Disclaimer: Do Not Own.
A/N: Unbeta-ed. Any mistakes are mine so please shout out if you spot them and I'll get them sorted. Sorry it took so long. Also decided that this will not follow The Traitor Spy Trillogy, saying as I only read the first one and never finished the second-got bored of it I'm afraid. Off you go.
Tick. Tick. Tock.
He had never considered himself a musical person, but the constant ringing of a distance clock sounded awfully beautiful to him.
Or was it a watch?
The simple rhythm played in tune with his beating heart and it was this which assured him that he was, indeed; alive.
Yet the darkness that surrounded him, the terrible blankness and nothingness, made him question this. How can one be alive and yet be nothing at all. When he had realised that he was in fact a working conscience, that he had a mind and he knew exactly who he was therefore he must have a working body to accompany it as such. He had expected to be seated in an elegant, domed room of rich mahogany wood surrounded by lives keepsakes, golden memories framing the high walls. However instead of the comfort of his own mind he woke (was he awake?) to darkness.
And the ticking of a clock.
Or was it a watch?
Tick. Tick. Tock.
His father had once owned a large golden pocket-watch that usually would have appeared in moments of impatience; snapped open, looked upon with a sigh, snapped shut and tucked away. It had been a thing of beauty, elegantly engraved and expertly crafted; it had been as much apart of his fathers person as his own hands and it had been cared for as such. When he had been a child he had seen that watch quite a lot. As a boy, moments spent with his father had been formal meetings where lessons were taught with silence, rules obeyed and a perfect young lord had sat and listened to the sound of a awfully loud pocket-watch. He had hated that watch; hated that it could invade the thick silence between father and son. For surly such a silence should not exist between the two, a father and only son, an heir; there should have been inspiriting lectures and speeches of pride and yet there was silence; and the mere presence of that watch had proved the cruel truth that it was and always had been there. However it had held a comfort within its chiming tone; it brought the familiarity of home, the presence of his father, of family and belonging.
Odd, that it should come to mind now after all these years.
It had been an heirloom.
"My father gave it to me the day he deemed me a man… my wedding day actually…I had been so proud…I've wore it everyday of my life…"
His father had never deemed him a man, though he suspected he would've pasted the watch on the day of his graduation. Instead he had received the watch at the age of thirteen, on a spring morning as a servant threw a black heavy long-coat around his shoulders. His uncle had handed it to him with silence; gentle ticking loud and strong, out of tune with it's late owners still, unmoving, heart.
He had stood in black silk by the side of his mourning mother, his fathers remains in the ground before him, that golden trinket heavy upon his breast, that awfully loud ticking penetrating his thoughts.
The watch ticked on and on and on…bringing comfort to his grieving heart which had beat on and on and…
He'd lost the House of Velan's heirloom years ago.
But the ticking was still there. It was here now and it was beautiful.
Tick. Tick. Tock.
How long has it been…how long have I been here…
It seemed that all there was here was the passage of time, leaking away through his fingers with the beautiful ticking yet he had no concept of it.
'Am I in a coma? Lying trapped within my own being…my mind is weak…my body exhausted…power…failing to regenerate…'
Had he been able to fully comprehend his situation he would have wondered at how he had the ability to think and be yet not be himself. For he wasn't himself, there was only dark here and nothingness; tendons of blackness holding him within a suffocating grip. He wanted to tear free from their caresses, he wanted to pull and grasp and rip at it until there was something to hold on to in the vast emptiness.
'I'm tired of this darkness…this nothing…I want…I need…something. Anything…but darkness…Someone…'
He knew he could handle things by himself, he had handled so much alone in his life…until…
Until Sonea.
Sonea. Sonea. Sonea.
Her name rang through the dark shadows surrounding him, sounding with the ticking, delight seaming through the dark like light with the dawn and he realised that he had something to hold on to.
Sonea, she was his light in a world where he thought light to be non-existence…she shone with her dark eyes and silk soft locks, pale smooth skin and full captivating lips. She was so beautiful; body and mind and soul and…where was she. She had knelt by his side when he last seen her, dressed in black robes, a look of pain and terror upon her soft features-
He remembered.
Suddenly with a wave of shock he remembered; his mind sparked to life with an explosion of energy, a floodgate had been opened and a tsunami of memories washed over his slowly awakening mind.
Sachaka, the Ichani. Imardin falling to ruins as the outcasts tore their way through her walls, violating her people and taking what they deemed stolen. Theirs to take. Kariko had made it to the Guild walls, facing he and Sonea. The Arena- "Wait…the Ichani are weakening…" and then pain. Blinding pain and he had fallen, taking Sonea with him, horror and shock, plain confusion, twisting her features…he was injured, could not breathe or heal, not yet. NOT. YET, not while the Ichani stood in front of them; not with Kariko within his grasp.
Sonea needed to finish it, to end it all. Only then could he think of himself. But Sonea…had gone…ran as waves of power shone from above as though from the Heavens and he…he had been left to stare at the sky and feel his heartbeat slow.
He felt pain at this, deeper than that of the knife in his chest. But he refused to dwell on it. There was a reluctance to believe that Sonea, his Sonea who was too stubborn to turn her back and run from anything, would flee and leave him when all they had worked so had for was at a close. So he simply didn't…there had been more…
Footsteps.
Yes.
Kariko prowling over to his still form. A nudge from his foot to the chest. A flare of pain. He had been using what little strength he had to keep the pain at bay and to remain conscious. It was fading too fast.
"Aww…so, you still live. How pleasant, now I can watch as the life drains from your eyes, little slave." And through his clouded vision, as the darkness crept along its edge, he watched as a large, tanned and scarred hand had risen.
Tick. Tock.
So, he had died.
Kariko had fulfilled his brotherly promise to Dakova after all those years.
He had failed to protect his city, his motherland and her people.
Sonea…the Guild…the thieves…what hope was there now for those who remained. The Ichani were merciless, he knew this first-hand and they would harvest and drain Kyralia until the lands represented an extension of the Wastes. It would not be long until she was claimed by Sachaka. The Ichani welcomed home with open arms.
It disgusted him. He had hoped for so long that if he were to spend the rest of his days fighting off and destroying the Ichani, masking Kyralia's' weakness, that he would die a happy and proud man. He would die being that man and yet now…now he was simply dead, a failure, his sufferings and hardships meaningless. He felt no honour.
What was such a thing as Honour to a dead man.
He was nothing. At one with the darkness surrounding him.
But the clock, the watch, the ticking told him otherwise. His memories pooled at the back of his mind brushing his consciousness with flashes of Sonea's' face, of Kariko's' raised hand.
The darkness stirred around him. The tendons shifted their heavy grip yet remained.
Something wasn't quite right.
There had been no flash of burning heat to engulf him or burst of mind-numbing agony. There had simply been nothing. As there was now. Had Kariko attacked him, ending him or he had simply passed out from blood loss and lack of power.
Useless…
Tick…
He had never gotten the chance to strike.
Was it possible. Could Kariko have been interrupted in his attack on him?
The more he focused on it the more he believed he had passed out before Kariko had struck yet that did not mean the Ichani had not killed him; perhaps silencing his heart as the darkness drew him in.
…Tock…
No.
He had a heartbeat. He was alive. That old, familiar ticking proved it.
Around him, the darkness seemed to fold in upon itself. The grasp on his being slackened.
He was on the right path now, he could feel it. Like facing an opponent in the Arena, one had to learn the others weak points, that special little spot where one good hit could end it all.
He was missing something. Something important. Something…missing…
Sonea.
Where had she gone to…
Had she returned to him then? In those last fatal moments.
Where had she gone t-
'Ahh…my clever, disobedient girl.'
The Arena.
Tick.
Within his cocoon of darkness and shadow, a small, dim, speck of light appeared at the end of a tunnel and like a stray to warmth; he moved closer to it and as he did so, he could feel his hopes rising, the darkness fading around him.
Perhaps we won. Perhaps the Ichani are no more and Sonea is safe. Maybe, with time and effort, Imardin will heal and prosper again. The Guild will grow and learn from the mistakes made. Perhaps…
And still the light grew as he made his way towards it, delight and hope filling the space the darkness had once captured.
As he moved closer to the light source, he felt himself grow stronger. More solid and slowly, another soft rhythm played in tune with the ticking. Footsteps again, but this time his own, and he emerged from the darkness and shadows, into the light corridor of his own mind.
Distantly he felt his power-store flare; he became aware that he had a body, somewhere far from his reach. It was exhausted but he reached his senses out to touch it and relished in the joy it bought him.
He was.
Slowly, almost delicately so, he moved back into the familiar space of his own mind and the darkness sank away, banished back to wherever it came from. He took a moment to quieten his emotions, to settle and familiarise the bond between his mind and body.
Lords, he hurt! He could dimly feel his physical self, as though from a distance or through fogged glass. He had connections, limits to his senses but they were not completely repaired just yet, he could not move; that would take time. His body ached from his muscles to his bones. A deep burning, pulsing pain surrounded his chest where he suspected where Kariko's' mark would forever scaled. His body screamed at him for rest, that it needed to heal and restore itself; he just had to wait. But he pushed past the tightness of pain and exhaustion to sense the area surrounding him.
He was warm, so very warm and comfortable despite the pain. He focused on his other physically senses to help him; his eyes would not budge, too heavy with sleep to do anything but respond to the subconscious, his tongue felt as though made of copper, his mouth tasteless, and there was a constant ringing in his ears; but he could smell and from the sterile chemicals infiltrating his nostrils he knew himself to be within the Healers Quarters of the Magicians Guild of Imardin, city of Kyralia.
He was home.
This realisation made his heart jump. And he started at the hard truth, the fact, that he did have a heartbeat. He could now feel it heavy within his aching chest.
But how…How…How is it possible…
Questions flooded his mind but he knew it was too soon to do anything but give into his body's needs. He needed to rest; needed recovery, his exhausted mind and body was screaming to just let go.
But he was reluctant do so with the knowledge and discovery that he was once again a working conscious with a body; like a child born with the self-conscious to know what a miracle it truly was. Now that he had returned, he had no longing to pass over to darkness again, even in the bliss of sleep.
Tick. Lub. Tock.
Instead, he formed his minds-room; the mahogany chairs of his fathers study, the bookcases and the old engraved, redwood desk, placed within the domed walls of his childhood bedroom; over the years it had grown in size, expanding and lengthening until it was nothing but his childhood room in name and knowledge, he had grown out of it long ago. From the few windows, outside in the distance, stood the shadow of the Guild, the lights of Imardin flickering like stars; a view that remained true to the rooms nature. He had grown up with such a view and the beauty of it remained through the years. Here and there, placed around the room lay pieces of his life; his old, brown, novice robes lay in a heap on the floor next to a bed; discarded, the red Warrior robes stood out proudly from their place in the open wardrobe next to a range of clothing from different cultures and customs. On the bed lay a small game set, made from wood and next to it, folded over the end board of the bed, curled a belt, the glimmer of gems pronouncing from its pocket. On the desk, where he found himself sat, there was little to see. A empty frame and unlit lamp.
He lit the lamp and blinked.
An old pocket watch lay upon the desk, strained in blood and grim, its engravings dented beyond repair; as though someone had found it amidst the murk on left it there for him to find. He slipped it open, the glass was cracked but not yet broken; tick…tick…tick. The little hands twitched with time and life despite its damage. The room grew warmer.
He stared at the empty frame and fought the lure of sleep.
It felt so good to be back. He had many questions yet knew none would be answered for quite some time. He let his shoulders drop and rested his arms on the dark wood, his chin in hand.
He wondered how long. He wondered how badly damaged his body was, he was no Healer, he did not know these things. Sonea would. He wondered where she was, what she was doing-
Her face smiled at him from the small frame; a coy twist to her lips, her eyes blazing, sending his tired mind into a wave of uncertain thoughts.
She couldn't have left him…or so he hoped. It was concerning how much he felt for her now. It frightened him at how little time it had taken for that unexpected curiosity to turn from affection to lust and more. He had tired so hard to banish his thoughts, to keep his emotions at bay and still his gaze had lingered. She hadn't even known then, it wasn't even a possible thought to her yet he had continued with his pitiable feelings-inappropriate thoughts and wants.
Then that had changed. She had seen what he had been hiding and instead of repulsion and disgust she had shown her own hidden desires.
It had been so nice to simply let his barriers down and let her in. Perhaps that had been his downfall for now she had crawled her way underneath his skin and there seemed no safe way to remove her. He cared too much. Loved too much.
'Did you leave me?' He asked, blankly to himself, expecting no answer from a mere memory and thus he was shocked upright, unsettling the desk, to hear a soft reply,
'I didn't leave you…I will never leave you. I am still here. Always here.'
Softly, feather light and brief, he felt the familiar brush of her mind on his and that all he needed. Within that one touch he had felt her love for him, her concern and hope, her never-fading loyalty to him.
'Sonea…'
He wanted to reach for her but found himself too weak, his body forcing him into submission. He wasn't sure if she had heard him.
'Akkarin…I can feel you…' He felt her joy, her relief, even though he knew she had not heard, 'You're here. You're safe.'
And he believed her. He sat back down within his chair and listened for any sign or touch from her, fighting to urge to sleep; the dusty haze of dreams clouded his thoughts. He watched Sonea's' frame with heavy eyes, wary yet longing to see her. To have his questions answered.
'Rest'
She whispered lovingly, her tone so beautifully captivating with its joy and relief that he obeyed.
This time there was no darkness or blurred edges, just the promise of dreams and in the end; awakening.
Tick. Dub.
He rested.
Once again he lost all concept of time. But here he dreamt. Free from darkness and from what he knew now to be death.
He dreamt. He slept. He lived.
Within another small room, not so very far away, a young woman sat upon the bed of a sleeping man, crying into his hand which she held and kissed, never taking her eyes from his face. Her sobs of relief soon drew the attention of the on-call Healer and within moments the older woman stood upon the threshold of the room, concern and alarm showing on her pale face.
"Sonea?"
"Vinara," the younger woman whispered, her voice laced with emotion, she turned to her with a smile that transformed her usual mask into one of pure delight, "He's Back."
A/N (2): Bit longer, hopefully a bit better. BIG Thank you, to you who reviewed, I update for you and to those who faved and alerted, Thank you.
Hugs and stuff,
.
