Companion to Teaser - White Chapel Demon Hunter AU
Here is the companion piece from Chandler's POV to the White Chapel Demon Hunter AU I posted earlier. Constructive criticism will be greatly welcomed, as I am trying to gauge my ability to write my favorite DI from WhiteChapel.
Title: The Chosen
Author: Estella Greenleaf
Pairing: Chandler/Kent
Teaser Companion
****
Joseph Chandler was having a bad day. A crowded arena was not a good place for a Chosen One to be, especially if the said Chosen One had fallen from grace and had little control over what was left of his magic. Chosen Ones were a special kind of mage, with inherent magic so strong that they could cast by will alone, without the aid of staffs or spells. The ability to sense and read auras were par for the course for these sorcerers; and crowds, with their overwhelming jumble of countless hopes and dreams and fears, all muddled together and concentrated in one place, tended to offend a Chosen One’s delicate senses.
Chandler’s head throbbed, the cacophony of emotions from the masses ringing in his mind like the thundering of drums. He suppressed the urge to run, away from humanity, into the forest where he had been scoring the bark of his favorite oak tree. In his mind’s eye, he pictured himself performing the methodical act, up and down, always the same length, always perfectly spaced… one… two… three… four… across now, one single horizontal stroke…. Concentrating on the controlled monotony of repeating the imaginary motion, the tempest of voices inside his head began to abate; and calm slowly returned to his overwrought senses.
When the sorcerer no longer felt in danger of losing his mind, he allowed his attention to return to his present environment. His eyes cursorily scanned the crowds. So many had come for the Trials, the young candidates were literally packed against each other on the small benches on each side of the arena. Idly, Chandler wondered what it would be like to be able to tolerate such physical proximity. He had spent most of his life in an environment where closeness and touch was taboo, as only those pure in mind and body could maintain a stable connection to the Spirit Realms from where a Chosen One’s magic was drawn. Although there was no longer a link to preserve, old habits die hard; and he still preferred to shun human contact if at all possible.
He could feel a dull ache building behind his eyes again, and wished, once more, he could be elsewhere. But Miles had threatened to chain him to a chair in a warded dungeon to prevent him from running off unaccompanied while the gruff knight was adjudicating the Trials; and Chandler *hated* the dungeon. It’s dark and cold, and it’s smelled in there, thanks to a demon’s curse that caused ectoplasm, a euphemism for black demonic sludge, to seep from the walls. The lavished armchair, on which he currently sat, under a canopy of white silk in the sun, was definitely the preferred option despite the mass of people gathered below.
The sorcerer tried to concentrate and will his wayward powers to stop filling his mind with random wordless *noise*, but his reward was a spike of pain shooting through his brain. And not for the first time, Chandler wished that the ‘Incident’ had taken his powers completely, instead of leaving him a broken conduit through which trickles of magic leaked, with no ability to control its flow. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He was in the midst of this soothing act when a wave of fascination flashed through his mind like lightning. The feeling, of course, was not his; but it was so strong and clear that it drowned out the general din plaguing his senses.
Chandler gently nudged his preternatural perception towards the source of the aura, and was pleasantly surprised when his wayward powers compiled. A part of him knew it was wrong to pry without permission. His two years here among the White Company had taught him that; but he was brought up to regard soul-gazing as a right, a necessity for Chosen Ones to protect themselves against the wiles of men and monsters alike.
Right or wrong, Chandler was a selfish man in many ways; and the temptation of a moment of clarity in the maelstrom that his mind had become since his fall from grace was far too tempting. He opened his eyes to find himself staring into warm sable orbs. Innocence… youthful, yes, but not to be equated with naivety…an unyielding belief in the goodness of mankind, one that had been dragged through the fires of hell to emerge burning ever brighter and stronger… the desire to be part of the Company… The sorcerer waited for the inevitable tinge of pride and ambition, but it never came. There was only the intent to do good… to belong…
It was with regret that Joe released the young man from his hold. To go further would be too great an intrusion. He watched the dark head turned hastily away, felt the flush of embarrassment flood his senses. Sheepishly, he pulled his gaze away, but in his mind, the warmth of the youth’s aura lingered, insulating his senses from the masses, like a port would a ship in a storm. With a calm that he had not felt in years, he waited for the Trials to begin, a half-smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps, today would not be such a bad day after all.
Title: The Chosen
Author: Estella Greenleaf
Pairing: Chandler/Kent
Teaser Companion
****
Joseph Chandler was having a bad day. A crowded arena was not a good place for a Chosen One to be, especially if the said Chosen One had fallen from grace and had little control over what was left of his magic. Chosen Ones were a special kind of mage, with inherent magic so strong that they could cast by will alone, without the aid of staffs or spells. The ability to sense and read auras were par for the course for these sorcerers; and crowds, with their overwhelming jumble of countless hopes and dreams and fears, all muddled together and concentrated in one place, tended to offend a Chosen One’s delicate senses.
Chandler’s head throbbed, the cacophony of emotions from the masses ringing in his mind like the thundering of drums. He suppressed the urge to run, away from humanity, into the forest where he had been scoring the bark of his favorite oak tree. In his mind’s eye, he pictured himself performing the methodical act, up and down, always the same length, always perfectly spaced… one… two… three… four… across now, one single horizontal stroke…. Concentrating on the controlled monotony of repeating the imaginary motion, the tempest of voices inside his head began to abate; and calm slowly returned to his overwrought senses.
When the sorcerer no longer felt in danger of losing his mind, he allowed his attention to return to his present environment. His eyes cursorily scanned the crowds. So many had come for the Trials, the young candidates were literally packed against each other on the small benches on each side of the arena. Idly, Chandler wondered what it would be like to be able to tolerate such physical proximity. He had spent most of his life in an environment where closeness and touch was taboo, as only those pure in mind and body could maintain a stable connection to the Spirit Realms from where a Chosen One’s magic was drawn. Although there was no longer a link to preserve, old habits die hard; and he still preferred to shun human contact if at all possible.
He could feel a dull ache building behind his eyes again, and wished, once more, he could be elsewhere. But Miles had threatened to chain him to a chair in a warded dungeon to prevent him from running off unaccompanied while the gruff knight was adjudicating the Trials; and Chandler *hated* the dungeon. It’s dark and cold, and it’s smelled in there, thanks to a demon’s curse that caused ectoplasm, a euphemism for black demonic sludge, to seep from the walls. The lavished armchair, on which he currently sat, under a canopy of white silk in the sun, was definitely the preferred option despite the mass of people gathered below.
The sorcerer tried to concentrate and will his wayward powers to stop filling his mind with random wordless *noise*, but his reward was a spike of pain shooting through his brain. And not for the first time, Chandler wished that the ‘Incident’ had taken his powers completely, instead of leaving him a broken conduit through which trickles of magic leaked, with no ability to control its flow. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He was in the midst of this soothing act when a wave of fascination flashed through his mind like lightning. The feeling, of course, was not his; but it was so strong and clear that it drowned out the general din plaguing his senses.
Chandler gently nudged his preternatural perception towards the source of the aura, and was pleasantly surprised when his wayward powers compiled. A part of him knew it was wrong to pry without permission. His two years here among the White Company had taught him that; but he was brought up to regard soul-gazing as a right, a necessity for Chosen Ones to protect themselves against the wiles of men and monsters alike.
Right or wrong, Chandler was a selfish man in many ways; and the temptation of a moment of clarity in the maelstrom that his mind had become since his fall from grace was far too tempting. He opened his eyes to find himself staring into warm sable orbs. Innocence… youthful, yes, but not to be equated with naivety…an unyielding belief in the goodness of mankind, one that had been dragged through the fires of hell to emerge burning ever brighter and stronger… the desire to be part of the Company… The sorcerer waited for the inevitable tinge of pride and ambition, but it never came. There was only the intent to do good… to belong…
It was with regret that Joe released the young man from his hold. To go further would be too great an intrusion. He watched the dark head turned hastily away, felt the flush of embarrassment flood his senses. Sheepishly, he pulled his gaze away, but in his mind, the warmth of the youth’s aura lingered, insulating his senses from the masses, like a port would a ship in a storm. With a calm that he had not felt in years, he waited for the Trials to begin, a half-smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps, today would not be such a bad day after all.