Drabbles: Elves through the Ages

Luceo, Non Uro? – When Fires Burn and Lights Go Out

All words were lost now.

She knelt in front of him. She reached for his hand. She wanted to beg and plead – if not for herself, at least for her sons.

But no words would come to her.
Nor tears. (Not yet.)

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze. She searched for the fire she knew so well, from long labour and longer love, shared and shared again. She reached for the spirit that had once held her spell-bound.

But there was no more magic.
Nor fire.

She found him subdued, defeated, withdrawn. A mere shell of the fiery spirit she had loved. He did not meet her gaze, instead looked down on the joined light of their wedding rings. The light, reflected on his armour, made it glitter in the blood-red flare of the torches. He did not move. He did not take her hand. He did not cry.

He would leave her.

He would leave with his head held high, with his eyes blazing, his expression stern, his posture unyielding.

His spirit filled with fire once more.
A fell fire.

A fire that would burn his heart.

And the lights of their rings would shine no more.

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