15. Periphery
This was his chance; at least that was what Faleron kept telling himself. Still, he couldn't shake that feeling that he was being left behind, cast off to the side as the others, his friends, rode to fame and glory. It was strange, but for some reason he had never doubted that the war would make them heroes; in his mind, they already were.
He had tried to explain the feeling to his friends, but it was not something easily expressed. Neal said that he was being stupid, acting as if he had been given the easy assignment; no one in their right mind would try to keep Alanna away from the heavy fighting, so the fact that he was following her to the coast was evidence enough that Faleron would see more than his share of action. Roald had raised a comforting hand to rest lightly on his shoulder, saying more with his famous blue gaze then he could express in words. Merric had just laughed.
They were all sitting together in the common room of Wolfwood's largest inn, the same study group they had formed as pages, trying to ignore the fact that Kel and Cleon were standing outside in the light rain and talking in the type of muffled voices usually reserved for funerals and temples. Neal was happy to serve as a distraction, drawling on endlessly as if they weren't a bowshot away from the war zone. It was only by the quick thinking of Seaver, who took pity on the rest of the table's occupants and dragged Neal away to play a hand of cards, that they were saved from sitting through a full University debate on the relative merit of different assignments.
Kel, upon her return, had reminded them that the Scanrans would make sure everyone saw their fair share of fighting and more. Her voice was soft and her eyes hundreds of miles away, unfathomable. Those who heard her words shifted uncomfortably in their seats, feeling the truth they contained. Kel alone among them had spent time on the northern border, and it was clear that she had already seen too much; Faleron lived in fear of the day when he would understand the shadow which had taken her away from them in that moment. It was the last thing she needed right now, the memories of more pain, and he would have liked to apologize to her for dredging them up if he could only have found the proper words.
But for all their speeches and reassurance, Faleron knew the truth. He should be going with them. He should be there to warn Merric of the enemy soldiers descending on him from behind, to tie Neal to his horse when he refused to leave the field until every injury had been attended. To take an arrow for Roald, if it came to that. Instead, he was being pushed aside once more, confined to the periphery of the world. Maybe it was because everyone around him seemed to shine so brightly, that he always felt left in the dark. Like a moth to the flame, he hovered around greatness, but he could never be at the center, drawing others in. And it had always been like that, since they were pages; he had always been the odd one out, second-best, neither older nor younger and left without a close confidant among his year-mates.
In his room alone that night, as he blew out the single candle and let the darkness swallow him, Faleron finally admitted to himself something he had known for a long time. Some people were just not cut out to be heroes. Not everyone had the strength to look the kraken in the face and go on living. His friends- they were tough, they would be all right. But as for him, well, he would fight like hell. His hands would spill the blood of enemies and be stained by the blood of friends. And despite all that, he would not survive this war.
~*~
They had all been there to send him off, sharing an early breakfast. All his friends- even Neal, who had made such a point over the last few weeks of sleeping late every morning, knowing it might be his last chance; even Kel, still reeling from Cleon's recent departure (not that you could tell from her carefully-assembled face or forced cheerful comments). They smiled and laughed and reminisced together. He had purposely sat with his back to the window, so he didn't have to watch as the Lioness began to assemble the troops she would lead to the coast. For that one meal, he was able to pretend that they were pages again, joking in mess. Then the trumpets sounded, and he had risen wearily to his feet, slinging his last saddlebag over his shoulder. Orders were orders, and it was time to go.
The sun was just clearing the horizon as they started westward, bringing tears to his eyes as he glanced back one final time. Each shape was a dark silhouette, the mass of well-wishers behind them like an army of shadows in the harsh dawn light. He thought he recognized Neal, Kel, and Roald among the ghostly ranks, standing together and raising their hands in a salute, wishing him luck in the battles ahead.
Faleron hadn't known it then, but it was the last time he would ever see them.
Sorry I've been MIA for so long, but I'm back on track with this story and should have updates every day or two for the rest of the week. This is my least favorite scene I've done so far (Faleron's voice was very hard for me to write for some reason), but I wanted to post *something* at least. I would love suggestions for improvement, since I'd like to go back and redo some of this when I get a chance. Thanks!