A/N Y'know, I was going to try some Silmarillion angst, but it just wasn't coming (not to mention angst isn't really my thing). So… I'm not currently sure what this blankish Word document is going to become.
I have rambled on for too long. Guess I should start…
I=I
Wings Of Stone
I=I
She watches her as she and her two guards make their way out of the city, under the cover of night. Her daughter shifts the sleeve of her black tunic slightly- it is clear the yawë tattoo still aches, new-etched, the ink still fresh beneath the skin. If she feels eyes on her back, she does not care. She also does not seem to consider that her mother sleeps light, does not realise that the one she has not spoken to in weeks, on whose orders she leaves, is staring at her back. She both obeys and defies the commands of her queen. Was it not clear to her that, when she banished her, she was asking her to stay?
The figures are getting smaller. Only elven senses permit her to see her, when she is dressed in black and claimed by the darkness.
It could be death claiming her for all she cared- no, that is not the truth. You do not get anywhere in life by lying to yourself, she had learned that centuries ago.
Arya and her companions disappear into the forest, Islanzadi lets the curtain to her room drop, the stars in the night start to blur, and an elven queen realises she is crying soft, silent tears.
I=I
Her daughter is dead, and all she can do is stare at the messenger.
He shifts nervously under her gaze.
She feels a hand on her arm, and Däthedr is leading her to the throne. "Fetch the queen a drink," he commands Fiolr in a horribly calm voice. "Lady Naudra, please alert the remaining members of the Council, and the dröttningu's relatives, to this change."
"Däthedr… can you… my chambers, please," she manages to croak out. He knows her too well, understands what she means, changes direction and guides her to her rooms.
Once she is settled on her bed, he asks her gently if she needs anything more.
She needs her daughter. She needs Arya.
So she produces a gracious smile, or what passes for one, and dismisses him with a nod of her head.
She sheds no tears. She knows not why. Maybe the pain is too great. Like a statue, she remains sitting rigidly, unable to move in her grief.
A young elf arrives with some water, and hurries out of the room before Islanzadi can persuade her lips to move in a word of thanks.
Suddenly, her hand jerks towards the door. Relieved by this small movement, she stands, a little unsteadily, and moves to a decanter of faelnirv on an end table by the window. She pours herself a glass and downs it in one. Her shaking hand reaches again for the jug handle, only for another limb to wrap around her wrist. She spins around, dropping the glass. It shatters. She cares not.
Oromis stands before her, the elf she loves like a brother. He simply gathers her in an embrace and rocks her from side to side, and they stand linked together like that for what could be hours.
The tears never come.
A/N That was… angsty. I guess listening to sad music helps.
It's Mother's Day, so I suppose that a perfectly dysfunctional relationship like Arya's and Islanzadi's was going to inspire me. Well, I hope you liked it. Please, please tell me what you thought.
BBDN
