5/?: When the Prince Awoke...

Adam awoke far more quickly than was his wont. Awareness normally was slow in coming in recent seasons, small wonder given how many seasons he'd seen, and would creep across his senses as the dawn's light would across the horizon. His well-worn senses would likewise begin working again; smell, hearing, touch, and finally sight would return to him, none revealing any surprises beyond how late the morning he'd awakened.

That morning was different, with Adam becoming alert almost instantly. This immediately put him on guard, old instincts kicking in and readying him without conscious thought. He let himself lay where he was, eyes still closed and reached out with his other senses. His surroundings were…different from their home; somewhere at once noisier, yet more sedate. Many, many people moving about, but doing so without haste. There was a current of tension in the air, but diffuse and free-flowing. Strange.

Stranger still were the scents that hung in the air: fresh flowers of some kind, bark of well-tended trees, the hint of electricity, distant smells of food and wine, and metal and oils here and there. Their bed chamber was situated to look out over Minars Sea, yet there was not the hint of brine to be detected.

Adam shifted himself sleepily, left arm reaching to the other side of the mattress to reassure him that, whatever else might be amiss, his other half was secure by his side. Imagine then his surprise to find himself completely alone, and laying upon a much smaller bed than he recalled.

Patience and caution both vanished in a trice as he forced his weary body to roll off the bed and crouch in anticipation. He took in the vision of his surroundings, forcing himself to remain calm at the sight of unfamiliar stone walls and tapestries. Their chambers were as spare and sedate as their children would allow, which wasn't very far in comparison to the rest of the capital. Adam knew every room and inch and alcove of their home, having built much of it himself, and this place most definitely was not part of the architecture.

"Weaver," he hissed to himself. The hag was surely party in this abduction, although what profit she might gain of it escaped him. That was the only rational conclusion he could draw, given the colors and furniture had a sharp quality to them, as if they truly solid and real. The hag had refined her art over their lifetime, making the impossible feel real, if only in fleeting. This also explained why his right arm suddenly appeared – and felt – like this.

What unsettled him most was the sense of familiarity to it all. Had he seen a place like this once, in his long travels? The tapestries were beautiful works certainly, and the style was mature and precise. The furniture was both practical and ornate, hand-carved pieces he was sure, with a hint of (ugh!) royalty to them. His bed was a four-poster one, but lacking the curtains they often needed to draw to ward off the chills of age, not to mention noticeably smaller. It could hold two easily, but they would be in close quarters and have precious little extra space for themselves.

Adam's visual exploration of the room was cut short by the sound and sight of movement in the next room. Again, old instincts took hold and he was gliding out of the room, implacable as a tidal wave and near-soundless as the breeze. He used his momentum to grab the man who was making for the room's other doorway, seizing him by the back of the collar and propelling him face-first into the wall. Adam executed a near-perfect flip-throw (not bad for a man in his age) of the intruder, following it up with an equally strong kick and backhand, leaving the target clearly insensate.

Adam seized his chance and hauled the man again by the collar, forcing him against the closest piece of furniture. Fortuitously, it was a desk of some kind, which yielded a convenient letter opener for use as a weapon. Pressing his elbow into the intruder's neck and positioning the opener's point to an unguarded temple, Adam quietly demanded "Where am I? And where is my wife?"

The man could naught be gurgle something intelligible. "Talk, or it goes in!" The morning light was now filling the room sufficiently he could see his captive's bulging, panicked eyes, and how his cheeks were taking a dark shade of purple. Adam realized a moment later he was strangling the poor fool, and dead men could tell him nothing. He eased his grip enough to give the man air, and was shocked beyond reason at the words that came next.

"Prince Adam…?"

'Prince'? No-one had called him by that title in more seasons than living memory could recall. He'd left that behind upon waking in that damned desert with…and he never used it in all their time…

Adam realized distantly that we had backed away from the man, his eyes and attention roaming throughout the room. The light from outside filled the great space, revealing the desk and other furniture, fine paintings on the wall, throw rugs and other ornaments. If this was indeed the Weaver's work, she'd reached deep into his memories for this level of detail.

That comforting explanation was disproved when his right hip brushed against the desk. His right hand likewise brushed against the wood surface, catching a rough edge of it, causing Adam to jerk back in shock. To this point he'd discounted the appearance of that limb as part of this grand illusion, but that scratch had actually hurt. Illusions, he knew from experience, didn't hurt when they made contact with something. And now his arm hurt. His right arm actually hurt! That meant it…it was…

"Real?" he heard his own voice murmur, at once wondering and terrified. It was impossible, simply and utterly impossible that his arm had been restored, whole and complete. Yet, he felt the pain each time he jabbed the fingers and palm with the opener. Illusions did not, could not cause one pain; the mind could be fooled into thinking it, but the body and nerves always knew better. This was no phantom pain…thus his arm was…was real…

He caught a sight of his reflection in the glass of the balcony's window-door, seeing the young face there, one with hair still a vibrant blonde and chin and cheeks clean of hair. Could this truly…truly be…had he…could…

Adam forced his eyes away from the impossible vista about him and looked towards the man he'd all but brutalized, clearly seeing now the familiar green and orange uniform of an Eternian guardsman. His face too was something, someone he distantly remembered. He stumbled a few variations of "R" names until he chanced "Roan?"

The guardsman nodded, and Adam continued, trying hard not to sound desperate. "This will seem a mad question…but how long…"

"You've been unconscious for three days…"

Adam's mind ceased function, at least on any conscious level. Three days? Compared to the lifetimes he'd…they'd lived? All in the span of just three days? It was surely enough to tip any rational man into screeching insanity, and Adam felt himself physically swaying as if that abyss were material as well as mental. Roan's voice was a distant noise that couldn't penetrate the clamoring in his head. At least not until he said another's name.

"Teela!" Adam was sure he nearly shouted her name. "Is she here as well?"

"Her quarters…" Whatever else Roan might have said was lost to him, as Adam was already racing from the room, blind instinct leading him to the next room over. The Goddess was smiling upon him as the door was already open, saving him the time and energy of breaking it down. Good thing too, as he raced forward and managed – barely – to catch the thinblade that was sailing directly towards some poor maid standing in the bedroom door, stopping it just short of its target.

"Fetch our parents," he ordered without looking at the girl. "Go!" The maid quit the room as quickly as he'd hoped, though he hadn't the wit anymore to worry over her.

All the worry he needed stood before him now, in a room he'd never dared enter in the past, her hip-length roan hair loose and in utter disarray and once sparkling blue eyes now obsidian pools. So her powers followed us here, Adam mused to himself as he stood in the doorway, allowing the other occupant of the room time to calm herself. He prayed she wasn't so disorientated that she no longer recognized her surroundings, or him come to it; having to subdue her would likely be challenging (and equally likely quite painful).

It was…jarring, to see her with her hair long once again, and her without that damned half-masque she'd taken to wearing. The morning light, filtered as it was through gossamer curtains and her nightgown, gave definition but not detail to her slender and unbreakable form. She had never changed in that respect, no matter the trial they endured or wounds suffered.

For a crazed half-moment, he was back in that damned desert, prepared to sink his axe into the head of the murderous queen of a murderous horde, only to have her shake her hood away and let him gaze on a face he'd known until that very moment to have belonged to the dead. He wondered what memory came to her mind as he stood there, waiting?

Whatever might have played in her minds eye, Teela set it aside and gave a small curtsey, eyes downwards and balance unsteady. Decades on, and she was still clumsy at it. "Your Highness...I...uh..." Adam felt a palpable relief at her words. Not the words themselves, but her voice, every bit as deep and melodious as he remembered from the previous night.

It meant she was here, with him.

"It's me, Tee," he said, his own tone as calm and low as he might manage.

She looked up at him, her eyes returned to their normal shinning blue. "Adam?"

"Its me," he repeated, voice at once stronger and splintering. He tottered over towards her, his own balance suddenly uncertain.

They fairly collided with one another, her arms around him, his one good arm around her. Every ounce of strength they could manage poured into the embrace.

"We're back? Really back?" It was all Teela could manage, her eyes darting between his and his right arm. She touched it in wonder, just as Adam traced her left eye and cheek, both now as damp with tears as his own.

"We're back," Adam affirmed, his voice lost to him after that. Their knees buckled under them at some point, Teela's going first by a small margin, pulling Adam down with her. He wondered if their nightclothes weren't tearing for the death-grip they had one another. How he wished he could make his right arm move. It had been so very, very long since he'd been able to hold her with both arms…

The quiet was shattered by the sudden arrival of their parents, Teela springing to her feet and hand drawn back, prepared to let another thinblade fly. Adam managed to rise and grab her hand in mid-swing, mentally kicking himself as he did for not realizing quicker how on-edge she must have been. She'd damn near speared that poor maid but moments ago; with her sight full restored, it was good odds Teela was suffering sensory overload and not fully realizing it. It was worse given their now restored…returned…youth, her reflexes surely sharper than ever.

"Tee!" he hissed into her ear. "It's been three days here."

"Three…?" She nearly fainted at this, but instead took to clinging tighter to him. Duncan's long-missed voice interrupted their momentary serenity, gently calling for Teela.

"Go to him, Love," Adam urged, and she went, leaving him to stand there still reeling from the shock of their restoration. He only barely heard or saw his own parents, both grasping onto him themselves and he onto them as best he could. Adam went further and attempted to make comforting noises of his own, his thoughts acquiring desperate speed at how to explain what they would learn in coming hours.

Sadly, nothing came readily to mind, and he was left adrift as ever. Across the room, he met Teela's eyes and saw the same struggle underway. It was strangely comforting knowing she, who so often was steps ahead of him and calm in the face of all chaos, was as discomforted as he was.

It was a cold comfort when he thought of the sheer volume of revelations before them, and what awaited them after.

TBC...