Disclaimer: Witchblade does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I cannot help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.

Author's Note: For Mr. Hathaway and b8kworm. I have taken liberties with the legend and lore surrounding the Witchblade, but it was fun to create something half as rich as actuality.

Summary: Destiny brought them together, Fate brought them love, But choice kept them together.

Rating: PG-13

Archive(s): Mine. Anybody else, email me; I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): Ian/Sara

Spoiler(s): Yes, but they're all over the place and I can't name specific episodes.

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Title: Before Dawn

Author: Adrianna AEternalis
Email: adrianna@darkcorner.com


Chapter 5: Chained

It was not difficult to guess which room Ian had gone; the beachside bungalow only contained a handful of them - an open living room and kitchen, bathroom, the room she had slept in, and a fourth room. Her one approach to it yielded the knowledge of fevered pacing. Sara's earlier surprised carried over - to think the ever stoic Ian Nottingham was capable of complete restlessness was unfathomable.

Still fatigued from the grueling week, Sara managed to barely clean the kitchen and secure the house before she collapsed back into bed. In that groundless moment between dreams and reality, the distinct feeling of the Witchblade nagged her. Sara begged for only a few hours rest before answering it.

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She immediately recognized the Witchblade's vision of a memory as the gift it was. Confusion warred with curiosity when she saw herself lying unconscious and her wrist bare. The black figure was Ian and his profile substantiated it.

Sara watched as he stooped above a woman and wrenched the Witchblade from her lifeless arm. He held it for a few heartbeats, holding an intimate conversation with it before turning to her. He kneeled and slipped the Witchblade back to its usual resting spot. A finger traced it delicately and then moved to her bleeding arm.

Ian slowly tugged his glove off and dabbed one finger in her wound; he came away with blood. Trance-like, his finger reached his mouth and he tasted. Whatever he discovered had him shuddering and fighting for control.

Scenes fast-forwarded through Ian's meeting, or confrontation, with Irons. A similar high speed drive through the night brought him to the bungalow. He strode through the rooms, not bothering with lights or windows, ignoring everything that would hinder his goal of arriving to the room of chains.

They were big, heavy, and designed only to restrain. Black as Ian's preferred color, they were a sharp contrast to the tan of his naked skin. She could see plainly the cost: that small taste of her blood had him aroused to a point far beyond pleasure. These chains prevented Ian from harming himself.

Sara blinked; heartache sent her to the ground. While she could possibly force Ian to accept the healing abilities of her blood, it was he who had to deal with the after effects. It conflicted with her need for him to be capable of fighting; the White Bulls were still looking for her.

Raising her eyes, she saw an altered image. Besides the black chains holding Ian still, a delicate, silver chain wound about his body. It caressed him - and led directly from him to her. Intertwining with the Witchblade first, the lightweight silver circled her wrist only once, like a decorative armband.

She lifted her arm eyelevel to study it and used her other hand to trace the links of the chain. A resounding groan came from Ian's tortured lips; he fell to his knees or as far as he could go and Sara understood. The Witchblade was using the physical reality of the black chains to relate to Ian's duty. The silver chain was Ian's desire - and love - for her. When she touched the silver chain, it was the same as if she had touched him.

The struggle between duty and desire was so obvious now.

And if Sara looked closer, she knew she would see a third set of chains, invisible ones that shackled Ian to Irons. Even from the grave, he still controlled. So she chose; she chose to free Ian's soul from one of them. As she used a manifestation of the Witchblade, she promised Ian that she would break all of his chains.

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He sat at her bedside, bathed in moonlight. Coaxing her from sleep with only his mind, he offered her another mug. The honey laced tea soothed a throat sore from sobbing and screaming.

Sara rose from bed and made for the shower. There was no need to verbalize her destination; Ian had seen it in her mind. She felt him withdraw, wanting to give her privacy, and she grabbed at him. Akin to a startled fall, Ian fell back into her mind; she labeled his emotion as hesitation and was satisfied when he tucked himself into a corner and stayed.

Her first words to him when she rejoined him in the bedroom was, "Show me how."

He glanced around the dark room and nodded but motioned her out. She received his "not in here" loud and clear. They settled in the living room: Ian prone on the floor because of his healing shoulder and Sara sprawled on a couch.

Ian began by withdrawing from her mind and speaking aloud. "It's a bit like telephoning somebody. First there is the desire, need, or impulse to call. Then it is a simple matter of picking up the phone and dialing."

"I get the wanting part. You lost me at the dialing."

"Sara, this is a case where 'it's easier said than done' is not true."

She gave him a skeptical expression. "Right."

"Close your eyes and try. If it helps, create an image of the person in your mind."

Obeying, Sara closed her eyes and sifted through her collection of Ian poses. Stopping at one of him gazing at her from the rooftop visible from her window, she felt a flare of heat from the Witchblade. That was all it took; she was now in Ian's mind. Elated, she promptly removed herself and repeated the maneuver again and again until the action became close to routine. Gradually, Ian challenged her by entering her mind simultaneously or by following her removal from his. She imitated him and they played an exhausting game of tag.

Eventually, Sara remained within his mind and looked around it. She laughed as the phrase "picking one's brain" took on a whole new meaning. Then, she noticed a portion of his thoughts were deeply shrouded by darkness, desire, and pain. It called to her, but Ian's frantic plea turned her away. Instead, Sara contented herself with Ian's wealth of information on the Witchblade.

She read about Lazar and the other Witchblade protectors - the Knights. She learned about all the women - true Wielders and not - and the men who wore or coveted the Witchblade. She taught herself the skills she needed to fulfill her destiny. She absorbed the detailed history of the Witchblade, the other supernatural weapons and artifacts that balanced its power, and the intricate pattern of how the Witchblade found its next Wielder. Last but not least, she discovered the truth to the unique relationship between Wielder and Knight and balked.


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© RK 16.Jan.2004