The sun continued to beat down across the vast swathes of green blanketing the countryside. Spring had come, and swiftly moved along. Marigold and tickseed had began to liven up the soft shades of fern, sprouting delightfully through the brush, and the times of summer were beginning to take their gentle hold of the Bree-lands. While the light flourished across the land, a few beads of sweat dripped down a pale forehead, masked only by the straggles of ruffled raven hair that floated gently before it. Via the use of a deft pair of fingers, the beads were swathed across his skin, nestling gently above the shadow of Dagramir's brow, as he adjusted his grip upon his axe. With a measured coil, and subsequent swing, that final blow of metal upon wood was enough to splinter the base of the ash he had been focused upon, and the tree steadily arced towards the ground, landing with a rather magnificent thud as it nestled neatly between two adjacent.
The young Gondorian had seemingly lost track of time during his self-inflicted sabbatical. It had been a long time since those azure eyes had laid their gaze upon the expert silver sigil that denoted him a Sergeant of the Bloody Dawn, yet it still sat faithfully in his pocket. Truth be told, Dagramir didn't know when he would ever pin the object back onto his breast once more. It seemed an age ago that he had found his way to the office of the Raven. His eyes having nestled upon the forming bump that had protruded from beneath her preferred black attire. A sharp measure of disbelief upon his discovery that the babe that had lain within was indeed of his own seed. There was a bountiful amount of history that he could not gander through. Wounds that had not quite seared shut upon his flesh. Instead of dedicating himself to the life of the child, as he had done so rather foolishly in a time long past, he decided it was more prudent that, upon his return, he reclaimed the throne he had sat once upon as the once-famed Black Viper. If he was going to return to the fare town of Bree, to face those that he had not seen in a manner of seasons, he wanted to do so on his own terms.
That, however, was over a month ago.
As each sun rose upon the horizon in the morn, Dagramir had began to realize that he had fooled even himself with that last deception. There was no glorious return for an idol that continued to lay a good measure beneath the dirt. Those he had once seen as personal allies had long since abandoned the quaint town for pastures new; or, indeed, never made it out of the gates with breath still in their bodies. The family he had once harboured at the Dawn had never seemed so far away, from his own merit. For a time in solitude, confined to the wonder and beauty of the forests covering the Bree-lands, had shown him that perhaps the only person he needed was himself. For once, such a solitude had not come with great costs, nor had he searched for the soul he had lost many moons ago; for once he felt at peace. Alone. With naught but the breeze, and the occasional disturbance of the local wildlife, to keep him company. Such a peace was not to last forever, of course. Even he knew that is own talents of expert digits, and a tongue positively tainted with silver, were being dulled out in the serenity of nature. He was not a man born for the wilderness, but he had certainly forged himself a stature anew.
Waiting for him beyond the hedge-walls of Bree, whether he liked it or not, was a reality that he had been carefully preparing for. Once more, a babe lay out there, somewhere, that bore his spirit. A spatter of his gifted looks. Perhaps even his very eyes. Though it was a babe that he could not call his own. Dark reminders of sharp circumstance were quick to rear their archaic heads. Whispered tales of lies, and deceit, that laced their tendrils deep into the recesses of memory. Tainting once blissful times with subtle notions of malice. Tearing a ragged half between a duo that may very well have once conquered the world with their mere will. Nay. There were trespasses he could not forgive. A code he had beaten through his mind til it lay set in stone, commandments that kept himself alive through the blood and shit the world smeared his way. Over half a year of distance had nestled its way in, and uprooted a bond once iron-strong. In his own mind, in his own spirit, it was time.
While the thought of her laid bare, gazed upon by a faceless shadow, satisfied by the mysterious other, still pulsed frustration through his veins, it was not enough. A love, once ablaze, had dwindled to naught more but scattered embers wistfully coddling to each other. Hope was not enough to salvage what betrayal had burned away. A vitriolic distaste had settled deep within his heart, and a lengthy absence of human contact had done naught but kindle the blaze. For the stretch of a month he could not scrub her beauty from his mind. Everywhere he looked, he would see the Raven dutifully by his side. Beckoning for his safe return. Waiting patiently for the Viper to return to his full prominence. To return 'home.' Yet tonight, as the sun had began to slip below the hills, and the bright blue of the sky above had began to taint into a pleasant array of orange, and purple, he found a small measure of peace. The wood he had collected earlier that day had burned nicely upon the campfire before him. His arching features lit up by beautiful, flickering swathes of red. Deep within the core of the flames, for the first night in what was paramount to the rotation of a year, he did not see the bright light of archaic elegance. He saw nothing, in fact, but the flames themselves.
And how beautiful they looked on a night such as this.
He knew very well that in his absence the vultures had already picked his once proud legacy down to the bones. His former moniker a carcass laid bare for the world to ignore. It was time he, himself, ignored. The silence, the irrelevant, the weakness. It was time he made right upon his prior self-deception. If he was to return to his self-made prominence of yore he truly did need to burn what once was.
To redesign himself in his own image.
To rebuild upon the ashes of what had once held him back.
To reclaim all that was rightfully his...
His eyes twitched for a moment, before he tilted his head to the left. Scanning past the cover of the trees, he could see the faint illumination of Bree not too far away. The lanterns and candles lit within each home slowly being blown out as families took to their beds. The perfect time for a man suffering from a certain case of insomnia to make his return. Scanning back to the flames, he blinked a few times more, before settling on his final decision. The time had come to stop cowering in the shadows he had once reigned a monarch, afraid of what might be and what would be waiting for him. He would make his own destiny from this point forwards. Uncapping his flask, he doused the flames afore him with an unhealthy amount of water. Crushing the last of the muted cinder specks beneath his leathered boot; he gathered his things back into his pack, and slung it over his shoulder.
While he was no poet, he knew how to weave words in his own form.
While he had his own concept of faith, he was no saviour of all that is good and holy.
He sinned his way through life for the sake of it. For a life ventured any other way would be a life that was wasted, in his own crude estimations. His had always been of a dark creation. For years he had done his best to work towards what he believed was right. Sacrificing his own livelihood for the name of what was 'good'. Bleeding an obscene amount of crimson onto forgettable cobbles for a family that he had nothing to show from. His quest to find the light had ended in a way even he had not foreseen. For he had been cut from the same cloth as his father. While he had made it his ambition to prove fate wrong, it had all seemed rather fruitless in the end. His honour, as it turned out, had been buried long ago beside the graves of his wife and daughter.
It was time he remembered who he truly was.
Who he always has been.
...
The Black Viper.
