Llorana: Familial Obligations: Endurance

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[ 10] Llorana: Familial Obligations: Endurance
Thu Jan 13 03:23:26 2011
To: Shalonesti Shalonesti_kingdom ( Nianica Jinquil Azaros Aelthran )
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The soft, not ungentle, laughter of her mother followed and lightly did
she place her hand upon Llorana's head.  Striving, perhaps, to comfort her
daughter who had never sought it before. 

"No, dear child.  " Came the response eventually and Llorana found that she
was watching the slant of the sunlight.  "If you three have taught me
anything, it would be that no matter what prediction or demand I've set upon
any of you, you're bound and determined to go your own road - above and
beyond.  You three have proven that I am wrong.  "

Silence then, inundated with the gentle salt-scented brush of the breeze
upon the edge of dusk's fading light. 

"I say a lot of things, Llorana.  " The quiet tone of her mother had
changed.  So much had changed in so little time it seemed.  "But all three
of you have challenged me in your own ways.  What I've said to you in the
past has been said to your siblings in different ways."

"You've all disappointed me and...  " -when her mother trailed off, Llorana
took the moment to lift her head, to look at her mother through similar
green eyes- "made me more proud than any mother has ever been for her
children."
It was then that her mother, quick as ever, looked down to note the absense
of a ring upon Llorana's finger and a sort of pain passed through the older
elf's eyes.  Llorana was unprepared for the touch of her mother's hand upon
her cheek - the same cheek she had slapped perhaps months earlier. 
"I raised strong daughters.  " She murmured.  "But nothing prepares you for
this path but setting foot upon it." -she used her other hand to pat the
stone bench beside her- "Sit with me then and we'll see if I still have a
mothers touch."
                                  * * * *
Much later, Llorana sat alone in the star-lit night, gazing up at a sky that
seemed too full of stars and entirely too far away.  She hadn't been
prepared for gentleness, for understanding or comfort, but no tears kissed
her cheeks.  She had seen and done too many difficult things to shed tears
for herself.  She didn't deserve such a thing yet. 

Instead, she drew a sword from its sheath with a sound as of a single harp's
string plucked, and set its tip to the soft ground.  The haunt that came
forth, as her fingers slowly wrapped around the hilt, was changed.  It held
sorrow and joy in equal measures at first, and when it finally swept her
away, it contained only the enduring strength she had assured herself she
had.