Greatheart Storybook: The Shape of Sorrow
Jan. 11th, 2010 01:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breakfastofchampionsAnother prompt story! Oh, and these Greatheart stories can be read in any order, in case anyone is curious.
Change alert! Lysander used to be male, but now is one of the genderless or "nix" Aetherians. I figured that since I had such a sex in the story, I should make a relatively important character belonging to it. Of course, most non-Aetherians don't know about nixes, and Aetherians tend to be androgynous in general, it is possible that one of the other Aetherian characters (like Good or Carillon) is nix as well.
Uh, so basically I wanted to give myself pronoun nightmares. Since nixes are of NO sex and have no sexual characteristics, I use "it", but that's not because I think people of alternate sex and/or gender are not people or something, I just think it fits in this imaginary instance. Nixes are considered equal to males and females among the Aetherians. The Aetherians live such a long time and have such low birth rates, they decided that not everyone needed their own sexual characteristics. (They can do things like that.)
You can read more about Lysander here and here. Only Lysander's sex has changed, really.
I hope there aren't any typos. Damn you, pronouns!
Title: The Shape of Sorrow
Universe: Greatheart
Word count: 1400
Prompt: "founded neither on reason nor divine revelation"
Character(s): Lysander Sorrow
Pairing(s): None
Warning(s): None
Info: Lysander was born to fulfill a very important role in the High King's court.
The Shape of Sorrow
When Lysander was born, Lysander looked like any other Aetherian: hair and skin so fair that they were near transparent. Lysander's eyes were black. It was neither male nor female, but nix, like one third of the Aetherian people.
Everyone knew what Lysander was born to become, except Lysander.
Lysander was taken from its parents and kept apart, in the dark and in the silence. It did not interact with adults or other children, but as it had never known another way of life, it did not know that there was a different way to live, and it felt no great lack. It could not learn the meaning of loneliness without having learned of friendship. Unlike humans, those of Aether did not need touch or contact. They could thrive without it. They needed no food or water, nothing but air and magic. It was surrounded by magic, kept safe and warm and alone.
Lysander was given no lessons. It read no books. It knew nothing of the world. It could speak, but only barely. It knew few words besides its name: Lysander Sorrow.
It was important for Lysander to be kept empty, blank: no memories, no dreams, no love and no grief. Lysander did not know this, and it did not know that it was waiting for something to happen. No one had told it to wait, or that something was in store for it.
It was being kept in seclusion until someone died. That someone was old, and they were dying. Like Lysander, that person had been kept hidden away as a child, kept in the dark until it was time for them to fulfill their role.
One morning, Lysander heard a beautiful sound. So mournful and sweet, rising from the silence--there was no name for it in Lysander's mind, but it was music, the first music Lysander had ever heard. A horn was blowing, and it was a funeral horn. After that lovely noise, Lysander heard steps and voices, and it let these things wash over it, because it had no words and no experience to judge them with. Later, Lysander would know that it had been a funeral march.
A door that had been shut for years was opened, and Lysander blinked in the light. So much light, so many people. The world was suddenly another place, full of sound and sight, sunshine and song. Someone touched Lysander, and the nix found itself lifted up. With utter trust, it allowed itself to be taken. It was not afraid. It had never experienced pain or fear. It said nothing as it was carried away. It stared at all the people and the funeral train. It saw the box that carried the body of the dead one, though it did not know what the box meant. It was a a beautiful box, as bright as silver.
Lysander was taken through a city, though it saw the place as light and air and stone and bodies and motion, for it did not know what cities were.
Lysander did not know that it was about to be taught the meanings of pain and fear. In that moment, it was the only purely innocent creature in the world, more than a child or an animal, for it had never known want or need; that was the nature of the magic that had raised it.
The person who had died had been the Heart of the King. The High King was made up of seven parts: Eyes, Ears, Voice, two Arms, a Conscience, and a Heart. Each of these parts was a person. The King himself was so weighed down by power, he could not move or even speak. His parts were connected to him by magic, and through them he could act.
The Heart's job was arguably the most difficult.
They carried Lysander to a broad, open square. People were there, as they were everywhere now. In the square, however, all noise had stopped. The horn no longer sounded, and no one spoke. The silver box was placed in the center of the square, then opened. Inside was the body of a woman. Her eyes were closed. Lysander did not know she was dead, because it did not know what death was. It watched with eyes open to everything. It did not know that something was about to happen, for it had not yet learned about expectations or suspense.
The silver box was filled with pieces of wood, stacked slowly and carefully around and then on top of the body of the woman. Lysander watched as the wood was set on fire. It burned brightly. Its flames were white with a blue heart. It was nothing if not beautiful, and Lysander kept its eyes on it. It was difficult to look away, as it was the brightest thing in the square, and also the most lively, as all the people had stilled.
Lysander did not look away from the fire as it was carried towards it. Lysander did not blink or shy away as the fire filled its vision and it could feel the heat of it--a strange heat, for there was chill in it as well. Lysander did not experience so much as an instant of panic as it was thrown into the flames.
It was only once Lysander was enveloped by the fire that Lysander began to scream.
The cold-hot of the flames burned and froze its skin at the same time. It flailed and shuddered, its hands clawing at the wood and and the burning flesh of the dead woman. It understood pain, then. It understood fear and confusion and want and need. It wanted and needed to escape the box, but there were people surrounding it standing tall and motionless, and there was no way out.
There was something else in the box as well, along with wood and flames and death. Something terrible. Lysander tried to avoid it, but the thing wrapped itself around Lysander's body. It was magic, and it was very old and very strong. There was no fighting against it. It was not hot or cold like the flames, but it was worse. It settled on Lysander like a second skin. It seeped into Lysander's mouth, Lysander's nose, Lysander's eyes and ears and heart.
All at once, Lysander knew everything. Lysander stopped struggling.
The flames went out. There was nothing left in the silver box but a fine, pale ash and Lysander itself. Lysander's hair had gone dark, as if burnt, and its eyes had gone pale, as if chilled, but Lysander's body was whole and unhurt. It rose from the ashes in the box, and as one, all the people gathered began to cheer.
Lysander smiled and nodded. It knew now, what all this was about. It stepped from the box and bowed deeply, conscious of itself and its place in the world for the first time.
Lysander was filled with all the things a heart should carry. Those had been inside the box, and they had made up the terrible thing that had made its way inside Lysander: memories and desires, griefs and joys, pain and regret, and a terrible, aching hope. The King's heart did not contain such things for solely the King himself, but all for all the King's people as well. It was a heavy burden. Lysander had been made to carry it. Waiting all those years in silence for nothing but this.
Lysander could speak now, and it did so in a soft voice, greeting the people surrounding it, many of whom it already knew, though it had never met them before. Lysander had finally become what it was meant to be.
From that day on, Lysander had a gentle manner and a wry smile, and when its cold-pale eyes narrowed, it seemed to be sharing a pleasant joke with the person it was talking to.
It was only when Lysander was standing absolutely still, not paying attention to anyone or doing anything in particular that one realized it was not a person at all. It was both more and less than that. Its shape was different, glimpsed out of the corner of one's eye. It was twisted somehow. It reminded one of something, but one couldn't quite say what. For some reason, for a moment, one's throat closed and one's eyes stung. One had to look away.
Lysander's name was Sorrow, given to it at birth, for Lysander had been marked at birth, and all the King's Hearts were named Sorrow.
Change alert! Lysander used to be male, but now is one of the genderless or "nix" Aetherians. I figured that since I had such a sex in the story, I should make a relatively important character belonging to it. Of course, most non-Aetherians don't know about nixes, and Aetherians tend to be androgynous in general, it is possible that one of the other Aetherian characters (like Good or Carillon) is nix as well.
Uh, so basically I wanted to give myself pronoun nightmares. Since nixes are of NO sex and have no sexual characteristics, I use "it", but that's not because I think people of alternate sex and/or gender are not people or something, I just think it fits in this imaginary instance. Nixes are considered equal to males and females among the Aetherians. The Aetherians live such a long time and have such low birth rates, they decided that not everyone needed their own sexual characteristics. (They can do things like that.)
You can read more about Lysander here and here. Only Lysander's sex has changed, really.
I hope there aren't any typos. Damn you, pronouns!
Title: The Shape of Sorrow
Universe: Greatheart
Word count: 1400
Prompt: "founded neither on reason nor divine revelation"
Character(s): Lysander Sorrow
Pairing(s): None
Warning(s): None
Info: Lysander was born to fulfill a very important role in the High King's court.
The Shape of Sorrow
When Lysander was born, Lysander looked like any other Aetherian: hair and skin so fair that they were near transparent. Lysander's eyes were black. It was neither male nor female, but nix, like one third of the Aetherian people.
Everyone knew what Lysander was born to become, except Lysander.
Lysander was taken from its parents and kept apart, in the dark and in the silence. It did not interact with adults or other children, but as it had never known another way of life, it did not know that there was a different way to live, and it felt no great lack. It could not learn the meaning of loneliness without having learned of friendship. Unlike humans, those of Aether did not need touch or contact. They could thrive without it. They needed no food or water, nothing but air and magic. It was surrounded by magic, kept safe and warm and alone.
Lysander was given no lessons. It read no books. It knew nothing of the world. It could speak, but only barely. It knew few words besides its name: Lysander Sorrow.
It was important for Lysander to be kept empty, blank: no memories, no dreams, no love and no grief. Lysander did not know this, and it did not know that it was waiting for something to happen. No one had told it to wait, or that something was in store for it.
It was being kept in seclusion until someone died. That someone was old, and they were dying. Like Lysander, that person had been kept hidden away as a child, kept in the dark until it was time for them to fulfill their role.
One morning, Lysander heard a beautiful sound. So mournful and sweet, rising from the silence--there was no name for it in Lysander's mind, but it was music, the first music Lysander had ever heard. A horn was blowing, and it was a funeral horn. After that lovely noise, Lysander heard steps and voices, and it let these things wash over it, because it had no words and no experience to judge them with. Later, Lysander would know that it had been a funeral march.
A door that had been shut for years was opened, and Lysander blinked in the light. So much light, so many people. The world was suddenly another place, full of sound and sight, sunshine and song. Someone touched Lysander, and the nix found itself lifted up. With utter trust, it allowed itself to be taken. It was not afraid. It had never experienced pain or fear. It said nothing as it was carried away. It stared at all the people and the funeral train. It saw the box that carried the body of the dead one, though it did not know what the box meant. It was a a beautiful box, as bright as silver.
Lysander was taken through a city, though it saw the place as light and air and stone and bodies and motion, for it did not know what cities were.
Lysander did not know that it was about to be taught the meanings of pain and fear. In that moment, it was the only purely innocent creature in the world, more than a child or an animal, for it had never known want or need; that was the nature of the magic that had raised it.
The person who had died had been the Heart of the King. The High King was made up of seven parts: Eyes, Ears, Voice, two Arms, a Conscience, and a Heart. Each of these parts was a person. The King himself was so weighed down by power, he could not move or even speak. His parts were connected to him by magic, and through them he could act.
The Heart's job was arguably the most difficult.
They carried Lysander to a broad, open square. People were there, as they were everywhere now. In the square, however, all noise had stopped. The horn no longer sounded, and no one spoke. The silver box was placed in the center of the square, then opened. Inside was the body of a woman. Her eyes were closed. Lysander did not know she was dead, because it did not know what death was. It watched with eyes open to everything. It did not know that something was about to happen, for it had not yet learned about expectations or suspense.
The silver box was filled with pieces of wood, stacked slowly and carefully around and then on top of the body of the woman. Lysander watched as the wood was set on fire. It burned brightly. Its flames were white with a blue heart. It was nothing if not beautiful, and Lysander kept its eyes on it. It was difficult to look away, as it was the brightest thing in the square, and also the most lively, as all the people had stilled.
Lysander did not look away from the fire as it was carried towards it. Lysander did not blink or shy away as the fire filled its vision and it could feel the heat of it--a strange heat, for there was chill in it as well. Lysander did not experience so much as an instant of panic as it was thrown into the flames.
It was only once Lysander was enveloped by the fire that Lysander began to scream.
The cold-hot of the flames burned and froze its skin at the same time. It flailed and shuddered, its hands clawing at the wood and and the burning flesh of the dead woman. It understood pain, then. It understood fear and confusion and want and need. It wanted and needed to escape the box, but there were people surrounding it standing tall and motionless, and there was no way out.
There was something else in the box as well, along with wood and flames and death. Something terrible. Lysander tried to avoid it, but the thing wrapped itself around Lysander's body. It was magic, and it was very old and very strong. There was no fighting against it. It was not hot or cold like the flames, but it was worse. It settled on Lysander like a second skin. It seeped into Lysander's mouth, Lysander's nose, Lysander's eyes and ears and heart.
All at once, Lysander knew everything. Lysander stopped struggling.
The flames went out. There was nothing left in the silver box but a fine, pale ash and Lysander itself. Lysander's hair had gone dark, as if burnt, and its eyes had gone pale, as if chilled, but Lysander's body was whole and unhurt. It rose from the ashes in the box, and as one, all the people gathered began to cheer.
Lysander smiled and nodded. It knew now, what all this was about. It stepped from the box and bowed deeply, conscious of itself and its place in the world for the first time.
Lysander was filled with all the things a heart should carry. Those had been inside the box, and they had made up the terrible thing that had made its way inside Lysander: memories and desires, griefs and joys, pain and regret, and a terrible, aching hope. The King's heart did not contain such things for solely the King himself, but all for all the King's people as well. It was a heavy burden. Lysander had been made to carry it. Waiting all those years in silence for nothing but this.
Lysander could speak now, and it did so in a soft voice, greeting the people surrounding it, many of whom it already knew, though it had never met them before. Lysander had finally become what it was meant to be.
From that day on, Lysander had a gentle manner and a wry smile, and when its cold-pale eyes narrowed, it seemed to be sharing a pleasant joke with the person it was talking to.
It was only when Lysander was standing absolutely still, not paying attention to anyone or doing anything in particular that one realized it was not a person at all. It was both more and less than that. Its shape was different, glimpsed out of the corner of one's eye. It was twisted somehow. It reminded one of something, but one couldn't quite say what. For some reason, for a moment, one's throat closed and one's eyes stung. One had to look away.
Lysander's name was Sorrow, given to it at birth, for Lysander had been marked at birth, and all the King's Hearts were named Sorrow.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-12 05:40 am (UTC)Your stories flow into my mind and my heart like magic. Making that place inside that all such stories do - that place of discovery and recognition, excitement and calm. Like the beginning of a voyage - or its end.
Thank you. ♥
(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-12 11:36 pm (UTC)