fingerpaint the sky

till everything shines

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[misc] dreamers
genarti
It looks like the consensus from the poll is that I should just keep posting my stories here. Which is fine by me, as it's the easiest option, and I like anything that doesn't make me think too hard. Hence, a fic!

This was one of the first drabbles I wrote, for the darkisrising100 challenge about moments of truth back in early September. It was a little over the limit, and I never got around to posting it, and so it mouldered on a floppy disk.

I dug it out the other day, and discovered that, while I still liked the idea, wow, I really didn't have the voice down yet. I still don't have a spot-on Cooper-voice, I think, but it's awfully close these days. Then... not so much. So I tweaked it and added description everywhere and switched words around, and now at 288 words it's way over the drabble limit but I like it much better.


Informed Consent

Hawkin sits curled in a windowsill, knees drawn to his chin and arms wrapped around them.

No one disturbs him, though the servants pass often through this hall on a usual day. Perhaps it is coincidence, and perhaps his lord's command and perhaps his lord's great and mysterious art; Hawkin, for all he has learned, has never been certain of where that boundary lies.

His lord Merriman, who is father and liege lord and everything to him, has asked Hawkin to perform a duty for him, for the Light. It will involve danger, perhaps, he said, and no glory. No great feat of arms or strength, no risk of arrows or thumbscrews, but if the worst should happen and the Dark take advantage, it might mean Hawkin's life. Or worse, though he is not sure what could be worse. Say yes only if you are truly willing, said Merriman, and his deep somber voice echoes now through Hawkin's mind. This is not the only way, though perhaps the best. And then he turned and left the room, and it was empty and echoing without his tall presence.

But it is for the Light, this task. And the Light is everything to Merriman, and his lord Merriman is everything to Hawkin.

Hawkin rises and walks down the long hallway with the reeds rustling under his feet, and goes in to his lord. "I understand, my lord," he says. "I will do it."

Deep-set eyes regard him for a long moment of silence that presses like a weight of iron, and then Merriman nods. His lined face is stern and grave, but the small secret smile of thanks in his gaze warms Hawkin like a hearth-fire, and it is enough.

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:)

I do love Hawkin. Poor earnest wounded mortal that he is.

*wibbles all over the place*

It probably says something about my writing style that one of my first attempts was a Hawkin fic, eh?

Glad you liked it. :)

Ooo, creepy. I like the atmosphere of it.

Thanks!

(By the way, I took a look at your journal, and you're cool. :) Mind if I friend you?)

Meep.

*wants to hug Hawkin, and deck Merriman for letting Hawkin go through with it. Despite the fact that had he not, the prophecy wouldn't have been fulfilled with Bronze carried long, and all.*

*would be blasted into oblivion for that second want, but doesn't care*

Hee! Yes, Hawkin definitely deserves a hug.

The worst of it is that Merriman truly thought Hawkin understood what he was getting into, and forgot how, for humans, there is such a large gulf sometimes between intellectual knowledge and bone-deep experiential understanding. And now that it's far too late he knows just how wrong he was, but it is done. And it is, perhaps, what had to be done, mistakes and all.

The Light eats its children. *nod*

*points to icon*

And I've just noticed that your "Current Music" for the past two posts have been very similar to what I've been listening to. Hmmm...

Still, Merriman needs decking. Old Ones need to be beaten up every once in a while. They'll heal. *grin*

The music? Pure coincidence! Naturally!

And as for the Old Ones thing... you know, I'd like to dispute it, but I'm not sure I can.

DOn't even try to hide the fact that you sometimes feel like smacking Will upside the head. Or Merriman, just to mess up his hair. It'd do them good AND it's theraputic for the fans.

Heck with doing them good; I just want to see Merriman's expression.

From the safe distance of running away giggling.

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