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night faded, and became dawn - a TGOD story
WARNING FOR THIS STORY: this is the part of the plot that starts seriously dealing with the cruel, inappropriate elements of Allegory and Rennuid's relationship-- Rennuid is just a teen who thinks he's grown, at this part of his life, and Allegory is an ancient "god." The word "love" is stained with a twisted intent in this story.
It also begins to deal with the fraught family dynamics that end up driving a young boy to hide away in the forest with a strange god.
If you can relate to Rennuid's experiences, I urge you to research the concept of "grooming." I write this story and characters to comment on my own experiences and demons. I will never portray anything graphically, and always I will do it with empathy for the perspective of the victim, first.
with that out of the way, please enjoy my story. It's a heavy one.
------
In evenings, the world was theirs. More and more he wanted to borrow extra time. Once, though, he borrowed too much.
That evening it said, “There is something new I could teach you of the expression of love."
Night faded, and became dawn; his bed at home lay empty and unused.
He found himself, after a time, at the top of the weathered stone staircase leading down to the hollow, where – diffuse, in the fog of the early day – he could see lights on in the inhabited house. The sight struck him to the spot. If it were Viromil, and she caught him creeping back inside, the fallout would be miserable. If it were his mother... he wasn't sure what she would do.
Perhaps it would be better to sit out here, by the door, and practice at whittling something. Though it was absurd, the idea seized him completely - he could lie with ease, once someone poked their nose out, and say they must have missed him when he came outside. And from there he would be able to listen in on the goings-on inside, and better prepare for any upcoming ugliness. Steeling his nerve, he advanced down the stairs at a reluctant pace.
He was able to creep up near to the door, set his back against the wall, took out his knife – and realized he had nothing to actually whittle. Everything out here was too bloated from the night air, and what wasn't would make a horrendous racket if he cracked it into usable size. Instead he put the knife away, laid his head back, and listened.
He could hear two familiar voices, though the words were muffled nonsense. Neither sounded particularly spirited, which felt like a good sign. He could almost make out some of it. “Tsudsas fer cu avess ulz, tyymab” – he supposed they were eating breakfast.
The cold was starting to leech into his body, now that he'd stopped moving. He flexed his fingers, then blew on them to try and banish some of the clumsiness. It would be nice right now if he'd stayed at Gorfuin. The temple was drafty, but there was this one room – it had a dais which they'd covered in furs and blankets, and over it towered a relief depicting Allegory itself. It was pleasant, to simply lay there on his back, running his eyes over the lines of the relief, while the real thing lay around him in loose coils.
Leaving that warm nest behind to trudge his way here was a trial. Now that the part that should have been hardest was over, still, he dithered. If they were already eating, Viromil would have checked in on his room and found it empty a good while ago – the usual excuses would be useless. A harsh knot of tension bound itself up in his throat, as it dawned on him that this wasn't a matter of getting caught or not, but of what the inevitable repercussions were going to be. The excitement of the wonderful and strange new thing he had experienced had congealed into a fresh anxiety.
The more he stalled and stewed and shuddered for the cold, the wilder became his thoughts of what would happen, and what he'd be willing to do to avoid it. Maybe he'd hide, wait for his family to leave, slip inside through a window – then, he'd lock himself in his room, and – no, no, no. None of that was going to help. He had to go inside, and that was all he should do.
He reached into the pocket where he kept hidden Allegory's first gift, feeling on his fingertips the cold, smooth gems that had once been, a year ago, four of the god's very own eyes. He told himself, firmly: I don't regret this. I don't care what happens, it was worth it.
...When he pulled on the handle of the door, it was locked. So he knocked, and the inside of the house fell deathly quiet.
*
The next time he was able to steal himself away through the woods to the sacred ruin, it was over a month hence. His mother had made reasons to need him whenever she saw him making to leave, and, well... It was hard to turn down an opportunity to have her attention, even if it was from an obvious ulterior motive. At least she was nice about it. Viromil was... not so.
She'd tug his hair from across the room with magic when he got too close to the door, or snap her fingers and set off a brief, dazzling lash of sparks in front of his face when he'd gaze too wistfully out the window. Little things like that. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to leave, or that he was unable to get around them – but the clear message was that he shouldn't. He'd tried saying things like, “Oh, do we need so-and-so? Would you like me to go get it?” – but that always either earned him a no, or an escort. Whenever it grew too much, he reminded himself: they couldn't keep up with this forever. Soon enough, boredom would outweigh the ability to keep caring about what he was up to, as raw worry turned to a more minor soreness.
When he came inside after 'going missing,' mother had wrapped him up in a hug seconds before he processed that her eyes were red and puffy, that Viromil, sitting at the table, held a cloth wrung into a wrinkled rope – there was a strong twinge of guilt that he shoved away. It's worth it, it's worth it. It became easier to believe, when Viromil got him alone, later, and the first words out of her mouth were –
“So, is your plan to keep running off in the night 'til you die like dad?”
An ugly part of him wanted to tell her that, no, he didn't plan on dying like their father, because everyone knew it wasn't an accident that took him. What he did do was hold his tongue, shake his head, and give very contrite one-word answers to everything that sounded like a question. On the list of 'worst things to say to your angry sister,' confessing you believed the rumors your late father wanted to die was rather high up there. Eventually she ran out of fresh ways to state her anger, and left him, seeming even more agitated than when she'd began.
He had Llmedha to thank for giving him the chance to next slip away. She came home for a while, a rare visit – she had a job at a watermill, in another town some days' walk off west from Aldua'denac. He couldn't leave immediately. In fact, it seemed at first it would be much more difficult – the demand that they all be together as a family was great, and in its urgency made any absences emphasized.
What helped about Llmedha is that she would stride right through the invisible nets cast out for him. He didn't take the first, or even fifth chance presented – rather, he tested at the distance he was slowly again afforded, and then one morning Llmedha asked if he wanted to go with her to get out of the house.
He didn't say please. But they left quickly upon her suggestion. It wasn't until after scaling the stairs leading up and out of the hollow that he afforded himself a deep, bracing gulp of air, and a tentative, “Thanks.”
“Why are they acting like that?” was all she said.
“Mil's always like that,” he groused, and she didn't argue. “I got home late once. That's it. I wouldn't have done it if I knew it'd become such a big deal.” A lie. “I can't stand sitting around all day like this. I'm not a baby. It's like--”
He kicked at a rock, and it rocketed off harsher than he'd meant it to. There was a rustle of offended leaves.
“--It's just-- I'm not trying to upset them. But it's like I can't even breathe right without being bad.”
“You're not bad,” a swift answer. “Yeah, I mean – I'd have cabin fever too. Why do you think I got the job at the mill?”
“'Cuz of your boyfriend.”
“Yeah, okay.” Llmedha sighed. “Should I say something?”
He bit his lip. It was hard for him to imagine how that could help, really – and easy to picture how it would go if it didn't. “No. I'd rather you didn't.”
He wanted to go Gorfuin again. Even if it was only for an hour – he was so afraid that it would think he decided to just leave it and never come back. Especially right after last time.
“..Could you just.. let me go, for a little while? And I'll come back and we can say we went to town, or something. I just need to be alone and then I can catch my breath. If I do that I'll be okay.”
Llmedha didn't say anything, and he was ready to be disappointed - but then her arm was around his shoulders, and he was getting squeezed in a sidelong hug. “Sure. I'll meet you at the circle in town? If you don't see me when you get there, just wait.”
Llmeda, like a knife cutting him off a leash. Rennuid felt sort of, light and tired and excited at once. “I can do that.”
...
Light faded, and became evening. Llmedha next saw her younger brother wearing a wide smile and a spry step. And so – she felt, she'd done something good, today.
#thegodwedarenotspeakof #tgod #elves #fantasy #fantasyhorror #fantasy-fiction #rennuidtathviel #tathvielfamily
© Zazozaliad
It also begins to deal with the fraught family dynamics that end up driving a young boy to hide away in the forest with a strange god.
If you can relate to Rennuid's experiences, I urge you to research the concept of "grooming." I write this story and characters to comment on my own experiences and demons. I will never portray anything graphically, and always I will do it with empathy for the perspective of the victim, first.
with that out of the way, please enjoy my story. It's a heavy one.
------
In evenings, the world was theirs. More and more he wanted to borrow extra time. Once, though, he borrowed too much.
That evening it said, “There is something new I could teach you of the expression of love."
Night faded, and became dawn; his bed at home lay empty and unused.
He found himself, after a time, at the top of the weathered stone staircase leading down to the hollow, where – diffuse, in the fog of the early day – he could see lights on in the inhabited house. The sight struck him to the spot. If it were Viromil, and she caught him creeping back inside, the fallout would be miserable. If it were his mother... he wasn't sure what she would do.
Perhaps it would be better to sit out here, by the door, and practice at whittling something. Though it was absurd, the idea seized him completely - he could lie with ease, once someone poked their nose out, and say they must have missed him when he came outside. And from there he would be able to listen in on the goings-on inside, and better prepare for any upcoming ugliness. Steeling his nerve, he advanced down the stairs at a reluctant pace.
He was able to creep up near to the door, set his back against the wall, took out his knife – and realized he had nothing to actually whittle. Everything out here was too bloated from the night air, and what wasn't would make a horrendous racket if he cracked it into usable size. Instead he put the knife away, laid his head back, and listened.
He could hear two familiar voices, though the words were muffled nonsense. Neither sounded particularly spirited, which felt like a good sign. He could almost make out some of it. “Tsudsas fer cu avess ulz, tyymab” – he supposed they were eating breakfast.
The cold was starting to leech into his body, now that he'd stopped moving. He flexed his fingers, then blew on them to try and banish some of the clumsiness. It would be nice right now if he'd stayed at Gorfuin. The temple was drafty, but there was this one room – it had a dais which they'd covered in furs and blankets, and over it towered a relief depicting Allegory itself. It was pleasant, to simply lay there on his back, running his eyes over the lines of the relief, while the real thing lay around him in loose coils.
Leaving that warm nest behind to trudge his way here was a trial. Now that the part that should have been hardest was over, still, he dithered. If they were already eating, Viromil would have checked in on his room and found it empty a good while ago – the usual excuses would be useless. A harsh knot of tension bound itself up in his throat, as it dawned on him that this wasn't a matter of getting caught or not, but of what the inevitable repercussions were going to be. The excitement of the wonderful and strange new thing he had experienced had congealed into a fresh anxiety.
The more he stalled and stewed and shuddered for the cold, the wilder became his thoughts of what would happen, and what he'd be willing to do to avoid it. Maybe he'd hide, wait for his family to leave, slip inside through a window – then, he'd lock himself in his room, and – no, no, no. None of that was going to help. He had to go inside, and that was all he should do.
He reached into the pocket where he kept hidden Allegory's first gift, feeling on his fingertips the cold, smooth gems that had once been, a year ago, four of the god's very own eyes. He told himself, firmly: I don't regret this. I don't care what happens, it was worth it.
...When he pulled on the handle of the door, it was locked. So he knocked, and the inside of the house fell deathly quiet.
*
The next time he was able to steal himself away through the woods to the sacred ruin, it was over a month hence. His mother had made reasons to need him whenever she saw him making to leave, and, well... It was hard to turn down an opportunity to have her attention, even if it was from an obvious ulterior motive. At least she was nice about it. Viromil was... not so.
She'd tug his hair from across the room with magic when he got too close to the door, or snap her fingers and set off a brief, dazzling lash of sparks in front of his face when he'd gaze too wistfully out the window. Little things like that. It wasn't that he wasn't allowed to leave, or that he was unable to get around them – but the clear message was that he shouldn't. He'd tried saying things like, “Oh, do we need so-and-so? Would you like me to go get it?” – but that always either earned him a no, or an escort. Whenever it grew too much, he reminded himself: they couldn't keep up with this forever. Soon enough, boredom would outweigh the ability to keep caring about what he was up to, as raw worry turned to a more minor soreness.
When he came inside after 'going missing,' mother had wrapped him up in a hug seconds before he processed that her eyes were red and puffy, that Viromil, sitting at the table, held a cloth wrung into a wrinkled rope – there was a strong twinge of guilt that he shoved away. It's worth it, it's worth it. It became easier to believe, when Viromil got him alone, later, and the first words out of her mouth were –
“So, is your plan to keep running off in the night 'til you die like dad?”
An ugly part of him wanted to tell her that, no, he didn't plan on dying like their father, because everyone knew it wasn't an accident that took him. What he did do was hold his tongue, shake his head, and give very contrite one-word answers to everything that sounded like a question. On the list of 'worst things to say to your angry sister,' confessing you believed the rumors your late father wanted to die was rather high up there. Eventually she ran out of fresh ways to state her anger, and left him, seeming even more agitated than when she'd began.
He had Llmedha to thank for giving him the chance to next slip away. She came home for a while, a rare visit – she had a job at a watermill, in another town some days' walk off west from Aldua'denac. He couldn't leave immediately. In fact, it seemed at first it would be much more difficult – the demand that they all be together as a family was great, and in its urgency made any absences emphasized.
What helped about Llmedha is that she would stride right through the invisible nets cast out for him. He didn't take the first, or even fifth chance presented – rather, he tested at the distance he was slowly again afforded, and then one morning Llmedha asked if he wanted to go with her to get out of the house.
He didn't say please. But they left quickly upon her suggestion. It wasn't until after scaling the stairs leading up and out of the hollow that he afforded himself a deep, bracing gulp of air, and a tentative, “Thanks.”
“Why are they acting like that?” was all she said.
“Mil's always like that,” he groused, and she didn't argue. “I got home late once. That's it. I wouldn't have done it if I knew it'd become such a big deal.” A lie. “I can't stand sitting around all day like this. I'm not a baby. It's like--”
He kicked at a rock, and it rocketed off harsher than he'd meant it to. There was a rustle of offended leaves.
“--It's just-- I'm not trying to upset them. But it's like I can't even breathe right without being bad.”
“You're not bad,” a swift answer. “Yeah, I mean – I'd have cabin fever too. Why do you think I got the job at the mill?”
“'Cuz of your boyfriend.”
“Yeah, okay.” Llmedha sighed. “Should I say something?”
He bit his lip. It was hard for him to imagine how that could help, really – and easy to picture how it would go if it didn't. “No. I'd rather you didn't.”
He wanted to go Gorfuin again. Even if it was only for an hour – he was so afraid that it would think he decided to just leave it and never come back. Especially right after last time.
“..Could you just.. let me go, for a little while? And I'll come back and we can say we went to town, or something. I just need to be alone and then I can catch my breath. If I do that I'll be okay.”
Llmedha didn't say anything, and he was ready to be disappointed - but then her arm was around his shoulders, and he was getting squeezed in a sidelong hug. “Sure. I'll meet you at the circle in town? If you don't see me when you get there, just wait.”
Llmeda, like a knife cutting him off a leash. Rennuid felt sort of, light and tired and excited at once. “I can do that.”
...
Light faded, and became evening. Llmedha next saw her younger brother wearing a wide smile and a spry step. And so – she felt, she'd done something good, today.
#thegodwedarenotspeakof #tgod #elves #fantasy #fantasyhorror #fantasy-fiction #rennuidtathviel #tathvielfamily
© Zazozaliad
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