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There
was a palace, wonderful and wondrous. It
was the site of great struggle and great joy.
It was a palace but also a home, filled with husbands, wives and most
importantly children. Yet there knelt a
man on the ground, screaming in agony, surrounded by his dead family and
friends. Most terrible of all was the
woman that he held close to him, her hair still vibrant as the sun even as her pale,
dead face was locked in her rictus of disbelieving horror. She, like everyone else in the palace, had
died by his hands, for this man had been insane.
Yet he
was no longer mad, as he had been healed.
It was not done kindly, but as a cruel torment done by the gloating man
in black with fire for eyes. This man
was laughing at the kneeling man’s grief.
Yet he stopped laughing when the crying man drew in power, and more
power, and still more power. He held
that power for a brief instant, before letting it go in a torrent. The man in black disappeared before the
release, wanting to see his grief but unable to withstand the grief-stricken
man’s unfettered might. He had nothing
left to live for, and so had no need to hold back. His world was already destroyed, and so he
would usher in the age when everyone’s world would be shattered by the power of
madmen.
The
palace was destroyed in fire and churning, molten earth. And where it once stood rose a mountain,
taller than any other mountain. A cairn
for a lost world, and a lost family.
Harry
Potter watched the death of Lews Therin Telamon, called the Dragon, the Lord of
the Morning, and finally the Kinslayer.
Harry watched and knew himself in Lews Therin.
There
was a palace, wonderful and wondrous. It
was the site of great struggle and great joy.
It was a palace but also a home, filled with husbands, wives and most
importantly children. Yet there knelt a
man on the ground, screaming in agony, surrounded by his dead family and
friends. Most terrible of all was the
woman that he held close to him, her hair still vibrant as the sun even as her pale,
dead face was locked in her rictus of disbelieving horror. She, like everyone else in the palace, had
died by his hands, for this man had been insane.
Yet he
was no longer mad, as he had been healed.
It was not done kindly, but as a cruel torment done by the gloating man
in black with fire for eyes. This man
was laughing at the kneeling man’s grief.
Yet he stopped laughing when the crying man drew in power, and more
power, and still more power. He held
that power for a brief instant, before letting it go in a torrent. The man in black disappeared before the
release, wanting to see his grief but unable to withstand the grief-stricken
man’s unfettered might. He had nothing
left to live for, and so had no need to hold back. His world was already destroyed, and so he
would usher in the age when everyone’s world would be shattered by the power of
madmen.
The
palace was destroyed in fire and churning, molten earth. And where it once stood rose a mountain,
taller than any other mountain. A cairn
for a lost world, and a lost family.
Harry
Potter watched the death of Lews Therin Telamon, called the Dragon, the Lord of
the Morning, and finally the Kinslayer.
Harry watched and knew himself in Lews Therin.