Ilúvatar Voronwé (vajra) wrote in adusta, @ 2010-03-11 11:23:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | aeotha easaahae, ilúvatar voronwé, the shadow ride |
brave (aeotha)
There was only one thing to do.
Ahead of them, on flat black rock, there was but one figure standing proud. Alone. Ilúvatar knew it as soon as he saw the figure - Talmus. But his instincts were not confirmed until they were closer. Until the traitor was staring at them, face twisted. Eyes seemingly darker with hate. Ilúvatar did not know if that was something that his mind added or something that was actually occurring. Only that, for a moment, he felt something like repulsion at the sight. Only a moment. And then the battle instinct was upon him. Eibhear had the lead, but his steps were slowing, and the look on his face was one of conflict. Even Pol did not seem eager to fight, or eager to confront the one who'd nearly killed them. Fenrir was nowhere to be seen. If he was still alive, he had to be nearby, but Ilúvatar didn't know when or if he would shoot Talmus. DId he want the fellow dead badly enough to strike from the shadows and think about honor later? Or would he strike to Talmus' face? Time would answer that question.
Time, and a dead body.
For the better part of five hours they'd marched mercilessly, with rest coming in the form of a slower pace rather than actually stopping. Sometimes their pursuers would begin to catch up - you could hear the calls on the winds of darkness swirling through the air - but their group would break into a run, then, and run until they could no longer hear the sounds of pursuit behind them. Exhaustion was a very real possibility. Contrast that to Talmus' disdainful and lazy stance. The elf was drawing closer to them now, but not because he was moving. He was merely waiting. Waiting for them to arrive - and for what end? So that he could attack? So that he could finish them off and please his masters? The more those thoughts flowed into him, the angrier Ilúvatar grew, until finally - until finally it took everything he had not to rush in with axes bare, waiting for the right time to plunge one into Talmus' neck. Two good swings would take off a man's head. Eibhear came to an abrupt stop - sudden enough that Ilúvatar had to seize his friend's armored shoulder to stop in time.
"I'm surprise you made it this far," Talmus' voice sounded like gravel being poured onto rock.
"I could say the same," Eibhear replied.
One of the two swords that rose above his shoulders came free, a hissing glide of steel on steel, and Eibhear armed himself in the same instant. Yet Talmus did not advance - the sword began a slow, lazy whirl in his hand. The golden-throated warrior began to pace to one side instead of attacking. Those golden blades, once beautiful, were now marred by streaks of black. Not there, the last time they'd fought. Ilúvatar did not think it had been much of a fight. Of course Talmus had not planned for a fight. Only a slaughter. When Pol and Aeotha would have moved forward, Eibhear threw out his hand. Ilúvatar thought he understood. Talmus was as good with those swords as anyone had ever been.
But Talmus was going to die before his new comrades could save him.
Eibhear wanted to give him a moment. Time. It was a knightly thing to do.
It was also stupid. That did not stop Ilúvatar from staying where he was.
"When we were children," Talmus finally said. "We settled things in the way we thought warriors did. We would fight. Nothing brutal. A fist, perhaps a kick, and at the end all of us were bloodied but everyone felt better."
"It was a fine way to live," Eibhear agreed. "For boys."
Something in Ilúvatar could not stomach this. Eibhear should not be listening to Talmus as though the elf had a point. He should have been using his sword to destroy what was left of an empty shell. All of this, madness. And worse because Eibhear would let it go on as long as it took. Ilúvatar had no patience for the musings of a coward and a traitor. He certainly did not have any patience for Talmus, who proved that even if his comrades were steadfast, he was only interested in what became of him. A truly selfish being deserved the Underdark, first as a home and then as a grave. Lorien's light would never fall on him again. But more important, he would never again lay in the sweet grass of the plain and ease the suffering of those around him. It was right. Ilúvatar still did not like it. But he had a song to sing, and a job to do.
"Warriors don't settle anything, do they, Eibhear?" Talmus grimaced at a private thought, and turned to face them again. "Today I die. How many of you I will take with me, I know not. But even if some or all of you survive, and find the king's betrothed, and bring her back to the surface - tomorrow the war goes on."
"Did you think they were playing games with you, when you were young?" Ilúvatar demanded angrily. "You accepted this fate the moment you took up those swords. You made the decision!"
"I was recruited," Talmus began spinning the blade again; his pacing resumed. "By a lord. Lord Caoimhin. Your father, Eibhear. He wanted me to serve as a soldier in his army. Taught me how to use the sword."
"Feaus was a great soldier, and a good father," Eibhear agreed solemnly. "He stayed true to his path until death took him."
"But death did take him."
"Cheating death has nothing to do with being a warrior or not being a warrior," Ilúvatar took a step forward, brushing aside Eibhear's hand. "You may have been recruited, but you made the decision. Always, your decision. To risk your life. To fight for something you thought was important. If you resent where those decisions have brought you, look in a mirror for the one to blame. Blaming Astarii. Blaming a lord for teaching you how to fight. Those are the excuses of a coward!"
"I told you yesterday that all you do is follow the orders you're given," Talmus' hand moved to the other sword, and it echoed the hiss of the first. "If I'm right, you can't defeat me. If I'm wrong, then I'll die by your hand. Care to settle this like children, Ilúvatar?"