Mercverse
Mercverse drabble
Still the Squall/elf storyline.
The city wasn’t so bad, full of humans and a few demons and more than a few half breeds, but they were simply people to his eyes. What drove Squall out of the city more often then not wasn’t the residents, but the lack of green. His kind, more than even the Cetra perhaps, were tied to the earth and it’s cycles. The Cetra, in as much as he knew, were actually non-natives. But the elves had been born of the planet and would die with it.
They were dying already.
It wasn’t something they talked about, he and Cloud, but it was there just the same. The blond was immortal and would outlive probably anyone. A strange reversal to Squall, whose own natural lifespan was so much longer than a humans. But it wasn’t Cloud’s eternal youth that drove a silent wedge between them, it was Squall’s.
Sitting at the base of an old oak, the brunette pondered what he would say when the time came. He was young for his people, a child really, but his exile had forced him to mature. That was another thing they did not discuss, though Cloud had tried more than once to pry the tale from him.
The elf did not like thinking about death. It was the end of hope after all. If it were not for his conscious he would ignore the matter until forced to act. Cloud deserved more than that though. The blond had taken him in, saved his life, and given him a home. He deserved Squall’s honesty about the situation. If only it were an easy thing to say.
The elves as a race had been dying out for centuries, every generation bearing fewer and fewer offspring. There were not enough left to sustain a breeding population. It was only a matter of time really. The cause was unknown, but even the eldest of the elders agreed that it probably had something to do with the forceful isolation kept among the clans. No one wanted to mingle with humans and their ilk, no one would dare choose to live with them, and the act of breeding to a lesser race was punishable by death for both parent and infant.
Squall’s own exile had cost his family dearly. He was the last born to both parents, the only surviving and viable heir. Now their lines would end with dishonor and disgrace.
Your father misses you. He cryes at night to the willows on the bank.
Don’t tell him where I am, the fool may take it upon himself to follow me and he is not strong enough to survive the trip. The longer he holds on to heartache the worse he will become.
I have not said anything, but the world knows where you are, as it knows where all it’s children dwell.
Is that… a warning grandfather?
The oak fell silent again and Squall felt a ripple of unease. Who would search for an exiled one? For what reasons? There were so many things he did not understand now that he was so far from home. The humans had hunted him, Cloud had saved him, the oak was speaking in riddles…
With a sigh he got up and bid farewell to the old tree, heading back to the city with it’s walls and steel and saltpeter bearing thugs. Maybe he would have the courage and words to tell Cloud the truth. That he didn’t have four or five hundred years to spend with the blond, but only a handful, a hundred if he was very lucky indeed. Or maybe they would fall into their silence again. He wasn’t sure which one he hoped for.
Still the Squall/elf storyline.
The city wasn’t so bad, full of humans and a few demons and more than a few half breeds, but they were simply people to his eyes. What drove Squall out of the city more often then not wasn’t the residents, but the lack of green. His kind, more than even the Cetra perhaps, were tied to the earth and it’s cycles. The Cetra, in as much as he knew, were actually non-natives. But the elves had been born of the planet and would die with it.
They were dying already.
It wasn’t something they talked about, he and Cloud, but it was there just the same. The blond was immortal and would outlive probably anyone. A strange reversal to Squall, whose own natural lifespan was so much longer than a humans. But it wasn’t Cloud’s eternal youth that drove a silent wedge between them, it was Squall’s.
Sitting at the base of an old oak, the brunette pondered what he would say when the time came. He was young for his people, a child really, but his exile had forced him to mature. That was another thing they did not discuss, though Cloud had tried more than once to pry the tale from him.
The elf did not like thinking about death. It was the end of hope after all. If it were not for his conscious he would ignore the matter until forced to act. Cloud deserved more than that though. The blond had taken him in, saved his life, and given him a home. He deserved Squall’s honesty about the situation. If only it were an easy thing to say.
The elves as a race had been dying out for centuries, every generation bearing fewer and fewer offspring. There were not enough left to sustain a breeding population. It was only a matter of time really. The cause was unknown, but even the eldest of the elders agreed that it probably had something to do with the forceful isolation kept among the clans. No one wanted to mingle with humans and their ilk, no one would dare choose to live with them, and the act of breeding to a lesser race was punishable by death for both parent and infant.
Squall’s own exile had cost his family dearly. He was the last born to both parents, the only surviving and viable heir. Now their lines would end with dishonor and disgrace.
Your father misses you. He cryes at night to the willows on the bank.
Don’t tell him where I am, the fool may take it upon himself to follow me and he is not strong enough to survive the trip. The longer he holds on to heartache the worse he will become.
I have not said anything, but the world knows where you are, as it knows where all it’s children dwell.
Is that… a warning grandfather?
The oak fell silent again and Squall felt a ripple of unease. Who would search for an exiled one? For what reasons? There were so many things he did not understand now that he was so far from home. The humans had hunted him, Cloud had saved him, the oak was speaking in riddles…
With a sigh he got up and bid farewell to the old tree, heading back to the city with it’s walls and steel and saltpeter bearing thugs. Maybe he would have the courage and words to tell Cloud the truth. That he didn’t have four or five hundred years to spend with the blond, but only a handful, a hundred if he was very lucky indeed. Or maybe they would fall into their silence again. He wasn’t sure which one he hoped for.