Through Their Eyes 15-08-2014
Chapter Ten: HazeKhayl tapped her fingers incessantly against the wooden bedside table, her nails making hollow taps against the exquisitely carved piece of furniture. For a moment the she-dwarf lay back, resting her back and ever-aching skull against the headboard, casting her mind back to when she had lived under another name and had been part of another species altogether.
Another long moment passed as she rested there, but then her fingers began to tap in an undulating beat, slow and powerful at first, before becoming rapid and catchy, the repetitiveness of it almost causing her to hum along in sync. She closed her eyes and let the hazy memory of the rhythm wash over her, bathing her in its melodic calm.
Music.
Khayl had almost forgotten what the music of her own world had sounded like. The different genres and styles, the different instruments and the complex electronics that were worked vigorously behind the scenes to create otherwise impossible tunes… she had almost forgotten, but wasn't feeling altogether sad about such a thing.
The concern lay in how easily she was forgetting things; it had been nigh on unnoticeable at first, small things like the scent of coffee or the exact patterning of the curtains in her room. Such things weren't overly bothersome, perhaps since she had never liked coffee anyway, and the curtains had always been ugly. Those were small things, things that held no meaning or that had concerned her in the first place. She knew she didn't like coffee; she didn't have to remember the taste of it to know that.
But a wound left untended will continue to fester and cause pain, and Khayl had let this lie too long. For it wasn't the small things she was forgetting anymore, those had long since disappeared, now she was losing all of that which she had ever held most dear, no matter which world she was in.
It had begun with faces mostly. Khayl had always been ghastly at recalling faces and figures, almost as bad as she was at recognising names, but everyone she know the faces of their family. Khayl had been envisioning them one quite night, placing emotions on their faces that didn't seem to quite fit, when she realised it wasn't the expressions, but the faces themselves that weren't right. She couldn't remember if her brother's nose was long and narrow or stouter and slightly kicked up at the end like her own. Her mother's eyes were entirely wrong. Were they hazel, like her daughters, or blue? Or was that her father? Did they have laugh lines about the corners? Dimples by the mouth?
Suddenly inundated with a now-apparent cloud over a good deal of her memory, Khayl had sunk to her knees and placed her head in her hands. For the first time since she was thirteen, watching her beloved cat die in a fit from snake venom, Mikhayla Coulter had cried. She had wept deep and long, and cried herself to sleep curled up on the floor of a strange inn in front of dead embers in the fireplace.
She was forgetting, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Since that day Khayl had veritably felt as though she was drowning in that haze upon her memories, but she had focused each day on remembering. Every time that she got a tickle of a memory, every time that something sparked a bought of melancholy or unexpected laughter she looked back through the labyrinth of her memories, trying to find the one that felt just right. It had worked, for a good while at least, and stymied the attack of the decay of time.
She had spent the last few days, whereupon she had been dwelling almost exclusively within the same boring bed, in the same boring room, of the same boring chamber that was the healing halls at Ered Luin, mulling over memories that should have been, and may once have been, an important moment of her life before. A wedding starring her brother who had smiled so widely that she thought he may well swallow his own head; sitting for hours as she worked on her Pop's eulogy, barely fourteen at the time, but the only one in her family, near or far, who had boasted the heart to take up the responsibility; the day she first picked up a bow, finding that she had a gift no one could take away from her; the day she had picked up her bow, her first bow, the one she still possessed, even in a whole other world. That was an acute memory. She remembered how the instructor had subtly but cruelly teased her in front of everybody.
"The siyahs(*) are far too large; there'll be too much recoil when you release the arrow. Your arms won't be able to handle more than a half dozen shots." He had jeered. The rest of the gathering had praised his keen knowledge if his chosen sport. Mikhayla wanted to do nothing more than knock his grinning teeth down his throat, but she would settled for cutting his ego up into confetti.
The solemn teen hadn't said a word in response and merely stepped towards the target. She eased two dozen arrows into the hard ground at her feet where they stood upright, awaiting her. The bow fitted into her palm as though it had been made for her, the leather covering that bound it from top to bottom, leaving only the siyahs as bare wood, was soft beneath her fingers as she eased the string into the appropriate slots at the top and bottom, her mind chanting the Hokey Pokey the entire time.
Mikhayla could feel their stares on their back, already judging her as people were wont to do. They thought her a silly and impudent child. Her mother smirked knowingly off to her right, behind the instructors shoulder, but there was an underlying tension also. Most people may have been utterly crippled by the fact that their own mother didn't wholly believe in them, but all it did was make Mikhayla all the more determined to perform perfectly and give her mother every reason to believe, as it should be.
The movements themselves seemed a haze for a moment, but the thud of each arrow would bring with it startling clarity and then she would be lost again as she reached, loaded, drew and released, the whisper of the arrows seeming be singing as the rent the air. The teen had released the final arrow and took a single, confident step back looking nowhere but the innocent cluster of hot-pink flighted arrows. The crowd was in motion behind her, whether physically or vocally she couldn't say, but gradually she let her eyes drift to the instructor who stared back at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes and a muscle twinging uncomfortably in his jaw.
Khayl had walked away with her shoulders thrown back. The arrows remained; a silent testament to the people who stood before it. None of it had been about her, though it may well have seemed that way. In truth it had been about believing in oneself when no else could. Though Khayl was man enough to admit that she had derived a considerably amount of rather guilty satisfaction from the act –
Khayl started as heavy doors slammed somewhere in the healing halls. The main doors, she assumed, but it was debateable. But when no one came knocking on her door and no screams echoed about the otherwise quite hall she didn't let in concern her. Instead she dropped back against the head board, wincing as she accidentally relaxed a little too abruptly conked her already pained noggin.
Khayl closed her eyes against the now-expected pain that darted from the back of her skull to rest for a moment behind her eyes. Once there it scattered outwards towards her temples, causing just about all of the pain receptors in her head to fire in one fell swoop. After a brief interlude of wincing and scrunching up her face, Khayl became aware that there was something wrong. She opened her eyes again and they darted around the room, trying to link the sensation to an object or person.
Eventually satisfied that there wasn't anything wrong per say, she allowed her eyes to drift lazily, where they came to rest upon her right hand which still lay atop the bedside table. The feeling that something was out of place intensified within her and her mind recalled the dull thunking that she had laughingly likened to music.
Frustrated beyond belief now, Khayl set about trying to rectify the issue, setting her fingers to tapping out a rhythm. But none of the sounds elicited thereon sounded … right. They were too hollow or too sharp, or they simply didn't fit whatever melody it was she was trying to recall. The injured dwarrowdam wracked her brains to try and recall the elusive song that had come so easily to her before, but to no avail. It was there, somewhere, but danced about just outside of her reach, hidden in the thick shroud of fog that lay over a number of her memories.
At last Khayl could stand it no longer, her already threadbare patience being stripped a little more, and she thumped down her fist upon the dratted piece of furniture, the booming sound that emanated sounding obnoxiously loud to her ears. She hoped that none of the healers would come and check on her – that would be embarrassing at the very least. Then she would probably shame herself by snapping at them for no fault of their own as she took out her anger and frustration on anything with two legs and a heartbeat.
The dwarrowdam sighed deeply; feeling aged beyond her years as she forced the vestiges of anger to gradually ebb away, though the persistent jabbing in the side of her skull helped her to maintain a tight coil of dormant rage within her chest, like a sleeping adder. Khayl shuffled uncomfortably under blankets, whishing there were more of them as she rested in the cool halls. But she would make do, as always, and shuffled down until she was lying on her back, staring at the dark stone roof. Khayl closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep through sheer willpower, but her thoughts continued to whir and her eyes refused to stay shut, her head pounding incessantly now that it wasn't overly elevated.
It was several minutes of this torturous not-rest before her eyes where roving across one corner of the room, only to coming flicking back to something that rested innocently atop the bedside table. Her stomach, gurgled at the thought, though not out of hunger, and her tongue wanted to hide itself down her throat. She wondered if it would even work cold…
But there was only one way to find out and she sat back up, moving slowly to minimise the ache in her cranium. Khayl took the earthen cup in two hands, cringing at the stone cold feel of it, for she knew what lay inside would be colder still. Though it warred against her better judgement, she glanced inside the cup, hoping no flitting insects had landed in the liquid, a sleeping draught that they lay at her bedside ever six hours, but that she had never taken, not even when her head had been screaming in agony. A parted of her felt like she was betraying herself, giving in to weakness and let the pain and exhaustion get the better of her, but the more intelligent, logical part of her slapped that down sharply, screaming for a reprieve, no matter what form it came in. A few hours of blissful nothingness would work wonders… she swilled the contents about in the cup before stirring it half-heartedly with a finger, returning it to its previous unappetising murky green.
The cold brew was gag worthy, but Khayl lifted it anyway and downed it in one, dregs and all. She slipped the drained cup back onto the bedside table and snuggled down into the blankets, surprised by the potency of the brew as the persistent stabbing pain in her skull dulled to a mere echo of itself. She closed her eyes, silently revelling in her still thoughts and focused for a moment on unwinding each of her body parts individually, starting from her face, neck and shoulders and working her way down to where her toes curled under the blankets.
The she-dwarf breathed a fierce sigh of relief and sunk back, welcoming a fitful slumber.
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The nightmares came before too long. She assumed, somewhere deep within her mind, that the draught had worn off and she was sleeping under her own steam now, though she would never in a thousand years call it a fitful sleep, at least not any longer.
There were demons in her dreams, dark demons that slipped through the shadows noiselessly and grasped at her with cold, clenching hands, the long fingers tipped with talon-like claws. She screamed and ran through the corridors of her mind, always trying to get away but seemingly getting nowhere. Khayl ran, on and on as fast as she could, but the demons were always there, effortlessly running far faster than she. They waved weapons at her, silvery whips arcing through the air to crack viciously just inches from her terrified face.
Abruptly the dark corridor she was running down shifted, tilted upwards and then she was sliding backwards, trying to find purchase where there was none. She was falling through the portal all over again, and this time there was no one there to keep her company, for her to pretend to be brave in front of when really all she wanted to do was curl up and cry.
Then her back pounded into the ground, her head delivering a meaty smack to the cold stone she lay upon. Haltingly, Khayl rose up, trying to steady her swimming vision. Something dark ran past the corner of her vision and she jerked back unconsciously, but the figure disappeared in a swirl of smoke. Khayl glanced up, turning uncomfortably in a small circle as she realised where she was. She was back in that little town, the one the orcs had overrun, standing in the centre of the town square, back in the centre of a whirling battle where there were far more orcs than there ever had been in real life. There were wargs too, charging through the fray, their teeth and claws shredding opponents left right and centre. The dark figures, all swathed in various shades of black and grey, charged about her and she recoiled from each on, though none came at her.
Logic told Khayl that this was a dream, and that she couldn't be harmed even if one of them did come at her with the intent to kill, but it was all so terrifying, causing her to go dry-mouthed and for her heart to beat faster than could possibly be conducive to her good health.
What was most disturbing was that Khayl couldn't see any of the opponents that the orcs were facing; the orcs were too tall and surrounded her so tightly that she was sure something was going push straight over the top of her. It didn't happen though, for it seemed that there was some kind of force about her that caused them to part around her just before she was trampled. So as it was she pushed her way through the milling, screaming orcs and clambered up upon the rough statue that graced the very centre of the square. Then she made the mistake of peering out over the dark, roiling masses to where a small group clustered together, trying to defend against insurmountable odds.
She couldn't see who they were, only that they were mainly human with a handful of dwarves strewn through them. But Khayl saw them die with awful clarity, one by one. Each time it was as if they were suddenly right in front of her and always they looked at her beseechingly before the light faded from their eyes.
The first to fall was the young boy who had so fearlessly wielded his bow and had saved her life. An axe very much like the one his companion had used flashed and then embedded itself in his forehead. Khayl hadn't missed the way his eyes caught hers before his life was snuffed out.
The next was her brother and it was the first time in months that she had accurately been able to recall all of the features of her older sibling. He wasn't fighting; instead he stood stock still, trying to shield a small figure in his arms that Khayl connected with her two month old niece, or at least she had been two before Middle Earth had stormed into her life. Their end was at spear point, the wicked weapon piercing both their bodies in a single thrust. Her brother had reached out a hand to her, terror shining in his eyes, but then he had crumpled; his daughter's cries so fierce that Khayl thought her head might split from the intensity of it. All too soon the haunting sound choked off in a horrific gurgle…
Argo stepped up over the entangled corpses of Khayl's brother and niece. He swung that enormous sword of his in those never ending arcs and loops; foes falling before him like wheat before the scythe. But then the sword dropped and he was staring at his severed hands, utterly aghast. His eyes flicked up, met Khayl's and turned hard. 'Coward!' his expression screamed, but then a blade came out of nowhere and pierced below his chin and carried through his skull all the way out the top.
Khayl wanted to cover her eyes, wanted to run away, but it was like some grotesque film that she couldn't tear herself from. It was like someone had pinned her eyes lids back and turned her body into a plaster cast. She whimpered as she saw Thorin, the last standing. His black hair was swept back and his mail was splattered with copious amounts of blood, both black and crimson. The piercing blue of his eyes met hers for a long moment and he shook his head in solemn disappointment. A warg leapt from the masses and took the dwarf king in its jaws. Even from where she was Khayl could hear the rending of armour and crunching of bones as the beast shook his corpse like a ragdoll.
Khayl screamed out in rage and agony as she was forced to watch. She wanted to run down there and avenge them. She wanted to kill every goddamned orc in existence.
Then, when she though it could get no worse an enormous shadow swept over the scene, delving everything into impenetrable blackness, but only for a moment for then the shadow passes, but Khayl had shut her eyes so tightly she didn't see the difference. The dwarrowdam only allowed them to creep open when a great hot wind blew upon her face, and the moment she did open them she wished she never had.
A great dragon gazed at her, red-gold in his magnificence. He was mere metres from her and the only thing that was real in that moment was he and the statue that Khayl clung to like it was a lifeline. The dragon smiled, revealing enormous ivory teeth that curved like cruel scimitars and the she-dwarf thought she might die from terror.
The dragon's tale came from nowhere, even as it continued to smile insidiously and smashed through the statue, sending Khayl flying through the air. She gasped, dazed, as she hit the ground, smacking her head once in what seemed like an overly repetitive action. The dwarrowdam opened her eyes only for a great flame to come washing over her like a formidable tidal wave. Khayl took the briefest of moments to scream as her skin bubbled and was her bones incinerated before everything went black once again.
When Khayl next opened her eyes – with the greatest reluctance – it was to find that orc - the tall formidable one that had bashed her face in with a mace - staring back down at her with something akin to a smirk gracing its twisted features. It reached down and wrapped it brawny hands around her throat, causing her to gag and splutter, flailing uncontrollably. Her vision darkened and spots danced behind her eyes. She was going to die and there was nothing she could do!
Khayl flailed again and her hand collided with something that was flung away and shattered upon the ground. She jolted at the sudden sound in what had been an otherwise mostly silent dream and the ground tilted out from under her.
Blinking into wakefulness in a fear induced adrenaline rush Khayl tore the blanket from around her neck and body, flinging it from her. She panted on her hands and knees in the still infirmary room, taking in the smashed cup and pounding in her head.
The door swung open behind her and was halted from smashing into the wall by a quick hand. A figure moved into the Khayl's line of vision and crouched before her. Deep, youthful eyes stared back at her with concern evident in their murky brown depths.
"Are you alright? I heard something smash…?" the young dwarf put one hand on her hunched shoulder as Khayl's gaze drifted from his own.
"It's fine; just a nightmare." The injured dwarrowdam pushed herself to her feet in one rough, jerky movement that predictably left her swaying on her feet. The male dwarf rose with her, not taking his eyes off her for a single moment.
"Must've been some nightmare," the stranger remarked, gesturing to the pulverised remains of the earthenware cup that was clustered against the wall. "Are you sure you're alright? Shall I fetch one of the healers?"
He sounded slightly frantic, as though wasn't sure what the proper protocol for this particular situation was. Somehow, despite the roaring in her chest and the thunder in her skull, Khayl managed to conjure a small but sincere smile for the brunet.
"I will be alright." She paused for a brief moment, her thoughts flicking towards the horrid scenes that had flashed passed her during her 'rest.' But she forcefully turned her wandering mind away from the dream, the pain and terror far too raw.
"I'm Kíli," the stranger said, bowing jauntily, a smile on his face now that the injured she-dwarf looked in no danger of passing out again. "I heard the cup break as I was passing, and then you must've fallen to the floor; I had to make sure everything was alright."
"Khayl," the coppery haired female said in way of introduction. "Thankyou for your help, though I was fine."
Kíli just looked at her like she'd done some serious damage upon falling out of her bed. "Sure you were."
A/N. Wow, that is a loooong chapter (for me anyway haha) it was kind of in response to all the simply AMAZING reviews I have been getting of late! I mean seriously, you guys are the best! I hope you like this aptly named chapter even though it may seem slightly irrelevant. If you're wondering what the hell a 'siyah' is then the very bottom of this A/N is for you.
As ever please forgive my stupid mistakes… much of this is unedited due to author falling asleep currently…
Now, onto the important stuff! My utmost and sincerest thanks go to DalonegaNoquisi (You wonderful person, you) . ' .x, Lady Sophia of Arda, Knowing Grace (You're review was spectacular, it gave me so much hope and inspiration!), MidnightTales357, MaxRideandPercyJackson4ever, Alu Riversong (Yay! Kíli's here! I'm glad my story meets the standards for 'different') BlackHreat and Hksmith! Thankyou so much! The response to last chapter was … mind blowing.
(*) the siyah is a heavy end to the limbs of the bow, with the nock at the end of it. The bow string lies flat along the siyah for at least an inch (any less and I believe it's not actually a siyah, just the end of the limb.) I'm modelling Khayl's bow off my own traditional horse bow, in that the siyah on either end is about 7 inches long. (But I could measure it entirely wrong!) Basically her memory is a really accurate rendition of my second horse archery clinic, though I only shot a half dozen arrows and was sixteen at the time. But I thought it would do the trick as a memory for her, and one of the major development steps in her self-confidence, as it was for me. All you really need to know though is that I was too tired and too lazy to come up with something original.
Okay, I'm gonna go catch some much needed Zzzz's now.
EquusGold, signing off.