Ms Anne Thropic ([info]willow_wode) wrote in [info]hobbit_smut,
2005-11-05 16:32:00
Author: [info]willow_wode
Title: P. O. V.
Challenge: What Dreams May Come
Word Count: 661
Rating:
Pairing:
Warning: HTML is evil. Yes, precious, EVIL.
Summary: There are final moments in any death—and any life.
Notes: Yep. RoP-verse. *shrugs* Did you really expect otherwise?


P. O. V.
Willow-wode
-----------------------------------------------


    Despair…

        Resolve…

            Quiescence…

    Gilt eyes have lost themselves in future visions; what once was dream has turned to nightmare—golden light gliding into roseate sunset then fading into shadowed night, spun upon a wheel of air and fire and darkness…

        Years of brilliant hope, of soft laughter and heated nights, passion tempered by the fealty of embrace, then wonder and awe morphing into uncertainty, and dark-eyed vigilance, and disquiet…

            Warm and fragrant breath of dreams, inklings of magic and mystery, fire and air and cool, sweet water to mirror stars singing behind rainwater eyes…

    She takes flight; she sees too much, she has changed too much, she tastes what shall be; her feeble attempts to halt it, defeat it, those have betrayed her so she runs, prey escaping into starry, still night broken, broken…

        He gives frantic, terrified chase; he has spent much in pursuit of what is gone, of what had been, of what they were, of her, and surely he shall be able to stay her for always has devotion given him wings, and will, and the power to banish what lurks in Shadow…

            Child stirs, dark straying into dreams, deeping knowing teasing, senses made too aware: fear and fire, air madly gasped, gleaming water beckoning, all commingling…

River waits: shining-still, dispassionate, serene.

    It is a beacon, a haven, the last of all possibilities and of elegant necessity for only River can quench the flames, only stillness can quell the voices, only action can stave what has happened, what is happening, what will happen …

        He sees where she would go and quails—this is the one thing which could defeat him, thwart ransom from the darkness; he cannot do this, he does not know how, over this shall thew and will and determination have no mastery if unskilled fear holds prime…

        Not the River, not there, never there…

            River clear and cool to smooth-soothe skin, splashing copper-crystal droplets in the sun and Mumma slippery against him, Dad chuckling from the bank, refusing to come in—no otter he, no foolhardy riverhobbit to bathe deep and taste silt…

River laughs, and sparkles, and kisses small furry toes.

    She feels him behind her, clumsily thrashing where she has gently slipped, and bids him go, leave her, do not follow this path she must tread…

        The years have worn down upon him like a heavy and wet woollen cloak—if only he could spread that cloak across the water, use it as skiff to breast the wild, copper current, if only he could save her…

            She is gone, Child somehow kens, but why must he also run for the water, why lurch against resisting wet, why go where never has he gone, why oh why oh why?

    She Sees innocence, spoiled and spun on that wheel of fire, of pain, of emptiness beyond death.

        He sees the extinguishing of hope, the breaking of life, the regret of what shall be left behind.

            Child Sees shadows sinking into darkness.

    Submersion…

        Surrender…

Succumb, River sings.

            Cannot. Will not. Will not… go… under…

            Drowning not in River but in freedom, cold possibilities of memory sinking inward, time turning in on itself, doors shut, fate spun and set…

    She struggles…

        He holds her close, sinking like stone, taking her down into the depths; he is numb-cold, gone yet not; as always he does what he must, what is needed: Protect them, protect them both…

            Slumber and dreams spin oblivion once more, float Child up from Mother/Father, trail wet brine upon sleeping cheeks…

    Quiescence, folding close to

        Resolve, which turns away

            Despair, which sends darkling innocence into the jet brilliance of night as

    Peace descends within the copper-clear envelope about her, about them, for

        It is better this way, better to end the madness, better that the light gone dark no longer shadow their son…

        Son…

My son, now, River croons, inscrutable, inexorable. Mine.

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  • 18 comments

[info]abby_normal

November 5 2005, 23:13:16 UTC 6 years ago

You always make me 'see' things, which is what I love so about what you do. The gamut of my emotions has been effectively run... then folded, spindled and thoroughly mutilated and yet I feel compelled to thank you for it. Only you can do these things to me. Thank you for playing.

[info]willow_wode

November 11 2005, 15:07:02 UTC 6 years ago

It's good to know that someone gets mutilated beside me. ;)

Thanks for everything.

[info]alchemie

November 6 2005, 01:11:26 UTC 6 years ago

html may be evil but obviously very necessary in the telling of this tale. Oh so rapturous and poetic. Thank you.

[info]willow_wode

November 11 2005, 15:10:14 UTC 6 years ago

Oh, yes it was so necessary. You should have seen it before I figured it out--I didn't know what was going on. ;)

Thank you--rapturous is one of the feelings I definitely wanted to get across and it's always good when prose can approach poetry (without crossing the line of pretentiousness, one hopes). I appreciate your comments.

[info]conniemarie

November 6 2005, 03:16:49 UTC 6 years ago

Leave it to you to take a simple assignment and deliver something so deep and layered and intriguing. I can't believe how effective it was, just to give us a different voice, a different experience, with differently indented lines, but...it slew me. The back-and-forth of it was heartbreaking. I love how you started with your 3 words: Despair, Resolve, Quiescence...and how these reversed places by the end. I love how, with no identification of any character, we are instantly aware of precisely who each of them is, and where they are (in time/place/psyche), how you bring us along with them through that night of utter tragedy.

*bows low to you, the Storyteller*

[info]willow_wode

November 11 2005, 15:13:02 UTC 6 years ago

Aw, get up you silly thing. Stop that. ;)

I'm very grateful that this seemed to work, for a few people at any rate. It's an odd piece, but one that had to be told.

[info]primula_

November 6 2005, 03:40:36 UTC 6 years ago

"...trail wet brine upon sleeping cheeks…"

That hurt. *sniff*

[info]willow_wode

November 11 2005, 15:14:19 UTC 6 years ago

Hurt is good. Which sounds not so good, but... well, you know what I mean. I'm glad you enjoyed it--good to see you about.

[info]keye

November 7 2005, 15:34:51 UTC 6 years ago

Oh, this is stunning! It's beautifully written, and I love the sructure. I'm ashamed to say I didn't 'get it' on the first read, but I'm so glad I came back to it.

[info]willow_wode

November 11 2005, 15:18:36 UTC 6 years ago

It is an odd piece; don't feel bad. It's truly not so much about getting it as it is about feeling it--which it sounds like you did. :) I was frankly sure that it would be one of those things that spoke strongly only to a few people; I'm glad you were one of them.

[info]maura_underhill

November 7 2005, 20:05:03 UTC 6 years ago

Um, this is amazing. That's a totally inadequate statement, but, amazing. I am in awe. And, shattered.

*gives up*

[info]willow_wode

November 11 2005, 15:19:18 UTC 6 years ago

Thank you so much. Lack of words is high praise indeed.

[info]elanorgardner

November 9 2005, 05:26:23 UTC 6 years ago

*sympathizes with the html issues* You survived and triumphed though!

Chilling and revealing perspectives. Inexorable is such a perfect word for what happened here, what will happen here.

Makes you wonder about fate and free will and paths taken and not taken.

*wants to hug all of them and just make it all go away*

Thanks so much for participating in the challenge!

[info]willow_wode

November 11 2005, 15:25:19 UTC 6 years ago

Damn html. Gah. I just got stubborn and bit it back, which is no doubt the only way I presevered. No set path, just push buttons until it hollers uncle. Thank you for your help in conquering this, mucho mucho.

I'm glad you wonder all those things. But the best part of wonder is that you can't make it go away, you have to dive right in.

[info]estelanui

November 9 2005, 20:56:56 UTC 6 years ago

OMG!
How powerful and echoing with ancient memories! It made me think to some myths of creation of old peoples. There are the ‘elements’ of the sleeping child, the union/separation of the parents, the descent (or ascent) in another place, the death/transformation, the rebirth with a new awareness.
Your three words - Despair, Resolve, Quiescence - tied up with the three characters are perfect and made me palpitate with strong emotions.
A foundation in your RoP world! Thank You.

[info]willow_wode

November 11 2005, 15:27:28 UTC 6 years ago

*grins mightily* I'm always pleased as punch when people see the mythic underpinnings to whatever I do; it means that the thing is indeed honest through and through. Thanks!

[info]notabluemaia

November 10 2005, 16:48:14 UTC 6 years ago

This dark drama moves inexorably, painfully, with the anguish in each voice painfully clear. Such a brooding, building sense of the RoP tragedy, Willow - it flows like a river and washes like the waves that will inevitably carry Frodo even further. Well done, and so very sad... Thank you.

[info]willow_wode

November 11 2005, 15:34:02 UTC 6 years ago

You're very welcome; I'm glad to know that River fills the text with all that she can take, and give.
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