A/N:  After last night's episode Palindrome (Season 2), I got this idea in my head that Ian needed someone to set him straight.  The writers have had him flip-flopping between worshipping Sara and hating her, and it's driving me nuts.  He just isn't acting like our Ian should act.  Especially with Aras.  Someone needed to hit him over the head with the truth, but who?

Noone Notices the Servants

As Aras left to get ready for her fight that night, Ian was left sitting in his father's throne-like chair, staring unseeing at the fire blazing in the hearth before him.  He was alone for about two minutes before one of the housekeeping staff came in and began dusting.  Trained as an observer, he couldn't help noticing the strange, darting looks she was giving him from under her bangs.  After about five minutes of this he had had enough.  He rose from the chair and turned to confront her with a cold look in his eyes.  She stared back, holding her ground, a fact that impressed Ian greatly.  Something in her eyes, her stance, was familiar, but he could not place it.  His glare became a frown.

"You never clean this late at night," Ian observed mildly.  "Yours is a day job."

"Yes, sir," she replied steadily.

"Why are you here now?" he demanded.

"I have always been here when you needed me, sir," she replied.  Ian blinked at the unexpected answer.

"I don't need you," Ian growled.

"Yes, you do," she replied.  "In every life, every incarnation, you have needed me, just as you need me now."

"What do you mean," he asked, caught off guard by the answer and its implications.

"You have no idea who I am, do you," she asked.  "You remember other things, I had thought you would remember me."

"I do not," Ian said, an edge to his voice warning of his waning patience.

"I am, and have always been, your faithful servant.  When you were Marc Antony, I was your trusted aide.  When you were Joan of Arc's Lieutenant, I was your squire.  I have always been there to help you, as you have always been there to help the Wielder."

"I don't need your help now, so go away." Ian turned from her and returned to his seat.  She did not leave.  Instead, she spoke in low and even tones, as if she were his conscience.

"You have strayed from you appointed path," she said.  "It is your destiny, life after life, down through the ages, to protect and serve the true Wielder.  Sara is the true Wielder of this life, this age, and you are betraying her."

"It is she who has betrayed me," Ian snarled.  "She killed my father."

"I saw what you saw," she said.  "Kenneth Irons embraced his own death that night.  It was not Sara's doing, as you well know.  Look past your hatred and grief and see the truth.  All she wanted was for Irons to stop attacking her.  Your rage is misplaced."

"She hates me," Ian said bitterly.

"What cause have you given her to like you?  You declared yourself her enemy at the death of Irons.  You called the Black Dragons down upon her.  Time after time you have challenged her, taunted her.  Yet when you went to her to beg for understanding, she gave you compassion.  And when you challenged Mobius to undo what you had done, she came to defend you and restored to you your very life.  How then do you repay her?  With rage, hatred, betrayal.  This is unworthy of you. And so is Aras."

"Aras' bloodline is just as noble as Sara's," Ian insisted stubbornly.

"Sara was chosen to balance the evil of the world.  Aras is evil.  The Witchblade has chosen its Wielder, and it is not for you or Kenneth Irons to challenge that choice.  You once told him his arrogance was astounding, and you were correct.  The Witchblade can see into the heart, and it knows Aras is no true Wielder.  She lacks the nobility, honesty, and compassion that are inherent in Sara.  The very traits that make Sara a true Wielder are absent in Aras.  You cling to Aras because she appears to be that which you desire, but she is a shadow of Sara, and she is using you as a means to power.  She does not, cannot love you.  Aras will never give her heart, for she loves nothing but power."

"I do not care," Ian snapped, sounding petulant.

"You do care.  You know in your heart your place is with Sara, guarding her back and aiding her in every way possible.  Yet you choose Aras because she is attainable, easy.  You have stumbled badly but you have not yet fallen.  Dispose of this Pretender and keep your promise to Sara to guard her from harm."

"No," Ian said sharply.  "I have made my choice.  This is what Father wants, and I will give it to him."

"Then you have truly fallen," she sighed.  "All the harm that befalls Sara from this point on is your doing, because you chose not to prevent it.  Farewell, my lord.  I can no longer serve you in this life."

Ian said nothing as she turned and left.  He stared into the fire, her words haunting him.  Her words had the ring of truth to them, and Ian could not just dismiss them.  Torn and uncertain, he wondered if it was too late to make things right with Sara, the next moment wondering why he should bother.  Love and hatred warring within him, he sat through the night struggling with his conflict and was no nearer an answer when the dawn found him staring into cold ashes.

Waking from the Dream

Ian paced the floor of the mansion, tormented by his recent actions and behavior, and his involvement with Aras.  It was just after dawn, and he had spent all night staring at the fireplace, watching the flames die down into cold ash.  His mind reviewed the words of the servant, Mara, over and over, and the actions of both himself and Sara Pezzini.  What Mara had said was true.  Every word.  Sara was not the one at fault, he was.  And it did not matter if she ever forgave him, because he had proven himself unworthy by his actions and attitudes.  He just hoped he was not too late to put things right.

He was heading for the front door, his long black coat swirling around his ankles and out behind him, when he saw Mara coming down the hall form the servant's quarters with a suitcase in either hand.  He intercepted her, blocking her way until she looked up at him.

"Forgive me for not departing sooner, sir," she said quietly.  "By the time I finished packing it was very late and I had nowhere else to go."

"Please don't go, Mara," Ian said, taking one of her bags from her hands and setting it aside on the floor.  "I've been considering what you said all night, and I have come to the conclusion you were right about everything."

"You have chosen to believe in and support Sara as the true Wielder?"  Mara watched his eyes closely as he answered.

"Yes," Ian said simply, his gaze open, and she could see the honesty and determination there.

"What will you do now," Mara asked.

"I'm going to make things right," he answered, his expression turning grim.

"Even if it means killing Aras?  Even if Sara never forgives you?"

"Aras is not a true Wielder," Ian replied.  "If it becomes necessary, I will kill her."

"And Sara?"

"I do not deserve her forgiveness," he replied sadly, hanging his head.  "But I will serve her as best I can."

"Even unto your death?"

"It would be an honor to die for Sara," he said, his head coming up and his eyes shining.

"That is as it should be," Mara said, a satisfied smile on her lips.  Her voice took on an echoing quality, wrought of ancient power. "You have passed the test, Ian.  We find you worthy to serve this Wielder, as you have many lifetimes before.  Remember this lesson.  Now, awake, and go forth to serve."

Ian blinked.  Everything had shifted around him.  He was standing in the corner of Iron's office at the Vorschlag building, waiting for his master.  Dressed in his knit cap and overcoat, staring at his boots, in an all-too familiar pose.  Kenneth Irons, suave and powerful and alive, walked into the room, going over to the book that told of the Witchblade.  He reread the entry for November 11th, then turned to Ian.

"Go to the museum, Ian.  Wait for her.  The Blade will choose it's new mistress today.  Call me with your report as soon as she has it."

Ian nodded his head and left.  On his way to the museum he pondered his dream.  It had felt so real, yet now it had a distant quality.  He had a connection with the Witchblade, he always had.  Had it really been talking to him?  Had the whole thing really been a test?  A warning?  He shook his head.  Determination set in as he decided he would do everything in his power to keep his dream from becoming reality.   Forewarned, forearmed.