Rating: G
Fandom: The Dark Tower
Disclaimer: All characters, recognizable themes and the final sentence belongs to Stephen King. I am in no way earning money or other profit from this fanfic.
Char/Pair: Roland Deschain, gen
Prompt: Picture of a cross at 60underscoreminuteunderscorefics on livejournal
Spoilers: Yes. For The Gunslinger, but mostly for The Dark Tower
W/C: 361
Warnings: None
A/N: First time writing Roland.
It haunts him sometimes. There at the corner of his vision, like a shadow, out of reach and gone when he turns to try and take hold. Even now, back here at the beginning (or maybe the end, it certainly feels like it), he can almost feel the weight of stones, smooth against rough fingers. It▓s accompanied by a low whimper of almost-speech and he doesn▓t know if it comes from him or something else.
This isn▓t new, this out-of-placeness, he▓s felt it before, though he doesn▓t quite know where or in what when. It▓s like going crazy. He thinks it might have something to do with death and a destiny, maybe a mound of dirt in a place he doesn▓t remember. He wants to forget anyway.
He▓s buried the dead before. His own, his friends. Those who were too slow, always too slow and died at his lightning-quick hands. And sometimes those who lay on the side of the road, who collapsed where they stood from too much, left to wither and disintegrate in the blistering sun. He doubts Ka would be kind to those who pass them by, and he has enough trouble already. The markings are always simple, wood scraps tied together in a cross-symbol from a religion no one really believes in anymore. He carries the sour smell of them for days, trapped in his nose and memory. But they fade, when his senses become overrun once again with sand and Tower. It▓s never been like this before.
He▓s sure it▓s all a trick, planted in his mind to make him forget, to throw him from his trail. These dreams of tall, tall trees and distant rumbles of machines that are long dead where he▓s standing. Maybe the ghost of a tiny hand as callused as his own, pressed to heated flesh so firmly he thinks if he looks down he▒ll see. What?
It▓s a powerful magic, but there was never anything he couldn▒t fight. He▓ll catch his pray, and he will not be thrown from his path. He▓ll have his answers.
For now though.
The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.