The man was tall, lanky even, with pale hair that seemed to shine golden in the light, looking out at the young world through amber irises that were far too wide for his eyes. He laughed easy, and everyone laughed easy, and Mankind was merely a thought tossed against the jagged rocks upon the shore, helpless to the ocean waves below. The grass was lush, and kissed ever so lightly at the soles of their feet as they ran, wide smiles thrown behind them and bright eyes so very light, so very loose, so very free.
There was a king, and the antlers atop his head were barely even nubs upon his scalp, peeking ever so slightly out from his curtain of hair, and he smiled over at the man fondly, the resemblance in their faces unmistakable.
Brothers, in all the ways they could be, bound by the unremembered sense of something in their minds, the promise of what they must have had in their childhood, the memories that stayed hidden from them, cast too early in time to be called upon. King Balor was naïve, and not yet schooled in the ways of the world, and he couldn't remember being a prince, and Silas could but watch as his brother grew into his position, slowly finding his place, trekking blindly through a world that had just been born.
Silas was happy, and could neither recall from his mind the memory of being otherwise nor the simple feeling of it, and they both ran with the other Elves, dancing in the moonlight and basking in the sunlight, murmuring stories to one another over a roaring fire, careful to keep it in check, wary of harming the environment around them. The words that poured from their mouths sounded foreign, and they tried noises and distinct sounds to convey what they wanted, and finally could agree on sets of syllables that rolled off their tongues just as easily as if destiny itself had intervened.
Life went on for untold years as they had known it, and the comfort of huts, and the intelligence they required, were something they became well acquainted with.
Only when Balor-seated at his brother's side with his slow-growing crown of antlers, eyes staring ahead, captivated-was overcome with an odd kind of contentment did Silas, and all of the Elves, discover the power of the opposite gender. Balor claimed to have witnessed the most exquisite beauty, and the woman that came to sit beside him, the glow of flames dancing across her gentle features, carried a tinkling laugh with her, her sharp teeth shining when she smiled over at the King.
And Silas, in all his life, had never seen his brother smile in quite the same way as the way he had smiled at her in return-and when, years later, the same two people were bound together, and their children born (a boy and girl wearing the same face, two souls so intertwined that it mystified even the greatest of healers), the Elves all cheered and smiled and laughed long into the night, the orange flames of the fire flickering higher and higher into the sky as they all danced within its shadow.
The stress of the births, and the sorrow in her eyes, tore the woman from Balor, and he was left alone, holding two babies within his arms, tears drying on his cheeks-and Silas never forgot the way his brother had brought a hand to his face, as if mystified by the liquid pouring from his eyes. The memory of her stone body, lying captured upon the soft earth, lived within his mind for the rest of his life.
The first two names of the first two children sent a silent shiver through the earth, and the Elves smiled excitedly as they felt it; Nuada and Nuala.
Silas played with the twins whenever he could, and loved them as their father did, and smiled softly when the girl brought him a flower, her small face hopeful and shy and innocent. Her brother, round eyes taking in all of the world as if he couldn't get enough of it, clung to her like a lifeline, and she bled when he cut himself, and he cried with her as he wiped tears from her cheeks. The other Elves began to avoid them, for fear that their inseparability was a kind of curse, and the word was whispered late beneath the watchful eye of the moon, still a very new concept to the people of the world.
That was when Silas knew the companionship of rage, and he could barely control his shaking fists as the twins ran past the Elves that tried so very hard to stay far from them, laughing so childishly, completely oblivious to the fearful glances cast their way. He'd fetch them, then, scoop them up in his arms to take them to their father, who slowly began to build out of the stone he'd discovered a house, a structure far greater than any hut. All of the people helped, and they worked from daybreak to dawn, tirelessly creating what would become a home, and then building other homes, slowly creating a small village of stone.
The children grew, slowly gaining their own sense of awareness, and everyone pretended not to notice how the boy became agitated to all but his immediate family, while his sister remained timid and gentle, like her mother, her eyes radiating calm and serenity.
When they were well old enough to speak, and to act as their father did, Balor, with the marks across his face a constant reminder, pulled the children from their games, and they walked amidst the growing crowd of their people, small hands shaking with fear, as Balor drew a knife from his belt, a dagger he had always carried with him. Silas couldn't stop it, and could do nothing but watch, as he put the knife to Nuada's face, pressing the sharp tip at the edge of his cheekbone, hand steady as he made a clean cut across his son's face, then etched marks across it.
The smothered cry, and the crimson blood that shined gold, nearly broke Balor's heart, and Silas pretended not to see the way his brother wilted beneath his daughter's pained stare, the silent tears dripping from her face just as her blood poured from her skin, and he pretended not to notice the way Nuada, so unflinching and brave, held on steadily to his sister's hand, a grip so strong that it could not be broken. The first right of passage, and the first right as heir, was made that day, and Nuala had walked off, shoulders stiff, ignoring the presence of her brother just beside her, lips quivering as the spiraling cut at the side of her forehead dripped blood into her eyes.
Time went by, barely managing to so much as touch the faces of the Elves, and their near immortality was barely given notice, assumed as just another thing of the world. And so it went, more children being born, the population growing, that Balor grew burdened with responsibility, and the lingering loss of his wife, and the added weight of keeping his son from his daughter-shielding her so they wouldn't be so connected- though all knew the task was impossible.
When the twins were young children, Nuala thrust her hand into the air fearfully, rushing to her father to tell him, convicted, about how the wind had spoken to her, carrying the direst of messages with it. The threat of violence, and the unknown source, forced Balor's hand, and he decided to protect his people, at whatever cost. Building an underground home was like starting anew, and the herculean task was daunting, but the Elves dug and dug until their hands bled, determined. Their toiling soon attracted the attention of the other Elves from around the world, and all other magical creatures, and before long, Balor was more than king of a small village, and their underground haven was just being born.
It took hundreds and hundreds of years, and the people around her started to look upon the youthful princess with suspicion, wondering when the violence she had so adamantly spoke of would arrive. She ignored them, and opted to find solace in the sole companionship of her brother, and Silas averted his eyes when he realized how close they really were.
With the immigration of new people, Silas was happy to find friends, but when he happened to glance to his right, in the middle of helping roll a large stone to the corner of the vast cavern they'd carved out of the earth, his heart, and all of its pounding, had never felt so alive within his chest. She carried herself strongly, a leader of her own small village, and stared at him when her golden eyes fell upon his face, as if she couldn't look away. There was something dark about her gaze, something lividly pulsing within her eyes, and he felt spellbound, as if pulled to her.
Though his heart was in a frenzy, he felt chilled, and turned from her in the next instant, too afraid to glance back and find her smiling at him, as he knew, somehow, that she was. She wasn't like the other Elves, and he never quite understood what she was, except that her hair was silver, and her eyes were rimmed with gold, and the rest of her iris was pale amber, as if faded by time. She'd come up to him with teasing smiles, talking to him as she stood far too close, the intoxicating warmth of her skin felt in his own. He was polite, and distant, and shoved down that faint flicker of something in his mind, triggered whenever she approached, and for years thought that it would never end.
Until Isadora.
She was a lady in waiting, always trailing after the small princess, smiling softly down at her, in a motherly sort of way. For so many years, she had been kept strictly in the palace, to train and get acquainted with the lives around her, for her task was very important to the king. Nuala had no qualms with the woman, and quickly sought to introduce her to her uncle, and Silas never did find the time to thank his niece properly. Isadora responded to his laughter with a light hand on his arm, smiling at him with brightly shining eyes, the golden color burning like a fire within her gaze. He felt at home, when she was near, and would know no peace without her, just as she clung to his side when they walked together, fearful of being torn apart.
He had never felt so jovial, nor so completely content, than in his moments with her, and it wasn't too long before they were themselves bound to one another. He never did catch the hate filled gaze of the woman at the front of the crowd, her silver hair lit by the shadow of flames, her eyes flaring up with a bright crimson shine. He didn't even take notice when he never saw her again. Isadora soon bore him a child, a girl who barely ever smiled, even as an absentminded baby. She was his world, and his family was all that had ever mattered to him.
Nuala instantly took a liking to the girl, named Faolin, and the two soon became the closest of friends, only realized by Silas when Nuala said something unladylike, eliciting a playful smile from Faolin. It shocked him, to see such an expression on his young daughter's face, and his wife glowed with pride and happiness, clapping her hands around his with excitement as he pulled her in for a kiss.
Thousands of years passed, and the world, in all of its brightness, began to dim with a sad kind of darkness, shadows haunting at the corners. The children were just below adolescence when Silas saw the silver haired woman again, and her eyes were a dark red, as if bleeding. Nuala had dragged her brother away to play with Faolin, running into the tunnels branching out from the throne room of their now large city, gleeful laughter echoing all around them.
Isadora was above the ground, fetching water from a river-Balor was still trying to figure a few of the mechanisms out, wondering how he could make it so that the water would come to them beneath the earth-when the woman approached him.
Her robes were silken, fine cloth wrapped about her slender body, and she hadn't aged in the slightest. Her ears were not pointed, as all Elves' ears were, and this caused him alarm as he stared at her.
"What do you want?" Silas asked, in his native tongue, voice toned with wariness. She smiled sharply over at him, serenely calm.
"I was just wondering how your life was going, since you last abandoned me."
The words rolled off of her tongue with practiced ease, and the falsity cast him into outrage-his one mistake.
"Lies! You left this place, not I," he refuted angrily, and it just made her smile widen. Her teeth were like daggers, pristinely white and glistening in the shadows.
"I don't fall in love, only to have my heart broken," she purred, and as he opened his mouth to reply, hand raised to slap her across the face for her outright dishonesty, the gleam in her eyes stopped him. She turned from him to walk away, and thrust her hand into the air, making a claw with her fingers, as if clutching to something, and, distantly, Silas heard a smothered shriek. She tilted her head to glance at him from the corner of her eye, amused.
"Now you'll know what that is like."
And then he ran.
He ran until his legs burned, and climbed over stones and debris alike to reach the small exit out of their city, and his heart thrummed painfully against his chest, feeling like a stab wound. He sprinted across fields, jumping over ditches and rocks and managing to keep his footing, running so fast and so hard that it felt as if he were dying. He reached the river, and saw the water pail floating upon its clear surface, the roaring sound of it drowning out his shouts and calls and cries. After looking around, he could not see anyone, and so he glanced across the river to see a hand protruding from the water's slithering waves. He waded into it knee deep before making a leap, diving headfirst into the ice cold water, ignoring the surge of immense pain through his bones
. He swam like his life depended on it, and grasped the hand with shaking fingers, pulling the rest of the body from the river's relentless grip to discover, slack and lifeless and paler than anything else he'd ever seen, Isadora's face, empty eyes staring back at him with her lips turned blue. She was colder than the water, and her fair, damp hair fell against his arm as he pulled her to him, lugging her out onto land to finally kneel beside her body, rocking her back and forth, sobbing.
Nuala, caught up in her games of make believe within the palace walls, felt, vaguely, a sense of immense sorrow, and the ghost of pain crossed her mind as she outstretched her hand, closing her eyes. Silas flashed in her head, and the image of him cradling his dead wife made her run to her father, tiny legs flying, tears running down her face. Faolin, in all her short years, had never looked so afraid.
Silas couldn't pull away from Isadora, couldn't bear to see her face again, couldn't stand to realize her death a second time, and so he just held fast to her, trying in vain to warm a body that no longer felt warmth.
"This is only the beginning of your forever," said a smooth voice behind him, and he turned to see the woman, hair billowing in the harsh wind, red eyes regarding him coldly.
"Why have you done this?" His cries were frantic, and his voice crawled above the noise of the river, and his rage echoed far and wide, the tears on his cheeks shining beneath the sun. He sobbed, and pounded the earth with his fists, ready to strangle the life from her even if it took from him his last breath. She laughed down at him, and he felt hopeless.
"You will know my pain." He shook his head, pale hair shaking wildly.
"I've done NOTHING to you!"
She threw her hand into the air, and with it, so did he go, and the choking sensation that curled around his throat rendered him speechless.
Balor ran, and Nuala trailed after him, trying desperately to keep up, despite her father's wishes for her to stay behind, and Faolin and Nuada followed, all three children pumping their legs ever harder to accommodate for the king's long stride.
"You did not love me, when I so obviously loved you," the woman said huskily, emotion breaking through her voice. "And before I die, I wish more than anything to see you suffer for it."
She cocked her head, as if in thought, and the happiest smile overcame her as she released her hold on him, and he fell through the air to land harshly upon the earth, moaning in pain as he crawled to his hands and knees, his wife's body strewn across the grass beside him.
"You will know eternity more than anyone, and you will know suffering, as I have. Immortality is not the Elves' way, but it is my way, and if I am to live forever, then I will see to it that you live in agony for all of my days."
A light poured from her hand, and it hovered in the air, like some spirit, before rushing to him, just as Balor broke through the line of trees overlooking the river, breathing hard as he drew his sword from his belt. Nuada held his tiny dagger, and Nuala reared back in fear, huddling with Faolin to keep the girl still as she tried to run to her father.
The light overtook Silas' eyes, seeping into him, and he felt as if he were burning from the inside out, his body growing heavy. At Faolin's cries, the woman turned, and smiled back at Silas, who writhed upon the ground, soundlessly in agonizing pain.
"Your family will suffer, and you will suffer, and your daughter will soon forget she ever had a father." Faolin's eyes grew very wide, and she shook her head, fat tears dripping off her chin as Nuala shook, her small arms wrapped around her friend.
"Time will take your memory from her, as it will from everyone, and you will be nothing to them."
Balor, enraged and sorrowful, thrust his sword forward, and the bloodied blade protruded from the front of her chest as she stifled a gasp, her eyes completely unsurprised, and Silas knew that she wanted death, just as she got it, her body crumpling limply as the king withdrew his weapon.
Nuada glanced over at Isadora's still form, and watched as Faolin saw it along with him, her body giving out with shock.
Nuala cried out, and Silas weakly glanced over at his unconscious daughter, thinking that he would never see her again. He caught the dread filled gaze of his brother as the man cried, and then darkness overtook him.
...
Silas did not wake, but he grew dimly aware of certain things, and the wind went against his skin unfelt. But it seemed as if he had no skin, and as if he had no body, and, slowly, he became alert.
All he could see was the light blue of the sky, the wispy clouds suspended there, and he blinked-or maybe he didn't blink-and glanced down. He heard a deep moaning sound near him, as if something massive was moving, and searched for the sound, but he could do nothing but gaze down at Balor, who stood with his neck craned high, eyes squinted from the bright sunlight, a destroyed expression across his face. He shook his head.
"I have failed you, and I have failed Faolin, and all of my kingdom," he said forlornly, and Silas wanted to speak but found that he couldn't.
"I promise you, I will treat Faolin as my own, and Isadora will have a proper farewell," he murmured consolingly, and the now phantom pain-because everything felt faded now, ghostly-of his wife's demise sliced through him.
Silas wanted to see his daughter, was utterly confused, and Balor hung his face in his hands before rushing off, walking forward until Silas would think he'd run into him, but he just kept on moving until he was out of sight.
Silas lost consciousness again, and only woke when he felt, faintly, a gentle touch upon him, and awoke to see Nuala, in her small dress-a black dress, for mourning-her golden eyes red and puffy from crying. She glanced up at him, and he wondered why she had to look so high above his head, when she talked to him, conveying messages through her power of touch. He saw, blearily, how others saw him, and he witnessed a stone giant rising from the ground, and a star-like entrance opening up from its belly to allow access to the city of Bethmora.
It was jarring, and shocking, and all too much, and the image of his niece swam into darkness.
When he next woke, he knew what had happened, just as if Nuala had left the words there in his mind.
A curse, to be forever endured by you and those of your kin. You will know everything, and live eternal, while those around you forget you ever existed, and mistake the Giant for another thing that has always been.
The prospect brought him unhindered sorrow, and Silas imagined the look of the giant, stone tears rolling down his face. The Elves created small exit tunnels, ones that could only be opened by certain circumstances, so that they didn't have to pass through Silas as if he were an object, and they tried to be delicate around him, while others ignored him completely.
Over the thousands of years that followed, he watched, mournfully, as Faolin grew alongside Nuala, becoming as close to a sister a she could be, forgetting him with each passing day. Nuada's memory grew hazy soon after, and Balor, and all of the other Elves and magical creatures, lost him in their minds. And when Mankind finally came, the threat everyone had been waiting for arrived, and they were still not prepared enough for the immense bloodshed that would follow.
Nuala, though a young lady and proper and reserved, never did forget her uncle, the absent touch across the stone of his body reminding her when she needed it, and they talked, mind to mind, until she had to leave Bethmora, along with the remainder of her people.
Faolin, head strong and stubborn and completely in love with an elf named Terra, had defected from the group of refugee Elves, intent on living her own life with the man she loved. She was never regarded as a princess, though she lived among the royals, and her action of abandonment left many of the Elves embittered toward her, all except Nuala, who loved her as much as any sister.
And Silas, now merely a Giant, felt lost all over again, and only found his clarity when the echo of Isadora's voice, long faded into the memory of time itself, murmured lovingly in his ear, the imprint of her face in his mind, smiling gently as she kissed him for the first time, feather light touches brushing against his lips-and he was home.
Completely inspired by Flint and Feather's comment about the mystery of the Giant's backstory over PM. Thanks!
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