Dreaming

It's been fun,
Dreaming with you.
Even if
It could not be.
All must end,
This dream is through.
Return to
Reality.

Closed Eyes - 17

Loyie watched Cece go, only feeling slight concern at her sudden exit. She could hardly blame the girl, for it was a lot to take in with not the most warm of welcomes. She had more of a temper than Loyie expected, though she never questioned what the prophecy told her. Anyone can change, given time, she reminded herself. Loyie had too many other problems to contend with to worry over such a small detail.

 

“I should send someone to watch her,” the king murmured, his eyes also glued to the door of his hut.  

Loyie nodded and turned from the door, already moving on to the next topic she wanted to discuss with the king. “Dravin of the Kreesh would do well to watch her. His sister will be more than open to housing Cece for a few nights.”  

Xvenaad finally tore his eyes away from the door to give Loyie a startled look. “Dravin? Why him, of all people?”  

Smiling, Loyie took a few steps toward the king and placed a hand lightly on his arm. “Dravin is liked by his men, and he has the largest group. If he accepts her, many others will.”  

The king nodded his agreement and stepped around Loyie to stick his head out the door. She heard him mutter a few words before stepping back inside his hut. She knew it would not take long before the king stepped right where she needed him to be and bring up the topic she could not dredge up herself. Being tied to prophecy created unusual circumstances, though very few ever knew just how much Loyie had to dance around pretenses with the prophecies, and none of them were still alive.  

“I cannot afford to have a rebellion in my own camp,” Xvenaad said, his tone full of warning. Loyie knew the king would not want to drop the topic of Cece so lightly, despite all that had happened that day.  

Loyie only nodded, slowly making her way toward the tattered map of the land. She could see the troops had made no major advancements since she last checked, though felt no surprise. They had lost many today in a battle Loyie had warned was futile, but she knew as if it had been already written in stone that Commander Eerle would take his battle axmen against her warnings to try and ambush the Grignogn supply wagons. Eerle had always been brash, though no one but Loyie had known that it would lead to his and many other man’s demise.  

Losing had been a major blow to the other soldiers in the camp, which made for a dangerous situation for Cece to step into. Men were always suspicious of what they could not explain away, and even more suspicious when it tied itself to a dangerous prophecy.  

Finally, Loyie spoke softly, though not taking her eyes off the battered map, “As long as Prince Bramaad chooses not to spread more unneeded rumors, you will not have dissent amongst your camp.”  

“I don’t suppose you can tell by prophecy whether or not my fool son will ever become less of a fool?” Xvenaad asked dryly. Loyie glanced up from the map, finally seeing a bit of the man’s old humor before his face fell once more.  

“I’m afraid not, Xvenaad, but there are steps that need to be made so he will not detest Cece so.”  

The king frowned and moved closer to the map where Loyie now pointed. He was a rather large man, used to looming over people. Loyie supposed he used it to his advantage to intimidate people, though she had never viewed the man as more than a mere man wanting to keep his people together. Though I have had to deal with enough kings to last me another ten prophecies! Her small frame also made her more than used to people looming over her, but it had been several hundred years since she had actually felt intimidated by anyone because of their mere size.  

“What steps are you thinking, Watcher?” the king asked suspiciously, eyeing the placement of where Loyie was pointing.  

Loyie tapped the map with a finger. It was on the main kingdom, Seyew itself, the land they were all fighting to regain. “How many eyes do we have in the city?” She was almost there, casually guiding the king to the proper topic she needed him to be on.  

Xvenaad frowned at the map, as if it would give him the answers he needed. “What does that have to do with our new guest and my son?”  

Sighing impatiently, Loyie tapped the map more pointedly. Some days were harder not to interfere than others. “Answer the question, king.”  

Not taking any offence to Loyie’s lack of respect for his title, Xvenaad finally looked away from the map. “They have all gone silent. It’s hard to tell whether they grew too fearful to leave the city or if they were found and killed.” 

Loyie nodded, knowing full well the answers to the questions she asked. “So we need someone to go in and give us an update, yes?”  

The king eyed her suspiciously. “Are you suggesting sending in that girl and my son into the city to find out what is happening?”  

Loyie only shrugged and spread her hands innocently. At least Xvenaad had always been quick to draw sharp conclusions, unlike his son. “If that is your wish, my king. Though it may solve some problems of trust between the two and enable us to retrieve more refugees. I believe it to be an interesting solution.”  

“Are you mad?” the king burst out, his self-restraint clearly gone. “Bramaad is the prince of Seyew! If the Grignogns don’t recognize him the moment he walks into those city gates, someone else might recognize him and betray him to a Grignogn! We cannot be sure how loyal any are that are left in the city. We don’t even know if this Cece girl can do anything beyond lose her temper!”  

Loyie raised an eyebrow and waited for the king’s tirade to die down to mere sputters. She would bring the king to see her way, but she had not expected him to throw a tantrum as if he were a young man again. Sometimes Loyie wondered how Xvenaad seemed to be blind to the fact that his son was acting the same as he had when he was a foolish young man.  

“Bramaad spent little time out in the city where the peasants could see him, if you recall. If he is seen in the city and is recognized, then he is even more of a fool than we could believe for wandering too close to the manor houses of the inner city. As for the girl, did you not notice how you wished to listen to her whenever she spoke?”  

Coolly, Loyie crossed her arms and watched the king mull over what she had said. His expression hardened as he finally nodded. 

“This still doesn’t make the plan any less foolish. This Cece girl will not do anything she doesn’t want to. That is plain to see,” Xvenaad said, though he sounded more as if he were trying to convince himself than anyone else.  

Loyie smiled. “Any woman will see sense, no matter how crazy the idea is, as long as it gives her something she wants in return.”  

The king sighed heavily and drew a chair up to the battered map before taking a seat. “Alright, Watcher, guide me to what I need to know.”  

Nearly bursting with relief, Loyie directed the king’s attention to the map once more. It certainly was going to be a long night.

 

Previous

Giving Way

She is ever changing with a sweet temper and a kind smile. She is looked forward to, but ever evasive. No one can seem to tell whether she is there to stay, never truly in one place for very long. She is loved and hated, always a signal for the end and a new beginning. No one ever gave her much credit, though, and simply passes over her for warmer people. She is beautiful and full of growth, readying the world around her for changes.

He is a mastermind, quick with his tongue with nimble fingers. He is watched carefully, warily, afraid they may slip in his presence. No one would dare cross him or take advantage of him. He would manipulate you into believing you knew exactly where you stood with him, then his temper would take hold and frost you over. He is handsome, charming, and is never considered simple.

These two are brother and sister, both with their talents, both on missions, both on their separate paths. He, constantly trying to find her, she always making sure he never finds her. He may always be one step ahead of everyone else, but his sister is slippery, leaving a wake of disasters behind. Everyone may not know how to handle his sister, but he needed her. Needed her to take over and make a change.

She shreds identities every other day, never staying in one spot long enough to make friends. She was meant to be moved and thawed, not set down roots. She was always in a shadow, despite trying to make way for a better day, a brighter day. She could move faster than her brother, with less notice. He needed her to continue her mission, but she would take no part.

He drove and blasted through cities as if they were his kingdoms. In a way, they were. He could make friends anywhere, a simple smile and a thoughtful word. He knew how to set out eyes to keep a watch for his sister. Despite his efforts, he could never quite describe her well enough. She had no features that stood out and never caught a glance at her for more than mere moments. At times she was like a rosebud, others like dirty slush melting in a street.

He chased, knowing the consequences of not following through. His sister was the key, if only she would listen to her older brother. He would make sure they succeeded. Everything rode on him finding her. If only he had more time.

She continued to move, constantly going from city to city, state to state, country to country. Even being on a plane too long presented time for her brother to catch up. If only he understood she could simply not hand herself over. But what life did she truly have? She traveled through life, trying to give life as she moved, but never quite received the glory she was due.  She was never truly seen, never admired, never made friends. Only the product of her work was considered beautiful. Her brother was the lucky one, despite how much of a fool he truly was. Maybe it was time to finally put an end to things.

He was drawing close. No one could outwit him, not even his own sister. She traveled too much, never realizing the bottle he was placing her in. Time was drawing near. He hated traveling, but it was necessary. His sister could run no more. He knew her better than anyone. She could not escape. Even having not spoken to her in several months, he could still manipulate her.

"Brother," she shouted from a southern household, a more than usual place to find her this time of year, "it is about time you found me for more than a moment."

"Sister, why have you been running? You know what happens if we fail."

She stretched and sauntered out in the open. "I know what happens if we do not fail, too."

He shook his head. His sister had no idea what she was dealing with. "It is time to come out for a while. The people need you."

She shook her head. "Brother, can you no longer hold on?" His hair was less white than usual. It was a telling sign, one she regretted.

He nodded. "Sister, it is time to put this to an end. I need you to. I've held on long enough."

She sighed heavily, kneeling onto the frozen ground. It was such a burden, but one that the people needed. She could feel her long, sunny hair flow in the bitter wind. "Alright brother, I am ready."

This time he sighed with relief, walking over to his sister and kneeled beside her. "Spring, I know you are not the most beloved, but the people need you to keep life going. You are essential to what Summer, Fall, and I do."

Spring smiled, her rosebud lips seeming to thaw the longer she smiled. It certainly was a heavy burden, being a season and making sure the cycle continued. She hated her mission, but gave in every time. Her brother never ceased to find her when it was time, just as she never gave up until she could relinquish her hold to Summer.

 

"Good bye, Winter. Sleep well and good luck running when Fall comes searching for you."

 

He smiled and took a deep breath before plunging into the earth. Spring shivered, but thrust her hands after him, readying the earth for the new growth she would bring.

Torrid Waves and Virulent Masses

It is cold and lonely in my head.
There is not much light.

But through torrid waves and virulent masses,
I will see through this night.

On they come with such great gusto.
Pallid corpses left in their wake.

With lies and deceit to spin a golden thread,
So many faces do they take.

Flame does come and ebb and flow.
Its doctrine long and wordy.

So many bent and crooked beneath
The structure ever sturdy.

Yet through the dark, dusty, dank
There is no end in sight.

For one loan rider, magnificent, brilliant,
Will flex and flash with might.

Never before and never again
This conflict is eternal.

For when all is done, the dark has won,
There will be of hope a kernel.

It seeds and creeps and cuts and grows
Like acid on the skin.

To rear its head from graves long dead
With birth of a new sin.

Times Forgotten (Post Five)

Baldrik had chosen the smallest and oldest of the stone huts, set far back and away from the rest of the way-station.  Like the others, it was intricately carved with the blocky designs and patters common to the dwarves.  The snake-like dragon Rigzban could be seen curling his way from the depths of the Black Mountain, a retelling of the exodus of the dwarves from their homeland thousands of years past.  Other stories dotted the building, scenes both considered true and fictional but important to the dwarvish history nonetheless.  Time and weather had faded them, but it did not take from their beauty.

Alec brushed his hand over the carvings as he entered, stopping for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark interior.  Baldrik had covered the lone window with a cloth and lit a fire, its smoke making the hut hazy and rather stifling to the human's nose.  "I see you've made yourself at home..."  He turned to the dwarf who was sitting on the stone bench built into one of the walls.  "Though we will be leaving shortly.  I want to give the men the night to rest and pack, then by daybreak we leave for Gaewyn and your audience with the King."  Alec shifted one of the belts holding his cloak up as he watched the old Dwarf.

Baldrik set down the pair of leather gloves he had been mending before looking up.  "Ay, I be figgrin' we be leaving soon.  Alls th' better.  Gets me back to me forges faster."  He stood and moved over to his dark leather bags, tossing the gloves onto the pile.  "Though I also be figgrin that's not why you be here right now."  He kept his back turned as he began rummaging through one of the packs.

Alec cleared his throat, "What happened in the forest?"

"Can't be sayin'."  The dwarf kept his attention on whatever he was looking for.

"But you would have had to see something.  One minute I was there on that cart, the next I wasn't."  Alec pounded his fist into his palm.  "What did you see, Good Dwarf?"

Baldrik turned to look at Alec over his shoulder, his eyes dark and serious.  "I see'd you jumpin' from that cart an' runnin' off into th' woods like a mad-man.  That's what I see'd."  He turned his back again, still shifting things about in the pack.

"But... But I didn't.  That's not what I did.  You were just gone."

"Then why do you be asking me what I see'd if you already know?"  Finding what he was looking for, the dwarf stood and turned, something wrapped in a purple velvet cloth in his heavy hand.  "In any case, if you be heading through those woods again, make sure y'er carrying this."  He held the small package out for Alec to take, the delicate fabric strange in his rough fingers.  Baldrik pulled it back at the last moment as Alec reached for it, "Don't be opening it 'till ye need it." He extended the velvet wrapped item again, this time allowing Alec to take it.

"It's... Heavy.  What is it?"  Alec shifted it from hand to hand, noting the tiny gold stitch work along the edges of the velvet.  "It's Elvish."

"The fabric?  Ay.  But what's inside is much, much older."

Alec looked at the soft purple fabric for a moment before tucking it into a pouch at his side.  "But you can't tell me anything about what it does?"

"I could, but what fun would it be?"  The dwarf smiled a toothy grin and chuckled.  Alec grimaced in response.  "Be about yer men.  We survived, and now we need ter move.  The King is waiting."  With that Baldrik grabbed his gloves back up and returned to his task, ending the conversation.

Alec watched Baldrik for a moment, more than a little frustrated by the dwarf's refusal of a clear answer.  "Just be ready to leave by daybreak.  We can't lose any time."  A grunt was all he received in reply.  The weapons master turned to leave, ready to be back out in the fresh air.  dwarven society flourished in the smoky, soot-filled air of their dark tunnels.  Humans, on the other hand, could find it rather oppressive.

Kalif was waiting outside, leaning against the corner of the building, still playing with his bruised nose.  "It'll never heal properly if you keep prodding at it."

The Second looked up, quickly removing his hand from his face.  "I know, but it's gone numb.  Such a strange feeling."

"Well, if it heals odd, then I guess you'll have to come up with a good story for it.  You don't want everyone knowing it was a punch from your delirious captain."    Kalif scoffed.  "In any case, let the men know we leave at first light.  Eat well, sleep well, and pack up by morning.  Be about it."  The Second saluted and turned towards the main cluster of the camp, leaving Alec alone outside the small stone hut.

He made his way back towards his tent.  He had much to get done before they left in the morning, and time was quickly running out.

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Closed Eyes - 16

When Cece's only reply was a blank stare, Dravin patted his sword hilt and tapped the eagle in flight on his chest. "We are all King Xvenaad's men, but we each have our parts to watch over. My Seat is to watch over the Kreesh men, those of us that know the long sword and are dedicated to its purpose. We stand behind the Captain, of course, for he is the main leader of the whole army, but one man cannot train each individual weapon we have on hand…" Dravin trailed off, a slight flush in his cheeks as he realized how much he was rambling. 

Clearing his throat and standing impossibly straight, making him seem even taller than Bramaad, Dravin gestured toward Cece. "I have heard rumor of your name, stranger, but I prefer to be properly introduced." 

"I am Cece Marks," she said simply, giving her current last name. She had confused Loyie enough claiming a new last name in a few short months, and she felt foolish explaining every detail to a dream that should know what it meant to marry and take a new name. 

"Cece Marks," Dravin repeated, bowing again that made him adjust the sword on his hip, "it is good to finally know a stranger's name. Let the Eagle protect you and keep watch over you." 

Cece raised an eyebrow. She had heard the men say as much to Loyie, but thought it was more of a sign of the small woman's station and a sign of respect. Unsure of what to say in reply, Cece simply murmured, "And may it watch over you in battle and lead you to glory." It was not the usual response Loyie had given, but Cece was not one to simply repeat what she had heard, and chose words based off what she felt would have more impact. Dravin did not seem to notice the difference, however. 

Straightening, Dravin's dark brown eyes drifted to Cece and seemed to drink her in and assess every detail about her all at the same time, making her shift under that uncomfortable gaze. She felt her cheeks heat and her pulse race as if he were Patrick giving her the most loving look possible. 

Just as she was about to tell Dravin to stop looking at her so intently, he simply smiled and let his gaze turn to sweep across the many small mud huts surrounding them. Cece hadn't noticed if others were watching, but didn't dare look now that her cheeks were as red as her sunburn. 

"It seems you gather attention wherever you stand, Cece Marks. Wandering about will not be the best idea. Even in the presence of the King himself these men would be suspicious of you. It will take time for them to trust, but not today." Dravin's eyes continued to search amongst the huts as if searching for someone. "Not after what happened today," he finished in a murmur, his hands clenching tighter on his sword hilt. 

Cece frowned, not understanding what the man meant, but gave her no room to question him as he beckoned her to follow him. She felt a sudden sense of unease and tension about the man, but he sauntered along a well-used path as if a cat stalking a mouse. 

"You are a very dangerous man," Cece murmured to herself, though nearly cursed when Dravin turned and raised an eyebrow questioningly. 

"We are all deadly in our own way, Cece. Even someone that knows nothing about the tactics of war or weapons can be very deadly. Someone with the wrong information, even with the best of intentions, can ruin a mission that could be deadly to every man going with it." 

Dravin's eyes seemed to darken, making Cece wonder if he were speaking from experience, or if he meant it as a warning for Cece. 

Cece only nodded, not daring to reply. Patrick had often talked about how cops are sometimes more deadly to themselves than the man holding a gun to your head. The simple act of letting down your guard could get everyone killed. 

As if making sure that Cece would remain silent, Dravin stroked the hilt of his weapon and gave her a wolfish smile that made her snap her mouth shut. 

"Will I at least get to learn about the purpose of this… village?" Cece asked finally, as soon as Dravin's intent stare left her face for a few moments. 

Dravin only chuckled and started moving forward along the path once more. "We are not a village, though I'm sure sometimes the men feel like it is. We've been here too long, but a cornered mouse can do nothing but back further into the corner and hope the cat's paw doesn't catch it too fast." 

"Or you can try and bite the paw," Cece murmured, though this time Dravin did not seem to hear. 

"But in either case, it is not my place to tell you what we are doing here. The King gave specific orders, and as a first Seat, I will see them through. You will stay with my sister among the Kreesh men. They will not do you harm, but don't expect a warm welcome, either." 

Cece rolled her eyes at the man's very muscular looking back and briefly admired his head of loose black curls that made him seem all the more dashing with his flourishing bows from before. This dream keeps handing me very good looking men, but none of them Patrick! What am I supposed to be getting out of this other than some eye candy? 

"At least tell me what are groups there are. You handle the… long sword… you said? What others are there?" 

Dravin did not pause as he took a side path, slightly less worn than the major path they were on. Cece could tell that this group had been stationed there for well over a year, or else they wouldn't have made mud huts, rather than tents. She knew nothing about the tactics of war or battles, but she was confident that she would rather have a hut than a tent if she decided to spend time outdoors for longer than a few weeks. Her mind certainly was paying attention to all the small details in this long, never-ending dream. 

"I'm afraid that it would bore you to hear about our organization, plus you'd be too confused over the names. Get used to the Kreesh men first, then maybe I can introduce you to a few of the other commanders." 

Cece sighed and brushed a silvery strand of hair back over her shoulder. She still had not noticed a single breeze within the wooded forest, yet the temperature felt pleasant and comfortable. Such a strange place with no answers. Maybe I'm somehow getting ahead of my mind and is just trying to fill in the holes… 

Dravin turned down yet another path that led to a wide clearing filled with more men, all wearing the armor with the sun and eagle on their arms, rather than their chest as Dravin had. Cece supposed that it was to show rank, more than anything. Many of them were practicing with their long swords while other men and women without armor walked quickly as if on an errand. Few children were in the clearing, though a few laughed and played near the hastily built mud huts.

 

"Welcome to the Kreesh camp, Dravin said over his shoulder, giving a flourish of his hand and giving a mock bow. His eyes sparkled mischievously, causing Cece to shake her head. What kind of trouble will this man give me?

 

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Times Forgotten (Post Four)

They had camped at an old way-station, an outpost that was often used by travelers and merchants when they had business with the Iron Wells.  His men's tents, made of deep crimson and bright yellow fabric and emblazoned with the bust of a golden ram, were easy to pick out in the quickly thinning forest.  He could see that they had already begun setting up a central fire and pulling out a large cast-iron cook pot.

Alec's belly rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since he left the camp that morning.  Food had not been an issue since their departure from Gaewyn, something that his group was certainly not used to; the hardships of war extended well beyond the ends of each battle.  No, the luxury of stopping at each town and city had kept their pack animals loaded and their bellies full.  The King's coin made sure of it.

His men saluted their commander casually as he walked by, many with a quick glib aimed at Kalif who still followed close behind.  The bleeding had stopped, but his nose was still very red; Alec's fist had made a solid connection.  The Second just glared at them, sometimes coming back with a retort of his own.  Alec just laughed, keeping the uneasiness he felt buried deep inside.  It wasn't every day that things of this nature happened, and he didn't want to worry his men more than he needed to.  Besides, as far as he could tell, there was no serious harm done and he had received the worst of it by far.

It wasn't long before they came to the entrance of a tent with three gold streamers flying from an extended central mast, marking it as Alec's.  "Find Firehammer.  Tell him that I should want to see him shortly."  He shifted and fidgeted in his gilded and polished officer armor.  Not meant for battle, it was lighter than the plate that he normally wore, but stiff and uncomfortable from disuse.  "I want to get out of this formal gear and into something more appropriate, and then I must talk to him."  He turned to Kalif and clapped the man on the shoulder in dismissal.  His second saluted and made his way towards one of the old stone structures at the back of the way station.

Alec sighed and undid the strap holding his tent closed. The cool, dark interior that greeted him was refreshing though he knew that he couldn't stay for long.  He tossed his bright red cloak onto a stand and began undoing his stiff, uncomfortable armor.  As he stretched for the rear clasps holding his cuirass, his fingers brushed over some strange marks in the metal.  He pulled the plate off and turned it around, startled to find claw-marks etched deep into the decorative gilding.  Claw marks that had not been there when he put the armor on.

A shudder ran through him as he laid the piece down on his cot.  Not many things had that effect on the weapons master, but being so helpless and close to death reminded him of just how small he was.  Indeed, he was nothing more than a single officer in a vast army, easily replaceable and easily forgotten.  The world and everything that happened in it was beyond him.  The balance of power, ever changing as it was, left him feeling like a piece of wood floating in frothy white rapids.  If left unchecked, he couldn't help but feel swept up in it all.

He quickly turned the plate over, not wanting to dwell any longer, and continued to pull off the rest of his rigid armor.  A groan of relief left him as he finally shrugged out of his red velvet covered arming doublet, heaping the padded garment with the rest of his Officer's armor as he stretched his sore shoulders and back.  Even if the riding was smooth, it should be at least a couple weeks before he would have need of the flashy armor again, and he couldn't be more glad.  Finery had never held any attraction for him, as it only seemed to complicate things.  Oftentimes, simplicity was much more useful.

Alec pulled off his damp undershirt and tossed it aside.  A bucket of cold, clean water sat next to his cot, a cloth laid neatly over the edge.  He made quick work of washing up; the air was much warmer at the base of the mountain, but the early nip of winter could already be felt.  He quickly tugged on a clean undershirt before selecting a dark blue shirt to go over it.  Though much less formal, the shirt still held the gold Ram Insignia on his left breast and sported three gold bands around each cuff to represent his rank.  His fine, light-brown paints with gold embroidery were replaced with another, still brown but lacking the fine stitch-work.  His polished black boots were replaced with a plain, dark brown pair that was much more suited for the long ride back to Gaewyn.  Finally, he threw a dark red cloak around his shoulders.  The trailing edge held the three bars of his rank, and the clasp had the Ram etched into its gold surface.

With one last stretch and a quick smoothing of his garments, Alec pulled open the entrance to his tent and stepped back out into the light.  Kalif stood to the side, ready to escort Alec to the dwarf.  "He's waiting for you in one of the old stone huts back this way." The Second gestured to the line of old stone structures left from when the Dwarves first moved in to the Iron Well.  With Alec's nod, he turned to lead the way.

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