Rising
A Dragon Knights fic by Andrea Weiling
Sunset, over a bay. And I watched, just out of the corner of my eye, Rune as he leaned over the edge of the railing, just over the ocean, so that when the waves flung themselves against the rocks below, water would fling up at his face, seemingly touching anywhere but that fine-boned face. His fair hair blew out behind him, tossed by the ocean breeze; it was almost evening, the sun was giving its last gasp of day before it disappeared behind the horizon of the ocean completely. Quietly occupying my hands with a block of wood and a whittling knife, I set to work to carve out the rough-hewn shape of a maiden ship on its first voyage. If the block had been bigger, and my knife a little finer, I might have carved Rune on it, right at the prow of the ship, watching the blue world of the mysterious waters spreading out before him, waves rolling underneath the belly of a finely made craft, his eyes reflecting the strange light of ageless riddles.
He was so much older than I was; sometimes, with his insignificance, I felt so young I might have been an infant. There were so many things that I was just learning that he had experienced a million times already. In a way, that was good; I could talk to him, see how he dealt with the things like killing others, guilt that came with hurting innocents, fear of dying somewhere far, far away from any help and being forgotten forever. Those times were rare, though, usually spoken quietly over a low campfire when the night seemed the most hazy and uncertain, the horizon of the future dark and unforeseen. Most of the time I spent arguing with him, teasing him, joking with him. And though I wouldn't give up all of that childish immaturity for the world, I felt the only time I really truly could see to his soul was when he was talking to me, calmly and smoothly in that frightening eerie elvish way that only placed the differences between he and I all too much. He, ageless; I, small, puny, insignificant - unable to make any imprint upon the world, beleaguered by the pains of growing up into my post of 'Dragon Knight' too fast and too hard, showing the happy face outside but fearing everything that moved or spoke. I was afraid of anything that might threaten my newfound security in Rune, Rath, and the Dragon Lord and his advisors.
Somehow Rune's ethereality hasn't deterred this stubborn heart of mine from making the foolish mistake of 'admiring' him - somehow turning into 'liking' him in (ashamedly) more than a friendly way. I felt this was the Gods' way of punishing me for pushing away everyone before that; faced with a challenge like Rune that I could not possibly bring myself to tell my feelings even though he is one of my best friends, they have more than quadrupled the payment that I owe them, in some other life. I am now paying it in entertainment; the Gods above watch and laugh, while I sweat and inwardly scream whenever I feel Rune's eye on me. What sick, sadistic, twisted notion is this for me to fall in love with my best friend?
Another fear. Two fears - that I might go to him and be rejected, the other that I might go to him and be accepted. What kind of fear is that, to be able to move neither left nor right, a fire on the left and an abyss on the right? And yet, I cannot stay here, fooling myself in my neutrality, forever. I will have to do something about it someday: jump off a cliff, write a letter, tell him in person. . . But on a surface level, the level of desire that isn't labeled as 'love' but as 'lust', I think I already know what his answer would be. . .
. . .yes, of course. He wouldn't push me away. And even if he felt nothing but I needed sex so badly, he would probably give in. That, in all its temptation, mocks me with its demonic eye, cackling at my squirming anxiety. It is the worst part of this bargain that I had no say in receiving, that if I told him he would give in to me so easily physically, but upon the giving of his heart he would push me away so gently that I wouldn't be able to help but fall in love with him even more.
In all its obscenity, I can't help but think that he's deserving of it, though. Rune, with his industrious work habits but his aptitude for childish play - the serious side when he looks at me with his eyes unrippled like the stillest pool; the laughing side with its sudden peal of bells as soft as psalms; the murderous side he shows to his enemies but never, never to Rath or I, because he is afraid too, of scaring the both of us away. In so many other ways, he is as insecure as I in our positions as Dragon Knights. We know that in both our lives, we will experience the death of some other close to us, especially in this line of work. The difference between us lies thus: he is able to rise above, transcending to some higher state of mind than regret; and I, still wallowing in my guilt, still churning the still waters of my own desperation.
And another fear I name: that even if he loved me back, he would not be able to save me from the silent, continual scream that resounds in my head for hours on end - so loud in silence when the world is hushed around me, only dimming when others are around. It would be fair to him, then, if he tried his best to pull me out from this mire of confusion, and I ended up letting go anyway. I'm afraid for him, more than anyone else, to discover that I'm not strong enough to be a Dragon Knight, or anyone worthy of being a partner to share his life.
Right now, I'm not willing to take that chance. I'm still waiting on time, waiting for my psyched out nerves to heal themselves and actually sending me some coherent messages. If I cling to him now, I won't ever be able to let go. I might even drag him down into death with me, and the rest of the world deserves his help more than I ever would. Rune, even with his brilliant eyes and the softest hair I've ever touched; with his clever hands and flawless skin - not enough to tempt me from this position of sitting and waiting that I've taken ever since I met him. One day, I'll get up, I'll find enough courage to go up to him and tell him just what I mean when I tease him about being 'as pretty as a girl' - and then the Fates will roll the dice, and I just know I'll keep on getting hurt again.
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
Hmm. Rambling, again, Thatz point of view. I really didn't expect to write this (it didn't take me very long, after all; I really expected to just give up halfway through like I usually do and scrap it), but here it is, nice and figurative-languagy. Hope you enjoyed, though the metaphors were a quite a bit to slog through, I know.
Andrea Weiling.
A Dragon Knights fic by Andrea Weiling
Sunset, over a bay. And I watched, just out of the corner of my eye, Rune as he leaned over the edge of the railing, just over the ocean, so that when the waves flung themselves against the rocks below, water would fling up at his face, seemingly touching anywhere but that fine-boned face. His fair hair blew out behind him, tossed by the ocean breeze; it was almost evening, the sun was giving its last gasp of day before it disappeared behind the horizon of the ocean completely. Quietly occupying my hands with a block of wood and a whittling knife, I set to work to carve out the rough-hewn shape of a maiden ship on its first voyage. If the block had been bigger, and my knife a little finer, I might have carved Rune on it, right at the prow of the ship, watching the blue world of the mysterious waters spreading out before him, waves rolling underneath the belly of a finely made craft, his eyes reflecting the strange light of ageless riddles.
He was so much older than I was; sometimes, with his insignificance, I felt so young I might have been an infant. There were so many things that I was just learning that he had experienced a million times already. In a way, that was good; I could talk to him, see how he dealt with the things like killing others, guilt that came with hurting innocents, fear of dying somewhere far, far away from any help and being forgotten forever. Those times were rare, though, usually spoken quietly over a low campfire when the night seemed the most hazy and uncertain, the horizon of the future dark and unforeseen. Most of the time I spent arguing with him, teasing him, joking with him. And though I wouldn't give up all of that childish immaturity for the world, I felt the only time I really truly could see to his soul was when he was talking to me, calmly and smoothly in that frightening eerie elvish way that only placed the differences between he and I all too much. He, ageless; I, small, puny, insignificant - unable to make any imprint upon the world, beleaguered by the pains of growing up into my post of 'Dragon Knight' too fast and too hard, showing the happy face outside but fearing everything that moved or spoke. I was afraid of anything that might threaten my newfound security in Rune, Rath, and the Dragon Lord and his advisors.
Somehow Rune's ethereality hasn't deterred this stubborn heart of mine from making the foolish mistake of 'admiring' him - somehow turning into 'liking' him in (ashamedly) more than a friendly way. I felt this was the Gods' way of punishing me for pushing away everyone before that; faced with a challenge like Rune that I could not possibly bring myself to tell my feelings even though he is one of my best friends, they have more than quadrupled the payment that I owe them, in some other life. I am now paying it in entertainment; the Gods above watch and laugh, while I sweat and inwardly scream whenever I feel Rune's eye on me. What sick, sadistic, twisted notion is this for me to fall in love with my best friend?
Another fear. Two fears - that I might go to him and be rejected, the other that I might go to him and be accepted. What kind of fear is that, to be able to move neither left nor right, a fire on the left and an abyss on the right? And yet, I cannot stay here, fooling myself in my neutrality, forever. I will have to do something about it someday: jump off a cliff, write a letter, tell him in person. . . But on a surface level, the level of desire that isn't labeled as 'love' but as 'lust', I think I already know what his answer would be. . .
. . .yes, of course. He wouldn't push me away. And even if he felt nothing but I needed sex so badly, he would probably give in. That, in all its temptation, mocks me with its demonic eye, cackling at my squirming anxiety. It is the worst part of this bargain that I had no say in receiving, that if I told him he would give in to me so easily physically, but upon the giving of his heart he would push me away so gently that I wouldn't be able to help but fall in love with him even more.
In all its obscenity, I can't help but think that he's deserving of it, though. Rune, with his industrious work habits but his aptitude for childish play - the serious side when he looks at me with his eyes unrippled like the stillest pool; the laughing side with its sudden peal of bells as soft as psalms; the murderous side he shows to his enemies but never, never to Rath or I, because he is afraid too, of scaring the both of us away. In so many other ways, he is as insecure as I in our positions as Dragon Knights. We know that in both our lives, we will experience the death of some other close to us, especially in this line of work. The difference between us lies thus: he is able to rise above, transcending to some higher state of mind than regret; and I, still wallowing in my guilt, still churning the still waters of my own desperation.
And another fear I name: that even if he loved me back, he would not be able to save me from the silent, continual scream that resounds in my head for hours on end - so loud in silence when the world is hushed around me, only dimming when others are around. It would be fair to him, then, if he tried his best to pull me out from this mire of confusion, and I ended up letting go anyway. I'm afraid for him, more than anyone else, to discover that I'm not strong enough to be a Dragon Knight, or anyone worthy of being a partner to share his life.
Right now, I'm not willing to take that chance. I'm still waiting on time, waiting for my psyched out nerves to heal themselves and actually sending me some coherent messages. If I cling to him now, I won't ever be able to let go. I might even drag him down into death with me, and the rest of the world deserves his help more than I ever would. Rune, even with his brilliant eyes and the softest hair I've ever touched; with his clever hands and flawless skin - not enough to tempt me from this position of sitting and waiting that I've taken ever since I met him. One day, I'll get up, I'll find enough courage to go up to him and tell him just what I mean when I tease him about being 'as pretty as a girl' - and then the Fates will roll the dice, and I just know I'll keep on getting hurt again.
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
Hmm. Rambling, again, Thatz point of view. I really didn't expect to write this (it didn't take me very long, after all; I really expected to just give up halfway through like I usually do and scrap it), but here it is, nice and figurative-languagy. Hope you enjoyed, though the metaphors were a quite a bit to slog through, I know.
Andrea Weiling.