Inheritance
By Virodeil
AU. Murtagh was saved from the Twins before his hell-on-earth ever began, but by whom and for what purpose? Nobody would guess…
Chapter 2: Desolate
It feels like a dream, a surreal waking dream.
I am carried in a piggy-back ride, after I have been put in this state of unfeeling reality, this waking dream, after all of the aches and pains went away. I had only ever seen other children treated so, never myself, after I was removed to the palace like a sack of flour, before this.
I know I am switched from back to back regularly, each after I have just gotten a general grasp of my carrier's identity through bleary senses of smell and touch and feeling alone; each done gently – almost gingerly – as though I were a fragile, priceless rare artefact; but I strangely do not feel used, do not feel as if just an item. It even feels natural to me, down to recognising people by feel and touch and smell and gait and timbre of voice alone. However, I do not know how many people have carried me so far – I do not care, about that, about anything.
A woman who never carries me but stays always by my current carrier, ready with a sip of the fulfilling water any time. Coaxing, somewhat motherly, but strangely not condescending or cloying. A nice-flowery-smelling woman.
A man who seems to share a deep bond with the aforementioned woman, who at times sneaks what feels and tastes like honey into my mouth when others are busy. Chirpy, open-minded, curious, eager, realistic, sensitive to emotions, unlike other males that I have ever known. Scenting like woods, he carries me the most.
Maybe another man, but with a cat-hissing quality to his voice, who often approaches me just to rub the top of my head with not-quite-human hands. Furry, somehow, smelling odd as well, but no evil intention towards me from what I sense from him. And inexplicably, he seems to be linked rather closely to the aforementioned man.
A woman like the aforementioned man: furry, smelling just as odd but this time inciting my baser instincts as a male, though thankfully she carries me the rarest. She does not seem to mind though, and just as kind to me as the furry man is, and the woody man who seems to be the elder brother of the furry man.
A man somehow younger but older than the others, cheerful despite the pain of loss lingering after so long. Food smell, enticing, reminding me of a forgotten memory that sadly cannot be teased to the front of my mind. My rides with him are the most joyous, maybe partly because he then gives me something liquid other than the first fulfilling water that I have often tasted.
A stately-sounding, stately-feeling, subdued-scenting woman with the soft caresses that I remember from my first ever benign contact after my torture. She speaks to me though I cannot answer, and partly would not answer. She speaks to me in a low, captivating, sing-song voice, in another tongue softer and more mesmerising than the Ancient Language. And surprisingly, I could understand half of what she says: things long forgotten: meadows, lakes, fields, wide open skies, challenging seas…
My body and mind feels healed, but oddly I feel so, so exhausted and sleepy and barely aware all the time. I feel… content, with no sense of embarrassment, as I am spoon-fed heavenly-tasting soups and fresh, cleansing water, as I am washed from head to toe and cradled by gentle hands amidst the sound and feel of cool gurgling water and the freshening scent of pine needles.
I have simply forgotten what pained me, what distressed me, what made me long for oblivion. They are there, on the back of my mind, like a threateningly-low-hanging black storm-cloud, but I pay no attention to it. This state does not allow me to invite those negative feelings inside, especially after, softly but smoothly, sweet high-pitched melodies from I do not know what float into my blurred awareness.
I am in peace, for maybe the first time in my life.
I do not wish to wake up again, to face whatever cruel designs reality has in store for me.
But I am now laid down on something soft and springy, wrapped snugly by something soft and warm, left alone.
Alone, after so long in constant intimate company, one that I never felt for years already, one that I never knew that I longed for so fiercely.
I rebel, reach out with all my senses, all my might, all means possible. Do not leave me alone!
I struggle, try to escape the binding, try to open my eyes, try to open my mouth, try to–
"Amú?"
Soft, gently commanding, lilting, intimate.
Familiar.
My eyes open wide in shock.
"Ré'a?"
Spontaneous, hopeful, oh so hopeful, yearning for a father that I took for granted in my early childhood, even if he was not a father for me half of the times, even if I could never get my mother back: wild hope, wild expectations.
My eyes meet those of deep dark blue, shining as if starlight is stored within, deep with knowledge of ages past.
No human's eyes shine like that.
Not Ré'a; not my father, let alone my mother.
My throat closes up. Not Ré'a. Only Ré'a called me so. Mother always called me just "Child," as far as I remember.
Not Ré'a, here. Never Ré'a, Ré'a is dead, Mother too.
This stranger is not allowed to replace Ré'a, no.
A dagger jabs into my heart and twists viciously round and round it, it feels. My chest feels both restricted and about to explode. He is nobody, he may not use that name–
I am nobody–
I am – this is just a dream.
Just a dream, everything is, just a dream.
I am alone, always alone.
My eyes close back up, my mouth as well. Not Ré'a: I shall not answer, shall not see him, shall say nothing; he is not my father, no right to call me so, to command me so.
But he dares to chuckle at me, in mirth it seems. Mocking me?
Ré'a never laughed at me, even when I waited for him all day in the front hall when I heard tidings that he was going to come home. Mother never laughed at me when I showed her whatever I could draw at that time when she visited me.
But they are dead, irretrievably, and nobody shall ever replace them.
I am alone.
