Disclaimer: Valdemar and concepts belong to Mercedes Lackey. This fic and original characters belong to their author.
Notes: Um… this is something I've been toying with since… well, today. I was looking back through Chapter One of In Dreams, and got to the part where Brianna is talking with Meena, and suddenly my mind went "gee, I wonder what Meena could have been if she'd grown up differently?" Random thought, but this short little One-Shot was born from it. =^-^=
So, Meena Norcroft the Brothel Worker is from the universe I created for In Dreams, and Meena Norcroft the Heraldic-Trainee is from… another universe. Whether it's the "normal" Valdemar or not, I don't know.
MIRRORS
By Senashenta
Silver fog drifted low across the ground, obscuring it and her feet from view as she wandered aimlessly through the forest. It might have been the Pelagir—or not. Truth to tell, she was more concerned with how she had gotten there, anyway.
Though it wasn't cold, she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Wherever she was had an almost unearthly feel to it—one that made her skin break out into goose bumps, despite the lack of chill to the air. Rubbing at her arms absently, she continued winding her way through the seemingly endless expanse of trees until-
—who are you—
—who are you—
—who are you—
The single sentence echoed hollowly in her head, forcing her eyes open to their widest extent, and in the vagueness of what lay before her a gray figure emerged from the mist to stand in front of her. Spoken out loud, the words that had before sounded ominous became as normal as any others.
"Who are you?" The figure asked.
She shook her head, disbelieving at first; "I… am me."
The other girl nodded. "As am I."
It was more than a surreal moment—for a second, just a sliver of time, things seemed to stop completely and both of them stared, each showing surprise, but neither saying anything. Silence loomed, hanging dangerously over their heads—and then both of them moved at once, one tentative and shivering and the other bold, gray cloth swirling around her as she stepped forward.
"I'm me," the first whispered, "and so are you."
"Yes." The second agreed, "we're the same."
"Meena Norcroft."
"Heraldic-Trainee Meena Norcroft."
A slow blink from the first, and she breathed; "a Heraldic-Trainee?"
"Of course." Appraising eyes traveled downward, and the second took in the disheveled and worn clothing of her mirror image. "But you are not… a beggar child, then? A thief? An orphan of Exile's Gate?"
"A brothel girl." The first Meena supplied meekly, looking down. A combination of embarrassment and shame coloring her cheeks; compared to the Other She, she surely looked like death warmed over. "But not by choice."
"Surely not." Her counterpart sounded sympathetic, "no one lives like that if they can help it."
"No."
Both girls paused then, each thinking of their own lives—the joys and grievances, decisions and regrets that had brought them to where they currently were. One a poor, thin waif of a girl who sold herself to make ends meet; the other wearing Heraldic-Trainee Grays, a matching cloak hanging over her shoulders and destined to be one of Valdemar's Heralds. Each with the same beginning, but both with a very different Fate.
The fog began to rise again, and the first Meena shivered once more.
"Here." Another swirling of cloth, and the second Meena draped her cloak across her Other Self. The other girl seemed smaller somehow, though they were both the same size. She wondered if she could have grown to be the same, had things transpired differently. "This will keep you warm."
"Thank you." She wrapped the cloak around herself as if it were a lifeline—she was better than this. She was. She could have been more. She wondered if, had things been different for her, she could have been a Herald as well.
Silence, only broken by the low humming and whistling of the wind, and then—
"Do you suppose… I could have been like you?"
She smiled. "Of course… you could have been wonderful."
A tentative smile in return, "you and I are the same."
"But different as well."
"Yes."
Vague, echoing, voices sounded though the darkness. Two different voices calling the same person. Two different worlds waiting for her to return. Both Meenas looked toward the sky, where the stars shone down as always—they came from different worlds, from different lives, hardships and successes, but they shared the same sky.
And the same dreams.
"We are the same, but different, too." The first whispered.
"We are." The second said, and reached to clasp her Other Self's hand. "But we will always be one… on the inside."
"Yes… we will."
She woke freezing and shivering, and quickly drew her only thin blanket up to her chin, hugging it to herself in an attempt to stop the cold from seeping in. It never worked, but she always tried. Around her, the other girls slept on, oblivious to the world… in their own dreamscapes, warm and happy there.
Her throat closed off abruptly and her eyes stung.
But somehow…
Things weren't so bad…
Knowing that somewhere…
Some place…
Some time…
She was happy, and always would be.
Closing her eyes once more, she focused on that sense of peace… and slept again. To be contented until the morning sun.
Deep eyes stared at the ceiling. Fingers clenched into the blankets. Tears flooded her eyes.
:Lovey, what's wrong?: Aysel asked worriedly.
:A dream.: She replied softly, :it was just a dream.:
But it had seemed so real…
Her mind drifted back to her childhood, and the many close calls she'd had. Could she have been forced into a brothel, had she not been able to survive the street? If Aysel had never come for her, would she have turned to selling herself to survive?
:You didn't have to.: Her Companion soothed, :you did survive, and I did come. That's all that matters.:
Was it?
She rolled onto her side and squeezed her eyes shut. Salty tears trailed down her cheeks and onto her pillow as she yanked her thick winter covers over her head. To hide from the world? To block out the pain she was feeling? To help her pretend that suffering didn't exist? That she hadn't just seen herself, meek and timid, a teenage prostitute?
But she had survived. Aysel did come.
That's all that matters.
But was it?
…was it?
—who are you—
—who are you—
—who are you—
"Who am I?"