The sad story births a happy end
It isn’t the fear when it gets you, but while waiting. Even the glory bears the name Stark. There was the calmness in her movements, the bustling alleys were scuttling something she didn’t mind to tell, even when the comet has fallen, the one that is compared to the Dragon, it bore many names, but only one name is the one that forgets its mission. There are times that are searching for angels, these times are when the people are reaching for demons. The fame and the glory are everything, it is the reason why people would wake up, it is the very reason to become someone, to unbecome where you are or where did you come from.
To have something left behind you, to have the name, to have the memory of the greatness you achieved, to have something, to have anything by which you can walk on. Just to be someone, but never first the human, that is something for which the almighty God, has already closed the night for us all. There were times, when it was never so exacting, the back-breaking, it was only yesterday, when there was no trouble, and there was no worry, no care for any issue, no concern for the hardships, no trials and no tribulations, it is the easiest sail through something that which you cannot take it any longer.
For how many times, when she brings it back to her lonesome mind, for how many long nights, she would go around and venture for that something, for the meaning that won’t bring you anything at the end of the day, for there is that emptiness, always the gaping void that lives in bareness, that inhabits the idleness, nothing what she was dreaming to be, nothing has come out to be true, nothing is waiting for her at the end of the road. They say, there is something much better that awaits, but she knows, this is the road that has nothing to offer, this is the road that seeks patience, the forbearance she forgot to appreciate. There is nothing more for her in this life, but she wants this one final mission to have. How to get the head of one of Feanorians.
That would be the culminating, her crowning moment, what happens after that, that is not to be taken into consideration.
All her life, the pain is what she knew, all her life, the pain is all what she has gotten, the pain was her name, and her forename she forgot, and maybe, just maybe, there was something else than the travail, something else than the soreness she feels, that deep affliction, for the anguish cannot ever lead to the purpose, no point and no inclination, only what stays is the blankness. The hollow feeling of knowing that there is the crevice that cannot be filled with anything, or just maybe, if she would look deep, she would notice that there is something given back, she will find it when she is the least expecting and that is how it was going, on and on with the meaninglessness in the futility to elucidate universes.
- If I were born as a man, or even as the Elf, I wouldn’t doubt anything. I wouldn’t mistrust the word of God, I wouldn’t distrust anything below, but only what is aloft, then, nothing would be more important to me, than to see fruitlessness of somebody’s endeavors. If only little I did have, nothing of this would be of any significance to me. Ah, no use to dwell upon it, when all is said and born out like this – it was her solo speech, laconic and curt. There was nothing else, but to bridle in what she was holding it in, there was no harness and no collar around her neck, yet, before she throttled herself from within. Ah, why to some people, all the life is the Mother, and to some, not even stepmother? It mattered even less, it signified nothing if there was no answer, and the shadows who were her only succor, to whom she turns to when she needs succoring, weren’t there to remind her of anything but of the dimness she lived. When was the last time, when she was just happy to be alive? To be fructuous about it? To be something she may fructify? To be untroubled, unwearied, to be joyous, to be untiring and unremitting in what she pursuits, and what is there that she is chasing? What if there is nothing else for her? What if all is null and dull? Underwhelming her whole being. No, stop it.
All those shadows, when she is going to get rid of them? When she is going to be where she isn’t supposed to be, but what she yearns to feel? What if out there is naught as well? Ah, she needs that fair head, she needs it, this is how she is having her worth proven. Upon the floored, asphalted and plated town roads, she enters the Old Tavern, it was nothing to be impressed about, at first. But, the more she was seeing through the fog, the mild music and the prattling of the jocund people, the more she knew that she is at the right place. They welcomed her with the ginger bread, the grilled fish and the filled sausages with the firewater as the strong beverages as the main dish of the day, she asked for something lighter to drink, and she was delivered, she paid. She ate and ate, while the skeptical eyes were on her, she is never taking off her mask, the people knew about her, but that is where it starts, and where it halts.
That was all, they didn’t know even how she looks like, she was the unbeknown demon amongst the humans, the unfamiliar entity for which they had no solution, perhaps, it was unessential. She was waiting for that man, to come to her, she already employed her shadows, if there is that man or the person, he will answer her pleas by the extended parts of herself, she felt like one of the Wolves, for Dragons were on their own. Ah, she made the mistake to believe anything what those souls from the other existence were forecasting for her. That human being would be with her by now. By her shadows brought, but it was the ampleness of aimlessness about the people. She could see through each one of them, and neither one would know what to give her. When she finished, she was ready to go, one hand has stopped her, the fire cracked, the firebrands were flinging the delighting of sweetness, the chattering died out, just for a second, and it was risen from the ashes. The man in the hood, had sat down.
Letting go of her, it was such the gentle touch. Unlike anything in men, or so she deemed. So, he was the man, after all, this is whom she was waiting for. Before opening her mouth, the man rose a male hand upon her.
What is the meaning of this? Does he have the purport to do this? No man shall silence her, not like this, when she urges to speak, but there was something she couldn’t quite put it into the words, and through the eyes which were shying away under the hood, she gasps. Oh my, what kind of perfidiousness this was? The witchcraft? It wasn’t the man, it was the woman. Who was putting to use her own voice, so that the Shadowbinder could know, when to bend and when to give birth to more. Quaithe has thought, that she is the only one who is craving to change a fate.
- I know what you seek. And whom, to prove your worthy. You found out. – Quiet, lower. Yes, and now I want to attest my merit. – By how? – To get the head, for me, can you only conceive it? I am concocting it into my brilliant mind, which I know that I have, that this is it, this is my deliverance from all the weighing bonds which are pulling me down, this is it, it is my omen! – You have lost your mind. – Who are you?
- The woman who serves the Elf Lord – upon the revelation, Quaithe was not put down. – What did you say? – I say, give up, he is the good man. – He took the guise of another? – From what I do understand, is that he showed you exactly what you have become, he sent you the warning, and that is the highest level of someone’s love. – You are lying! – Heed me, before it is too late. Please, Quaithe, I answered, in the name of the womanhood, for nothing else. Do not throw it all away, all what you are doing, you are doing to get to that person, but I know it, I know how he breathes, and what he thinks about all of it. Please, he shall never look at you. Daxos. You are trusting that all what you do, you do for self, but his words had stricken deeper, and at the end, no one knows how they will end their lives. – You do not know how it was. And I thank you for your selflessness, you are one caring soul, the only who showered me by any temporal love, but still…
- You cannot take upon him. It is wrong. You are misguided, fallacious, please – she tries it all over anew, trying to outreach for her, but – listen to me, for the stakes are… - the shadow woman paid no heed, she went away, leaving Doreah to stare into the silence with which she left her, she didn’t order anything, it was in vain. She tries to protect…to protect her sister. The sister who didn’t remember her, due to her shades, oh, my elder sister, what have you done? What has become of you? Without even guessing or catching the feels, that she has been watched, and that everything was going accordingly.
Her sister couldn’t be saved. She could only assume what is going to be, even before any of them, could suspect the rest. Quaithe was sprinting down the hastened streets, racing through the busy boulevards which were traded one after another, a Full Moon is high till she didn’t realize, that it was the witching hour. Shortcut. What the? People around her has started to unfold their gruesome intentions for her, there was that kill intent. Daxos has sent them to slay her. She didn’t do anything, she did let him down, anew. In her obsessive nature to control what she cannot, she kept forgetting why she was employed in the first place, and it was to be hired to protect. The Papa is down, and there has to be somebody to please the God of Death, the one that thirsts the blood, but not the Faceless or of the Many Faces, no, the one with the fire, and who else, but the purposeless woman whose shadows couldn’t save her now. Torches swallowed her scream.
*
- Where am I? – You are here with me. – I died? – I had come to collect your soul. To guide you home. – Where is my home? – Take my hand – she did it. – Who are you? – I brought you in, all else is gone with the wind. Do not listen to it, your Paradise is laid in Undying Lands.
It was Feanor.
No grains of dune are left afterwards…