The Armor Chooses
The armor chooses its wearer.
A/N: So, confession time. I've been re-watching this series recently, and I've wanted to write something about it for close to fifteen years. This is my first attempt with these characters.
With that being said, I present these vignettes in the order I wrote them. No more than that. I apologize for any mistakes and hope you enjoy!
Cale
Snow drifted past his field of vision, each snowflake spun on the breeze as though suspended by magic. The last of the sun's rays arced across over the horizon and the hollow ache he felt all day began to abate. At night, he could do as he pleased, and in the depth of the unrelenting blizzard, he was free from all restraints. Free to roam and hunt, free to be whatever he wanted. The important part was: free.
Silently, he pulled on fur boots and layers of cloth and leather, mittens, hat, and finally tucked his sword within his belt. Down deserted and darkened hallways, out through a side entrance, over the wall at its lowest point and into the woods that grew up along the perimeter of the estate, he was a shadow. Cold nipped at his exposed flesh, but did not deter him. No, it was joy to feel that pain. The numbness of the cold as it soaked past defenses.
He penetrated deeper into frozen woods, careful to listen for tell-tale signs of prey. Eyes glued to the white ground, it could have been hours, or minutes before he realized how far he had wandered. It took a good ten minutes to piece together where he was, how far he had gone based on his tracks and the terrain. And doubt crept in, should he go back?
A flicker of power licked at his core. A deeper darkness crept down the mountain toward him and he braced to meet it. Like a slow avalanche, it built and crashed around trees and rocks; it howled his name and finally pulled him away in its undertow, impossibly, back up the mountain. He resisted at first, his savage instinct to wound and kill; only the lulling heart beat of cold power weakened his will to fight it.
The darkness deposited him at the top of the mountain, a bare ring of rock and snow, open to the sky, and a cairn of rocks stacked taller than two men. He could feel the pulse of something primal calling him, his heart beat in time with it. Quickly, impatiently, he stripped his mittens away. Touch it! His mind screamed. Make it yours and be free forever!
Centimeters from the cairn's rocky surface, voice whispered on a frozen wind, the accent strange, "Do you desire it? This dark power?"
"Yes," he answered, his voice also a whisper, filled with yearning to possess that which had drawn him.
"To have it, you must pledge to obey me, serve me as one of my dark warlords," the voice commanded.
"Master, for this, I will be your obedient servant. What more do you ask of me?" he knelt, head bowed.
"Then feast on this darkness and rise, Cale, my Demon of Corruption and Darkness."
He stood, planted one firm hand on the bare rock before him and felt the cold slip away. He was surrounded in dark lightning, consumed by its ferocity. Filled, made whole by its power. When his sight returned, he stretched his arms before him, admiring the armor that covered him. His red cape snapped in the breeze and he surveyed his surroundings with new appreciation. How the darkness subtly changed colors and how bright the snow was in the bitter moonlight.
Where the cairn had stood, now an open gate yawned before him. Head held high, he passed through the red doors, knowing that as he did so, the world he had known would be washed away, by his own hand, his new master's hand, or by time itself. He cared very little how.
