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31_days2007-03-09 07:08 am
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-03-09 07:08 am
March 9: Elfquest. "Split"
Title: Split
Day/Theme: March 9. the challenge: bring order to the whole
Series: Elfquest
Character/Pairing: Leetah and Two-edge (not like that...)
Rating: PG
What had the Halfling’s mother DONE to him?? The healer wandered. She was amazed and appalled at the level of damage in Two-Edge’s mind. He was old, astoundingly, miserably old. Born in Winnowill’s younger days, he was older than the Wolfriders, older than many of the Sunfolk. Older than most of the Go-backs.
To have lived that long in such pain, shocked the healer to the depths of her soul. She had touched Winnowill years ago and still remembered the horror and twisted nightmare that had been in the once-Glider’s mind. She had to have been evil to have done this to her own son. Or had it been doing it that had broken the barrier and let the evil in?
Whatever it was, the damage had been done. The bits and pieces of Two-edge’s sanity were a terrible mishmash that somehow managed to fit together. It was almost like the Scroll of Colors, though she hated to make such a comparison, only instead of swirling colors they were made of broken, grinding splinters.
He had divided his shattered thoughts into two halves. The genius part of him, the mad, creative part that could build and craft, he lumped in with all the parts of himself he recognized as troll-ish. The conniving, clever part, the one that spun rhymes and schemes, the manipulator, he attributed to his elfin side.
As the healer’s power sank into the tormented thoughts, she could feel the effort he had put into keeping the halves separate. He was too tall, too clever, too long-seeing, too unmoved by wealth, too impractical, too cruel, too insane to be a troll. He was too stocky, too mechanical, too analytical, too stubborn, too interested in what he could make, too mad to be an elf.
He wasn’t either, and he would not allow two such incompatible parts to work together. He had tried to let one side win over the other in the War. It hadn’t worked. Trolls had thrown off the balance by helping the elves. It had been to their own advantage of course, but it had still ruined everything.
You don’t have to be just one, she sent to him. The pieces will fit together if you stop pulling them apart. Just be you. Just be.
Tears welled in the bloodshot eyes. The half-elf slumped in her arms and she wrapped them around him. She had uncovered something lonely and child-like in his mind. It wept for a mother and she answered as best she could. She whispered to him that he was a good son, and he sobbed.
Even an imprisoned creature that has spent ages wishing for the sight of the sky can’t help but flinch at the brightness of the sun. The half-troll couldn’t bear kindness after so long. Two-edge sobbed and fled, back to whatever comfort his no-longer madness could give him.
Day/Theme: March 9. the challenge: bring order to the whole
Series: Elfquest
Character/Pairing: Leetah and Two-edge (not like that...)
Rating: PG
What had the Halfling’s mother DONE to him?? The healer wandered. She was amazed and appalled at the level of damage in Two-Edge’s mind. He was old, astoundingly, miserably old. Born in Winnowill’s younger days, he was older than the Wolfriders, older than many of the Sunfolk. Older than most of the Go-backs.
To have lived that long in such pain, shocked the healer to the depths of her soul. She had touched Winnowill years ago and still remembered the horror and twisted nightmare that had been in the once-Glider’s mind. She had to have been evil to have done this to her own son. Or had it been doing it that had broken the barrier and let the evil in?
Whatever it was, the damage had been done. The bits and pieces of Two-edge’s sanity were a terrible mishmash that somehow managed to fit together. It was almost like the Scroll of Colors, though she hated to make such a comparison, only instead of swirling colors they were made of broken, grinding splinters.
He had divided his shattered thoughts into two halves. The genius part of him, the mad, creative part that could build and craft, he lumped in with all the parts of himself he recognized as troll-ish. The conniving, clever part, the one that spun rhymes and schemes, the manipulator, he attributed to his elfin side.
As the healer’s power sank into the tormented thoughts, she could feel the effort he had put into keeping the halves separate. He was too tall, too clever, too long-seeing, too unmoved by wealth, too impractical, too cruel, too insane to be a troll. He was too stocky, too mechanical, too analytical, too stubborn, too interested in what he could make, too mad to be an elf.
He wasn’t either, and he would not allow two such incompatible parts to work together. He had tried to let one side win over the other in the War. It hadn’t worked. Trolls had thrown off the balance by helping the elves. It had been to their own advantage of course, but it had still ruined everything.
You don’t have to be just one, she sent to him. The pieces will fit together if you stop pulling them apart. Just be you. Just be.
Tears welled in the bloodshot eyes. The half-elf slumped in her arms and she wrapped them around him. She had uncovered something lonely and child-like in his mind. It wept for a mother and she answered as best she could. She whispered to him that he was a good son, and he sobbed.
Even an imprisoned creature that has spent ages wishing for the sight of the sky can’t help but flinch at the brightness of the sun. The half-troll couldn’t bear kindness after so long. Two-edge sobbed and fled, back to whatever comfort his no-longer madness could give him.