By: Silvanoshei
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone or anything from the Dragonlance series
Author's Note: This is right after Silvanoshei is crowned ruler of Silvanesti. I just got the third novel in paperback of the War of Souls series and am reading the other two over since it has been a while, so please do not mention anything that happens to Silvan in your reviews
(Silvan: *snort* If there are any…
Author: waaaa *sniff*…I'm doing this for you after all, so show a little gratitude…)
I don't want to know what happens to him from someone else, so please, no spoilers in reviews! As you can see he's my favorite character and I was just reflecting on what I'd be feeling if I were suddenly granted all his responsibilities…
The tears of Lorac,
Held in thrall by the orb and by Cyan Bloodbane,
Minion of Queen Takhisis,
Minion of evil,
Who alone had the power"Is there anything else to attend to Glaucous?" asked Silvanoshei, striding next to the older, handsome white-clad elf. They had just returned form Silvan's coronation festival. Silvanoshei found himself amazed at what had been put together for him on such short notice … yet another example of the speediness of his people. Sitting outside in the huge garden, after the formalities were over and done with, Silvan had enjoyed himself immensely sipping fine, glimmering blood red wine, being introduced to the top court people and watching the elven dancers in wide, smooth skirts glide before him, their jewels glistening in the weak glow of the one moon.
Now, walking down the labyrinth that was his dwelling, Silvan marveled at the beauty of his palace, even though it must have been much lovelier in the days when Solinari shone in the night sky. The soft patting of the rain that had started not to long ago could be heard through the ceiling. Flames flickered in the elegant, marble brackets upon the walls. The place seemed to whisper, as though trying to tell him something and he couldn't quite catch it. He stumbled slightly for he was still getting used to his new, silken robes that were quite a bit heavier and thicker then what he was used to wearing. "Hah… I used to be caked in mud and wearing whatever I could find," he thought smiling bitterly. But he raised his head more determinedly, straightening his robes, and answered his own thoughts, "… But that's behind me now…."
"No, your Majesty. I will take care of all, no need to worry," came Glaucous's soothing reply, jolting Silvan out of his thoughts. "Please, you are tired my King. Get some rest," Glaucous's eyebrows lowered in concern as Silvan's head snapped in his direction at his voice.
"Thank you, Glaucous. I-," as Silvan reached his new room.
"Your majesty needs to break that habit…" Glaucous coughed.
"Eheh, I suppose so," said Silvanoshei Ruler of Silvanesti, smiling apologetically.
"Good night your Majesty," said Glaucous, folding his hands behind his back and bowing.
"To you as well, Glaucous," replied Silvanoshei, turning his back to him.
His bodyguards, clad in light quicksilver amour, who had been standing quietly at his door, bowed low to him as well, keeping their eyes respectfully low and opened the door. Nodding to them, Silvan sauntered in. His servants buzzed around him, bathing him in sweet smelling perfumes, laying out his soft nightclothes and brushing his long, shining silver hair.
Finally done, his servants left in a flourish of well-practiced bows, and Silvan, lying on his back in his grandfather, Lorac's bed, stared up at the rich, brocade canopy and listened to the rain. Pushing the sheets down, where they pooled at his feet in a ripple of silk, he stepped down onto the heavily embroidered carpet, depicting his father's and the kirath's defeat of the Dream that crippled and almost destroyed Silvanesti. When Silvan had first see his chambers, he had been most intrigued with this rug. Dark elves such as his father were never spoken of and the idea of this in the king's bedroom was ludicrous. "I suppose, if the deed is great enough, we still honor them…" he recalled himself thinking.
Stepping lightly onto the cool marble floor, he leaned against a pillar next to his bed. Sliding his back down it, his shirt making a soft noise as it went over the polished stone, Silvan sat, slouching, legs spread apart and knees bent with his arms resting on his legs. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" he wondered. "How am I supposed to help my people with this?" he questioned silently, gazing around at the luxury surrounding him. "Maybe I should just give up… like her." Silvan's face darkened. The sarcastic, thin, unruly voices in him came up like a chorus of angry ravens, picking at him, shrieking and flapping their wings in his face. "Yes, just give up," they sneered. "You're a failure, you'll lead them to destruction. You'll bring something worse then the Dream." Pain, doubt, self-loathing, and hatred surrounded him in a tight, dark, swirling mass of sadness and misery. A tear splattered down. Dragging himself up, he hugged the pillar and walked though the double crystal doors to the balcony. Ivy and orchids decorated the large area, trailing their vines down to dangle in thin air.
The rain drizzled down, running down his face, mixing with his tears of sorrow, guilt, and pain. His silver hair hung at his back, each glistening strand bright and luminous, a star's shine in the darkest part of the night. Griping the railing of the balcony until his knuckles were white, Silvan hung his head and his hair, a silver sheet, cascaded down around him, protecting him from the outside, as tears and rainwater dripped from his chin. "Why did they care so much? Couldn't they have cared more about me? I'm their son. It's all their fault!" White-hot anger flared up in his eyes. It was them. His parents and their stupid talk about reuniting the elves. They had stolen his childhood like a twilight thief, prowling in the night. They had given him sorrow, a gift bound in tears, to replace his stolen innocence.
Clenching his teeth, he realized that the people he hated were dead. He'd never be able to tell them what he felt, never be able to strike them… never be able to hug them. He missed them, he truly did. Huddled down in the corner of the balcony, his arms wrapped tightly around his frame, he forced himself not to think of them. He'd never see them again and that was that. He needed to consider what he was going to do about the time here and now. No wasting thought on the past. How was he going to help his people? "Well, one things for sure… I'm not going to be like Gilthas… they will not control me!" Remembering Kiryn's warning, he frowned. He didn't know whether to trust him completely, but he did trust him more then General Konnal. But, then again, maybe Kiryn was jealous of him. "I can't see why…who would want all this damned responsibility?" No, Kiryn was not a threat or competitor, therefore, it what he said was most likely the truth. "So, Glaucous is twisted? Will he betray me? Maybe I should speak to Kiryn more before I make any rash decisions. This could have drastic consequences…" Pushing himself up by his hands, Silvanoshei stood, pushing his thick mane behind his back. He was thoroughly soaked.
Rainwater dripped form the end of his nightshirt as he entered the double doors of his room. Fastening them securely, he turned to his huge wardrobe, decorated in silver vines and gems that made flowering plants, and sorted through for another outfit, not wanting to call the servants. It felt good to do something his own anyway. As well as the fact that they would probably go into a hysterical fit about him being outside, drenched to the bone. Silvan smiled slightly. He'd just come from the wilderness and the hands of murderers; a simple rain shower was not going to kill him. Rain and thunder had always been his companions ever since he could remember. Breathing in deeply, he summoned up the sounds and feelings of the powerful storm that had basically dropped him here, his homeland, and let them caress his mind, like a lover's fingers. Dropping his clothes in a sodden pile on the floor, Silvan, naked, pulled on his dry satin garments. Stepping silently into the spacious bathroom, he sat at the edge of the clawed white bathtub and toweled off his rain-soaked hair. Brushing his silver sheen slowly, while staring into the large looking glass, still thinking about the storm, he saw his mother's face flit in the crystal. Silvan winced and let a tear trickle down his cheek. Wiping it away, he turned and lay down on his bed. A wave of memories rushed forward upon the shore of his mind. His mother's eyes, his father's stern face, assassins, darkness and blood whirled together in his head.
The tears of Lorac,
Held in thrall by the orb and by Cyan Bloodbane,
Minion of Queen Takhisis,
Minion of evil,
Who alone had the powerAuthor: All I can say is that you need a serious therapist, Silvan… *sigh* You and me both…
Silvanoshei: You make me all sad in this chapter … waaaa *gulps down anti-depressant pills*
Author: Hey! Share! *grabs for them*
Well, depending on how many times Silvan bashes me over the head, I will probably write another chapter. How does an assassination attempt sound to you? Please be considerate and review.