Starblade Triptych

And Still the Storm Approaches

_{And still, the storm approaches.}

_{And there's nothing I can do.}

_{So I wait and I watch}

_{--from Terry Moore's poem, "Something I Can't Hear"}

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Starblade hated waiting.  The sickness that sat in his stomach and the way his vision swam every time a bird called--no matter if it be alarm-call, greeting, hunting.  He hated the not knowing of it all.  His son faced an enemy he knew could never be satisfied with simply killing a person.  And Starblade... waited.

While he hid behind the protective shields of the Apprentice's workshop, Darkwind faced a terrible enemy.  Part of him wanted to run out--of the workshop, of the Vale--to fight, to watch, to at least know how the battle was to go.  The other part quaked with the wondering if the urge to leave was a father's need to protect his son, or some more of His compulsions left in his mind.

So Starblade waited.  And tried not to think of all the horrors He could visit on the son of Starblade--who once was His.  Horrors Starblade knew.  Intimately.  And it was hard, sometimes, to know if it had been the pain or the pleasure that had been worse--had done the most damage.  Darkwind had suggested a new usename; back when all Starblade could do to save his son was cause the lad to hate him.  Iceblade.  Brokenblade.  Yes, he felt broken.  Felt as fractured inside as the broken Heartstone.

Horrifying.  Horrifying, even though he was (mostly) free.  He could see the damage he felt.  He could feel the damage he saw.  And he couldn't heal it.  And he couldn't help Darkwind.  He could only pray that the gryphons and the Outlanders would be enough to keep Darkwind out of His hands.

And wait.  Wait for their return, wait for news--of death, of capture.  Starblade could not bring himself to hope for victory.  That kind of hope would drive him mad.  Starblade knew his son--trusted in his abilities and strength.  But he knew the Enemy, too.  Knew the Adept's strength and powers (what he'd experienced only a fraction of it, he also knew), and he knew His lust and obsession.  And what Starblade knew was almost as bad as what he did not.

So he pressed his forehead to the wood of the wall facing the direction of the ruins and slid down to the floor.  Starblade prayed.  And waited.  It was all he could do.