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Kelares;
Title: Kelares
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Walter, Fenimore (dead…Fenimore…)
Fandom: Tales of Legendia
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: ANGSTTTTT? This is basically my counterpart to Sanctifism for ToL. Also color fixation. Also WALTER HOW DOES ONE WRITE WALTER.
Summary: He’d always thought black was the defective color—but it was red that he truly hated.
Dedication: JAE THIS IS YOUR FAULT also to jan for putting up with this
Kelares
De--
To the Ferines, blue was the color of life.
It was the color of the water from which they took their existence, the color of the glow the Merines adopted as she protected them and gave them that most sacred of things—
But if blue was life, then the opposite of blue must be black.
Del--
Black, death, black.
Black was the opposite of life.
Walter knew this, and he accepted it for what it was; he had accepted it long ago. It didn’t much matter, after all. What was of true importance was his ability to complete his purpose.
If his wings must be black to complete the job, so be it.
He would bring death to the enemies of the Merines, those that would seek to harm her, on black wings. It was his purpose. It was a reflection of his soul.
It was what was meant to be.
--
He rushed.
Walter did not generally rush—he did not generally need to rush so frantically, so fervently. Maurits gave him his orders, and they were concise and precise; he was never wanting for information, that was for sure.
He did not generally work under time limits, and time functioned differently underwater, a slower, steadier time than the strict enforcement of the Orerines.
But now, Walter rushed.
On black wings, he rushed to preserve life—though when he dropped to the ground before the entrance, it was death that greeted him through lifeless blue eyes.
Tch.
And he hurried faster, because there was a sense of desperation now, a sense of dread (and this was his duty, wasn’t it, though there was a sense that this encompassed more than just his duty, though that was certainly all that was on his mind)—
Des--
Winding, winding, winding.
It was a frustration, even though it took him but a few minutes to make it there—
A frustration that as he landed, the scattering of people—blue and black and purple—made no sense to him.
What was happening, what was happening, what was happening, and what did he need to do?
Action, action meant far more than petty words—
And then he was halted from action, and he truly got the chance to see what was happening before him.
“You must find happiness.”
The words were pained, barely whispered, and yet they carried—
Hes—no, XelHes
“Find happiness,” she said as her head hit the ground and she died.
--
She’d asked him what she could do for them.
Unsurprisingly, he had snapped her away. She could do nothing for them, nothing, it was silliness to ask—
But something had made him pause in his duty, and it was hurt in bright blue eyes.
He’d found her a task so that it was no longer nothing.
Everyone had a part to play—and that was fine, so long as it did not interfere with his duty.
--
Fenimore had had a part to play.
Fenimore had saved the Merines.
Fenimore had…
And Walter did not move, even as he stared—stared as the long gash in her chest from the sword wound spilled over, soaking her, soaking the floor in red.
Red, red, red.
The Orerines had always preferred red, hadn’t they?
It was red that he stepped in now as he stepped forward to confront them, furious, fervent—for red should never have stained the blue and white of the Ferines.
Cursed Orerines--
Hes--
And when he knelt before the Merines, he knelt as well in red, the liquid staining his knees.
What an ugly, hideous color.
How dare they—
“Fenimore requires a burial.”
The words of the Merines, his duty to protect—
He clenched his fist and looked up from red liquid.
He would do it. It was in his namesake, was it not? He would take care of the death upon this sacred site.
And he would clean up the blood, the red staining everything now. He had always thought black to be the opposite of life—
But as Walter bowed his head to the Merines and finally stepped forward to look down, nearly impassively, at Fenimore, he finally knew better.
Black was not the opposite of life.
Den--
It had been red all along.
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Walter, Fenimore (dead…Fenimore…)
Fandom: Tales of Legendia
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: ANGSTTTTT? This is basically my counterpart to Sanctifism for ToL. Also color fixation. Also WALTER HOW DOES ONE WRITE WALTER.
Summary: He’d always thought black was the defective color—but it was red that he truly hated.
Dedication: JAE THIS IS YOUR FAULT also to jan for putting up with this
De--
To the Ferines, blue was the color of life.
It was the color of the water from which they took their existence, the color of the glow the Merines adopted as she protected them and gave them that most sacred of things—
But if blue was life, then the opposite of blue must be black.
Del--
Black, death, black.
Black was the opposite of life.
Walter knew this, and he accepted it for what it was; he had accepted it long ago. It didn’t much matter, after all. What was of true importance was his ability to complete his purpose.
If his wings must be black to complete the job, so be it.
He would bring death to the enemies of the Merines, those that would seek to harm her, on black wings. It was his purpose. It was a reflection of his soul.
It was what was meant to be.
--
He rushed.
Walter did not generally rush—he did not generally need to rush so frantically, so fervently. Maurits gave him his orders, and they were concise and precise; he was never wanting for information, that was for sure.
He did not generally work under time limits, and time functioned differently underwater, a slower, steadier time than the strict enforcement of the Orerines.
But now, Walter rushed.
On black wings, he rushed to preserve life—though when he dropped to the ground before the entrance, it was death that greeted him through lifeless blue eyes.
Tch.
And he hurried faster, because there was a sense of desperation now, a sense of dread (and this was his duty, wasn’t it, though there was a sense that this encompassed more than just his duty, though that was certainly all that was on his mind)—
Des--
Winding, winding, winding.
It was a frustration, even though it took him but a few minutes to make it there—
A frustration that as he landed, the scattering of people—blue and black and purple—made no sense to him.
What was happening, what was happening, what was happening, and what did he need to do?
Action, action meant far more than petty words—
And then he was halted from action, and he truly got the chance to see what was happening before him.
“You must find happiness.”
The words were pained, barely whispered, and yet they carried—
Hes—no, XelHes
“Find happiness,” she said as her head hit the ground and she died.
--
She’d asked him what she could do for them.
Unsurprisingly, he had snapped her away. She could do nothing for them, nothing, it was silliness to ask—
But something had made him pause in his duty, and it was hurt in bright blue eyes.
He’d found her a task so that it was no longer nothing.
Everyone had a part to play—and that was fine, so long as it did not interfere with his duty.
--
Fenimore had had a part to play.
Fenimore had saved the Merines.
Fenimore had…
And Walter did not move, even as he stared—stared as the long gash in her chest from the sword wound spilled over, soaking her, soaking the floor in red.
Red, red, red.
The Orerines had always preferred red, hadn’t they?
It was red that he stepped in now as he stepped forward to confront them, furious, fervent—for red should never have stained the blue and white of the Ferines.
Cursed Orerines--
Hes--
And when he knelt before the Merines, he knelt as well in red, the liquid staining his knees.
What an ugly, hideous color.
How dare they—
“Fenimore requires a burial.”
The words of the Merines, his duty to protect—
He clenched his fist and looked up from red liquid.
He would do it. It was in his namesake, was it not? He would take care of the death upon this sacred site.
And he would clean up the blood, the red staining everything now. He had always thought black to be the opposite of life—
But as Walter bowed his head to the Merines and finally stepped forward to look down, nearly impassively, at Fenimore, he finally knew better.
Black was not the opposite of life.
Den--
It had been red all along.