Disclaimer: Valdemar and concepts belong to Mercedes Lackey, and this fic and Original Characters belong to their author.
Notes: A birthday ficcy for my favorite kitty. So! —cat requested an "ethereal and angsty fic of [my] own choosing", and Reality is the result. Watch Sena give Valdemar a horribly bleak and somewhat disturbing AU future, now! (Again!) In first-person-present-tense no less! WHOOT!
Happy {Belated} Birthday –cat!
REALITY
By Senashenta
In this day and age, Companions are viewed as little more respect than ordinary horses. Certainly, we aren't loved and admired and revered as we once were—and we haven't been in a long, long time. Since the Third Age of Valdemar began, and Mind Gifts began to fade into the recesses of History, taking Heralds and everything that we once stood for with them.
Since the great Betrayal—an event that all of us would like to forget, but also one that none of us can escape.
We are no longer creatures of wonder. We are no longer what we used to be.
We are tainted, and always will be.
It's a sad truth, but a truth nonetheless, and the harsh reality behind it can be viewed all around me—look, that woman who turns her daughter away from me as I pass. That man who sneers in my direction when he sees me. The children who laugh and point, but not in the way they would have in centuries past.
There are very few of us left, where once our kind numbered into the hundreds, and the Herd that we used to reside in no longer exists. The last Grove Born to have graced the world was Kyrith—and when he died, nearly a hundred years ago and long before my time in this world, no other Stallion rose in his place.
The Grove has been still and silent ever since, as if the Havens have abandoned us—and, in turn, most of us have abandoned the Capital. Now, for the most part, we are wanderers, drifting across the lands in search of a time long gone, but with no way of resurrecting the past.
We have no purpose, no reason for being. The Calling that our kind once lived for is now so rare as to have become almost an impossibility.
And yet here I am, wandering the crowded streets of Haven, following a slow, deliberate tug in the back of my mind.
What are you doing? Asha, you're an idiot…
The scornful stares of the people I pass in the street burn into my hide and I want to flinch, but somehow I can't find the strength of will to do so.
How did we become so hated? I don't really understand… the coming of the Third Age was long before my time, so I know only the stories from when I was younger—tales of what were almost the last remnants of Gifts, and of a traitor who doomed us all through his actions, even though those actions were fueled by the best of intentions.
My crystal eyes drifts across face after face as I wander the city aimlessly—searching for something I don't even know if I'll recognize—and only scathing looks and barely concealed anger meet my gaze.
:Please.:
I blink slowly at the Voice, stopping in my tracks and standing in the middle of the road. Around me, people mutter and curse under their breaths—one man shoves past my shoulder, knocking my head to the side a bit, but for the most part they all skirt around me, avoiding touching me entirely, as if I am the carrier of some terrible disease.
When I move to turn my head back around after the man moves on, my eyes light on the source of the Mindvoice, and I stare for a long moment, caught between shock, disbelief and horror as I manage to stammer out; :K—Ki—Kirsi!:
Whether people in the past believed it or not, it is possible to stutter in Mindspeech. Very possible.
:Asha, please tell me you aren't On Search. Please…:
He is looking at me with pleading in his eyes, his head turned to regard me from where he is standing, hitched to a carriage as if he were a common palfrey. In fact, the place beside him in the harness is filled by just that—a delicate bay mare with an arching neck of distinctly and obviously purebred lineage.
Kirsi is my friend, albeit one that I haven't seen in a long time. He and I used to play together, in the forests of the Pelagir near White Foal Pass, where we were born and grew from colts, and before we both struck out to drift across Velgarth as we knew most of our kind did.
I haven't seen him for nearly two years, and yet here he is…
I can barely get past my shock to respond. :Kirsi… you… but… I mean, yes, I am… at least, I think I am…:
:Oh Asha… no… you know better…:
It's not as if I have a choice in the matter, despite the fact that we use the term "Choose" in regards to the person we are to be Bonded to, but I don't bother to point that out to him. Instead I step out into the cobblestone street, checking for oncoming traffic as I do so—given the way people around here are eyeing me, I have serious doubts that I would be given the right-of-way if someone was heading in my direction—and make my way over to where Kirsi is standing.
The owner of the carriage is nowhere to be seen, but it is parked roughly outside the front door of a local tavern, so I can only assume that he—or she—is inside. Kirsi's eyes focus on me again as I pause next to him, and the bay mare tips her head toward me, eyeing me with obvious suspicion-tinged curiosity.
:Kirsi, what—?:
His Voice is downcast, his expression somewhat pained, tinged with shame. :It keeps me fed, Asha, and warm at night. I'm given food and a place in the stables with Andrea, here…:
I see.
I had heard, yes, that Companions sometimes resorted to the like of pulling carriages. Simple work. Menial work. The work of a beast of burden. But, as Kirsi says, such a low position will guarantee you food and shelter, if not freedom, and to some that is enough to justify that kind of a life.
:Asha,: he whispers, his tone guarded, sad, pleading, :you can't be On Search—you can't!:
What can I say to him?
How can I possibly explain the pull in my mind, which has driven me from my meandering ways and lead me here to Haven?
It's like I can feel a part of my own soul, which has been missing ever since I was born. It's like I know where to find it now, and that I will never be complete without it. It's like I wasn't even alive until two weeks ago, when the strange tingling began to invade my brain and direct my wandering hooves.
I say none of these things to Kirsi, and instead bow my head toward the ground, sighing. :I can't help it, Kirsi… you know that.:
:There is not such thing as Searching anymore.: He responds almost bitterly. :There are no Heralds… we are barely even Companions anymore.: I know he doesn't mean to hurt me, but I can't help buy lay my ears back when he continues softly; :even if you find the person you are Searching for, they won't take you… you'll have to repudiate them, just like all the others.:
Before, during the light ages, when Companions were celebrated and sought after, repudiation was all but unheard of—it happened only three times in the thousands of years since Baron Valdemar founded this land until the Third Age began, but since then that number has spiraled up and out of control.
Most Chosen are repudiated than not, now, though it isn't by their Companion's choosing.
The words that were once held in silence and kept for only the gravest of situations are commonplace; "I do not know you… you are not my Chosen."
These words, first spoken by the Companion Gala in the ancient times, were to be feared and avoided at all costs—many of our kind did not even know the precise phrasing of those sad, sacred words. Now, we all know them, and we know that, should the miracle of miracles occur and we actually feel the Call, we will more likely than not be required to speak them.
:I don't even know who I'm looking for.: I murmur finally. :All I know is that I have to be here…:
:Asha…:
:I'm sorry, Kirsi… but…:
Resignation enters his eyes, along with sympathy. :I know.:
We both lapse into silence once more, and beside Kirsi, the thinly-boned mare named Andrea stamps restlessly and swishes her tail, gazing around her with bright but largely stupid eyes. Around us, the gazes of the people who traverse the street seem unable to hold on two Companions at once, for all of them are avoiding looking at us.
:I—I need to go.: Gods, how I miss him. I miss his voice, his laughter, having him to chat with and play with and share my worries with. But I can't stand to see him like this, and I know that he feels the same about me. :Kirsi, take care of yourself and—:
Wait.
Listen…
What is that?
My sentence trails off and my ears cock slightly.
A soft whisper against my mind.
Then, louder…
There.
But there's something wrong.
There's something…
:Asha!:
I don't even realize I've begun to back up, fleeing an impending sense of incoherent dread, until Kirsi shouts my name, eyes wide and straining slightly against his harness as if he means to physically stop me. His voice brings me swimming back to the surface of my own mind just in time to hear a man's voice shout loudly, angrily—and I jump, startled, and spin around toward the source of the sound.
My movement, luckily, shifted me back far enough that the oncoming carriage only clips my haunch, skimming painfully across my skin and shoving me back toward Kirsi, making my hooves screech against the ground beneath me.
The driver shouts obscenities at me over his shoulder as I stand to the side and shake off the numbing pain of the impact, testing my right hind leg against the road—
—and then I suddenly realize that I'm moving, my body heading purposefully in the direction of the Collegium, and Kirsi is calling after me worriedly, but there is something else—something far more important—that propels me forward, giving speed to my steps as I move from a walk to a trot and then into a canter.
Something…
The Collegium, which used to house the Heraldic-Trainees, as well as the Bardic and Healers, is now a private academy for Haven's students. It encompasses all levels of education from small children into young adults, but in essence they are all what would have at one time been referred to as "Blues".
Few of them are Gifted, few of the ones who are Gifted realize that fact, none of them are trained to use their talents.
Even though I have never been to the Collegium—during the time of Heralds or now—I can't help but feel a sense of loss at the thought of such wasted potential. It makes a deep, almost hidden part of my heart weep.
Something…
I'm running now, my hooves chiming loudly against the ground beneath me, my ears perked, my mane and tail flying, and it's as if I don't have any control over my own body—where I'm going, and how fast I'm getting there. I can feel, though, I'm racing for a reason—
Linton.
That's the name. That's her name.
I skirt a lamppost and half-leap over a little long-haired dog with an annoying bark that seems determined to get underfoot as I approach. The dog yelps out of fear as I pass, and skitters back toward the house where it lives, making it's owner shriek something indignant at me even as I'm fading from her sight.
Linton Peters.
And goodness, she's an Empath I think!
The cobblestones beneath my hooves make way for flat paving as I approach the Collegium gates, and my gait shifts from a canter into what can almost be called a gallop. My nostrils flare, taking in the scent of the institution in front of me, and my ears swivel to catch sounds on all sides of me as people mutter and gossip and point and stare.
What is that?
Sounds of a scuffle, and ahead of me I can see a handful of youths gathering around something—around someone.
I know who it is without even seeing her, and I know that they are not treating her well.
My head lifts, bobbing as I run, and my gait shifts until I am as loud as possible as I run. My hooves slam downward at an odd angle that jars my legs and makes my knees ache, but it pulls their attention from the person they are picking on and makes them turn to stare in my direction as I approach.
I slow to a jerking stop three feet away from the nearest one, my sapphire gaze drifting slowly around the scene, taking in everything—four boys and two girls wearing Collegium uniforms, and a third girl, kneeling on the ground and seeming about to cry, papers and books scattered everywhere, her hair mussed and painful looking scrapes and bruises beginning to darken her lower arms and her face.
Harmless bullying and teasing that isn't all that harmless.
My expression hardens and I glare around me at the other teenagers.
They stare right back, eyes wide.
I snort loudly and stamp a hoof.
Silence… then the nearest boy backs up a step, turning, and heads toward the Collegium gates. The others follow, boots and shoes scuffling over the other girl's papers, kicking absently at her books as they pass, and I can't help but glare at their backs, wishing there was something I could do to punish them for their cruelty.
Instead, I turn my attention to her.
Wide chocolate brown eyes return my stare. Beautiful eyes, hidden behind thick glasses and brimming with tears and what looks like fear.
:Linton.:
I feel joy for the first time in my life. Real joy! Pure, unbridled, wonderful joy that lightens my heart and fills me with laughter and love and light.
:Linton Peters, my name is Asha…:
Her lower lip is quivering. There's something wrong. I continue anyway.
:…and you are my Chosen.:
The Bond forms on my words, even as she drops the textbook she was holding. Suddenly I can feel everything with horrible clarity—terror, despair, denial, shame. Gods, she's ashamed. Ashamed to have been Chosen. Ashamed of me.
I feel the joy that was overflowing inside of me evaporate in an instant, and I lower my head to look into her eyes.
Maybe if I talk to her—maybe if she sees me for who and what I am—
:Linton—:
"No."
She shatters my hope with a single syllable.
"Go away. Leave me alone."
Gods. Please Gods, no. Please.
:Chosen, please…:
"No, I said!" She clambers to her feet, shaking her head furiously, curly brown hair flying in all directions, and takes two short steps away from me. "Just leave me alone."
I'm going to die. My heart is going to burst with silent tears.
:I can't…:
"Find someone else to bother!"
She turns her back on me, leaving her books on the ground at my feet.
:Please…:
I watch her walk away, hands clenched at her sides, and I want to follow her—but I won't. In my heart, in my soul, in my mind, I know that she means what she said. Despite the Bond between us, she hates me—hates me just for being what I am, and that kills me inside.
She reaches the gates and passes through them. She might as well have walked into another world.
Gods… Havens, please…
I watch until I can no longer see her, but she doesn't even spare a backward glance. Indeed, even her mind is completely shut to me, shields and doors closed and barred, locking me out completely. She doesn't want me. She doesn't love me.
She never will.
I speak the words to free us both.
:I do not know you,: I whisper softly into the wind, and my heart breaks on the words; :you are not my Chosen.:
Like so many others in recent years, my world has been shattered, and will never be complete again.
Harsh as it is, this is my reality.