Anarion

[Théodred Heavenshield]

The Re-forging of Snowfall

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Averlorn​

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Two days after the wedding of Ióunn and Thrand Galadorn, and things were settling back to a normal pace, Théo had decided to remain in Averlorn for the time being. His mind was on his father, after their confirmation that he was suffering from an affliction that was eating his life away. He had vowed to find a way to stop it, or even rid him of it .. somehow. He knew that this was on the mind of his uncle as well, and neither of them would rest until everything possible avenue was exhausted.

His eyes looked over the shards of Snowfall, laying on the soft cloth held by the hands of an ancient Aelvar he supposed. Who or what that was he did not know, but no doubt they had been someone powerful or important to Ióunn’s people. It would be easy enough to take the shards to the local forge in Norvegr-fen and have it remade but there was more to it than that, his father had had it make with the force and that was still very much present within the shards. No, it was going to take something more to do this, something extremely powerful if this sword was to help his father.

Théo took up the hilt, there was a drop of blood on the shattered metal, he did not know it was his father’s blood, but it told him that the sword was still keen to the touch. He knew this was the key, this sword was the only way in which his father might live and not be taken by the curse, how he knew he could not say. Maybe it was the force guiding him, or some whispered message from his grandpapa. As if in answer, the Sun shone though the trees of Averlorn and hit the broken blade, almost blinding him with the light.

The sound of foot falls along the stone platform turned Théo’s head, he had summoned Arnor, and Thyrian to join him, and had requested for the presence of the Queen. It would take more than a smith to do this, it would take more than the power he possesses to do this, it would take the power of Midvinter and there was no better way to summon that power then through her people.

[member="Thyrian Hearthfire"]​

 

[Thyrian Hearthfire]

Many of whom had witnessed his son's wedding and coronation had chosen to stay a while, just a few days to either catch up with family or explore the breathtaking scenery found nowhere else on the planet. While his wife and children took every opportunity to spent time with their eldest, Thyrian's decision to remain was two-fold. Naturally he enjoyed the company of having so many members of his extended family so close for once, but a far more important mission was on his mind, ignited by his nephew Théodred.

His brother's life - nay, his soul - was in peril. If what Thurion says is true, then should her perish by this poison creeping into his mind and body then he will never see Beornskald upon his death. A greater tragedy there is none, for if anyone deserves to find peace and comfort in the afterlife...

The words of his father spoken in his youth could still be heard as he was the first to join Théo by the broken shards of Snowfall. "I took an oath, once," he spoke aloud to his nephew as he stood beside him. "To your grandfather. That I would always look after your Papa, and I did so wholeheartedly as we grew up together. Until... this," his eyes flared up and his fist became engulfed in flames. "My oath yet stands, for as long as I draw breath I must see my little brother safe." There were other, unspoken reasons why Thurion Heavenshield must live, shared only between he and the Dawnbringer in the aftermath of the Crone's last invasion.

"We will restore your father, Théo," he settled a hand at the back of his neck and looked him in the eye with that stoic face of stone.

Another to appear was none other than Arnor, lumbering towards the pair with heavy footsteps as was demanded by his immense size. It would seem Nina was still busy trying to decipher the many mysteries found within the volumes of the ancient library, leaving him with the time to join in this secret venture, for his mighty smithing arm and would be needed. One large stride after another placed him in the company of the Uncle and Nephew, King and Lord. Though he did not know either of these little ones - or anyone, honestly - as well as he does Nina, he knew them to be her family and thus was happy to help.

While they waited for the fourth member of this council of would-be forgers, Arnor slumped back unto his large fluffy bottom to sit comfortably, still heads taller than anyone in Averlorn. His small eyes black as midnight studied the shards on the table, then turned to Théo and uttered a single word. "Snow," he spoke in the common tongue, with a voice deeper than any what any Man could replicate. The King reached to place a hand upon the white Beorni's furry arm, offering a nod of thanks. Knowing the laconic nature of their massive ally, to hear him speak in their presence he considered an honour.

[member="Théodred Heavenshield"]​

 

[Ióunn Ar-Olwa]

The hour had come. She looked through her mind’s eye seeking out the ones that would gather to their purpose. All their hearts etched with fear and anxious to succeed on this day they would join as one. The purpose was one born from love, the strongest of all the emotions and the most dangerous, but in its purest form, the most powerful.

You are the hammer that the spirits give strength and through your arm, they will lift you up. Her voice soft in the mind of Arnor for only him to hear, he was the purest of them all. Her bare feet silently walking toward the gathering by the Lady of the Evergreen.

I see you Théodred son of Thurion, with your heart strong but you doubt yourself, and fear that you can’t save your father. The man still in his youth filled would tremble at her words in his mind.

Her eyes flicked to the King, so tall and determined as he always was, stoic but there was a past that would never be erased from him. For he would not let it. You have a destiny yet to come to pass, that destiny will make you great, yet you do not want it. You believe you could never be as good as him.

The figure of Ióunn stepped out from behind Arnor, sitting on his rump, she was dressed in white, a shimmering gown that only the Queen of the Aelvar wears when she summons the Lady of the Lake.

“The time has come”, she simply said and gently waved her hand toward the shards of Snowfall, indicating for Théo to take them up in the cloth. And she walked passed them, knowing they would follow her to the edge of the Frostvatn. Each one of them would play a part on this day, each one of them would have to give something of themselves in return for such a gift from the Lady.

What would they give? What were they prepared to sacrifice?

[member="Thyrian Hearthfire"]​

 

[Thyrian Hearthfire]

As if conjured out of thin air the Queen of the Aelvar appeared from behind Arnor's large frame, her otherworldly voice echoing inside the King's head. Was he alone in hearing her words? So beautiful and graceful was she to behold that none of the three even dared to move, as if under some form of spell. Her words for Thyrian were most poignant, striking right at the very core of his being so much so he had to physically recoil, for they were the truest of truths.

The last High King of Midvinter, his own father, had reclaimed honour to the realm by defeating the Usurper corrupting their ways, and later fallen in glorious battle defending his family and people from assured destruction at the hands of the Vinterbound. And he was granted divine status in the afterlife, the first-ever mortal to join the pantheon of gods. How does anyone live up to such legendary feats? What was the point in even trying? His father was the Bringer of Dawn, worshipped across the land. Who was he?

These were the thoughts filling his mind as the Queen then beckoned the three to join her by the shores of the Frostvatn. His gaze turned to the clear blue skies above, basking in the golden glow of the sun - the one place in Averlorn where there were no trees or lush nature obscuring it - and he did not know why, but a lone tear fell from his cheek unto the edge of the frozen lake, evaporating against the cold ice. What followed was an immense feeling of comfort, as if standing in the embrace of his father.

"I..." he uttered as they stood upon the shoreline, none having stepped unto the ice just yet. "I surrender... my guilt," he followed through. "I am not the beast who claimed the lives of so many victims, not anymore." And with that, King Thyrian stepped unto the Frostvatn to feel its sheer power rushing beneath his feet, in turn feeling that same power flow through his very being.

Meanwhile, Arnor remained a mystery. He said nothing, as was his ways, but one could see the gears turning inside that ursine head. Then with a long stride he stepped out unto the ice, his sacrifice unspoken.

[member="Théodred Heavenshield"]​

 

[Théodred Heavenshield]

The words of the Queen stun him. It was like she was looking directly into his mind, and his heart. The fear there was more than failure to not save his father but for himself as well, for he knew that needed to be done, what he would have to sacrifice in order to save his life, and there were no guarantees it would work.

Théo gently folded the cloth over the shards making sure they were secure before picking it up to take to the lake. He followed behind them all, each step heavy with the weight on his mind. And as they stood by the frozen lake, each one of them stepping forward after offering their ‘gift’, it was his turn.

He did not voice it, he did not want to run the risk of his Uncle turning him away, to find something else to offer up to secure they success, but to the Queen he spoke like she did to him, through the mind. Ióunn stood there radiant and beautiful, in her glowing white dress, it was easy to see why Thrand had devoted his life to her and her people, but there was something in the woman that spoke of darkness, a power that stemmed from something other worldly. Maybe it was just because he did not understand it, or knew what it was, but he let himself succumb to it.

Théo did not look to his uncles as the ‘gift’ was given, he did not want eye contact with him just in case he saw the it. Strangely, the ice was not slippery to walk on, as he was expecting and there was no sense that it would break under their weight. He looked down and could see the shifting water under the ice, swirling with a current that should not have been. And he could almost swear he saw something like a figure or more gliding through the water.

Ióunn lead the gathering toward the center of the Frostvatn, they stood near the streaming light of the nexus, his body shuddered with the sheer power from it, rippling through his body filling him with the force. Instinctively he knew what to do, and lowered the cloth with the shards to the ice surface and unwrapped the cloth, before stepping back.

[member="Thyrian Hearthfire"]​

 

[Ióunn Ar-Olwa]

As they stood in a semi-circle, Ióunn stepped forward and with her back to the nexus, the time had come. Her hands turned by her side, her palms turned outward, and she slowly raised her arms. As she did the ice beneath her feet began to crack and shift. The sound was loud and fearsome, threatening to give way under them. But it did not. And she spoke in a ancient Aelvar tongue.

Ed' i' val en' i' frostvatn, ar' i' arwen en' i' linae, tamina i' anvil en' i' khelek, tamina i' namba en' val ar' yamen' ta n'ala sen ​

From the ice form an anvil, slowly emerging from the depths of the water, alongside it a hammer, large and thick, and as they formed near the nexus the white light on her gown glowed brilliant engulfing her in all her glory. She was filled with power beyond measure, her eyes changed from their jewelled violet to darken pools flecked with stars and seemed to shimmer, with the vastness of space. It was like she held the entire galaxy within them.

Under the ice, the figures swam in circles around them all, on the breeze a song of the softest words filtered through the air, it was a sadness the likes of Théo had never heard, and it cut to his heart. Each one of them would hear a different song, something that would speak to them alone.

Once the anvil and hammer were completed, she stood as if normal once more, and stepped aside for the three of them to set to work. Between them, they had fire, ice, strength and heart everything they needed to re-forge the sword of Snowfall.

Each one knew what part they had to play.

[member="Thyrian Hearthfire"]​

 

[Thyrian Hearthfire]

https://youtu.be/xOOY1qrRsOI​

Having been the first of the three to declare his sacrifice and step unto the frozen lake, Thyrian observed the other two asked to do the same. Arnor was unreadable as always, but there was no question whether his chosen sacrifice came from anywhere but the heart. His nephew, on the other hand, seemed greatly troubled, as if his chosen sacrifice held far more dire consequences than his own. If the King had had the option, he would have offered up enough for the both of them. If anything were to happen to Théo in the bargain for his father's life restored, Thurion would never forgive him.

The Aelvar Queen spoke words native to her kind, magical and foreboding to the ear. What followed was the Frostvatn itself rising from its slumber, fashioning itself into hammer and anvil fit for the forging of a weapon powerful enough to slay a god. At least, that was the hope. That was their purpose for being here, after all - to each lend their talents to craft a legendary blade fitted to the hand of one who had sacrificed far more than any of them in the defense of Midvinter. And he was far from done doing so, even if he himself does not agree.

Thyrian stepped forward, piecing together the broken shards to make the outline for the sword as a whole. There was no forge to supply the immense heat required to fuse together steel, much less so a nigh-undestructable material such as phrik, so he recognised his part to play. It spoke of the sheer power the Crone Goddess commanded, to shatter some of the finest steel the entire galaxy had to offer with naught but a clenched fist.

He began by drawing deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, as he drew power from the Nexus buried beneath their feet. After a few such breaths, smoke and embers began to appear with each released breath, and his eyes started burning brighter than ever before, like two small suns inside the sockets of his skull. It was soon followed by his entire being bursting into flames the intensity of which were beyond description, and then proceeded to pour fire from the palms of his hands unto the shards of Snowfall in order to make the strong metal pliable enough to re-forge. Incredibly, the ice anvil seemed entirely unaffected by the immense outpour of heat.

Meanwhile, Arnor seized control of the massive hammer made from the same material as the anvil, feeling its weight in his hands. Pacifist though they may be, the Beorni had the longest history and knowledge of smithing than any other race, for they had existed long before either Men or Elves. He was determined to put those inherited skills to the test this day, to fashion with this hammer a weapon that would truly last throughout the ages and conquer any threat to their homeland. The Spirits swirled through his very being, filling him with further strength and purpose.

And he raised the huge tool above his head and brought it down onto the now-pliable metal, each strike of his hammer like thunder from the skies, and sparks like lightning sprang from the sheer impact of hammer and anvil.

[member="Théodred Heavenshield"]​

 

[Théodred Heavenshield]

The Frostvatn lending power to them all, Théo had never seen his uncle with such strength as his entire body erupted into flames, the sight of it caused him to step back but he was not afraid, it was more that he was astounded by the sheer power within the man, it was remarkable. Arnor moved forward, his large furred paw reaching for the ice hammer and lifted it with ease, Théo doubt he would have had the strength to do so. And as the hammer hit the anvil and the now soft metal of Snowfall, sparks of what appeared to be yellow lightning, boomed from each strike. Was it the strike that caused the sparks or something greater?

He watched until the right moment to step forward, he could feel the eyes of the Queen upon him, she knew what was to come. Théo could feel the radiant heat from anvil and his uncle, the powerful strength of Arnor never missing the strike as it landed a blow, and already he could see the metal folding, and binding into one. It glowed red hot, like molten lava from the bowels of Midvinter, herself.

What would your lord father do? He was once asked, “He would do what was right”, he uttered the words once more as his arms raised, his palm facing directly toward the blade and Théo summoned the lightside of the force. With each passing second, he grew much much stronger than he had ever felt in is life, the nexus behind them all began to shift from neutral to light and changed to white. The immense power was overwhelming, intoxicating and he knew he had never been as strong as he was in this moment. A conduit of the lightside formed in him, and white tendrils of the force shot out of his palms in a long beam of purity, wrapping around the blade and entering its properties.

In the back of his mind, he could still hear the hammer striking, the soft roar of fire when needed to soft the metal for Arnor to continue to shape. And that cursed drop of blood became one with it. The sparks had turned from yellow to white, and grew bigger with each hit, louder was the sound that issued and he would not stop. His sacrifice was yet to be made.

Théo’s body trembled, not from fear or uncertainty, but with a thousand, if not more, generations of Jedi, thousands of years of Valkyri ancestry pulling from Midvinter through his blood and into the blade. Heavenshield, Dawnbringer, Hearthfire, all their fathers before them. And now him.

He closed his eyes for the final part he had to play, all Théodred Heavenshield’s abilities, loyalty, strength and heart, imbued into the metal. It was strange, it did not take very long. But he stumbled back, pain shot through his guts, his center had been ripped apart, and he fell to his knees. His connection to the Force severed, it lived in Anarion now. He collapsed to the surface of the ice, unconscious.

[member="Thyrian Hearthfire"]​

 

[Thyrian Hearthfire]

It was not a long procedure, fitting the pieces together one by one to make the blade whole again as Arnor swung the mighty hammer again and again to great effect. The process was greatly augmented by the power of the Frostvatn and the Force Nexus it contained, along with each member of the foursome pouring their skills into their labour to create the most awesome weapon Midvinter shall likely ever see. They set out to attempt the impossible in forging a weapon powerful to kill a godly being, and by now the physical aspects of the sword were being finalized.

Then Théodred stepped forward to imbue the blade with the power of the Light side of the Force, though the King had underestimated the level of sacrifice his nephew was willing to make in the hope that he could help restore his dear father's strength. The boy collapsed once he'd done his part, in term causing Thyrian to halt his work and rush to his side. "Théo!" Distraught he leaned in close to check his pulse and whether he was still breathing. "Wake up, lad! Théo!" He cradled his nephew where he sat on the ice, shaking him in the vain hope that he would awaken. Alas, no.

By the time the blade was being finalized through the magical touch of the Aelvar Queen, Thyrian had scrambled to his feet carrying his brother's firstborn in his arms with a grim expression on his face. How could he possible face Thurion after such an outcome?

Arnor finally let the hammer rest, setting it down with a loud *thud*, and he himself likewise slumped down to sit comfortably on the ice to catch his breath. "Whole again," he responded, confirming that at least the sword itself had been remade successfully. The Beorni then offered to take possession of Théo's unconscious body, to let him rest comfortably on a bed of fur that was his arms. Though Thyrian managed his nephew's weight just fine on his own, someone had to bring the sword back with them.

"Ióunn?" He asked, standing before the anvil which more resembled an altar for some ancient relic, awaiting the word that their vast and costly undertaking had been worth it.

[member="Ióunn Galadorn"]​

 

[Ióunn Ar-Olwa]

Time worked differently here in Averlorn. What they believed to be quick, or fleeting was in essences much longer, for them the sword once called Snowfall, re-forging it had taken the best part of the day and even tide was upon once they stepped of the ice lake. They would have aged only a handful of minutes while all around them, the world outside would have passed by the day. It is why the Aelvar age so long and can spend hundreds of years on the plains of Midvinter when other perish.

The son of Thurion of Heavenshield fell to the icy surface of the lake, to his side rushed his uncle and cradled Théo in his arms before looking to her for answers. But this was what Théo wanted to give and he gave it freely with love for his father. The young man knew that this is what his own father would have done if reversed, and it was their way, not only the Jedi way, but that of the Shields of Heaven. Théo had given back to his father, that which was given to him on the day of his birth, life.

In the arms of the greatest Beorni, Arnor Oathsworn, Théo rested breathing shallow but steady, Ióunn walked to him and held her hand over his core, the centre of his body. From the Frostvatn, the flowing nexus of white light, a small ball of the force floated through the air, like a snowflake, flitting on the breeze until it sat light on Théo’s stomach and simply vanished.

One thin tendril of the lightside connected him to the centre of Midvinter, from which the nexus draws would forever be connected to him. Midvinter herself, would eternally be within the blood of Théodred of Heavenshield.

y' engwar sul waan-, y' beleg sul on-, ar' ilya tanya nae sane nauva entule​

A gift to the boy that gave so much of himself for the love of another.

“Come, we must take him to my quarters, he needs to rest”, she said turning to walk off the ice. The king of the Valkyri would not get his answer, to the question in his eyes, only time will give him that. Her head turned to Thyrian, her eyes fell upon the sword he now holds firmly in his hands. "The answer you seek is there", only when the true wielder of the sword now called Anarion, will they know. "Bring him to his son", a cruel request possibly, but only then with the strength of the truth will they know of what metal [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] is made from.

[member="Thyrian Hearthfire"] ​

 

[Thyrian Hearthfire]

Not getting a straight answer from her, Thyrian wrapped his hands around the grip of the freshly-forged sword, still warm to the touch and brimming with energy. In the flat surface of the blade he saw his likeness staring back at him, fires burning brightly in his eyes. He could only stomach himself for so long, and the blade was lowered. He looked to Théo resting in Arnor's tree-trunk arms. What was the point in giving up on his guilt, only to given it anew?

Wrapping the sword in his own fur cloak, Thyrian heeded the Queen's words and left to find his brother. But not before placing a hand upon his nephew's forehead. "Foolish child," he whispered. Arnor then went with Ióunn to lay Théo to rest within her chambers inside the palace, leaving Thyrian with the unhappy duty to inform the lad's father.

He located their assigned guest lodge not far from the palace. Thurion was sitting just outside, asleep in a chair tucked inside a blanket. Upon approach, Thyrian's heart sank even further when he saw just how much older and weakened his little brother looked, being slowly sapped of his strength. In this light, upon close inspection, he looked almost malnourished. "B... B-brother," he settled a hand on Thurion's shoulder, giving him a gentle shake to stir him from his slumber. Weary eyes opened, one blue like the skies and one milky-white and dead. And yet the man smiled when he saw his older brother.

"Thyrian..." He placed his hand upon his elder's. "Hello." The King could not muster a smile of his own. "What're you..."

"I must ask you to come with me. It's urgent. Are you well enough to walk?" He would carry him if need be, like the old days. "Where is Coci?"

"She took Thirdas out shooting earlier. Wanted to see how good he's become," he replied while pushing off the armrests of his chair, only to stumble into his brother's arms. "Thyrian, what's wrong?"

"You'll see for yourself." It was a slow walk up to the Woodland Palace, where guards flanked the entrance who pointed the way to the Queen's chambers, knowing to expect the pair. By now Thurion was able to carry his own weight, and so Thyrian stepped aside with his head lowered, wearing his shame on his sleeve. Realising what lay beyond this door was the source of his brother's concern, Thurion timidly pushed it open.

There, on the Queen's own bed, lay the unconscious body of his firstborn. The Queen herself was there, along with Arnor. His initial reaction was an audible gasp, soon followed by scolding looks at those in the room as if they were somehow to blame. Suddenly his stride improved significantly as he approached the bed, caring not to greet either of the two but instead focusing solely on his boy. "Théodred..." He knelt at his bedside, running his fingers through his black locks, leaning in close to inspect his state. He was still alive, at the very least. "What is the meaning of this? Why-- I couldn't sense his presence on the way here. W-why can't I sense him?"

When no answer came, Thurion stood and glared at those in the room. "Tell me what happened to him!" Thyrian entered the room. "Thurion... It was my fault. Each of us had to make a sacrifice, and... I should have stopped him."

"The hell do you mean, 'sacrifice'? Sacrifice for what?!" Thyrian's gaze wandered to that of Ióunn's for a moment, then back at his brother. "For you," he began unwrapping the sword, letting the fur fall to the floor. "For this."

Thurion blinked as he laid eyes upon the re-forged Snowfall, the same yet different at the same time. Thyrian bowed his head as he presented the grip of the sword to his younger brother. "Take the sword, Thurion. Please. Or Théodred's sacrifice was made in vain."

[member="Ióunn Galadorn"]​

 

[Ióunn Ar-Olwa]

Théo, in his unconscious state, was at peace. There were no troubled visions or images to plague his mind, just a sense of a void. It was not threatening or harmless, it was not a happy state either, just nothing. Deep down thought, he knew he did not want to stay, this is not where he was meant to be.

Ióunn stepped forward and stood next to Thurion and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. But her words were not meant for him, as her eyes found that of her father, Thyrian. “Théodred gave up a life, that was his gift to his father, you could not have stopped him in that state for he was too powerful and would have destroyed you. You have no right to feel guilt, it is not yours to own”. Thyrian Hearthfire, needs to learn a lesson that not everything that people do is his doing, if he truly wants to be free of guilt, he must let go of his need to feel it. Only then can he be free.

She looked down into the cursed face of Thurion, kneeling by his sons’ bed, “He gave the life that you gave him freely, without hesitation. He has the loyalty of a Stag, the strength of a mountain, and the heart of a lion, did you not give him these qualities?”.

“Take up the sword now re-forged, take up Anarion, the blade forged with the power of Midvinter”. She stepped back to give him room, for now was the time to test the loyalty, strength and heart of the father, in the name of the son.

“Nosse, akh, kaane”, the way is now open to Thurion, if only he can see it, if he has the strength to take it up.

[member="Thurion Heavenshield"] ​

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

Thurion knew not of these things the Aelvar Queen spoke of, having been in the dark about the re-forging of Snowfall and the ceremonial process of it all. But if what she says is true, then the only way Théo may be brought back is to take up his old comrade once more. There was no point in throwing accusations left and right, such are not his ways. It was the Crone's madness that had made itself known, twisting his mind with temporary paranoia.

"Anarion..." he repeated the name, trembling fingers reaching for the sword offered to him by his brother and king. His fingertips touched the pommel, then followed the extended grip down towards the cross-guard, inspecting the exquisite details and craftmanship. Already he sensed the power imbued within the blade, practically humming to his strong connection with the Force. Then finally his fingers wrapped around the grip and held it aloft with both hands, and while his eyes fell upon the inscriptions on the fuller he was could already feel years falling from his face and shoulders as the powers of Midvinter flowed through his entire being. Even his hair, having lost its natural sheen and turned noticably more grey over the last few years, was brought back to life and made gold once more. The scars on his face remained however, and his eye remained lost.

By the time the surge in strength was over, Thurion stood tall and strong before the three, Anarion having brought him back to life. When he spoke, there was no hint of weakness in his voice. "This sword... I can feel its power battle the Crone's poison inside me. I no longer hear the mad cackles, or her claws digging into the back of my head." Not a cure, but a means to stay the curse.

His brother stepped forward and their eyes met. "There is the man I know, little brother," he said as the two embraced. "The man I hold higher than even our father," At the end of their brotherly embrace, he placed a kiss upon his elder's forehead.

It was time to deal with the incapacitated state of his firstborn. With this newfound strength Thurion leaned over Théo's body, pressing his thumbs to his forehead and heart respectively; the latter he felt still beating inside his chest, giving him further confidence. His eyes closed, and so his own consciousness passed into the realm of nothingness in search of his son. It was pitch black, yet peaceful in its non-existence. Locating Théodred was not difficult, for he was all there was within this place.

"Théodred. My son." Walking up to his boy, Thurion placed a hand upon his shoulder. His words were neither scolding nor loving. "What you have done for me was irresponsible, rash, and dangerous. You would leave your own wife and daughter without husband and father, for the sake of saving your own father? This is not what I wanted; I would never want this from you. No parent should have to bury their child. But your sacrifice has not been in vain, and now it is my turn to save you." Théo was unresponsive, just as his body in the material world. But Thurion took him by the hand, and felt a very slight squeeze in return. He smiled. "Come now, my child. Let us leave this place and never return. There is more for us to do..."

The scene pulled back, the infinite black void faded away and was replaced by the surroundings of the Queen's chambers, and their consciousness was returned to their respective bodies. The entire process had taken but a few seconds in the real world.

Thurion caressed his son's locks and leaned down to place his forehead against Théo's, to greet him as he opened his eyes.

[member="Théodred Heavenshield"]​

 

[Théodred Heavenshield]

Within the void came a light, brightly. His father’s face appeared before him, not the face of the cursed, but that of the man he knew as father. Strong and powerful, determined with a hint of displeasure, it was the face he had always known as a child, especially after doing something his father was not pleased with. To those that watched his body laying on the bed would see a hint of a smile on Théo’s lips.

“To give one’s life for the life of another is the Jedi way father, no matter whose life you save”. No matter how you save it.

Théo’s chest raised as he pulled in a deep breath, his eyes fluttering open only to be greeted by that of his fathers looking deeply within his own. It was obvious to Théo, that their trails and sacrifices had worked, at least in part for now. Yes, there was still much to do, for all of them and that day would come soon. He had a feeling that what they had done had not gone unnoticed by the Gods, all of them. One in particular would not be happy.

His body felt strong, as did his mind, but now no longer connected to the force, he felt the void in his centre which would take some time to get used to. Théo was not saddened by the loss of it, he would do it again, if it meant his father would prevail, but one is man with it, nor a leader that is not what is at the centre of his being. There was more to him than that.

“I live Papa, and I am strong”, he assured him that everything would be alright. Although his head was a little light, he pushed back the covers and placed his feet on the ground before looking around the room at the others, until finally falling of the Anarion in his father’s hand.

“Don’t break it this time”, and the mischievous grin widened.

the end​

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[member="Thurion Heavenshield"]​