Whumptober day 1
Oct. 1st, 2019 08:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roselightfairyPrompt for day 1 of Whumptober (over on Tumblr) was “shaky hands,” and given the ENTIRETY of my MO, how could I not write something for that?
So, below, have some extreme angst in >300 words of excess drama. Legolas/Gimli, warning for past character death.
He remembers a time when he had steady hands.
The thread of his memory no longer runs in clear patterns; the tapestry of his past has come unwoven, bundled into uneven piles of knotted string – but when he tries, he can sort through the piles to find memories of sure hands at the draw of a bow, the pull at the shoulder and balance of the arrow on a hand that did not waver.
He remembers the feel of cold steel warmed against his palm, the heft of a knife and the knowing, before striking, exactly where the blow would land. He remembers a time when his body was his to command.
It was only ever fear that betrayed him; he remembers that, too – remembers a storm that would sweep over his spirit until he knew no longer who he was or what he dared. He remembers that in those moments his hands could never stay still, that they moved with the rhythm of the tide tossing his soul into shambles, tearing at one another because he could not reach inside himself to claw there instead.
And he remembers another pair of hands, hearth-warm and stone-solid, closing around his and bringing him back to the world. Giving his body back to him, with nothing more than a touch – with nothing less than a promise. Reminding him that there were things beyond fear.
He remembers the fear, but he will never feel it again.
There are things beyond fear; he has learned it for himself – because the worst has come to pass, and still he is here. Still he is here, though those hands are not and never will be again.
There is no fear any longer, but his hands shake all the time, and no one is here to steady them.
So, below, have some extreme angst in >300 words of excess drama. Legolas/Gimli, warning for past character death.
He remembers a time when he had steady hands.
The thread of his memory no longer runs in clear patterns; the tapestry of his past has come unwoven, bundled into uneven piles of knotted string – but when he tries, he can sort through the piles to find memories of sure hands at the draw of a bow, the pull at the shoulder and balance of the arrow on a hand that did not waver.
He remembers the feel of cold steel warmed against his palm, the heft of a knife and the knowing, before striking, exactly where the blow would land. He remembers a time when his body was his to command.
It was only ever fear that betrayed him; he remembers that, too – remembers a storm that would sweep over his spirit until he knew no longer who he was or what he dared. He remembers that in those moments his hands could never stay still, that they moved with the rhythm of the tide tossing his soul into shambles, tearing at one another because he could not reach inside himself to claw there instead.
And he remembers another pair of hands, hearth-warm and stone-solid, closing around his and bringing him back to the world. Giving his body back to him, with nothing more than a touch – with nothing less than a promise. Reminding him that there were things beyond fear.
He remembers the fear, but he will never feel it again.
There are things beyond fear; he has learned it for himself – because the worst has come to pass, and still he is here. Still he is here, though those hands are not and never will be again.
There is no fear any longer, but his hands shake all the time, and no one is here to steady them.
