Blame this one on Shakespeare for making me write around him rather than on him. Apparently, it makes me allegorical.
In my defense, it is rather short.
Pairing: None (gen)
Spoilers: Um… metaphorical ones? Even those are vague.
Feedback: Is snuggled like a firstborn child. Even if it's ugly.
Summary: The sea and the sky speak. Life happens.
It began with fire. Most things do.
The sky said to the sea, ‘It’s okay. I have you.’
It lied, of course, like all good things. It meant the truth, which counts more. The sea was too small to know the words, and only knew the real. The sky held the sea, and the land held them both, and they were the world.
The fire was warmth and fear, and the sea could never look at it for long. There were sometimes shapes in the flames that were right, but only ever cold ashes after.
The land was solid and strong, mostly. Sometimes it moved, and sometimes it shifted without warning, but never so far that the sea lost the feel of it. The coastlines were ragged, but familiar.
The sky stayed in place, always. Where it met the sea it shaped it. Sometimes gently, sometimes not. They played and roughed and pushed, and were better for it. They whispered, and were better for that, too.
One day, the sea began to notice its borders. The land defined its edges, and the coasts that were sturdy and good before began to chafe. They were safe, in their own fashion, which pleased the land but not the sea. The sea pushed and bit, and the land pulled itself too tight around the rebellious waters. They became harsh to one another, and too distant in their collision. The sky could never hold them apart long enough.
The sea said to the sky, ‘I’m gone.’
It pulled deep into itself, down as far as it could go. It found things new and strange and wonderful. It teased through bright fishes, lay quiet among tall reeds, spoke to cetaceans and seals with wide, sweet eyes. If it sometimes saw the dark shadows and large teeth, they were never too close to ignore.
The sea closed its eyes.
The land still lay around and below it, so obvious and ancient it passed unnoticed. The sky stole through it, little breaths that appeared in the oddest moments. The sky stole pieces of the sea, too, and kept them hidden carefully. Only when the sea looked away, though, so that it might never know.
The sea did not go far enough
The fire came and went, and took the soft eyes and soft smiles with it. The sky was faster but not stronger, and could not save these things. It kept the sea, though, and held.
They did not know one another. The sky seemed without substance now. The sea had new paths and currents. The sky could not see below to map them, but it knew of the shadows. When the sea turned its head, the sky gave back the pieces it had kept, each drop a strength. The sea learned the patterns of the wind, slowly.
The dragons came, fierce and terrible. The sky could twist them and turn them, and the sea could hold them under, and none were a match for both. They began to whisper again, and to sometimes need no words. They knew. The sea had forgotten this language beyond even the missing of it. The sky had not.
Mostly it was good.
The sea and the sky searched far for the land, fearing it gone. It hid from and for them, until the bright sun brought it clear. The land and the sea met carefully, unsure and glad. The sky stood beside them rather than between. It was a strange peace.
But water and air cannot move as earth, and they parted again for a time.
It ends with a whimper and a bang. The rest is silence.
The sky throws forth lightening, and the sea batters furiously, patient with fate. The land brings the jagged edges of its mountains and the darkness of its caverns. It is the fire which ends itself, finally. The warmth wraps long, graceful fingers around the throat of the fear, grasps until there is no more of either.
It is so very quiet, this coming of the light.
The land is still at last. The sky falls. The sea waits below, and holds fast. It gentles, and carries, and washes the wounds. When there is clarity, it is only for them. Each forms the boundary of the other, remembers the right curve to the wave and the right speed of the wind until they are remade. For the first time, they are calm.
There are still dragons. The sky fights them, as always, and the sea follows, as sometimes. The sky waits for the empty place where the sea once was to be again. It is a long wait. Finally, the sky looks for those things the sea has always wanted, and those things the sea has always needed, and doesn't see them. The sea smiles, its depths clear.
The sea says to the sky, ‘It’s okay. I have you,’ and this is the truth.