A/N: Written for the non-flash bingo at the Basket of Books Challenge Forum, #45 – aloof.
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aloof
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Do you want me to take these memories away from you?
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He'd stopped caring, at some point. He wasn't sure when. At some point after Eluna's death but Eluna had died so long ago, it seemed. Sometimes, he forgot about her. And why not? He had Skandar now. Skandar and followers: his people. Northerners like himself. Freed slaves. An empire slowly building beneath his fingertips.
He'd seen a lot of blood along the way. A lot of bodies. A lot of betrayal. He'd become desensitised to it all at some stage. Was it when this spiral had begun? When he'd first met the dark griffin? Or was it before? When his future had been first set into motion – when he'd taken on the reigns of griffiner and signed his own death warrant. Or was this destiny: something signed into his blood and body when he'd been, still forming, in his mother's womb. It could have been either of them, or all. But his life had long since slipped away from him.
And he wasn't even alive anymore.
Eluna was for the old Arenadd. The Arennad who'd gone around as Arren Cardockson pretending to be a Southerner even though he could never be. This new Arennad, the one who'd been reborn on the last night of his hometown. He set it aflame with the dawn and it had been shocking and painful when he'd first heard the news – but not shocking or painful enough.
He hadn't realised then, but he'd become sensitised, even then. Maybe even with the first death, the first murder. Not when Eluna had died though. He'd almost died himself, in the agony.
He still couldn't thank the people who'd dragged him out. Flell who'd abandoned him. Bran who'd arrested him, who'd chased after him, who'd failed to save him… And then there was one he'd gotten killed too. The one whose name he'd forgotten, because there was no anger attached to that name.
It took anger for him to remember names, now. That or constant exposure and the dead were gone with time. his heart didn't beat to remember them, remember the people who'd once been his friends, who'd once mattered. Eluna he only still recalled because the loss had almost killed him – or was it only because that was Skandar's work, that it was the place the fated pair had first met?
He didn't know anymore. Too many hands, seen or not, had played around with his life. A pawn on a chessboard. A pawn that had been moved around, sacrificed and advanced until it became the queen. Because a pawn could never replace the king. It would be the end of the game that way and the king was the goddess of the moon. The king was her. He was the versatile ruler of the board: who moved in all directions and could do all…
But not yet. He was still chained. By doubt. By questions. By answers he didn't want to hear and memories and echoes of feelings he was slowly losing to time and his last heart-beat, so many months ago. Part of him did want to feel again. Feel love. Feel sadness. Feel compassion. Feel guilt. Sometimes, when someone died in front of him or when he killed, he thought he could. But they were just echoes of the past, growing dimmer all the while. Soon, he'd not feel them at all. And he wouldn't care at all.
Perhaps this would be the last time he'd curse this curse that held his body and soul.
Perhaps this would be the last time he'd remember Arren Cardockson and Eluna.
Perhaps this would be the last time he wondered where the beginning was…or the end.
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Yes…