The Yearning for War and the War's Ending
Mar. 26th, 2012 10:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolflord_andainTrees are flighty things, taken by the breeze, news passing through their leaves and vanishing as the wind fades.
But these are the woods of Pendaran, and these woods --
Oh, but these woods do not forget.
So it is that when Galadan returns to Fionavar after bringing the Tams to Milliways, he arrives to news of his human companions. Three times in as many centuries has he brought humans to the wood. Once may be part of a larger design -- even twice, mayhap.
But thrice is weakness, and the andain are quick to take hold of such a thing.
Of the three that try this time -- Liranan's daughter, and twin sons of Macha (or perhaps it is Nemain) -- only two die quickly. The eldest of the twins serves as a fine example for the rest.
For a time -- the span of a moon, and no more.
And it is after the mercy stroke -- for mercy it is, indeed, as a blind and crippled andain might live a long, long time yet -- that the wood grows silent.
And into the clearing where the dead man and the wolf are painted by moonlight, Cernan comes.
Father.
The wolf flickers from black-furred shadow to man, though he makes no bow to the lord of forests, the lord of beasts.
"Galadan," says Cernan, horned head lowering to take in the scene. "You are, I see, very little changed."
Galadan does not raise his eyebrows, winter-grey eyes clear and cold, and only a faint flash of red to mark what thoughts he might have.
And then, of course, the Wolflord speaks.
"You need trade no truisms with me, Father. We both know what was wrought that day, there at the Bael Andarien, and in the long grey time thereafter. If this was not what you would have had me become, remember well that the choice was never yours."
Here he does smile, the quickest flash of white teeth.
"It has always and ever been mine."
But here and now -- in acknowledgment of what has come before, and of that long, dark time when all things were impossible --
"But I will tell you this, if it bring you any comfort. This once, the trees have the right of it."
And oh, that a son such as this might care, and about such creatures as fleeting as humans, as fleeting as mortals. And even still this son can be so cold, so very vicious and cruel, and to his own people, besides. It is a bolt to strike at a father's heart.
Of course it is, else Galadan should never have said it.
Then the Wolflord is gone, a shadow fading into all the other shadows. His father follows, though their destinations, as ever, are more than merely leagues distant.
But, perhaps, not so distant as Cernan had once thought.
It may one day be enough. There is time.
But these are the woods of Pendaran, and these woods --
Oh, but these woods do not forget.
So it is that when Galadan returns to Fionavar after bringing the Tams to Milliways, he arrives to news of his human companions. Three times in as many centuries has he brought humans to the wood. Once may be part of a larger design -- even twice, mayhap.
But thrice is weakness, and the andain are quick to take hold of such a thing.
Of the three that try this time -- Liranan's daughter, and twin sons of Macha (or perhaps it is Nemain) -- only two die quickly. The eldest of the twins serves as a fine example for the rest.
For a time -- the span of a moon, and no more.
And it is after the mercy stroke -- for mercy it is, indeed, as a blind and crippled andain might live a long, long time yet -- that the wood grows silent.
And into the clearing where the dead man and the wolf are painted by moonlight, Cernan comes.
Father.
The wolf flickers from black-furred shadow to man, though he makes no bow to the lord of forests, the lord of beasts.
"Galadan," says Cernan, horned head lowering to take in the scene. "You are, I see, very little changed."
Galadan does not raise his eyebrows, winter-grey eyes clear and cold, and only a faint flash of red to mark what thoughts he might have.
And then, of course, the Wolflord speaks.
"You need trade no truisms with me, Father. We both know what was wrought that day, there at the Bael Andarien, and in the long grey time thereafter. If this was not what you would have had me become, remember well that the choice was never yours."
Here he does smile, the quickest flash of white teeth.
"It has always and ever been mine."
But here and now -- in acknowledgment of what has come before, and of that long, dark time when all things were impossible --
"But I will tell you this, if it bring you any comfort. This once, the trees have the right of it."
And oh, that a son such as this might care, and about such creatures as fleeting as humans, as fleeting as mortals. And even still this son can be so cold, so very vicious and cruel, and to his own people, besides. It is a bolt to strike at a father's heart.
Of course it is, else Galadan should never have said it.
Then the Wolflord is gone, a shadow fading into all the other shadows. His father follows, though their destinations, as ever, are more than merely leagues distant.
But, perhaps, not so distant as Cernan had once thought.
It may one day be enough. There is time.
