Wild Roses fic prompt 002 "Middles"

[taennyn]

Title: on the way
’Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Ruadhan, (Isael)
Prompt: 002 "Middles"
Word Count: 160
Rating: G
Notes: much the same notes as the last: very beginning of the first war, experiment with first-person.


My youngest's home was winter born, for all they have a moon. Winter, and the cold, and the beliefs you wrap yourself up warm in to keep you from the dark.

There is no song to my son's losses. He'd not accept it if I gave it him, wrapped up in a chordal package. Too far from the dark, the music I'd write for him, the songs I'd gift him if I could.

He is young, and hurting, and platitudes have no place in his life--they'd have no place in mine, if I had the choice myself I as his father and his teacher may give him.

He mourns a partner, and a friend, there on his side of the fire we share tonight, I picking aimless tunes in the wood of my instrument, he wrapped up in silence I'd be tempted to write for, if he were anyone other than he is.

I mourn my brother, and what might have been.

Comments

[goshawk.livejournal.com]

Ouch. It's the grieving, and knowing you can't do more than you are now to share and ease it. S'good.

[klgaffney.livejournal.com]

he's poetic enough, and circular, that he pings slightly sidhe two steps into being translated; it's challenging to coax the concrete meaning and details out of it, but the feeling behind it, shared grief and helplessness to ease pain rings loud and clear.

[taennyn]

I'm not sure what's causing the voice--if it is him, thinking in metaphor and circles, or if it's that he tends to hit me with these things when I've had just enough to drink that I'm hitting circles myself. >.>

Am glad the feeling comes through--it's one I'm not sure you'd see easily, from a third-person viewpoint. Because he's not being all that overtly sympathetic--that'd just get him hackles in response.