For the Love of Light and Shadow
Ê
The forest was quiet and dark under the fair elfish sun. Beneath the whispering branches of the ancient trees, shadows lingered, muttering and flitting from place to place among the silver flowers of the forest floor. In the treetops, strange fey birds took wing in a ghostly flock to settle themselves in a higher place as darkly shaded deer wandered silently below them. A slight breeze moved through the trees, and they bent their branches to share clandestine conversations. Elsewhere, a solitary tall figure stood and listened.
Something was amiss in the land of Eald.
The figure wrapped a cloak about his self and went quickly between there and here, seeking the source of the disturbance in the forest. He walked into the mortal Eald under the moonlight as it was his wont, seeking more solid paths than the shadow ways, and thus came upon the Man. Standing in the shadows, he watched as the Man cast this way and that, searching for a path deeper into the wood. On the Man's back was a case that clanged from time to time with the sound of harp strings; about him were ragged clothes, obviously more made for court life than trekking through forests.
The Man breathed haltingly as from a long hard travel, standing not two paces from where the tall Sidhe[1] stood inÊ the shadows. About them and beyond, hounds belled and the Man crashed through the undergrowth with a new strength born of desperation. The Sidhe followed, his curiosity roused, quick elfish curiosity. The Man climbed over rocks and fallen trees, starting in fright at the shades that whispered in the mists of the night but never halting in his pitched flight. In a sprawling fall, the Man's hood fell from his head, revealing hair like spun gold and sunlight. He turned his head towards the Sidhe, seeing nothing yet suspecting. He quickly got to his feet and continued to run.
The Sidhe went swiftly into the shadow ways, parting a path in the brush for the Man to follow, not quite wondering why. The Man possessed uncommon beauty. In seeing his face, the Sidhe was taken with a strong desire as he had never known of late, to know this Man, to hold this Man and perhaps keep him. Then again maybe not. But he was curious all the same.
The golden-haired Man ran regardless, not realizing he was being led or not caring, seeking only to escape the hounds that could still be heard in the distance calling for his blood. He finally broke through the trees into a clearing, dominated by a huge spreading tree. Here he stopped and collapsed against its mossy bark, clutching an ache in his side. Above him, the Sidhe crouched upon a branch, hoping the Man would rest and stay for a while yet. But the hounds grew closer and the Man clambered to his feet. Fearing to lose him, the Sidhe spoke quietly. "You step where few would dare, Man."
The Man turned quickly, seeking the source of the voice. Finding it not, he ventured a response. "I seek refuge in the forest... I did not intend to give any offense. If I have, I am sorry for it, but I am hunted."
The Sidhe jumped lightly to the ground before the Man. "For what, hunted?"
In startlement, the golden haired Man stepped back, dropping the harp case from his back. The jangle of strings resounded in the quiet glade. Immediately he knelt to retrieve the case. "For this," he said quietly. "For taking back what is mine, and was my father's before me, and his father's, and for giving offense to an evil lord."
"Ah," whispered the Sidhe, and only this. He did not like much to be involved in the affairs of Man, finding them crass and ugly and wanting of some sort of elegance that graced his kind instead of the pettiness that permeated all of Man. But this Man before him, who peered at his face trying to see the truth of it and finding only shifting light and shadows, this Man had within him something more delicate and fair than that of the rest of Man. He decided. "I offer you refuge, Man, and protection if you would have it."
The Man tried once more to see beyond the shadows that covered the Sidhe's face and failed. "I don't think I would like much to spend the night here, and wake up finding years have past and my kindred long dead."
"Then you are wiser than most as well," the Sidhe said, smiling to himself. "I shall lead you to safety, then." He moved to walk through the brush, then turned to hold out a hand to the Man.
The Man stood still, holding the harp case tightly. "The help of your kind does not come free..." he said, suspicious. The Sidhe's heart chilled a bit in disappointment, but he smiled a bit nonetheless. "I might have a bit of harping tonight?" he asked, secretly eagerly. It had been awhile since he had any sort of company, harp song besides.Ê
The Man, more of a boy still, hesitated then nodded his assent, walking towards the tall Sidhe. With a sudden sweep, the Sidhe's cloak was around him, obscuring his sight as strong arms encircled him, carrying him to some unknown place.
The Sidhe ran the shadow ways swiftly, heading deeper into the forest where no mortal could ever venture. Here vines choked the mortal Eald, forming an impenetrable wall of growth. Here he stopped, bringing the Man with him into the fairer Eald under the light of the pale sun. The trees reflected a gentle light with their silver veined leaves, giving off a faint fragrance. The Sidhe set the young Man down upon his feet and the golden haired boy stood in wonder of the forest about him.
"Beautiful..." he whispered, then, turning to his protector, found beauty again. In this place, the Sidhe dropped his guise of shade and fleeting light and stood as he truly was, his fair face glowing with a faint preternatural shine, eyes the color of forest leaves and the river. His hair, the color of wood, moved with the breeze, covering his face slightly. The Sidhe smiled thinly, knowing what the boy saw. He reach forth and touched the harp case lightly. "Might you harp, now? This place is safe."
"Aye," the boy agreed, and settled down on the mossy floor, drawing the harp from its case. The Sidhe sat against the trunk of a tree, merely watching the Man tune his instrument. The harp was uncommon fine looking, probably made by faery craftsmen in the days of old, when the Sidhe stilled ruled and Man was new to the world. The boy began to play and the bright, defiant sound of his voice and the harp filled the glen, and warmed the palestone hung against the Sidhe's heart. He looked upon the boy, finding an uncommon vision there as well; with bright, clear eyes the color of sky, hair like the sun, skin almost as fair as his own, the boy seemed one of the Sidhe. He suspected elfish blood within him, which more increased his desire to keep the boy here, if he was kindred.
The golden boy had finished his song and sat looking at the Sidhe, who continued to look at him though wrapped in his thoughts. The boy's hand caressed the strings slightly, producing a rippling of sound in the silence between them. "You said you would lead me to safety." He was accusing.
The Sidhe nodded. "That I have."
"I did not ask for your refuge." The boy plucked at the harp a bit more, a discordant sound indicant of his mistrust. The Sidhe nodded again. "I brought you here that you might play, and we might talk a bit and rest." Far away, hounds howled their failure and were called by their masters. The boy heard, and stood up. "I would go now."
The Sidhe stood as well. "As you would," he responded, saddened by the golden boy's mistrust and haste to take leave. He parted the undergrowth besides him and pointed the way. "Here lies a path to the river. Across the hills is a steading. You will be safe there."
The boy gathered up his harp and made to go. The Sidhe stopped him with a raised hand. "Might I have your name, before we part ways?"
The boy's bright eyes looked up into his, fearless. "I am Quatre."
The Sidhe smiled. "My calling name is Trowa. If you have need, a name thrice called has power." He touched Quatre's shoulder, bringing him back into mortal Eald. The golden boy looked at him once more, then dashed off on the path shown to him under the moonlight.
Trowa watched after him. "Fare well, and safely," he whispered under the pale sun of fair Eald.
"Unwise," whispered a voice next to him. He touched the stone on his breast and turned to look into the burning eyes of the figure standing besides him. It seemed dark where Trowa was light. It smiled a bit. "Unwise to love them, Triton. Death walks with Man."
"Perhaps," Trowa replied. "And what of you, Heero. I supposed you gone with the others long ago."
The dark Sidhe touched the other's cheek gently, lovingly. "Never gone, Trowa. I am too full of spite and hate to follow the others peacefully across the sea."
Heero's touch was cold and it chilled him throughout, but Trowa placed his own hand over the other and kissed his former lover's palm. "I have missed you."
Ê
Ê
The forest was quiet and dark under the fair elfish sun. Beneath the whispering branches of the ancient trees, shadows lingered, muttering and flitting from place to place among the silver flowers of the forest floor. In the treetops, strange fey birds took wing in a ghostly flock to settle themselves in a higher place as darkly shaded deer wandered silently below them. A slight breeze moved through the trees, and they bent their branches to share clandestine conversations. Elsewhere, a solitary tall figure stood and listened.
Something was amiss in the land of Eald.
The figure wrapped a cloak about his self and went quickly between there and here, seeking the source of the disturbance in the forest. He walked into the mortal Eald under the moonlight as it was his wont, seeking more solid paths than the shadow ways, and thus came upon the Man. Standing in the shadows, he watched as the Man cast this way and that, searching for a path deeper into the wood. On the Man's back was a case that clanged from time to time with the sound of harp strings; about him were ragged clothes, obviously more made for court life than trekking through forests.
The Man breathed haltingly as from a long hard travel, standing not two paces from where the tall Sidhe[1] stood inÊ the shadows. About them and beyond, hounds belled and the Man crashed through the undergrowth with a new strength born of desperation. The Sidhe followed, his curiosity roused, quick elfish curiosity. The Man climbed over rocks and fallen trees, starting in fright at the shades that whispered in the mists of the night but never halting in his pitched flight. In a sprawling fall, the Man's hood fell from his head, revealing hair like spun gold and sunlight. He turned his head towards the Sidhe, seeing nothing yet suspecting. He quickly got to his feet and continued to run.
The Sidhe went swiftly into the shadow ways, parting a path in the brush for the Man to follow, not quite wondering why. The Man possessed uncommon beauty. In seeing his face, the Sidhe was taken with a strong desire as he had never known of late, to know this Man, to hold this Man and perhaps keep him. Then again maybe not. But he was curious all the same.
The golden-haired Man ran regardless, not realizing he was being led or not caring, seeking only to escape the hounds that could still be heard in the distance calling for his blood. He finally broke through the trees into a clearing, dominated by a huge spreading tree. Here he stopped and collapsed against its mossy bark, clutching an ache in his side. Above him, the Sidhe crouched upon a branch, hoping the Man would rest and stay for a while yet. But the hounds grew closer and the Man clambered to his feet. Fearing to lose him, the Sidhe spoke quietly. "You step where few would dare, Man."
The Man turned quickly, seeking the source of the voice. Finding it not, he ventured a response. "I seek refuge in the forest... I did not intend to give any offense. If I have, I am sorry for it, but I am hunted."
The Sidhe jumped lightly to the ground before the Man. "For what, hunted?"
In startlement, the golden haired Man stepped back, dropping the harp case from his back. The jangle of strings resounded in the quiet glade. Immediately he knelt to retrieve the case. "For this," he said quietly. "For taking back what is mine, and was my father's before me, and his father's, and for giving offense to an evil lord."
"Ah," whispered the Sidhe, and only this. He did not like much to be involved in the affairs of Man, finding them crass and ugly and wanting of some sort of elegance that graced his kind instead of the pettiness that permeated all of Man. But this Man before him, who peered at his face trying to see the truth of it and finding only shifting light and shadows, this Man had within him something more delicate and fair than that of the rest of Man. He decided. "I offer you refuge, Man, and protection if you would have it."
The Man tried once more to see beyond the shadows that covered the Sidhe's face and failed. "I don't think I would like much to spend the night here, and wake up finding years have past and my kindred long dead."
"Then you are wiser than most as well," the Sidhe said, smiling to himself. "I shall lead you to safety, then." He moved to walk through the brush, then turned to hold out a hand to the Man.
The Man stood still, holding the harp case tightly. "The help of your kind does not come free..." he said, suspicious. The Sidhe's heart chilled a bit in disappointment, but he smiled a bit nonetheless. "I might have a bit of harping tonight?" he asked, secretly eagerly. It had been awhile since he had any sort of company, harp song besides.Ê
The Man, more of a boy still, hesitated then nodded his assent, walking towards the tall Sidhe. With a sudden sweep, the Sidhe's cloak was around him, obscuring his sight as strong arms encircled him, carrying him to some unknown place.
The Sidhe ran the shadow ways swiftly, heading deeper into the forest where no mortal could ever venture. Here vines choked the mortal Eald, forming an impenetrable wall of growth. Here he stopped, bringing the Man with him into the fairer Eald under the light of the pale sun. The trees reflected a gentle light with their silver veined leaves, giving off a faint fragrance. The Sidhe set the young Man down upon his feet and the golden haired boy stood in wonder of the forest about him.
"Beautiful..." he whispered, then, turning to his protector, found beauty again. In this place, the Sidhe dropped his guise of shade and fleeting light and stood as he truly was, his fair face glowing with a faint preternatural shine, eyes the color of forest leaves and the river. His hair, the color of wood, moved with the breeze, covering his face slightly. The Sidhe smiled thinly, knowing what the boy saw. He reach forth and touched the harp case lightly. "Might you harp, now? This place is safe."
"Aye," the boy agreed, and settled down on the mossy floor, drawing the harp from its case. The Sidhe sat against the trunk of a tree, merely watching the Man tune his instrument. The harp was uncommon fine looking, probably made by faery craftsmen in the days of old, when the Sidhe stilled ruled and Man was new to the world. The boy began to play and the bright, defiant sound of his voice and the harp filled the glen, and warmed the palestone hung against the Sidhe's heart. He looked upon the boy, finding an uncommon vision there as well; with bright, clear eyes the color of sky, hair like the sun, skin almost as fair as his own, the boy seemed one of the Sidhe. He suspected elfish blood within him, which more increased his desire to keep the boy here, if he was kindred.
The golden boy had finished his song and sat looking at the Sidhe, who continued to look at him though wrapped in his thoughts. The boy's hand caressed the strings slightly, producing a rippling of sound in the silence between them. "You said you would lead me to safety." He was accusing.
The Sidhe nodded. "That I have."
"I did not ask for your refuge." The boy plucked at the harp a bit more, a discordant sound indicant of his mistrust. The Sidhe nodded again. "I brought you here that you might play, and we might talk a bit and rest." Far away, hounds howled their failure and were called by their masters. The boy heard, and stood up. "I would go now."
The Sidhe stood as well. "As you would," he responded, saddened by the golden boy's mistrust and haste to take leave. He parted the undergrowth besides him and pointed the way. "Here lies a path to the river. Across the hills is a steading. You will be safe there."
The boy gathered up his harp and made to go. The Sidhe stopped him with a raised hand. "Might I have your name, before we part ways?"
The boy's bright eyes looked up into his, fearless. "I am Quatre."
The Sidhe smiled. "My calling name is Trowa. If you have need, a name thrice called has power." He touched Quatre's shoulder, bringing him back into mortal Eald. The golden boy looked at him once more, then dashed off on the path shown to him under the moonlight.
Trowa watched after him. "Fare well, and safely," he whispered under the pale sun of fair Eald.
"Unwise," whispered a voice next to him. He touched the stone on his breast and turned to look into the burning eyes of the figure standing besides him. It seemed dark where Trowa was light. It smiled a bit. "Unwise to love them, Triton. Death walks with Man."
"Perhaps," Trowa replied. "And what of you, Heero. I supposed you gone with the others long ago."
The dark Sidhe touched the other's cheek gently, lovingly. "Never gone, Trowa. I am too full of spite and hate to follow the others peacefully across the sea."
Heero's touch was cold and it chilled him throughout, but Trowa placed his own hand over the other and kissed his former lover's palm. "I have missed you."
Ê