At first, he could comprehend nothing but the pain.
He lay there writhing in helplessness and confusion as portions of his body simply melted away, flesh and sinew and bone withering beneath the destroying touch of the angel of decay, and he had little hope of controlling the spasmodic motions of his body for it took every mote of willpower he had just to keep himself from crying out. In his fit of agony he had difficulty just comprehending why – why couldn't he lift his left arm to shield himself from the aberration's next ruthless attack? Why wouldn't his legs support his weight? Why was the vision in his left eye suddenly blurring and steadily worsening, darkening until he could see nothing but an endless black void?
When the realization struck him that barely half of his body remained it sent him into a panic, which only served to worsen his deplorable condition. His chest heaved as he labored for breath and his lung, already punctured by one of his broken ribs, tore open a little further as he sucked in breath after useless breath. His heart, already thrumming out a frantic tattoo in a feeble attempt to prolong the usage of his failing half a body, stuttered and fibrillated for a handful of terrifying seconds that left him breathless with fear. He struggled with the onset of that crushing anxiety, fighting with everything that remained within him just to slow his heart and breathe in a way that wouldn't further aggravate his already fatal wounds. He squeezed his single working eye shut, blotting out the horrors of his surroundings, yearning for darkness and silence and the deceptive bliss of nothingness.
In those moments, he prayed for death.
There was a new disturbance in that dank, long-since-disturbed chamber, and with a great effort he dragged his right eye open; it was a miniscule tear the fabric that separated the Material Plane from the Shadow Realm, once an extradimensional rift that his mortal eyes overlooked easily and now an anomaly that he saw everywhere. It widened to admit a figure cloaked all in protective shadows, who appeared just in time to intercept yet another blow from the angel of decay that he knew instinctively would have utterly annihilated him. The abyssal angel's filthy talons raked down the shadowy figure's torso, shredding his fine robes and bleeding wisps of shadowstuff, but with a growl of undiluted rage the shade simply shook off the blow and stalked forward, murmuring an incantation in a strange tongue that mutated his dominant hand into wicked, serrated claws of pure shadow. With these he proceeded to reduce his adversary to a festering pool of hideous corruption, but so blinded was he in his rage that even when the aberration was clearly no longer a threat he seized the nearest scepter and invoked its flames, leaving little more than a smoldering pile of ash where once the creature had stood.
It was carnage that he could no longer bear to witness for he was certain now that he was dying – wasn't that much obvious? And so he begged the shadowy figure to stop, pleaded with all the breath remaining in his lungs to be held close while his doom swiftly approached, and though he was afraid of what the end might mean his fears seemed much less as he was cradled in the arms of Twelfth Prince Brennus Tanthul. They conversed a little, but to him the words were meaningless – not because he cared nothing for them, but because he was simply incapable of comprehending them anymore. He may have tried to reassure the prince that he wasn't afraid but his words had little effect; Brennus cried bitter black tears, peppering his ruined face with the cool droplets of molten shadow, and though he took issue with the prince's heartbreak he hadn't the strength to protest. Somehow within the endless sea of pain he suddenly perceived his exhaustion, and understood without asking it was time for him to surrender.
He closed his single working eye yet again with a tiny sigh of relief, and embraced death like an old friend.
Above him there issued a growl of fierce denial followed by an odd moment of displacement as he was forcibly dislodged from Brennus's lap; he cracked his eye open most unwillingly as a fresh wave of pain wracked what remained of his body, wondering if his face appeared as disgruntled as he felt, and the world ground to a sudden halt as he watched Brennus plunge his own incorporeal hand deep within his chest.
What was he doing? Was he trying to keep him rooted to the mortal coil with such awful tactics? Did he mean to end his own life so that he would never have to know the agony of meandering aimlessly through life alone?
Then the prince withdrew his hand, and he dimly perceived the true intent behind his macabre actions when he glimpsed the miniscule wisp of concentrated shadow pinched between Brennus's thumb and forefinger. He may even have whimpered or tried to wriggle away, but his efforts were so feeble that Brennus seemed not to take notice as he lurched forward and eased his oddly translucent hand into his chest. And he knew what was coming but couldn't even find the strength within him to protest, didn't even have the presence of mind to consider the repercussions that would likely follow this act.
He knew that the pure essence of shadow Brennus held in his hand had been joined with his wildly-fibrillating heart the moment the pain ripped through him anew, like someone stoking a gently-smoldering fire into an uncontrollable blaze.
The heat was so intense that it desensitized him to anything else physical; he watched Brennus draw his hand from his torso but felt nothing, watched as the prince leaned forward and laid one compassionate hand upon his cheek but could hardly feel its warmth, heard the animalistic sound of his own screams but didn't feel the awful din tearing from his throat. His heart was on fire, racing so swiftly that he was certain it would burst through his already-broken ribcage and tear a gaping, ragged hole in his flesh, and when he was certain the pain couldn't intensify any more the supernova within his chest ignited smaller flash fires all throughout his body. He swore that was magma in his veins, for how could it be blood? The thing giving him life was now determined to destroy him and he found himself begging soundlessly to be released from life, because if this was life he would gladly tear his own soul from his body simply to pass beyond the Veil and find some semblance of peace –
The fires reached the far corners of his body and without warning the agony doubled as the mote of shadow sustaining him regenerated his ruined arm and leg; his screams intensified until he could taste blood in his throat, and when he was certain he would choke on it that wound healed itself too. The blind spot in his vision abruptly vanished as sight returned to his left eye and mercifully the pain subsided a fraction, reduced to a slow burn as the healing process miraculously came to a close.
There followed the uncomfortable realization that he hadn't felt his own heart beat in many moments, and the instant he chose to focus upon the odd stillness within his chest he felt that most essential organ shrivel and die as it was crushed and molded by the shadow. He opened his mouth to cry out in fear and concern but the words died upon his tongue as a thin wisp of black vapor burst into existence in the air a few inches above the place where his heart had become dormant; as he watched the vapor became a thin black veil, slowly encompassing his body with its protective presence like a living thing, and with a fresh wave of horror he watched as his skin darkened from its characteristic slate gray to the color of ebony.
The blaze roared, intangible flames leaping ever higher, consuming every inch of his skin. As he writhed helplessly within the damnable clutches of the fire he knew that millimeter by millimeter the pure essence of shadow was killing him, dragging him deeper into oblivion while somehow simultaneously lifting him to a place that transcended mere mortality. Still he begged for death in every language he knew, for what was the point in living if all he knew was this excruciating agony?
Just as he felt himself teetering on the brink of insanity, the pain abruptly ceased.
It was nothing altogether spectacular, really; he felt healthy, intact, and alive, despite the very real physical evidence that suggested otherwise. When he breathed his chest no longer ached, for his punctured lung had knitted itself back together nicely and he took great pleasure in inhaling deeply for the first time in several hours. He had been so in tune with his body before that if he concentrated just enough he could feel warm blood cycling through his circulatory system, but this was no longer the case – now his innards felt oddly empty, as though the organs that now sustained him were somehow less tangible than before. Unthinkingly he laid a hand upon his own breast, waiting to feel the familiar rhythm of his heart pounding, and was most unnerved by the absence of its comforting flutter. That, at least, would take a great deal of adjusting to.
Opening his eyes he abruptly sat up straight, and couldn't help the barely audible gasp of surprise and wonder that escaped his lips as he took a look around. It wasn't that his surroundings had changed but that his perspective had – his new vision was sharper and far clearer than it had ever been, even despite the fact that he now glimpsed everything through a thin veneer of ever-present shadow; colors were ultra-defined and he couldn't help his wandering gaze as it strayed to the nearest weapon rack in the armory, lingering upon the detailed filigree laid into a masterfully crafted hauberk and at a loss to put a name to the colors he saw there. He could see individual particles of dust floating upon the air, miniscule motes of sepia that he might otherwise have mistaken for individual grains of sand, and the first time a thin shaft of light glanced off a nearby weapon he was certain he would be able to make out the individual colors of the spectrum if he focused hard enough.
Unthinkingly he lifted his right hand up before his eyes, inspecting the unusual new sheen of his skin with a curious mix of awe and skepticism. His flesh was black as midnight beneath the ever-shifting curtain of shadow that now wreathed his body, and when he closed his fingers into a fist he couldn't help but marvel at the sinuousness of the movement. Of course he would never have known to lament the frailty of his body prior to his transformation – how could he, when it was all he had ever known? The strength of body and mind that he thought he had mastered before could never compare to this – the feeling that the orb of pure, undiluted shadow that now sustained him had not only delivered him from the brink of certain death but perfected every physical aspect of his existence. Though he had never been particularly self-involved he couldn't help but wonder just what his new body was capable of. His mind had been so keen before… Could it be that it was even sharper now? Could he kill with a single thought? Should he be terrified that a part of him hoped he could?
"Phendrana?"
He snapped his eyes upon the only other figure in the mostly dark chamber with him, and he easily perceived that he was not a threat if only because he was also a creature of the shadow. He observed him appraisingly and wondrously with wide eyes of molten bronze that were somehow intimately familiar; the shadows that enveloped him were oddly thin, as though he had been very adversely affected by something that had transpired recently, and the robes he wore seemed to be dark in patches. With a start he realized that it was blood staining the other shade's clothing, and couldn't help but wonder – was it the blood of an adversary he had just vanquished? Was it his own?
The other shade stretched a tentative, slightly-shaking hand slowly in his direction, somehow yearning for physical contact but uncertain; he blinked at the trembling digits as though curious as how to respond, but then the single spoken word struck a chord of profound recognition somewhere deep within him and suddenly he found himself prey to a great deluge of memories as abruptly he came back into himself.
He remembered it all – Castle Tethyr, with its crumbling foundation and eerie, too-quiet corridors. The sound of rain upon the cobblestoned floors, the moss and lichen creeping over every inch of the long-abandoned halls, the moonlight streaming through the caved-in ceilings and bathing everything in an ethereal glow. The sound of sucking footsteps, the stench of decay, the earthen subterranean tunnels with their musty scent and almost claustrophobic closeness. The struggle to draw breath, the sudden loss of half of his vision, the crushing helplessness as he watched his ailing body waste away and knowing he was powerless to stop it. The terrifying vengeance of his shadow-swathed savior and his heartfelt, grief-stricken declarations.
Death and darkness, resurrection and rebirth, light and shadow.
Phendrana. Yes. That was his name. He had been that creature once. Was he still?
"Brennus." Gods, his own voice almost startled him, and with a jolt he realized he had resigned himself to never speaking again. He had glimpsed beyond the Veil, seen with his own eyes the mystery and wonder that lay beyond the Land of the Living. That he should find himself back here again, alive and well after wetting his lips with a single cool and refreshing taste of the sweet afterlife that had been prepared for him, was unprecedented. Had his regret been enough to wrench him back from oblivion? Was it his overwhelming affection for Brennus that had led him back here?
Still Brennus knelt there, his hand still half-reached in Phendrana's direction as though he wasn't certain whether the doppelganger would tolerate any form of physical contact; something in his expression made Phendrana feel distinctly uneasy, an undercurrent of doubt that seemed out of place. And he wondered – what could be the cause of such blatant uncertainty? Was he even now wondering at his snap decision to transform Phendrana into a shade? Was he considering the repercussions of such a monumental decision? For even Phendrana knew that there would be consequences for this – some things, he knew, were unavoidable. Rituals so obviously sacred were never meant to be so dishonored.
"Are you…" Brennus hesitated, searching, sifting through his tumultuous thoughts as he swallowed hard past the sudden lump that had risen in his throat. "…Quite… alright?"
Phendrana blinked, surprised. Oh. He had misread the situation entirely. Brennus was only concerned for his well-being. Perhaps the repercussions of his actions hadn't even crossed his mind yet. It struck him then just how close to losing his beloved prince he had come, and with a sudden surging of emotion he lurched forward and crushed the loremaster to his chest with no small amount of force. For his part Brennus did not protest but shifted so that he could return the embrace, and they sat entwined and unspeaking for many long minutes as Phendrana struggled to re-familiarize himself with those aspects of the Twelfth Prince he most enjoyed but which seemed frighteningly hazy to him.
It didn't make sense. Already he could feel that his mind was preternaturally keen, even sharper than it had been prior to his transformation. Why then did it seem as though a heavy fog was blanketing all of his memories? Why did those thoughts and images he held most dear slip through his hands the tighter he clung to them, like water seeping through the cracks between his fingers?
Brennus was fidgeting against him, and it took Phendrana a moment to realize that the prince was struggling to put distance between them; the doppelganger hastened to oblige him, hastily dropping his hands into his lap, certain that the sudden physical contact had offended the prince, but those fears were dispelled in the next instant as Brennus cupped the doppelganger's face in his hands, smoothing his fingertips across his cheeks with concern apparent in his eyes. "You're trembling, Phendrana. Are you certain you're alright? Did I hurt you?"
Phendrana shook his head vigorously, eager to assuage the prince's fears. "No… Quite the opposite, actually. I feel stronger than I ever have, and the pain has subsided."
He reached his hands up and encircled the loremaster's wrists with his abnormally long fingers, tugging those hands away from his face so that he could press a series of soft kisses against the knuckles; for his part Brennus remained motionless, his eyes searching the doppelganger's face, trying to determine what was behind Phendrana's unease. "Then… what ails you?"
Abruptly Phendrana withdrew, his fingers retreating to his temples, gently prodding. "I can't remember…"
"Can't remember…?" Brennus baited, waiting for the doppelganger to finish his sentence with bated breath, and as Phendrana's fingertips kneaded his own forehead his eyes narrowed within the perpetual blackness that was his new and permanent visage.
"Details," Phendrana at last admitted slowly. "Everything is… so faint. The more I focus on what memories I can recall, the quicker they flee from me. Even the most poignant memories I have are swiftly losing their vibrancy." His gaze darted to Brennus's face, hoping against hope that he would find the prince looking back at him with a reassuring smile, but Brennus's expression was one of utter puzzlement. Though he was certain he knew what that meant he found he needed the verbal confirmation more than anything. "Is that… common?"
Briefly Brennus considered lying outright and looking into the matter upon their return to Thultanthar, but found that he hadn't the heart to be anything less than perfectly truthful with his lover. With a quiet, pensive sadness rimming his eyes he shook his head gently once and said, "Not to my knowledge. I was quite young when the Most High bestowed the gift of the shadow upon me, and many centuries have elapsed since that moment, but I do not find any of my memories so dulled."
Phendrana was certain that had he still been possessed of a beating heart it would have skipped a beat at Brennus's unexpected words; as it was he simply sat there, terrified into silence, staring back at the Twelfth Prince beseechingly. With his eyes he pleaded for reassurance, but it was clear in Brennus's tortured expression that no answers would be forthcoming. At length the prince whispered, "What do you remember? Clearly you know who you are, and who I am, and it seems that you have at least a basic understanding of where you are and what has occurred here recently." In response to Phendrana's vacant expression Brennus added slowly, "…You do know who you are, and who I am… Don't you?"
"I'm Phendrana," the doppelganger responded, "and you are Brennus, the youngest son of High Prince Telamont of Thultanthar."
Brennus was not much comforted by the conviction with which Phendrana answered, and so launched into another string of inquiries. "Do you know where you are now?"
"The Netherese armory, in the bowels of Castle Tethyr."
"And why did I make you a shade?"
"I assume you did so because I was on the brink of death, and you thought it was the only option available to you at the time."
"Why were you dying?"
Phendrana grimaced with discomfort, appalled by the memory. "I was attacked by some foul creature."
"What creature?" Brennus pressed unrelentingly.
The doppelganger was shaking his head now. "I do not know. But my lack of knowledge on the subject is not due to my transformation. I have never encountered such a beast – it was unknown to me."
The loremaster dared to hope that perhaps Phendrana was experiencing a mild form of post traumatic stress – a completely acceptable reaction to all that his body had just been exposed to, in his opinion. The strain of Phendrana's body dissolving into cesspools of decay, shutting down his vital organs one by one with agonizing slowness, followed by the complete reconstruction of his mortal body and culminating in the destruction of his soul and the sudden forcible transition in his body composition from flesh into shadow would have been nothing short of devastating. If the worst side effect that resulted of such a traumatic chain of events was a certain measure of haziness to Phendrana's memories, the doppelganger was far better off. He was alive – was that not more important? "It was an angel of decay," Brennus explained mildly, allowing himself to relax for the first time in many minutes. "Having lived most of your life on the surface, I cannot say I am surprised that you have never encountered one before… I would have thought Zerena, or perhaps Alax, would be able to tell you the nature of the creature you faced, however."
"I hadn't time to ask them," Phendrana recalled, sifting gingerly through what memories remained to him and disturbed to find that all he recalled of his near-death experience stood out far more poignantly than he would have preferred. "I remember hearing their warnings but I scarcely recall their words. Everything happened so quickly… All was chaos."
All the while the doppelganger's radiant eyes, as silver as moonlight reflected in a still pool, grew wider and wider as panic and disorientation set in; wisely Brennus bit back the rest of his inquiries, knowing that Phendrana would likely continue to grow even more distressed until his memories returned. With a gentle shushing noise he pulled the doppelganger close, pressing Phendrana's head against his chest with one hand and stroking his back with the other until gradually the tension began to ease out of his shoulders and the involuntary trembling in his extremities subsided. And as they sat there, unmoving and silent, Brennus couldn't help but fear the worst – what if the memories of Phendrana's life prior to his transformation never returned? Or worse still, what if his memories weren't the only facet of his brilliant mind to be so adversely affected by such a drastic change to his body's composition? Was there still more damage unseen that Brennus had yet to discover?
"Do not fret," he said at last, as much for the doppelganger's benefit as his own. "Remember, your body is only just recovering from an amount of trauma the likes of which it would not have been able to withstand under normal circumstances. It may take time, but I can think of no reason why your memories wouldn't return. Perhaps your body isn't all that needs time to recuperate – perhaps your mind needs time also."
Phendrana was nodding into Brennus's chest, but when he drew back traces of uncertainty lingered still within his brilliant eyes. For his part Brennus could only offer a tentative but bolstering smile, hoping against all hope that his own fears didn't show through upon his face.
Though Brennus attempted to keep a watchful eye upon Phendrana as often as he was able, the moment they shadow-walked out of the armory and back into the foyer where his retainers had set up camp there simply wasn't time. In an attempt to deflect negative attention away from Phendrana the prince announced the discovery of the Netherese armory deep beneath Castle Tethyr's foundations, and from there the day became a whirlwind of activity as Brennus's excavation team hurried to preserve the priceless artifacts entombed underground. Phendrana couldn't help but marvel at the diligence and efficiency of the team that Brennus had assembled, senior arcanists and archaeologists all – a detailed description was drawn up for each weapon noting the materials of construction as well as the enchantments bound within each relic, potions and salves were all meticulously tested to determine the most likely effects each would have if ingested or applied, rods and staves and rings and amulets were catalogued by school of magic and then cross-referenced by potency of spell. This process was remarkably involved, and very few items from the armory were so much as handled physically in the first several hours.
Though the armory chamber and all of its contents had been remarkably well preserved thanks to the ancient magic of the Netherese archwizards, each item was handled with extreme care when cataloguing had at last come to a close. Brennus acted as overseer within the subterranean chamber, giving specific instructions as to the care of each individual relic, and this portion of the process took the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. At mealtimes the prince sent his retainers away in shifts but hardly slowed in his work, refusing to so much as step foot outside the armory until every last item had been safely moved from the underground tunnels and into a well-protected corner of the foyer that he had had sectioned off specifically for this purpose. Guards were stationed around the temporary structure and protective enchantments were cast to provide additional fortification, and only when Brennus was certain he had done everything in his power to preserve the contents of the armory did he collapse, exhausted, upon the bed within the oversized tent that he and Phendrana shared. By that time it was well after dark, and the majority of the camp was silent around them as the prince's retainers slept.
Though he longed for privacy and solitude Phendrana set about getting the prince a much-needed meal, for he hadn't eaten since the night before and the doppelganger was bound both by honor and affection to serve him. When the scent of roast mutton wafted through the flap of the tent the prince moved into the foyer, to find that Phendrana had stoked one of the fires into a contained blaze in order to warm some of the food that had been prepared earlier in the day; on a tray near the doppelganger's knee was stacked a variety of fruits and cheeses, and while Phendrana saw to the meat Brennus gratefully accepted a wedge of gorgonzola and a half-goblet of Netherese heartwine.
"Tell me," Phendrana began mildly, his eyes upon the mutton as he slowly rotated the spit, his voice inquisitive. "Was it an impressive find?"
Brennus hummed, obviously quite pleased, picking a bunch of red grapes and devouring them as he answered. "Over the course of four and a half centuries I have located a few dozen similar treasure troves, and I've taken great pains to return the contents of each to the Most High. While each of those contained many wondrous and valuable artifacts, I confess I have never seen an armory of this size in all my time searching for the last remnants of the Netherese culture."
"Were you not expecting to find such riches?" Phendrana pried.
"In my translation of the Nether Scroll that your friends recovered from Manifest there was no mention of the scope of the armory," Brennus confessed, attempting to take a dainty sip of his wine but failing in his hurry to assuage his suddenly voracious appetite. "It might have been one warrior's sword or the private stores of one alchemist. Instead we stumbled upon perhaps one of the largest Netherese armories ever to exist. The High Prince will be overwhelmed when he sees what we have accomplished here – even after all this time his desire to retain Thultanthar's connection to its Netherese ancestors remains strong."
The mutton was warm enough to be served; Phendrana removed the skewer from the spit and deposited the slab of meat upon the prince's plate before taking up his poker again and gently stirring the flames. There was a kind of contemplative silence as Brennus ate and Phendrana stared blankly into the heart of the flickering fire, and when the prince took up his goblet once more the doppelganger at last found his voice. "What is to become of us?"
Brennus's throat bobbed thickly as he swallowed, suggesting that he had been hoping to avoid returning to any topic of conversation pertaining to Phendrana's transformation; Phendrana's eyes, keener than ever, did not miss the prince's moment of discomfort. Brennus recovered himself nicely, though, and when he replaced the goblet and took up his plate again he had the decency to assume a mildly quizzical expression. "Tomorrow we will break camp, of course, and return with all speed and care to the City of Shade. Once we arrive the High Prince will go over my report of our findings, and he will distribute the contents of the armory accordingly – potions will be given to the alchemical department at the Shadow Mages College, books will be assimilated into the Grand Library, and the less valuable weapons and armor will be gifted to the Hall of the Arts Martial for use in training exercises. The particularly rare, exceptionally crafted relics will be retained within the High Prince's personal armory to serve as display pieces – or in certain cases, gifts to the Most High's favored retainers as thanks for their exemplary service. Upon your formal induction into the Shadow Council, when the High Prince grants you the titles of Mind of the Most High and Hero of Thultanthar, you will be receiving one for yourself."
Phendrana felt nothing but fondness toward Brennus in that moment, for he knew that the Twelfth Prince was taking great pains to keep him focused on the many honors soon to be bestowed upon him, but it wasn't what he wanted to talk about and he suspected the prince knew that well enough. He opted for a more direct approach to erase any confusion. "That isn't what I mean. How will the High Prince receive me, now that I am a shade? More importantly how will he receive you, knowing that you are responsible for my condition?"
It seemed that the loremaster was weighing the diplomacy of his reply very carefully, Phendrana thought; Brennus was quiet for quite some time, shredding the mutton with his fingertips and taking slow, deliberate bites, sipping thoughtfully at his wine, popping another grape into his mouth almost playfully as though he hadn't a care. Phendrana wondered how much of the prince's carefree behavior was an act, and how much was simply an over-exaggerated show meant to keep him calm – regardless it had the opposite effect, and the doppelganger felt a knot of real fear tightening in his chest. At last the Twelfth Prince deigned to look him in the eye, his bronze pupils hard with unspeakable emotion, but when he spoke his voice was measured and genial enough. "I expect he will receive us with open arms, for what reason has he to be displeased? Our search for the armory has been entirely successful, and as for your unexpected condition… Well, it is my hope that he will pardon me for my snap decisions when he learns how near to death you truly were. Surely he will condone my behavior, for surely he would prefer you to be saved regardless of the method."
The flames danced in Phendrana's eyes as he gazed down upon the little campfire, mulling over the prince's words, searching for the truth in them. He had to admit that he appreciated Brennus's optimism, but he wasn't certain just how realistic the prince's expectations were; he recalled a time mere weeks ago when the notion of casting Hadrhune, the High Prince's favored shadow sorcerer, out of the enclave for having carnal knowledge of an outsider had been the topic of much debate amongst the other members of the Shadow Council – an issue that Phendrana had secretly considered to be quite paltry, truth be told. If such a trivial issue had aroused so much enmity, who was to say that they wouldn't invoke the High Prince's wrath the moment they set foot within his audience hall? To Phendrana's mind this issue was far more important, though he would be the first to admit that he had no way of knowing the High Prince's mind on any circumstance, but if there was credence to his fears what then would Brennus face? He was the instigator, the one who had set this chain of events into motion – though Phendrana wished he could shoulder more of the blame he simply couldn't justify it, for he had been so near to death that the ability to protest had been lost to him. How severe, then, would the potential repercussions be? Was Brennus facing dishonor? The nullification of certain accolades? Banishment? Or something far, far worse?
His concern must have started to show through in his expression, for suddenly Brennus was replacing his plate and seizing the doppelganger's chin in his hand. The prince's fingers were not gentle; quite the contrary there seemed to be an unnecessary amount of force in his grip, and when their eyes met his were hard, dark and forbidding. Phendrana couldn't remember ever being so startled by him before, for from the moment they had become acquainted Brennus had always treated him with a level of courtesy and respect that the doppelganger wasn't sure he deserved.
"I forbid you to fret over this matter," Brennus growled, his voice inhospitable, and Phendrana started at the almost unrecognizable tone, "just as I forbid you to fret over what is to become of me. You have done nothing wrong, Phendrana – you were willing to give your life to complete the High Prince's mandate, however foolishly, and there can be no punishment for such fealty. If there are to be repercussions they are to fall upon me and me alone, and I will accept them gladly. My actions saved your life. I cannot bring myself to regret what I have done, for knowing that I am responsible for preserving your life will bring me solace from whatever awaits me from this point forward."
Phendrana opened his mouth to point out the obvious contradiction in the Twelfth Prince's words but he never got the chance, for in the next moment Brennus had pulled him none-too-gently forward and silenced his protests with a sudden and passionate kiss. Far from placating the doppelganger's concerns, though, the embrace only served to further unnerve him – there was an urgency, a kind of fierce desperation in the way Brennus's lips moved upon his own, and Phendrana was certain he knew why.
Brennus was terrified.
Phendrana was unable to coax Brennus to sleep until the hour was very late, and though he wished with all his might for sleep to come swiftly his mind stubbornly kept him awake. He had been hoping all day that his memories would return gradually, that the haziness plaguing his mind was a result of the trauma he had endured and it would lift if he gave it time, and he was beginning to think that this at least was true; he was able to recall the particulars of his relationship with Brennus now, including the precise moment they had met and all that they had shared in their time together. Additionally he remembered his old friends Aidan, Aust, and Ivy, and his old flame Rosalles, and took a measure of comfort in knowing that despite the fact that they were no longer a part of his life he hadn't lost his memories of them completely. Certain chains of events seemed to lack detail and clarity, but on the whole he felt that his memory was much improved.
That was no longer his great concern.
He had thought something seemed out of the ordinary all day long as he was assisting Brennus with the great task of preparing each piece from the armory for the journey back to Thultanthar, but as he had been doubly concerned with the vague nature of his memories as well as performing the duties then expected of him he hadn't been able to put a finger on it. Now that he was as alone as he could be, with nothing but the sounds of the faint crackle of the dying fire just outside their tent and the distant din of rolling thunder beyond the castle walls to fill his ears, he was becoming increasingly more aware of just how quiet his own mind seemed to be.
It took barely an effort on his part to completely remove himself from his immediate surroundings, to blot out the soft sounds of the encroaching night and wrench his own thoughts inward. What he saw within the cavernous space that was his conscious mind almost frightened him, for it was not the chamber with the misty floor and the limitless ceiling but a far darker expanse blanketed in ever-shifting shadows; for a few horrible seconds he wondered if he was glimpsing the true nature of the devastation that was the result of his only partially-successful transformation, but it occurred to him that just as his body had changed so too had his mind. He strolled slowly through the unfamiliar space, letting himself grow accustomed to the inherently darker mindset that would now meet him whenever he felt the need to flee within himself, and found that he enjoyed the comforting presence of those shadows almost as much as he enjoyed the sensation that perhaps his mind was now capable of far more than it ever had been before.
Abruptly he remembered just why he had come, for in his aimless wandering he had reached the sightless boundary that separated his mind's active thoughts from his subconscious, the place where typically his six deceased friends dwelled when they desired not to be privy to his thoughts. Facing that unseen void he called out tentatively, his own voice strangely muffled by the swirling veil of darkness.
The profound silence that followed his cry, the only reply he would receive, brought to mind the cold, soulless vacancy of a long-undisturbed mausoleum. And in that awful moment he knew: they truly were lost to him now, those six precious souls that he had come to know intimately in the hour of their deaths. The delusions he had created over the years, the self-made specters of the heroes he had barely known but couldn't bear to part with, no longer existed in this place; he prodded desperately deeper into his own psyche, praying that he would manage to locate their familiar presences ingrained somewhere within his very being, but there remained not a single trace of any of them.
He wept in his crushing despair as slowly he came to understand. The essence of shadow imparted a great many wondrous gifts upon those who received it – among the most precious of these was regeneration, an accelerated rate of healing that made the shades nigh impossible to destroy using conventional methods. Phendrana surmised that this regeneration had become active the moment Brennus had introduced a fragment of shadow essence into his heart and created the shadow orb that would henceforth sustain him; if that was true, those coveted regenerative properties were likely to blame for the almost maddening quiet resounding within his mind. It was the will of the shadow that its host remained in the very peak of physical health – it would be unable to distinguish between a fatal wound and an anomaly of the brain, and likely view both as imperfections to be fixed. It had viewed the precious gift of his friends' voices as a flaw, and in mending that defect it had utterly destroyed them.
The silence of his own mind was suddenly more than he could bear, and with exaggerated force he wrenched himself out of his thoughts and back into the present. His heart should have been pounding, but he no longer possessed such a thing and his chest felt eerily still. He should have been bathed in sweat, but his skin was smooth and cool. Beyond the keep's heavily-weathered walls, the thunder rolled ever louder.
Would they continue to wait for him, he wondered? They had vowed upon the conclusion of their last meeting that they would dwell within Manifest until such time as his life ended, and when that day came they would all pass beyond the Veil and into the next life together. It was that thought he clung to now, but even that solace did not last as he recalled something that Brennus had told him long before he had ever set foot within Thultanthar.
"Immortality is as much a gift as it is a curse, Phendrana... Loved ones will pass on, the shape of the land will change, and eventually that person's entire life will be something completely different than it was on the day he first began to walk the earth. Loneliness, isolation, and sorrow can kill a man as surely as any weapon, but those who are made to live forever can never escape their sadness."
"Are the Princes of Shade immortal?" Phendrana had asked, morbidly curious by all that Brennus had told him, somehow darkly eager to learn more.
The Twelfth Prince's answer had been vague, purposefully open-ended, and it had chilled the doppelganger to the bone. "So far."
Now that the question of his death was not decades but perhaps millennia away from ever being answered, would his friends continue to wait for him to arrive in Manifest for the last time? Could he really expect them to wait… potentially forever?
Morning came much too soon for Phendrana, who found little real rest as he dreaded the approaching dawn. Breakfast was a hurried affair, for all those in attendance knew well the importance of their mandate and were focused wholly on the safe transportation of all those artifacts that had been recovered from the catacombs beneath the foundations of Castle Tethyr; Phendrana found himself desperate to make use of himself, anything to distract from the deepening sense of dread that pooled in his stomach, but Brennus insisted that breaking the camp was work for the common folk and not fit for the Mind of the Most High. Phendrana didn't have the heart to inform the prince that perhaps he was being a little presumptuous – after all that had happened in the past forty eight hours he was no longer certain that he would be entertaining the High Prince's favor upon his return to the enclave, much less be fit to bear such a lofty title.
Dread has an uncanny way of speeding the flow of time; the doppelganger had only to blink and it seemed that their darksteeds were saddled and awaiting riders, and as he wanted nothing more than to keep from causing Brennus undue alarm he mounted his steed without protest. The Twelfth Prince's attendant and fellow arcanist Altaria, a stern-faced Shadovar female with a bald pate and severe eyes, was barking orders to the lesser members of the excavating party as she joined them at the head of the company, and with a single shout from Brennus they took to the sky.
There was no sun on this day – not like the day they had departed Thultanthar on the High Prince's business, when their journey had been accompanied by brilliant sunlight and crystal-blue skies as far as the eye could see; instead iron-gray clouds loomed heavily above them, swollen with rain and rumbling with thunder even as the crumbling ruin of Castle Tethyr fell away below them. As lightning split the sky and the first of the raindrops began to fall, Phendrana hunched his shoulders and quietly prayed to any god that would listen that the weather wasn't an omen for what they might expect upon their return.
It wasn't until their entourage was soaring over the forests of Wealdath that Phendrana dared to glance Brennus's way, unsurprised when the Twelfth Prince didn't return his gaze. His face was closed off and unapproachable, for it seemed that he was lost in his own thoughts; the doppelganger knew by the bleak set to the loremaster's mouth and the helplessness that lingered near his eyes that he, too, was anxiously anticipating their return to the City of Shade. He wanted to extend his reassurances, to tell Brennus that his fears were unfounded and all would be well when the High Prince was made to understand the circumstances they had been faced with, but he could not find the courage to say any of his thoughts aloud. For what if he was wrong? What if the High Prince chose not to sympathize with their cause?
At last he stretched out his mental influence, almost shocked at just how simple it was to infiltrate Brennus's mind and impart his thoughts upon him. I love you.
The Twelfth Prince whipped his head in Phendrana's direction, his surprise apparent in his expression. It had only just occurred to Phendrana that when Brennus had made a similar declaration, in the moments during which Phendrana had teetered on the edge of life and death, Phendrana hadn't reciprocated those emotions.
And I love you. It was clear in the strange inflections that surrounded these words that Brennus had much more to say, but his thoughts wavered on the final syllable and all that he wanted to say was lost. Phendrana was certain he knew what the prince desired to convey, for he was almost positive that they entertained similar thoughts.
I love you. I want to make sure that you know.
In case something that we haven't prepared for awaits us.
In case this is the last chance I have to tell you.
They returned to the great floating enclave of Thultanthar, the last city belonging to the otherwise-extinct Netherese Imperium, under cover of night; as the poor weather had persisted throughout much of their journey it had been slow going, and Brennus had fretted almost obsessively over the well being of armory's contents the entire way. Phendrana was one of the last of their entourage to pass through the thick layer of shadows that encircled the city, protecting their secretive society from the harsh rays of the desert sun as well as the prying eyes of outsiders; the sky was clear above the vast desert of Anauroch and the half-moon was shining brightly, casting the endless sea of sand below in mystifying shades of silver and palest lavender. He wheeled his winged mount around once, twice, three times as he filled his eyes with the sight, and vaguely he wondered how many weeks would pass before he glimpsed the outside world again.
He could feel some outside influence reaching out toward him, seeking access to his thoughts, and recognizing Brennus's familiar presence he opened his mind to him gladly. The prince's voice was carefully neutral, presumably as he attempted to keep his true emotions in check. It would be best if we sought the Most High out at once. He will want receive our full report of all that occurred while we were away, and he will be most interested to inspect the contents of the armory.
Phendrana spurred his darksteed toward the enclave with a gentle nudging of his heels against its flanks, not bothering to answer. Still no acknowledgement of his condition. He wondered wryly if the loremaster was daring to hope that perhaps their sovereign somehow wouldn't notice.
The stables were in the Lower District, just a block away from the Hall of the Arts Martial; they surrendered their mounts to the waiting stable hands and stood facing one another blankly, words lost upon thick tongues, unable now to keep the blatant fear out of their eyes. Though he no longer needed to rely upon another shade to bear him through the Shadow Realm the doppelganger found himself reaching unconsciously for Brennus, who was only too eager to extend his own hand the rest of the distance and twine their fingers together.
"Let us see about our business," the loremaster said stiffly, with a forced cheer in his tone that made Phendrana's insides seem icy, and without so much as bidding their entourage farewell they stepped into the Plane of Shadow.
They didn't speak as they navigated that dark, limitless realm. Brennus's fingers were like steel as he led the way. Neither did they exchange words in the moment before they stepped into the High Prince's audience hall, for which Phendrana was grateful – he didn't think he could bear it if Brennus attempted to offer him words of farewell, for he was barely clinging to his composure as it was.
Brennus dropped his hand in the instant that they moved to return to the Material Plane, and quite before he had mentally prepared himself Phendrana was standing in the perpetual quiet of Most High Telamont's private audience hall.
Though the chamber was quite spacious there was very little décor. The floor beneath their feet was smoky black marble, often obscured by a curious yet ever-present silver mist much like the fog that had once blanketed Phendrana's conscious mind. There was a short staircase that led up to a slightly raised platform, upon which the High Prince's throne sat; it was a magnificent structure, pure onyx stone adorned with dark blue sapphires and amethysts that shone almost black. The walls were veiled in shadow, giving the entire chamber a feeling of limitlessness, and though Phendrana knew the ceilings were vaulted he had never seen them through the silver mist that hung in the air several feet above their heads; across the hall was a circular indentation in the floor, which often appeared as a clear, still pool but in reality was actually one of the greatest tools the doppelganger had ever laid eyes upon. The Princes of Shade called it the world window, a mystical device that many whispered had been a gift to Lord Shadow from the goddess Shar herself; the Most High had only to speak aloud a location, or the name of any individual, and he could observe whatever he wished reflected upon the serene surface of the pool. It was here that they glimpsed the High Prince, standing as still as a statue at the edge of the water's surface, illuminated in an almost ethereal white light as presumably he studied something within the world window's depths.
Against his better judgment Phendrana started toward him unannounced, somehow mystified by the almost godly spectacle of his sovereign wreathed in gentle light; for some reason he could never explain he felt compelled to learn what the High Prince was gazing upon so avidly. Brennus might have hissed a warning but Phendrana paid him no heed, and so the loremaster had no choice but to follow along at his heels. With each step he took the doppelganger expected to be rebuked for his impertinence but Telamont silently abided his approach, until Phendrana had drawn level with his sovereign and stood as quietly as a ghost at his side.
Still the High Prince did not so much as glance his way, his eyes fixed upon the image reflected in the eerily still waters at his feet.
Phendrana dared to glance down, to determine what had his sovereign so enraptured.
He saw a shade reflected in the surface of the pool that he thought was uncannily familiar in some way, but for the life of him he just couldn't guess who it might be at first; the longer he studied it, though, the more he recognized the figure that had so captured the High Prince's attention. He was too thin, almost gaunt really, and tall enough that he appeared almost malnourished; he had arms lined with lithe muscle that suggested he was no stranger to physical combat, but those arms ended in hands that boasted fingers that seemed a little too long somehow. But it was the eyes that demanded Phendrana's attention above all else – silver like moon dust and large as silver pieces, so large and so telling that they appeared as gateways into the shadowy figure's soul.
With a start, Phendrana realized that it was him reflected in the gleaming pool.
"Often I find myself wishing that many of the things I glimpse in the world window will not come to pass," Telamont murmured thoughtfully, his voice filled with melancholy, and his shining platinum eyes disappeared from his shadow-swathed face for a moment as he closed them. "I see that in this instance, no amount of wishing will undo what has already been done."
He turned fully to face them at last, the ancient sadness reflected in his eyes invoking a strong surge of guilt that radiated throughout Phendrana's chest; at the doppelganger's side Twelfth Prince Brennus fell to the floor, his back and shoulders fully exposed as he doubled over to prostrate himself at his sovereign's feet. For his part Telamont utterly ignored his youngest son's gesture of repentance, for in that moment it seemed he had eyes only for Phendrana; those knowing eyes probed the doppelganger's murk-swaddled figure evenly, discipline schooling his dejection at the sight that met him, and though Phendrana knew he should be on his knees and begging for mercy he seemed quite incapable of moving at all. For a moment that may have lasted an hour he stood helpless beneath the High Prince's all-seeing gaze, until at last Telamont uttered a tiny sigh that seemed the dispel the last of his sadness and spoke.
"Well, Phendrana," he began, his voice far more diplomatic now, "I must say, I find you much changed." Before the doppelganger was able to construct a reply Telamont shifted his gaze, addressing his youngest son when he added, "Lift yourself from the floor, Brennus. I will not speak with you while I find you in such a deplorable state."
Brennus hastened to oblige, straightening his robes as he did so, and seemed to have regained a great deal of his composure by the time he stood straight before the High Prince. Telamont's eyes flitted back and forth between them for quite some time, silently assessing the situation, before at last he whispered, "Explain this."
Phendrana took matters into his own hands and launched into the harrowing tale, recounting with explicit detail how his solitary journey through the long-deserted halls of Castle Tethyr had led him to a worn section of the floor that dumped him into the catacombs beneath the keep's foundations, how he had stumbled upon the great armory sealed deep underground, how he had been caught at unawares by the angel of decay and been reduced to a mass of festering corruption at its filthy talons. With no explanations from Brennus forthcoming he chose to continue on, reliving the moment when the prince had come to his rescue and put his assailant down with a show of his vengeful shadow magic, and with dread settling like a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach he confessed the truth of his transformation to the High Prince – that in his moment of greatest need the Twelfth Prince had taken matters into his own hands, harnessing the powers of the shadow to drag Phendrana back from the brink of oblivion and remake him a creature of darkness. Knowing that their salvation or damnation depended largely upon how much he chose to share the doppelganger continued on, disclosing the truth of his faulty memory and even his fears that he had lost the voices of his six dear friends for good. By the time he had finished Phendrana's voice was hollow and monotonous – devoid of all life, just as he felt.
Through it all Telamont listened attentively, offering not a word in either acceptance or rejection, and nodded appraisingly upon the completion of Phendrana's tale. Slowly he raised a hand – at Phendrana's side Brennus visibly tensed – only to drop it almost companionably down upon the doppelganger's shoulder. The quiet melancholy had returned to his eyes.
"You have survived quite the ordeal," Telamont told him gently, "and once again I find myself in awe of your resilience. Given the sorry state of your body when your transformation took place and the unique properties of your mind, I must say that I am amazed that the side effects you are suffering are so mild." The hand upon the doppelganger's shoulder squeezed once reassuringly, and at last Phendrana felt a measure of his anxiety begin to melt away. "I will dismiss you for now so that you might find rest, but in the days to come we will speak more on the subject. Since I had intended you to complete your Determining with Lamorak prior to turning you and that is now impossible, I will inquire after your options at this stage and see what might be done to smooth your transition into this life. It can be overwhelming at first, but Lamorak is more knowledgeable in these matters than anyone and will surely have the answers that we require."
Phendrana found himself nodding along somewhat numbly, scarcely able to believe that they were about to escape the High Prince's audience chamber without so much as a verbal scolding. As he slipped out from beneath Telamont's hand his eyes flitted unwittingly to Brennus, who stood now on the other side of their sovereign surveying him with hard bronze eyes. "Shall we…?"
"I will come along later," Brennus overrode him with an encouraging little smile. "I am sure the Most High would like very much to receive my catalogue of the artifacts recovered from the armory."
"I would," Telamont agreed vaguely, his expression somehow unreadable. "Very much."
The tension in the air was palpable; Phendrana swallowed hard, his eyes still locked upon Brennus, wordlessly pleading the youngest prince to come along with him. For his part Brennus did not react to the doppelganger's plaintive stare in any way, that steely smile frozen in place upon his lips, and when Phendrana dared to glance back to his sovereign it was to find that Telamont's eyes had hardened a fraction.
The unspoken meaning was clear enough. Leave now. This no longer concerns you.
Phendrana bowed low, but not low enough to pry his eyes from Brennus; the youngest prince offered him a slight nod, a wordless encouragement that all would be well, but it was with a crushing trepidation that Phendrana at last shadow walked from the hall.
The moment the doppelganger had taken his leave High Prince Telamont turned back to face his youngest son, who had the good sense to drop his gaze immediately to the floor – but not in time to miss the rage burning in the depths of his sovereign's eyes.
"I believe you were groveling at my feet," Telamont reminded in an icy whisper, "preparing to beg for your life."
An invisible weight fell upon Brennus then, driving into his back and shoulders with enough force to lay him out flat on the floor; Brennus gritted his teeth when his forehead rapped unpleasantly against the smooth black marble, but did not allow himself to cry out. He had known all along the fate that awaited him for breaking such a sacred ritual. He was prepared to accept it without complaint, for he was bound to the will of the High Prince above all others and had no authority to negotiate the severity or leniency of his sentence. The weight increased as his sovereign grew dissatisfied with his lack of protest and Telamont's displeasure pressed him ever down against the floor, until with a series of sickening snaps his bones simply began to crack beneath the strain.
"Will you not beg?" Telamont growled, his voice sharp as a whip crack, his eyes devoid of sympathy as one by one his youngest son's bones shattered beneath his forbidding glare. "Will you not ask me to spare you? Or have you already resigned yourself to death?"
"Most High One," Brennus managed to gasp out, but the rest of his plea was lost in the gurgle of blood that welled in his throat. His eyes flitted down to his extremities but darted away just as quickly, nauseated by the unnatural angles his limbs had taken; he labored for breath but his lungs were crushed, his chest was on fire, his shadow orb was pulsing feebly against the jagged shards of his broken ribs –
Abruptly the pressure ceased, and though Brennus longed to escape his agony he knew that he would not be so lucky. The High Prince was the longest lived of their unnatural race, and had long since perfected the delicate art of torturing those who displeased him. So long as a shade's shadow orb remained intact it retained the ability to heal the body in which it resided, and though Brennus could feel his throbbing painfully within his chest he could also feel the moment it began the excruciating process of knitting his broken bones ever-so-slowly back together. The thick black blood blocking his airway absorbed back into his bloodstream, his lungs re-inflated and allowed him to gulp down a desperate lungful of oxygen, the feeling returned to his extremities –
"You were saying?" the Most High snapped, and Brennus perceived that his sovereign was kneeling beside him, one hand resting gently upon the back of his head.
Brennus swallowed, reflexively licking the last of the blood from his lips. "I meant only to save him, I had no other choice – "
"Choice?!" shrieked Telamont, and in a sudden fit of rage he tightened his fingertips with exacting pressure; there followed an awful moment in which Brennus was certain he would be suffocated against the floor, and then with a series of muted pops his skull fractured beneath his sovereign's crushing grip. The world around him darkened, and with a sudden surging of terror Brennus perceived that his eyesight had failed him.
Why couldn't he die? He could feel the razor-sharp fragments of his skull piercing into his own brain, paralyzing him, wrecking irreparable damage, and yet still he lived? Why?
"CHOICE?!" the High Prince howled yet again, the sound of his voice shattering Brennus's eardrums with its awful high pitch. "I will tell you what your choice should have been, you damnable, foolish wretch!" He seized Brennus by the nape of his neck and hauled him upright, batting aside the youngest prince's feebly waving limbs, and dragged him up to eye level despite the fact that Brennus's eyes rolled uselessly within his skull in that moment. "You should have let him die, for what am I to do with him now?! HE WAS PERFECT, AND NOW HE IS USELESS TO ME!"
"No," Brennus protested weakly, his head lolling uselessly to one side as he slurred out that single syllable. "He can still be of use to you, Most High, I swear it – "
"DO YOU?!" Telamont tossed his son away like a rag doll in sudden disgust; the loremaster crashed heavily down upon the lowest steps leading up to the High Prince's throne, his back broken in many places, and upon impact he actually did cry out. The sound reverberated throughout the cavernous hall, filling his own ears with an unearthly echo that made him grit his teeth, blood trickling from his ears. "How do you suppose he might serve me?! Had I desired to bind just any doppelganger to my service I would have sent one of my underlings down to their detestable hovels and dragged one of them here, for on the whole their kind are utterly useless! Phendrana's mind is so unique, and so brilliant, and the strength of his belief in those pathetic dead mortals so pure, that he is somehow able to manifest them into existence! Do you understand what a powerful weapon that conviction might have been had I been able to harness it against the enemies of Thultanthar?! Do you not know that with his mind I might have razed entire kingdoms to the ground?!"
"Still…" Brennus's body would not respond; his legs would not move, his eyes would not see, yet still his shadow orb preserved him, knitted his body feebly back together so that the High Prince could break him yet again. "Still… can be…"
Telamont approached solemnly, his eyes upon the broken and pitiable body of his youngest son filled with abject loathing. When he spoke, he did so as if to a child. "Oh? Let me remind you that your pathetic affections have no basis in this debate – your faith will not deliver him, unless Shar hears your miserable pleas and somehow miraculously heals Phendrana in her mercy. Your love will not deliver him, for love is a foolish mortal emotion that has been little more than a tremendous waste of time to us in the past." He ran a hand down his face, tired and haggard now but no less infuriated; Brennus's eyesight had returned by then, and he gazed up at his sovereign blearily. "My poor empire. First my advisor surrenders himself to his passions and utterly forsakes my agenda, and now one of my own sons has abandoned me in pursuit of love. I should cast you out. I should rip the shadow orb from your body and let you fall to the World Below, where I doubt you would survive a day without my bounty. Let us see whether your sickening feelings of love save you then."
"Please," Brennus beseeched him yet again, his voice stronger now as his back straightened, and despite a lingering soreness he felt whole; he scrambled to his knees and prostrated himself before the High Prince, no less repentant than before, something akin to desperation in his voice. "Please, Most High One, your poor servant begs you… do not send me away. I did not act maliciously, or in disregard for your wishes – I swear upon all that I have, my intentions were good. Preserving Phendrana was my only aim… Had there been another way to save him, be assured that I would have done it."
He braced himself for more pain, but in the end it did not come; warily he dared to glance up to find that his sovereign was standing over him, his expression carefully neutral as he pondered how best to respond. That moment of contemplation sparked a flicker of hope unbidden deep in Brennus's chest, for he had been certain from the moment of Phendrana's only partially successful transformation that he had no hope of redeeming himself. He endured the silence for many minutes, until at last the High Prince deigned to speak to him again.
"His mind is broken," Telamont insisted. "Explain to me how you think this situation might be redeemed. If your proposal has merit, I will take it into consideration."
"There is no guarantee that his mental state will not improve," Brennus protested as diplomatically as he could manage, but inside he was furious on Phendrana's behalf. After all the doppelganger had sacrificed selflessly in the name of an empire that could scarcely be called his own, was this truly to be his great reward? "Had you witnessed the poor condition his body was in when I introduced the shadow into his heart you would know just how difficult an undertaking it was for him to be healed. The shadow is strong – stronger than any force we have ever encountered, as we all know – but it is also not limitless; it must take to him before we can be certain. No one has ever been changed under such dire circumstances. We could never have known there would be adverse effects to such a transformation."
"You have the audacity to blame the doppelganger's physical condition, and not your lack of knowledge and skill?" the High Prince drawled disdainfully, his words plucking a chord of guilt in Brennus, but the loremaster would not relent.
"With all due respect, My Lord," he answered tersely, "I recall the moment of my own transformation perhaps more keenly than any other memory I have. I have no doubts that I performed it correctly. If it is not the extensive physical damage Phendrana suffered that is the catalyst for these side effects, it is surely his own mind rejecting the shadow essence within him."
"You have ever been wisest among your brothers," Telamont admitted, begrudgingly impressed by his youngest son's assessment, "but your words are bold, and what's more, they are unfounded. These are merely theories you speak. Rootless conjectures."
"Because we have no other frame of reference," Brennus insisted, his voice pleading now. "This situation is one of a kind – certainly no one else among us was ever subjected to this."
"He is subject to it now on account of you," Telamont reminded sternly, "and your judgment."
Brennus's eyes slipped to the marble upon which he knelt, considering his sovereign's words carefully as the weight of dread settled once more in the pit of his stomach. He had been truly foolish to hope that he could convince the High Prince to pardon him for his actions – there were always consequences. Perhaps his sovereign had been lenient with him in the past, but this was far different. He had broken a sacred tradition. He had all but spoiled the Most High's coveted acquisition that was Phendrana. For this, there would be no clemency. Not for him, at least.
"Then punish me for my judgment, if it pleases you," he prompted, resigned, "but I beg you, do not exact your wrath upon Phendrana. He was in no state to either accept or resist the great power I thrust upon him. He cannot be blamed."
Telamont whisked past him, the hem of his cape trailing about his ankles as he ascended the short staircase to his great onyx throne; here he sat, resting his chin upon one upraised hand as he brooded, and Brennus turned to face him but made no move to rise. The silence about the audience hall was profound and somehow deafening; Brennus could feel it pressing in upon his newly-healed eardrums, threatening to rupture them again, but he made no visible show of discomfort and the High Prince did not mention it aloud. It may have been only a handful of minutes or an hour that elapsed between them, but however long the silence was it was ultimately broken when the Most High came forward to the edge of his throne and fixed his youngest son with his most grave expression.
"Here now is my sentence. You will serve it without complaint, or I will dispose of you both." Brennus nodded numbly, fear gripping his shadow orb like a vice, but the High Prince did not wait for his son to compose himself. "The doppelganger will be spared – he is new to our society, and if I am to have any hope of utilizing him in the future I must be lenient in punishing him or risk sparking some insubordination within him. I will not rend your shadow orb, but only because I do not believe you are the problem - you have served me faithfully, always. It is your infatuations that have brought about this catastrophe, and so that is what I shall punish." Telamont drew himself up straight, glaring down his nose at the loremaster, and in that moment Brennus did not see his father sitting upon that lofty throne – he saw the merciless, indomitable Lord Shadow, he who had lifted a nearly-extinct race high above the fragile bonds of mortality, and suddenly he was more afraid than he had ever been. "You will renounce him utterly and devote yourself wholly to my service, as you once did. Phendrana is no longer your concern – his Determining will be conducted by your brother Third Prince Lamorak, and afterward he will require nothing from you. As to your petty infatuations, see that they are forgotten at once. I am no longer inclined to turn a blind eye where your perverse preferences are concerned - should you choose to pursue Phendrana in a private setting, your life will be forfeit. Am I in any way unclear?"
It was many long moments before Brennus was able to formulate a verbal reply. His eyes burned, but in blinking furiously he was able to sublimate his sorrow; in clenching his fists at his sides he was able to turn his rage into grim resolution. When he spoke his voice was monotonous, as though he had lost the will to oppose his sovereign's will, and Telamont thought he witnessed the last of Brennus's mortality as it died in the depths of his bronze eyes. "No, High Prince. Your words are quite clear and your mercy is unceasing. I am grateful to receive your will and will humbly re-devote myself to your service. I will not fail you again."
"That remains to be seen," Telamont pointed out icily, and he did well to disguise his surprise at just how quickly Brennus had thrown his affections away. His youngest son had always been one of the most humane of his progeny, able to identify with mortal creatures on a level that many other Shadovar could never comprehend, and that empathy had served him well over the centuries but now could barely be called anything but a hindrance. Fleetingly he wondered if he would live to regret this decision, but he cast the doubt away almost at once. His word was law in this place. "You are confined to your private chambers until further notice. During this time meals will be brought to you and the head of your housekeeping staff will bring you news, but you will not be permitted to leave or to take up your seat on the Shadow Council. When I have need of your voice, I will call for you – until then, you are to make yourself scarce. You are dismissed. Do not speak of these matters, on your life."
Brennus bowed his head but did not speak as he at last rose from his crouch, and with one final nod of acquiescence for his father's commands he retreated from the audience hall and made straight for his bedchamber within Villa Tareia. Once there he went silently about his business drawing the curtains, changing from his traveling clothes, and at last tackling the many sheaves of parchment that Altaria had left on his desk for him to study before he presented them to the High Prince. He lit a single candle and got straight to work, neither sending for food nor reaching out for the companionship of a single soul.
Somewhere in the quiet hours of the morning just before the dawn there issued a soft, tentative rap upon his own bedchamber door, and though he glanced up and dropped his quill he did not rise from his chair. He remained where he was, absolutely motionless, every single one of his sense ultra-defined as a second knock sounded, then a third, and at last a lamenting voice called his name mournfully from the hallway.
There was a kind of quiet sadness lining his bronze eyes, the only indicator that perhaps the piteous voice in the hallway had not gone unnoticed, but with the High Prince's grave warnings still fresh in his memory he didn't dare move for the door.
He resolutely took up his quill yet again as he tore his eyes from the door, and ignoring the muted sobs he dipped the tip back into the inkwell and carried on about his business.
At daybreak he was still writing, and the sobs had long since quieted.
For the first week Phendrana could only cry, for it seemed to him that he had truly lost everything. No matter how he begged for an audience his beloved Prince Brennus would not even dignify his pleas with a response, much less look upon him; no matter how he focused his mind, filing his every thought into a razor-sharp point, those six voices he had so depended upon for decades would not return to him. For the first week he was completely and utterly forsaken.
But eventually, his tears dried.
In the second week he approached the prince's door with more composure, no longer begging for an audience but asking diplomatically. Though the change in his attitude did no more earn him the prince's ear than the previous one had he found that he was far less disheartened than he had been before. He expected it now. His prince no longer had need of him. Brennus had glimpsed him in his darkest hour, at his most vulnerable, and was disgusted by his weakness.
When that comprehension at last dawned upon him, Phendrana felt what passed for his heart these days slowly begin to harden. The changes were ever-so-subtle at first – he stopped crying, he stopped seeking answers from voices that clearly couldn't hear him, he even stopped approaching the prince's door on a daily basis. Every so often the urge to knock would grip him with overpowering insistence, and in these occasions he would succumb and seek audience, but no longer with any hope of admittance.
In the third week he allowed himself to stand facing that closed door whenever the urge to speak with Brennus became too great for him to bear, but never within arm's reach – instead he merely stood there, pondering the smooth wooden surface, wondering just what was occurring on the other side. And gradually he came to find that his longing shifted slowly into curiosity, from curiosity to apathy, and at last from apathy to disdain. Why should he devote so much time and emotion to the pursuit of someone who clearly hadn't a single care for his well being? Would he not be better served pursuing the High Prince's agenda? Wasn't that why he had been brought all this way?
After a month he was staring at that door with loathing and hatred in his eyes. He hated the door. He hated the man who was huddled behind the door, content in his superiority to allow the doppelganger to grovel on his knees without so much as acknowledging his presence. He hated the maddening quiet of his mind and his inability to connect with those dear friends he had made all those years ago, and the thought that if ever he reached Manifest he would find no one waiting to greet him. He hated the deadly keen edge he felt lingering within the depths of his mind, a subtle reminder of all that he was capable of in his transformed state. But most of all he hated himself, for he knew that no matter how much he came to despise Twelfth Prince Brennus it would never be nearly enough to entirely quash the all-consuming love he bore the man.
His memories returned in full after many devoted weeks of sifting through the fragments of half-formed thoughts that he had retained, and that was when the dreams started.
He thought little of the first several dreams, for they were vague and he assumed they were simply a direct by-product of his ever-active mind. The first was barely half a minute in length, he hypothesized, though he had it many times that night – just him standing alone in a darkened corridor, staring blankly into the inky black depths that even his keen eyes could not quite distinguish. Details came to him with each recurrence of the dream – for some reason the most prominent of these was the chill in the air, so jarring that he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around himself for warmth, and the single wall sconce burning deep violet flames directly to his left, elongating his shadow in a most unnatural way. He felt there was something there in the blackness, some person watching his every move with an eerie focus that made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end or some terrible deed playing out in the shadows that his eyes couldn't penetrate, but in the dream his feet wouldn't carry him forward into the darkness and he was always left wondering.
A few days later his mysterious night vision began to progress – slowly at first, but noticeably. He would take a few more steps down the corridor, always further enshrouding himself in the encroaching darkness, his eyes probing for threats he knew were present yet he could not see. Four days in and he was at the end of the hallway gazing upon an ornate door that he was certain he had never glimpsed in his waking hours, with the bodies of four dead guardsmen at his feet. The first time the bodies appeared before him he jolted himself awake, sweating and shaking and distinctly unnerved, yet despite how disturbed he was by all that he had seen he found himself longing to return to sleep so that he could learn all that he might from these strange dreams.
For he knew instinctively that all he had seen was a reality – perhaps not yet and perhaps not soon, but it would come to pass at some point. Of that, he was certain.
Five weeks after his return from Castle Tethyr he found himself actively pursuing sleep, often shutting himself away in his private chambers in Villa Tareia for hours at a time as he lay there with his eyes closed, silently praying for the visions to return. Something was waiting for him on the other side of that door. He had to believe that.
He had nothing else to believe in.