Chapter Seven
A word remembered
It was a cell. Though he had never been on the inside of one, he felt certain that that was exactly what it was, a damp and miserable cell. Outside was a guard. Braska frowned. Guard? Now what did that remind him of? Snatches of passionately spoken words drifted through his memory like feathers loosed upon a breeze. They were soon gone and could not be collected again. The color red? Someone calling out to him? Tenderness wrapped in strength. Zeal cloaked in somber attitude.
He shook his head and drew his knees up, only glancing at the spots of blood, dirt, and spittle upon his robes. They had jeered him, beat him, before bringing him to the small, caliginous dungeon. He had hardly understood why. Braska, they had called him, and he felt almost certain that it was his name. How had he forgotten something so vital as his own name? They had said ... They had intimated that he had a daughter and that they wished her harm. He felt a sickening sense of foreboding at this, and yet he could not remember any daughter, anyone named Yuna. But though they were his captors and cruel, he felt that they were being truthful, in as much as it served their purposes.
They had taken him to one that they called Lord Nav. He was a thin ... person with greenish-bluish-grayish hair and a look of martial solemnity upon his ill-favored features. But he reminded Braska of someone with a somewhat more kindly face, though no less ugly. He allowed his mind to wander in search of that lordly, proud, and wise face. Who had he been? Braska coughed and touched his bruised ribs. Mayhap he was no more than a painting in the hall where he had been beaten beneath the watchful eye of the ruler of these uncouth individuals. Or no more than a flight of fancy of a desperate and wounded man.
And the rest? The other memories? The ones that were so fleeting? What were they? Fancy or reality? A dream or waking life remembered through a veil? He rested his forehead on his knees and hoped not. If they were not reality, if they were only things his mind produced to soothe him in his misery, then from where and by whom would he be delivered?
It was then that the forgotten word came to him.
"Guardian." he whispered. "Where is my guardian?"
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A/N: Thank you, Tidus-Girl-Yuna, for the review. And thank you, klepto-maniac0, for your insightful criticism. To which I give the following answers. I'm working on developing the original characters ... slowly. And this won't be an Aurikku. Although, I do enjoy reading them, mostly because I still remember what it was like to be young.
A word remembered
It was a cell. Though he had never been on the inside of one, he felt certain that that was exactly what it was, a damp and miserable cell. Outside was a guard. Braska frowned. Guard? Now what did that remind him of? Snatches of passionately spoken words drifted through his memory like feathers loosed upon a breeze. They were soon gone and could not be collected again. The color red? Someone calling out to him? Tenderness wrapped in strength. Zeal cloaked in somber attitude.
He shook his head and drew his knees up, only glancing at the spots of blood, dirt, and spittle upon his robes. They had jeered him, beat him, before bringing him to the small, caliginous dungeon. He had hardly understood why. Braska, they had called him, and he felt almost certain that it was his name. How had he forgotten something so vital as his own name? They had said ... They had intimated that he had a daughter and that they wished her harm. He felt a sickening sense of foreboding at this, and yet he could not remember any daughter, anyone named Yuna. But though they were his captors and cruel, he felt that they were being truthful, in as much as it served their purposes.
They had taken him to one that they called Lord Nav. He was a thin ... person with greenish-bluish-grayish hair and a look of martial solemnity upon his ill-favored features. But he reminded Braska of someone with a somewhat more kindly face, though no less ugly. He allowed his mind to wander in search of that lordly, proud, and wise face. Who had he been? Braska coughed and touched his bruised ribs. Mayhap he was no more than a painting in the hall where he had been beaten beneath the watchful eye of the ruler of these uncouth individuals. Or no more than a flight of fancy of a desperate and wounded man.
And the rest? The other memories? The ones that were so fleeting? What were they? Fancy or reality? A dream or waking life remembered through a veil? He rested his forehead on his knees and hoped not. If they were not reality, if they were only things his mind produced to soothe him in his misery, then from where and by whom would he be delivered?
It was then that the forgotten word came to him.
"Guardian." he whispered. "Where is my guardian?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: Thank you, Tidus-Girl-Yuna, for the review. And thank you, klepto-maniac0, for your insightful criticism. To which I give the following answers. I'm working on developing the original characters ... slowly. And this won't be an Aurikku. Although, I do enjoy reading them, mostly because I still remember what it was like to be young.
