Enslaved Heart (enslaved_heart) wrote in halcyon_halls, @ 2008-06-17 15:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | diarmad |
Week Twelve: Thursday
When: Late night
Where: Far from the school
Who: Diarmad – Narrative
The hour was late; a heavy darkness blanketed the island and seemed to hide away every speck of light. Yet buried far away from the school was a gargoyle hunched over burning embers that heated the steel of a swords blade. For hours now he had taken his leave here, leaving behind all duties with the fall of the night. It was not often that he did, so consumed with that task. But he had need for time away, time to immerse himself in an act that brought him back home. It was here, tonight, that he let all else bleed away. There was nothing save the familiar beat of metal against metal as the sword was formed. He remembered a time long ago when the air was filled with that sound, where the young and old alike watched on as such weapons were forged. But then they were more then that. Tools of the trade…pieces of art. Such respect had been lost with this new age.
As alone as he felt out near the dark depths of the forest, Diarmad knew that there was no such thing to be found here. Eyes watched from the shadows, ears perked up at every resounding clank. This island held no safety for him and his. This he knew all too clearly now. A realization that had struck hard against Diarmad’s mind and heart. Always he had known her reasons for being here were far from altruistic. He knew to not trust many of the acts done. But the depth of the deeds….he was not certain there were any steps to take to try to better it. To try to undo the damage done. He had to question the reasons….he had to question all said and done.
He had to question if he could have prevented all of this.
Such thoughts he knew were nothing but a waste of time. Fleeting and nagging but they’d do nothing for them now. What was done was done. The choices made were made. He could only seek to try to move forward still. Advance somehow as he’d sought to for centuries now. Was any ground truly gained? This Diarmad had no answer to. It troubled him that he did not. That nothing was as clear as he had hoped it was becoming.
Few words were spoken to her since that day. He’d not taken leave of her or his duty but that tension was evident. He’d not seek to claim peace or calm when he did not truly feel either. He had not in a great many years. Since that day he’d spoken little to anyone. Not guards or teachers or even students. Many crossed his path and yet he remained the stone figure so many envisioned of his kind. Features blank, body still, and yet eyes always watching, always aware. There was little to speak now. So little to say to correct any of this.
The few words he had spoken were to Rebecca. The young child that had buried herself away in studies and her own thoughts. He urged her to be careful, to understand the importance of his words and not baulk against them as though he were being foolish to ask it. But no matter how careful she was Diarmad could never constantly be at her side…and so she was at risk. At risk like all others. As much as all others.
There was thought to speak the same to others. But those he could utter such to already knew the need for it. Or understood the need to be careful in all of life, not just here.
Silence and work. Constant, vigilant. Through all hours of the day and the night. Likely tonight it was rest he should have sought instead of sanctuary away. But though his body and mind were weary, it was this that brought him back to himself. These acts of the past that reminded him of who he was…or perhaps who he had once been.
It kept him tied to his blood, those roots long ago faded away.
Again his arm raised, again the metal was struck. Sharp, resounding….soothing in a way not many would understand.