Disclaimer: Property of... some European production companies. Not exactly sure, but it's not me.
Once, there had been a time without blood. Once, he had spoken.
Some said a man without a voice must be either a god or a beast.
One-Eye did not know which he was. The old days were too long gone, his voice too cracked and neglected for memories of its use. He remembered the time before blood, but he did not remember himself.
The two men closed around him, their eyes hard, their faces doughy and scarred. All men looked the same. Dirty, ugly, bloody. One man was his master, his jail keeper for the last three years. One-Eye did not fight at the bonds around his wrists and ankles. The two men peered at him.
There had been a woman, a good woman, his wife. She was a part of him. They were tied together, a soul shared without self-consciousness, without thought. They stood together, and it was good.
"What's'a matter with him?" the other asked. He was a small, solid man. His days of war were behind him, or nearly. A rich man who would need a fighter. He made a move as if to grab One-Eye's shoulder, but at the last moment thought better of it.
There had been a son, his child, who looked like him. Too small, and so fragile. One day, he would have been strong.
"Nothin', save he's a mute. Never heard him say a word. Don't need him for talking. You see his strength, eh?" his master said.
Now, there was only One-Eye.
"Dunno. I wanna see him in battle. I heard from Uigin—"
"He's a liar. Killed three of his men a month or two ago. With his bare hands. This one, he fights like a wild beast."
One-Eye dreamed of blood. This was his destiny. He did not know where it came from, nor who sent it. Like the woman, he did not think of it. It was, and only was.
The solid man paused, considering the man before him. One-Eye saw only the black dirt beneath his feet. "I don't like his manner. Something's funny with that one. Why don't he move? He a mad one?"
"In battle, maybe. I never saw a man take to it like he does. A born killer. A good price."
He would not die yet. Perhaps, soon. The dreams warned him and he followed. He did not consider it the work of a protector. One day, he would die. The dreams of blood were only the shadow of his destiny.
The solid man spat on the ground. "Bad luck. His eye is turned 'round. Bad spirits." He searched the air warily, as if he could catch the demons in the act.
"Don't talk nonsense, man. He's outlived four masters, with his skill in bloodshed."
"Like a bad wife," the other said. They laughed, his master loosening, greedy fingers already feeling the gold.
Once, there were no dreams. Then, he had feared death. Now, he had seen too much of it for fear to live inside him. It had become his good friend, his defender, his constant companion….
"Twenty, friend. A fine price for this warrior."
"His eye…" the older man said, and he felt fear. One-Eye did not look up, but he felt the air grow cold.
He did not know if he enjoyed his companionship with death. In the time before blood, he had killed no man. Now he killed like a beast, in silence, coldly. A beast cornered will fight, but a beast does not make friends with death.
"Fifteen. No lower. Plenty of men would pay better for him."
The other man mulled it, now observing the muscles, and the scars. There were very many.
"Fifteen," he repeated, slowly. His master grinned, hard, his rotten teeth showing. They clasped hands in the binding contract.
The dreams had never told him if he would see them, the woman, the son, again. At times he remembered. At other times, there was nothing.
Two men pulled him to his feet and fit the iron collar around his neck. His master fingered the gold pieces, staring down One-Eye, who saw the blackness of the earth. "Better you outlive him than me, Hell's bastard," he whispered, the cut of cruelty in his voice.
One-Eye looked from the ground into his former master's face. The man stepped back, his hand tight around the gold, his sagged face taught with fear. One-Eye did not move, did not speak. The air was cold.
On the day he had lost the woman, the son, the eye, and the fear of death, he had first seen the dreams of blood. One day, he would be free. One day, he would see them no more. The day approached, and he was prepared.
A/N: One-Eye's mind is a strange place to occupy. I tried to capture his otherness by showing his internal thoughts as more real than the actual events around him. If you haven't yet, go see this movie.