"Goddess Bless, My Sister"
Posted: Mon May 12, 2008 4:02 am
(( Closed. ))
"Don't expect me to return... I don't know the men I fight beside any longer."
They hurt, those words. They hurt as much as it did, staring that man in the eyes before throwing the white tunic at him. They hurt as much as it did, turning her back on him completely and moving off.
"I have no place in this."
It was true, wasn't it? Nothing she did could stop the unfolding events this time. She sensed her own weakness and inability, she would rather leave then make things worse.
"And your pledge to the Knighthood? You don't understand...You are the one to break the promises, yourself!"
Oh, how his words stung. But she blocked them, she ignored the sting. Her heart had grown cold after how even he had treated her, how he had become. He was a stranger, no more. A moment's pause, a tingling regret gone unnoticed for the most part, before she replied with a voice not her own.
"I pledged to the men of the Knighthood and I kept my pledge. Those men have changed, as has the Order."
More words exchanged. He taunted her, he insulted her. Yet it had no effect, even coming from his very mouth. She had grown numb before she even met him, when she stood before the Seahorse with the familiar tunic in hand, her decision made. He spoke of her fearing the war and of how she wished to avoid it. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was a coward.
"Then leave, stay out of it. Like you always did..."
That was the final straw. With clenched jaws, a slow breath is taken. Her voice is cold, as it had never been before, when she speaks. As the words leave her mouth, her feet move forward, carrying her away without waiting for a reply.
"Then so I will. Do not expect me back."
---------------------------------------------------
She was perfectly fine. No emotions, no feelings washed over her in response to what had just passed. That is, until she walked through the eastern gate. Her feet come to a sudden stop midway over the bridge that led east. A gust of wind hit her face, symbolic of the shatter of her cool mask. The wind continues buffeting her, holding on it the scent of the desert. It called to her, as never before it had. With sudden guilt, a sense of betrayal and being the one to betray washing over her, she did not hesitate. Despite the weight of the armour she wore, she ran. On and on she ran, through the mountains and past the swamp. Before long, her sight was blinded by the suddenly enraged tears that flowed down her face without hindrance. Her feet were led only by pure memory and want of where she was going.
Before long, dunes of sand burst out to either side of her. Her breath was labored and her chest burned with the exertion of continuing. Yet she did not stop, her feet buried beneath the grit of the sand as she fought on, away from the road. It did not take long before her every ounce of energy had been swept from her. Steps slowed and her knees trembled.
Then, they gave. Having earlier unsheathed the glowing blade at her side without even realizing, her white-knuckled grip released it, sending the blade deep into the sand as her knees gave, forcing her down to the hot earth. As if in slow motion, her head falls back to face the open sky, her face flushed red with the fury of her tears. Her chest heaved, lungs searing as they tried to regain control of the rapid and strangled breaths. She tried to speak, her voice cut off into no more than a rasp between the erratic breathing.
"Gods above, stop this...! Forgive me..."
She did not know who she was reaching out to. There was not a soul around. No creature, no ghost. Nothing but sand. Again, a wind whipped past, knocking her forward as her hands sink down into the gritty earth.
"Forgive me..."
Again came the words, weak and shattered just as she was. Her hands curled slowly beneath the sand, herself remaining on all four, no true strength about her. She could feel herself losing hold of that characteristic control. She was slipping, no help in sight. She had turned her back on friends and loved ones that had been there for years now, without care. She had hurt and disappointed them all, as well as herself. Yet she could not forgive what had been done. They too, in a way, had turned away from her.
For long minutes, even hours it seemed, she remained bent over the sand. Thoughts began creeping into her mind. She was not needed anymore. Why should she bother with the world and its insanity? It could have been so easy.
Yet she blanched at her own thoughts, fear rushing down her spine. How could she even be thinking those things? A vile taste in her mouth, afraid of her own sudden thoughts, the elfess stumbled as she pressed up from the ground. No, she was running again. Fingers found the hilt of her blade and she turned, legs already weak as she shoved forward once more. She couldn't let herself become absorbed in those thoughts, not now.
The teleporter. She caught herself against one of the familiar pillars, her eyes frenzied. She no longer knew where she was going, what she was doing. Incoherent with confusion and fear, regret and remorse. Her emotions were collapsing in on themselves, as was her mind. Before she even realized, two words were spoken, heavy of the elven accent she had grown up to.
"Tol Vanima..."
---------------------------------------------------
No time was wasted as the flash of light hurled her from desert to forest. Past the trees, past the bushes she went, on after she crossed through the columns of the elven building. She only caught herself as her hands slammed unceremoniously into the edge of the altar that stood before her. And once more, her knees found it too troublesome to hold her up. The sound of clattering metal was heard as her knees drove down onto the marble flooring. Her hands, white-knuckled, fisted around the cloth that hung on the altar, threatening to tear it down. Her head shifts forward, resting upon the cold stone as tears continue down her face hotly. The well-broken voice cracks again as she speaks.
"Save me... Save me from this... From myself..."
In her own personal conflict and torment, the elfess went unnoticed to the figure that had been drawn by the sound of her rough entrance. A soft voice was heard, perhaps surprised to find the normally strong figure crouched before the altar desperately.
"Ayla..."
A hand sets itself upon Ayla's shoulder slowly, in some sort of attempt to comfort the tormented elfess. Yet she did not respond to the voice immediately. Concern in the visitor's next words were clear.
"Ayla... Can you hear me?"
Low mumbles of elven is all that first passes the elfess' lips as she remains against the altar. Long moments pass before she dares to open her eyes, her frantic gaze finding the face of her visitor. It was Isilwen. Without hesitation, her eyes avert once more almost in shame, her face hiding against her arms as she mumbles.
"Isilwen... Help me..."
---------------------------------------------------
The night air was fresh, the breezes rolling off the ocean gradually clearing the frantic mind, forcing relaxation upon the tense body that stood meters before the cresting waves. Her solemn eyes watched the other silhouette as it moved forward into the water. Her arms were steady at her sides, her tears ceased. Instead, she stood without a word, without a movement. Isilwen moved forward, entering the cold ocean water without hesitation, her voice low though Ayla could pick up on few of the ancient elven words. Something was about to happen.
Without warning, a large wave swept up, overcoming Isilwen in an instant. Ayla watched on, her clenched jaws her only sign of worry as the other elfess disappeared into the depths of the cold, salty water. Silence lingered, heavy upon her aside from the crash of each cresting wave. Moments moved by without change, leaving her alone before the ocean. Just as worry began to join in the confused thoughts of the elfess, the water shifted. Isilwen rose from its depths once more, though it was not the elfess that had led Ayla here. As the elven lady turned in the ocean, Ayla knew that Isilwen, at the moment, was nowhere around.
Instead, her eyes shone brighter with a barely restrained power not meant for the mortal world. Her hair had fallen, moving about her as if water itself surrounded her. Her clothes... They were not cloth anymore, but of materials seeming straight from the ocean itself. Her voice spoke clearly, ringing familiarity of Isilwen's yet holding a tone that brought to mind rivers and streams. Ayla found herself unable to keep her eyes locked upon the woman's, instead letting them drop to the ground as the powerful voice rolled over her.
"Long has it been since my daughters have called me. Ayla To'lorn. You have something to ask me."
Ayla's lips parted, a sudden, unexpected nervousness about her. Her jaws worked, mouth forming silent words yet no sound comes from her. She couldn't muster anything. Long moments passed as her eyes fall closed. A deep breath, to steady her nerves. Then she forces her gaze to the woman's, swallowing roughly as she wills the contact to remain as she speaks.
"I... Lady Tanora... I did not come here with prepared words... I do not know how to ask what I seek."
Her voice trembled and it irritated her. Where had her strength gone? Why was she so... Afraid?
"Simply ask."
The reply to her stuttering words were simple enough. Closing her eyes once again, Ayla continued. Her voice was hesitant, fearful of the goddess' rejection to her plea.Minutes felt to pass before she speaks again.
"Can you help me end this...? This.. Chaos. I do not have the strength alone.."
She felt guilty, running to the Gods themselves for help. But it was all she felt she could do anymore. Her chin remains lifted, eyes settled upon the goddess that possessed her elven friend. The words that followed again gave hint to ocean waves and forest streams.
"The War must be ended by earthly ways, not Mine. I can help you, however. What is it you seek as aid? Allies, a weapon? Something more?"
Of course she asked for a weapon. She so desperately wished to ask the Goddess to rid the entire lands of all that caused her trouble, just like that. Yet she knew, from past experiences, that such a request was more than likely only to backfire and have her drowning beneath the power of the waves. Hesitant once more, Ayla continued warily.
"I do not ask.. My lady... For you to end it. Simply for the strength needed, a guide for me... I do not ask for anything specific..."
A chuckle reminescent of the trickling streams follows before her answer is given.
"Your guide is here; I feel her determination to be of aid to you."
"Isilwen...?"
"She has not experience of War, but is your contrast, my daughter. Trust her to speak on things you cannot see for yourself, as you can do for her."
Again, hesitation follows. Ayla's eyes remain steady on the two now, contemplation stirring behind her gaze. After a moment, her chin lowers and her voice is soft as she speaks, regret laced heavily in each word.
"I trust her with my life. But words alone will no longer end this war. I have betrayed those I pledged to, I have betrayed myself and my honor shattered. I seek a way to restore what I, myself, have broken..
"All healing, begins through me. You have done no wrong in coming here.", came the reply. "I will keep watch over you, in this time, and the waters will work to your aid. If there is a message you wish to send to any from whom you are cut off, I will take it to them now."
A shake of Ayla's head was the reply.
"I have no messages." came the low mumble.
A few more words passed between elfess and goddess, interrupted by moments of silence. Finally, as the goddess' time grew short, she vanished, leaving a weak Isilwen behind. Ayla, still unnerved by the appearance of the Goddess Tanora herself, stood for a long while watching the ocean. Words exchange between the two elven women, some weary and some angered. At last, when her body began to give, Ayla was sent off back to the building of Vanima to rest.
---------------------------------------------------
Having rid herself of the heavy weight of armour, Ayla dropped herself onto one of the beds. Her eyes travelled half-closed around the room she now sat in. What had happened out there, exactly? Goddess blessed, the both of them. Linked by the hands of the truely Immortal. It was overwhelming. Muscles trembling with weariness, Ayla lay herself along the length of the bed, completely falling into the comfort. Her eyes drift closed, a dazed feeling sweeping over her. Before long, one arm shifts weakly from beneath her head and falls to her chest, then to the slight opening of her old tunic. Fingers fumbled briefly before tugging on a thin metal chain, elven-craft. Set upon the chain rested that familiar, heavy emerald amulet that rarely, if ever, left her neck. It is lifted to her lips, cold metal touching soft skin in a kiss before the touch is replaced by the pad of her thumb, tracing along the crevices. A tear falls slowly from her closed eyes, trailing down the side of her face to the pillow beneath her head. Her voice is low, half-dazed as she mumbles.
"Forgive me for what I have done... I will never do the same for myself."
Barely is the sentence finished that her voice is stilled, blackness surrounding her as her wearied and torn body forces her down at last into an unsettled, dream-ridden sleep.
"Don't expect me to return... I don't know the men I fight beside any longer."
They hurt, those words. They hurt as much as it did, staring that man in the eyes before throwing the white tunic at him. They hurt as much as it did, turning her back on him completely and moving off.
"I have no place in this."
It was true, wasn't it? Nothing she did could stop the unfolding events this time. She sensed her own weakness and inability, she would rather leave then make things worse.
"And your pledge to the Knighthood? You don't understand...You are the one to break the promises, yourself!"
Oh, how his words stung. But she blocked them, she ignored the sting. Her heart had grown cold after how even he had treated her, how he had become. He was a stranger, no more. A moment's pause, a tingling regret gone unnoticed for the most part, before she replied with a voice not her own.
"I pledged to the men of the Knighthood and I kept my pledge. Those men have changed, as has the Order."
More words exchanged. He taunted her, he insulted her. Yet it had no effect, even coming from his very mouth. She had grown numb before she even met him, when she stood before the Seahorse with the familiar tunic in hand, her decision made. He spoke of her fearing the war and of how she wished to avoid it. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was a coward.
"Then leave, stay out of it. Like you always did..."
That was the final straw. With clenched jaws, a slow breath is taken. Her voice is cold, as it had never been before, when she speaks. As the words leave her mouth, her feet move forward, carrying her away without waiting for a reply.
"Then so I will. Do not expect me back."
---------------------------------------------------
She was perfectly fine. No emotions, no feelings washed over her in response to what had just passed. That is, until she walked through the eastern gate. Her feet come to a sudden stop midway over the bridge that led east. A gust of wind hit her face, symbolic of the shatter of her cool mask. The wind continues buffeting her, holding on it the scent of the desert. It called to her, as never before it had. With sudden guilt, a sense of betrayal and being the one to betray washing over her, she did not hesitate. Despite the weight of the armour she wore, she ran. On and on she ran, through the mountains and past the swamp. Before long, her sight was blinded by the suddenly enraged tears that flowed down her face without hindrance. Her feet were led only by pure memory and want of where she was going.
Before long, dunes of sand burst out to either side of her. Her breath was labored and her chest burned with the exertion of continuing. Yet she did not stop, her feet buried beneath the grit of the sand as she fought on, away from the road. It did not take long before her every ounce of energy had been swept from her. Steps slowed and her knees trembled.
Then, they gave. Having earlier unsheathed the glowing blade at her side without even realizing, her white-knuckled grip released it, sending the blade deep into the sand as her knees gave, forcing her down to the hot earth. As if in slow motion, her head falls back to face the open sky, her face flushed red with the fury of her tears. Her chest heaved, lungs searing as they tried to regain control of the rapid and strangled breaths. She tried to speak, her voice cut off into no more than a rasp between the erratic breathing.
"Gods above, stop this...! Forgive me..."
She did not know who she was reaching out to. There was not a soul around. No creature, no ghost. Nothing but sand. Again, a wind whipped past, knocking her forward as her hands sink down into the gritty earth.
"Forgive me..."
Again came the words, weak and shattered just as she was. Her hands curled slowly beneath the sand, herself remaining on all four, no true strength about her. She could feel herself losing hold of that characteristic control. She was slipping, no help in sight. She had turned her back on friends and loved ones that had been there for years now, without care. She had hurt and disappointed them all, as well as herself. Yet she could not forgive what had been done. They too, in a way, had turned away from her.
For long minutes, even hours it seemed, she remained bent over the sand. Thoughts began creeping into her mind. She was not needed anymore. Why should she bother with the world and its insanity? It could have been so easy.
Yet she blanched at her own thoughts, fear rushing down her spine. How could she even be thinking those things? A vile taste in her mouth, afraid of her own sudden thoughts, the elfess stumbled as she pressed up from the ground. No, she was running again. Fingers found the hilt of her blade and she turned, legs already weak as she shoved forward once more. She couldn't let herself become absorbed in those thoughts, not now.
The teleporter. She caught herself against one of the familiar pillars, her eyes frenzied. She no longer knew where she was going, what she was doing. Incoherent with confusion and fear, regret and remorse. Her emotions were collapsing in on themselves, as was her mind. Before she even realized, two words were spoken, heavy of the elven accent she had grown up to.
"Tol Vanima..."
---------------------------------------------------
No time was wasted as the flash of light hurled her from desert to forest. Past the trees, past the bushes she went, on after she crossed through the columns of the elven building. She only caught herself as her hands slammed unceremoniously into the edge of the altar that stood before her. And once more, her knees found it too troublesome to hold her up. The sound of clattering metal was heard as her knees drove down onto the marble flooring. Her hands, white-knuckled, fisted around the cloth that hung on the altar, threatening to tear it down. Her head shifts forward, resting upon the cold stone as tears continue down her face hotly. The well-broken voice cracks again as she speaks.
"Save me... Save me from this... From myself..."
In her own personal conflict and torment, the elfess went unnoticed to the figure that had been drawn by the sound of her rough entrance. A soft voice was heard, perhaps surprised to find the normally strong figure crouched before the altar desperately.
"Ayla..."
A hand sets itself upon Ayla's shoulder slowly, in some sort of attempt to comfort the tormented elfess. Yet she did not respond to the voice immediately. Concern in the visitor's next words were clear.
"Ayla... Can you hear me?"
Low mumbles of elven is all that first passes the elfess' lips as she remains against the altar. Long moments pass before she dares to open her eyes, her frantic gaze finding the face of her visitor. It was Isilwen. Without hesitation, her eyes avert once more almost in shame, her face hiding against her arms as she mumbles.
"Isilwen... Help me..."
---------------------------------------------------
The night air was fresh, the breezes rolling off the ocean gradually clearing the frantic mind, forcing relaxation upon the tense body that stood meters before the cresting waves. Her solemn eyes watched the other silhouette as it moved forward into the water. Her arms were steady at her sides, her tears ceased. Instead, she stood without a word, without a movement. Isilwen moved forward, entering the cold ocean water without hesitation, her voice low though Ayla could pick up on few of the ancient elven words. Something was about to happen.
Without warning, a large wave swept up, overcoming Isilwen in an instant. Ayla watched on, her clenched jaws her only sign of worry as the other elfess disappeared into the depths of the cold, salty water. Silence lingered, heavy upon her aside from the crash of each cresting wave. Moments moved by without change, leaving her alone before the ocean. Just as worry began to join in the confused thoughts of the elfess, the water shifted. Isilwen rose from its depths once more, though it was not the elfess that had led Ayla here. As the elven lady turned in the ocean, Ayla knew that Isilwen, at the moment, was nowhere around.
Instead, her eyes shone brighter with a barely restrained power not meant for the mortal world. Her hair had fallen, moving about her as if water itself surrounded her. Her clothes... They were not cloth anymore, but of materials seeming straight from the ocean itself. Her voice spoke clearly, ringing familiarity of Isilwen's yet holding a tone that brought to mind rivers and streams. Ayla found herself unable to keep her eyes locked upon the woman's, instead letting them drop to the ground as the powerful voice rolled over her.
"Long has it been since my daughters have called me. Ayla To'lorn. You have something to ask me."
Ayla's lips parted, a sudden, unexpected nervousness about her. Her jaws worked, mouth forming silent words yet no sound comes from her. She couldn't muster anything. Long moments passed as her eyes fall closed. A deep breath, to steady her nerves. Then she forces her gaze to the woman's, swallowing roughly as she wills the contact to remain as she speaks.
"I... Lady Tanora... I did not come here with prepared words... I do not know how to ask what I seek."
Her voice trembled and it irritated her. Where had her strength gone? Why was she so... Afraid?
"Simply ask."
The reply to her stuttering words were simple enough. Closing her eyes once again, Ayla continued. Her voice was hesitant, fearful of the goddess' rejection to her plea.Minutes felt to pass before she speaks again.
"Can you help me end this...? This.. Chaos. I do not have the strength alone.."
She felt guilty, running to the Gods themselves for help. But it was all she felt she could do anymore. Her chin remains lifted, eyes settled upon the goddess that possessed her elven friend. The words that followed again gave hint to ocean waves and forest streams.
"The War must be ended by earthly ways, not Mine. I can help you, however. What is it you seek as aid? Allies, a weapon? Something more?"
Of course she asked for a weapon. She so desperately wished to ask the Goddess to rid the entire lands of all that caused her trouble, just like that. Yet she knew, from past experiences, that such a request was more than likely only to backfire and have her drowning beneath the power of the waves. Hesitant once more, Ayla continued warily.
"I do not ask.. My lady... For you to end it. Simply for the strength needed, a guide for me... I do not ask for anything specific..."
A chuckle reminescent of the trickling streams follows before her answer is given.
"Your guide is here; I feel her determination to be of aid to you."
"Isilwen...?"
"She has not experience of War, but is your contrast, my daughter. Trust her to speak on things you cannot see for yourself, as you can do for her."
Again, hesitation follows. Ayla's eyes remain steady on the two now, contemplation stirring behind her gaze. After a moment, her chin lowers and her voice is soft as she speaks, regret laced heavily in each word.
"I trust her with my life. But words alone will no longer end this war. I have betrayed those I pledged to, I have betrayed myself and my honor shattered. I seek a way to restore what I, myself, have broken..
"All healing, begins through me. You have done no wrong in coming here.", came the reply. "I will keep watch over you, in this time, and the waters will work to your aid. If there is a message you wish to send to any from whom you are cut off, I will take it to them now."
A shake of Ayla's head was the reply.
"I have no messages." came the low mumble.
A few more words passed between elfess and goddess, interrupted by moments of silence. Finally, as the goddess' time grew short, she vanished, leaving a weak Isilwen behind. Ayla, still unnerved by the appearance of the Goddess Tanora herself, stood for a long while watching the ocean. Words exchange between the two elven women, some weary and some angered. At last, when her body began to give, Ayla was sent off back to the building of Vanima to rest.
---------------------------------------------------
Having rid herself of the heavy weight of armour, Ayla dropped herself onto one of the beds. Her eyes travelled half-closed around the room she now sat in. What had happened out there, exactly? Goddess blessed, the both of them. Linked by the hands of the truely Immortal. It was overwhelming. Muscles trembling with weariness, Ayla lay herself along the length of the bed, completely falling into the comfort. Her eyes drift closed, a dazed feeling sweeping over her. Before long, one arm shifts weakly from beneath her head and falls to her chest, then to the slight opening of her old tunic. Fingers fumbled briefly before tugging on a thin metal chain, elven-craft. Set upon the chain rested that familiar, heavy emerald amulet that rarely, if ever, left her neck. It is lifted to her lips, cold metal touching soft skin in a kiss before the touch is replaced by the pad of her thumb, tracing along the crevices. A tear falls slowly from her closed eyes, trailing down the side of her face to the pillow beneath her head. Her voice is low, half-dazed as she mumbles.
"Forgive me for what I have done... I will never do the same for myself."
Barely is the sentence finished that her voice is stilled, blackness surrounding her as her wearied and torn body forces her down at last into an unsettled, dream-ridden sleep.