A/N: I'm not really sure where this idea came from, but I liked it, so here you go. Enjoy!
It was the word he'd always used, in so many different ways, on so many different occasions. His voice caressed it and wrapped it and delivered it to her heart, directly to her heart, with ease and care and a deep gentleness, even in a war. It was every promise he'd ever made to her, every truth he'd told, in such a simple, such an old, old word.
"…Vhenan."
...When he was livid, it was ice.
It was a blizzard that made her hide, made her cringe away from the chill leaking through the air. It was a spear he threw at her because words were all he ever truly used. It was each careful, oh very careful syllable he enunciated with perfect clarity. It was the knit between his eyebrows, the curve of his lips in a pinched, pained frown. It was the last word he said when the anger disappeared, when the animal in his ribcage at last breathed.
It was an apology.
...When he was melancholy, it was water.
It was a river that bent and ebbed and flowed past her, slow and quiet, winding through the blue-green leaves in her eyes. It was dew on the elfroot in the courtyard, shining and delicate. It did not demand her attention, but she gave it anyway, freely, willingly, collecting dew and rainwater and carrying it. It was his lips in her hair and his arms around her waist, it was murmured chains of long-forgotten elven in her ear. It was tight, tight eyes and slow, deep breaths.
It was a plea.
...When he was terrified, it was fire.
It was an inferno that blazed and burned all the way to her core, reaching her through darkness and distance and pain. It was white-hot flames, seeking her, chasing her through shadows and over ridges and resting at her side. It was the tremble in his voice with the words that followed, the twitch to his calm lilt that shook her worse than the attack. It was loss in his storm-grey eyes that tried to memorize her, the knotted fingers of their joined hands.
It was a warning.
...When he was content, it was wind.
It was the breath of a breeze that tingled down her spine, brushing the edges of her heart and filling her lungs. It was the air that shook the leaves in the garden, real and clear. It was the trail his fingers left as he traced patterns in her palms, half-distracted. It was the line of kisses he ran up her neck before meeting her lips, and it was the deep, long, passionate kiss he left there to savor. It was hints of paper and ink and pine and lyrium, it was him, carried to her light as feathers.
It was a promise.
...When he was honest, it was shadow.
It was darkness that snaked and slithered over the ground, wrapping around her body and dragging her away, choking her, drowning her. It was nighttime without a moon, a pure, pitch-black that she couldn't hope to see through. It was the stoic, calm outline of an elf she didn't actually know. It was the eyes of the Wolf, glowing in his, deep and dark and unfathomably sad. It was a strangled, jagged sound in his throat, like the truth scraped. It was the word her heart cried as it shattered.
It was a lie.
The world burns around him now; screams fill the air. His eyes are older, lined and aged and filled with not the Wolf but the elf, the man she so loved, once, long ago. At last, he speaks, and he chokes, and "Vhenan…" And it was her ice, her water, her fire, her wind… her shadows.
But now… oh, now…
It is none of those things.
Now…
It is only a word.