops from the moon )
( our poor king has learned and lost his wealth on a winter's day )