I was just going through my old archives of fanfic drabble, and I thought I'd just put this one up for you…
This isn't really based anywhere particular in the series, and it is based off my OC, Arkin.
Quick bit of background info, he is/was Lan's Apprentice, an orphan living on the streets until Lan took him in, straightened him out and put him to work, training as a warder in the White Tower…Lan is basically his father figure, and wherever he goes, Arkin goes (including with Moiraine).
Anywho, that should be all you need to know, except that Arkin is kind of unnaturally good at killing people…
Enjoy!
Arkin awoke with a start, and his ears pricked. Sitting up, he cocked his head to the side, closing his eyes once more. Immediately, his other senses sharpened. To his alert hearing, the near-silent movements of what would have to be an Aiel were clear behind his tentflaps. That had been one of Master Lan's harshest lessons. Be aware of your surroundings, even in your sleep. Wincing at memories of pain that had come from forgetting that, Arkin silently stood up and pulled on the nearest trousers he could find by touch. Kandori, he thought. Yanking on a tie, he listened for the Aiel. Their light steps were aided by a light weight. A maiden, surely. He thought it would have to be Sulin or Nandera, at this time of night, the only reason a maiden would be around his tent would be to fetch him for Rand, and those two were always with him. As to which one it was, he would just have to guess.
"Nandera, you can come in, if you want."
Immediately, the footsteps stopped. Whoever was outside, apparently Nandera, had frozen on the spot. A second later, the tentflaps pushed aside to admit the maiden.
Arkin shared a grin with her. He wasn't quite sure why she was laughing, but he wasn't going to complain. He never understood Aiel. He was half-tinker, half-Sea folk. He had ample excuse not to understand the ways of the blight crawlers.
"The Car'a'carn wishes to see you. Now." she said without preamble, seeming not to care that Arkin stood shirtless before her.
He'd gained some respect among the Aiel, one for being the Apprentice of aan'allein, and two for his immense fighting skill.
Obviously that respect didn't extend as far as to see him clothed before meeting with Rand.
Nandera led him through the camp, the pair of them keeping silent so as not to wake anyone as they wove through the tents. Rand slept in a big tent at the top of a hill, overlooking the camp and country, which was clearly visible underneath the magnificent light of a full moon. Rand himself was standing in front of the tent, with a maiden crouching beside the entrance. He looked out towards Illian, with his hands folded behind his back, looking rather thoughtful, beneath his usual hard, impassiveness.
As they approached, Nandera approached the other maiden, flashing handtalk. They both laughed, and Arkin took a bow. He could guess what Nandera had said. That got some more laughter out of them.
Grinning, Arkin turned away from the Aiel, delivering an elaborate bow to the Dragon Reborn. Rand didn't even look, but motioned for him to rise and come over. Straightening quickly, Arkin clasped his hands behind his back and stepped over lightly. People said he looked as though he danced when he walked and jigged when he ran. He was happy with those comparisons.
"So, what brings you to wake me from my bed at this hour?" he asked, patting around Rand's coat until he found the taller man's pipe and tabac. Taking it out, he thumbed the tabac in, tucking the pouch back into Rand's pocket, before looking askance at the Dragon Reborn.
You'd really never think that Arkin was A) a fighting machine, or B) just roused from his bed, hours before dawn.
Rand turned to face the shorter, muscular man with no shirt, and he couldn't help but smile at the intense look Lan's Apprentice was giving the unlit pipe in his mouth. He supposed that was a good thing. Smiling. Everyone smiled around Arkin. He obliged the man, briefly embracing saidin to light the pipe, before turning back to the city he imagined he could see in the distance.
"Arkin, I need you to do something for me."
He would regret sending Arkin away. He was free with his opinion, he didn't treat Rand as a Lord, he treated him as a friend and he was uncomplicated. His loyalties lay with Lan, and therefore wherever Lan's loyalties lay, so did his. And he made him smile.
Arkin puffed contentedly. "No, I will not tell Avhienda you love her."
Rand gave him a look.
"Not that? Ok, what?"
Rand didn't let his expression change. "I need to get the Kings and Queens to swear to me. All of them, all of the Councils and Lords and Ladies in every country."
Arkin let him rant. He had a pipe. He was happy.
"All of the armies, all of the people."
Where was this leading, he wondered.
"The bandits, they are the only thing standing between me and really holding control."
Arkin could see Rand's hands clench into fists where they were folded behind his back. His puffing got slower. That's where this was going…
Rand turned his piercing gaze on Arkin. "I need someone to get rid of them for me, Arkin."
Raising an eyebrow at him, Arkin folded his arms and took an exaggerated puff that belched smoke over the Dragon Reborn's red curls. "You could have just asked."
Rand grinned savagely.
"Kill them for me, Arkin. In my name. Destroy them."
His eyes softened, and his smile turned sad.
"I will have the world, Arkin."
Arkin nodded and took the pipe out of his mouth. "Anywhere specifically?"
Rand began to pace, and Arkin crouched, watching him. "Murandy and Illian. Them first. Then Andor and Cairhien. And Tear. I want you to stop the smuggling if you can as well. Leave tonight Arkin. By yourself. You must tell no-one. Not even Lan. I'll tell him tomorrow. I'm sorry, Arkin, but you're the only one I trust to do this. You're the only one who can do this."
Rand stopped pacing and fixed the by then wary Arkin with an almost pitying stare.
"In my name, you must be death."
Arkin ducked his head, half in acquiescence, half to hide his face.
"You wish to send me away to deal death and destruction, in the middle of the night, without telling even my Master?" he said quietly, not rudely, just asking for confirmation.
Rand nodded slowly. "Yes."
Arkin tapped out the pipe, looking up again with his usual bounce, but a spot in his eyes was dead.
He walked up and turned Rand's pipe over.
When the taller man reached out to take it, Arkin took his hand and fell to one knee, putting Rand's hand onto his head. "Under the light and by the hope of my salvation and rebirth, I do swear fealty to you, Rand al'Thor, the Dragon Reborn."
Rand was glad he didn't have to ask Arkin to do that. There was silence for a moment, with Rand hanging his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Arkin."
Arkin merely nodded and a grin made his teeth shine in the moonlight. "Just as long as you do the explaining to my master, liegelord."
With that, he turned and strode down the hill to gather his belongings and leave.
Letting curses slip from his lips, Arkin pulled his cloak close around his body, wrapping it as tightly as he could. Swearing kept his teeth from chattering. If Lan had heard the things he was saying then, Arkin wouldn't have been able to sit down for a month, never mind that he was 26. A pang of pain ripped through Arkin's chest at the thought of his Master. He had left him again, run off in the middle of the night. Sure, it was for Rand, and he could claim the Ta'veren's pull on him, but he'd only just managed to earn Lan's forgiveness this time. He wasn't sure he could get it again. That's what had kept Arkin away for so long last time, and he knew he wasn't going to go back to his Master any time soon. He was a coward, he really was. Too scared to face his own Master after running away. The truth was, Arkin saw Lan much as a father figure. He had rescued Arkin from the streets at age 14 and trained him as a Warder. Arkin had bolted at 21, scared of his amazing fighting ability, and he hadn't returned until six months ago, at which time Lan had quickly brought him well back into order. He hadn't been very happy that Arkin's bad language had come back twice as strong as last time.
Grinning, Arkin remembered when he had first turned up. He'd never seen Lan so shocked. He cursed again when the cessation of curses froze his mouth up. They started up again twice as fast.
His hard boots made the job of trudging through the snow, thigh deep in places, much easier than it would have been in his usual, soft, turned down boots, and the clothes he wore, a pair of shirts, a vest, a coat and two cloaks, kept him from catching cold, but little else. The freezing breezes bit through his clothes as though they weren't even there. He wore all of the scarves he had, two of them wrapped around his head and covering his face, almost like an Aiel shoufa.
Even through his hair and the scarves, he heard a movement that pricked his ears. His ears had always been his sharpest sense, and they were a great help in keeping the awareness of his surroundings up.
Through the trees.
People were moving towards him. The curses stopped again. "About bloody time…" Arkin growled, feeling for his knives as he assumed the void, not slowing down as he let his ears feed him information.
There were at least seven of them…make that eight, eight for sure. Two stepped so heavily, the only excuse would be a trolloc's build, and three of them stepped fairly lightly, as though they were experienced at sneaking through the forest, but still with feet trained in the city. Of the other three, he found no pertinent information, other than the fact that they were there.
Four ran on either side of him, crashing through the underbrush, which ceased only for the snow-ridden road Arkin trod. They may as well have not made the effort to hide in the trees for all of the noise the bandits were making. It was easy to follow their path, two around the back, two around the front, leaving two on either side. Arkin held in a disappointed glare as he stopped, letting the bandits realise he knew they were there. Eight against one, really? Now that was cowardice.
All of his predictions were correct, not that he had suspected otherwise. The two biggest men lumbered towards him with a twitching slip of a man, wielding a short sword. Disappearing inside the void, the bandits no longer existed. Arkin pulled out his two knives, quickly slitting the throat of one of the big guys with his left, flicking the little guy's sword away with his right. A quick thrust of that hand gutted the twitcher. As the next big guy continued to throw and miss heavy blows, one of the others came up to take the place of the first, the first to register that Arkin was actually a more than capable fighter. Arkin made a very quick job of the lot of them, just going through the knife forms. At the last moment, he stopped the blade before slicing through the final man's throat.
The man wasn't even a man, as it turned out. He looked about fifteen, or sixteen years old, with fuzz only just beginning to grow on his chin. His dark hair was spiky on his pale, youthful face, cheeks pink from being out in the cold.
Arkin sighed and glared at the kid, smoothly spinning his knife a few times. The void disappeared with a snap, and the cold flooded back into Arkin's senses. He bit off his curses after the first couple. The kid was staring at Arkin with eyes that were so wide, they made him seem even younger than he was. Fear stood out on his features more than on anyone Arkin had ever seen. He turned and threw up.
Wiping his knife clean on a dead bandit's cloak, Arkin put a hand on the kid's shoulder. "Tell me, boy, what are you doing out here in the cold with these blind killers?"
The boy turned his fear-filled eyes onto the horror that had just murdered seven men. "I-I-" He was obviously torn between being too scared to talk and being too scared not to.
Arkin gave his shoulder a squeeze that could be taken as comforting or threatening.
Either way, it worked.
"I want the money."
Sighing, Arkin sheathed his knife. "You didn't think you could end up like them?"
The boy just went even paler.
"Look kid, I already put my knife away, I don't really fancy killing you, seven is enough for me, if you can tell me who leads your little group of bandits…" he hinted.
Grimacing at the threat, it turned out that the boy was just as cowardly as the rest of them. "I don't know who leads us properly, but we meet up with this other group all the time, run by this guy called Mori."
Giving the kid a smile, Arkin let go of his shoulder. "Thanks, kid. Do me a favour, don't keep-"
Before Arkin could finish his sentence, an arrow flew from the trees, flying into the chest of the apple cheeked boy. He collapsed without a sound, followed almost immediately by a snow-dampened thud, as the kid's assailant fell with a throwing knife in his heart.
Collecting his knife, Arkin felt a hard mask fall over his face, felt ice enter his thoughts and death enter his eyes. He had to be hard and cold. He had to be death. He had to ignore the way that death seemed to surround him, that he could effortlessly kill anyone that came into his hearing.
Closing his eyes briefly, he made himself look at the blood running thick from the bodies that cooled quickly in the frosty air.
Bloodstains in the snow reminded him of a time, long ago…
Stepping back, Arkin woke from the void, letting the final body fall to the snow-covered ground. To his newly awakened awareness of the outside world, the death that surrounded him was far too much. He had done it. He had killed. All of them. Forty-three, all up. By himself. Why could he do these things? How could he kill without thought? What new kind of horror was he?
He slowly spun, wide, unwilling eyes taking in the bodies, piled up around him. Blood leaked quickly out into the snow, red on white. Tendrils of it, splitting off and running towards the woods, marking his path through the foe-filled forest and the dread of the day. To his desperate eyes, death was almost a tangible substance, thick and dark, like smoke, covering the area like a blanket. It overwhelmed his nose, he could taste it like tangy metal on his tongue. Death was his. He was death. They were one and the same.
His mind filled with pain of the kind he had never before felt, and his body seemed to numb to compensate. Arkin felt himself shaking, shuddering and shivering in great spasms that jerked his limbs, throwing his knives far off, into the forest where he had killed so many. Never. Never again. He didn't deserve to exist, not when he could destroy so easily. No, he could not be around people. If he was left around people, he'd kill them. He'd kill them all.
Tears freezing on his cheeks, Arkin ran. And he didn't stop.
Arkin hesitantly reached up to his hair, touching the beaded locks he had grown after he'd run away the first time. That was when he'd left Lan the first time…there seemed to be a trend…maybe he should refrain from killing people in snow next time…
No, there wouldn't be a next time…Lan wouldn't take him back after this…
Sighing, Arkin tugged on the cotton threaded through his dark hair, sliding his hadori off. He shivered at the sudden cold that hit his forehead, and at the sudden loss of his final connection to his Master. Here we go again… Arkin thought, rifling through the corpse's coats, claiming more knives, coin and cloaks.