Hiranneth

A tale of a Beorning and an Elf of Gondolin, and the cost of their devotion admist the fall of Arda.

Gotta push that Kataang narrative forward somehow.

In the original script, its been confirmed that katara [at the end of the movie] was gonna tell Aang she was pregnant after all. (Which makes sense why they cut it out, bc then it would remove the importance of the entire plot anyway?) Yikes.

Was rewatching ATLA, and just realised this lil detail. Is that a dragon crown? Hmm....very interesting choice on the animators' part 😉 *strokes beard*

It was after the war that you realised you’d forgotten what the sea looked like.

The sharp sting of saline, the churling of waves crashing against the shoreline. The feel of wet sand and how the small grains seemed endless within your fingertips. These were the things that you knew. Things that you could hear, smell and touch.

Yet, you desperately wanted to remember what the sea looked like. At that moment, you wanted nothing more in the entire world.

You had sat there, alone, thinking back to when your papa had described it to you. It was blue, he’d said.

What kind of blue? You’d asked. You tried to picture it in your mind. A sharp, bright cobalt. Like glittering deep light against the darkness.

It wasn’t a sky blue, but a rich blue. Like the feel of velvet in your hands. Or the taste of heavy, dathomirian spices on your tongue.

“Your intuition will never fail you, sweetling. Always trust in it.”

After the war had ended, you were alone. Your papa, despite swearing that he’d never leave you, had gone. Your uncle had promised to return hours ago.

Despair - old and familiar and wretched - had gripped tightly and wouldn’t let go.

You stretched your fingers out, down towards your lap and to the lapels of your pockets. Reaching inside, you pulled out a small stone and cradled it softly.

Where was your uncle?

He said he would return at noon yet Mos Eisley’s tower clock chimed for the third time that day. It was now midnight. You could not see, yet you felt the cool, desert night air sink through the window’s rafters.

You bit your lip, distractedly smoothing your fingertips over the ridges of the stone. At the far tip was a small, sharp edge that widened into a jagged base.

For a fake, it felt priceless in your touch.

“It was said to be a great jewel of the gods,” Kol said. “Passed down through thousands of years into the hands of those susceptible to its power.”

Kol was your father’s employer - the head of Chandrila’s museum department. His voice was haughty and stoic. You imagined him with an elongated nose and a marvellously large moustache. He walked with a pronounced limp.

And, like many other Chandrilans, Kol never assumed the Galactic Empire would reach the core worlds. He’d thought that the museum’s artefacts were protected, that they’d be spared the atrocities that tormented other people.

Yet, Chandrila, your homeland, had ultimately fallen into the hands of the enemy. Papa had been given the stone, and ordered to flee the planet.

“I will see you both after the war,” Kol had said. You’d overheard him exchange small words with your papa. “Keep an eye on your daughter. She may be blind, but the little chit sees a lot more than we do.” Kol had laughed, yet your papa had remained gravely silent.

Silence had followed you both to Tatooine. Papa had promised life in Mos Eisley would be fun. And that you both would return to Chandrila after the war ended.

He’d lied. He’d lied consistently and without remorse.

Your hands wandered the familiar planes of the stone - had your papa lied about that too? Was it real?

Perhaps it never was a decoy, and you held a priceless, age-old gem within your fingertips. One that the enemy would never stop searching for.

Outside the window of your uncles’ flat, the sound of a high-pitched scream echoed down the street.

Your heart pounded.

Had they found you?

Had they taken your beloved uncle like they had your papa?

***