Disclaimer: you've heard it twice already, surely you don't need a refresher? (Granted, I wrote all this [so far] in one night, so it's a bit fresher for me than for you.)
Beta'd by trust…trust…I forgot the name!
Just kidding. I'm not Ed. Beta'd by trustingHim17!
Ed woke, presumably the next morning, and was agreeably surprised to find he remembered everything.
From the day before, that is.
A fat lot of help that is, he thought sourly, and felt, from inside, something like a habit of stern remonstrance.
Okay, okay, so it is of help. I remember Karissa, Pell the shy cousin, and—
He still did not want to think of the Duke Pranav as family, but, after all, the Duke was housing him. And there was that strong sense of gratitude with family.
And my uncle, the Duke of Galma. And I remember that dream, I had it again—the falling, and the cry. He shivered. Funny how I hate it and long for it at the same time. It feels like home and pain, all mixed into one. He closed his eyes. Still, that's enough of that. I feel like getting up. He paused, looking around the room, half-expecting—though he wasn't sure why—someone to be there to stop him. Still, that—that's a bit of a warning. I seem to have kept the feelings that habit set up, and if I'm used to people stopping me from getting out of bed, perhaps I'd better be careful. So he tried to be quiet as he began shuffling out from under the covers. He raised an eyebrow at himself when he realised how quiet he could be; how he could lift the covers without making them rustle, how he could shift his weight evenly, so the bed didn't creak, and how he could place his feet on the floor without them making a sound. His body remembered this.
Of course, then he yelped, because the floor was bare stone and icy cold, thank you.
Of course it is, I'm in a tower surrounded by the sea. There's lots of wind, whatever the tide.
Wait, how did I remember that?
He closed his eyes, still seated and bent his will upon his brain, commanding it to remember—and he came up with nothing.
Or barely nothing; a flash of a peculiar voice explaining how to ride upon the winds.
To ride?
That must be a seafaring term; it would make sense for the ships to ride the wind, and the Duke said Galma was a seafaring nation. With pirates.
A flash came into his head—he wasn't trying this time—of men with dark skin and oily beards, grinning while they waved scimitars that dripped blood.
Scimitar?
Right, that's a curved sword.
He searched his mind for anything else—anything, what he was doing there, who he was with, maybe a glimpse of his father—but there was nothing.
It seems to come when I'm not pushing it.
I kind of hate this.
He opened his eyes, and stood.
And promptly fell back to the bed again, his head swirling and his stomach revolting.
Head wounds make the victim dizzy, got it.
Victim?
Victim of gravity, anyway.
Shut up.
Why am I arguing with myself?
The other self didn't answer, but Ed got the impression that perhaps he did that a lot. He tried standing again, more slowly. He kept his eyes closed till he knew he was steady on his feet, and then he walked to the window. He fingered the curtain first, running his hand over the gold waves.
This must have taken hours to stitch. What, I'm an expert on stitching now? A melodious, gentle voice escaped his memory, telling him "Each stitch must be properly placed, and that takes time"—but the voice was gone again before he could grasp it.
That voice doesn't fit Karissa's. I wonder who it belongs to?
I wonder, could it be the one from my dream?
I should listen, next time. If I dream it again, I should listen carefully.
He looked back at the anchor, at the small stitches in their golden thread. I think I like the colour gold. He drew back the curtain.
This window faced the sea, and it was the one the large robin had been at. Ed looked down, noting the thick stone wall around the castle—he was in a castle?—regularly interrupted with guard towers and thin openings for shooting arrows. The town beyond it, wide but not long, went right down to the sand, but another wall had been built between it and the sea. This wall stood lower and had no towers, but it was equally thick.
Beyond the sand was the sea. Ed put his hand against the glass, suddenly craving the smell of it, the smell that was home. He knew that, he knew that smell, he knew it like he knew reading a person's face. Karissa had asked about opening the windows to let the bird in, so they must open, but how?
He swept his eyes up and down, on the side, in the middle, but there weren't any latches that he could see. And, if he was cautious about getting out of bed, he'd really be dumb to break the glass.
The smell would have to wait. He went to the other windows instead, and saw a port full of ships where the wall ended, a view of the sea meeting steadily rising cliffs, and a wooded plain behind the castle with a road that led inland. He could also get glimpses of a few courtyards, one filled with men in swords and armour, hard at practice; one filled with men and women in aprons or plain clothing who were cleaning rugs or doing small work with their hands; one an empty stone yard; and the last filled with beautiful trees, flowers, and even a brook that went under the castle wall and into the wooded plain.
Ed slowly closed the curtains and returned to his bed. He didn't get under the covers, but he did lean against the pillows, and he thought.
None of this looks familiar. None of it. Not a courtyard, a wall, a person. How did I forget it all? He reached up his hand and gingerly touched the bandage wrapped around his head; it hurt on the left side of his head, so he didn't touch that, but it was well wrapped. I must have taken quite a knock. That fits with the one memory I have, of falling. I must have hit my head when I fell. But what about that cry?
I still feel like I need to find it.
But if I'm to go looking, I'll need to get better.
Which means sleep.
Thanks,—
There's a name there, I know it. A name of someone I think of, when I need to take care of myself.
Habits. Habits are the only clue to memory I have. To who I am. I want to know who I am, and where I belong. Which means following my habits as they come.
That and trying to heal. So yes. Sleep.
At least until breakfast comes.
A/N: So...my computer quit charging two days ago, and it's in for repairs; I won't get it back till Friday. I'm going to try to keep my posting schedule by keeping an eye out for when my grandparents aren't using their computers, but I can't guarantee I'll be able to get online, and I probably will not be able to respond to your wonderful reviews till Saturday. I'm really sorry, I LOVE getting them, but I'm trying not to take over one of my grandparents' stress breaks.