DEATH TO THE KNIGHT!!!
So I kill characters. A lot. It must be done.
The older man had seemed to age overnight, his strength fading. Kierian knew as well as the old knight that Bedivere was on borrowed time. He had promised to do what he could to help Kierian. Uncle Bedivere had been one of the few saving graces outside of Elana in his life at Camelot. Kierian remembered warm summers spent in the company of Arthur and his favorite companion. It was Bedivere who had taught him to tumble in order to avoid attacks from heavier fighters; Bedivere who with Arthur and Elana had taught him to love learning and reading. His favorite lessons had been history lessons with Bedivere. All of that seemed so normal compared to all he had learned in the last month. He was a Warden, his mother had been one of the mysterious Umla’eth who, according to Lanora, went willingly with Roland and now, on top of all, he possessed some strange spirit blood. He still didn’t understand exactly what that meant. Noel had hinted at his ability to understand the balance, and Elana had often discussed the balance with him. He understood it from the perspective that it had a tendency to right itself, but he had no idea how he was supposed to fit into this picture. Everything he had ever wanted to know had been flung at him in such a small time. It was overwhelming. He was grateful to the solid presence of his “uncle” Bedivere. It hurt to watch him fade before their very eyes. He had always admired Bedivere’s bravery and his devotion to Arthur. He had told the knight as much as they departed from the meeting hall.
“I owe your grandfather as much,” he had as they walked into the moonlight. He had not elaborated any further, but Kierian sensed there was much the older knight was not saying. Kierian wondered if it was more for Arthur that he had agreed to help than Kierian. He would not have been surprised or upset if it were so. He was, after all, Arthur’s favored companion, a relic from an age long past, when the kingdom had been much younger.
“What think you, Kierian?” Bedivere asked, his voice tired. The question drew the boy out of his thoughts. He found himself at the center of undivided attention.
“I have never planned nor participated in a siege, Bedivere. I have no more a notion of how to proceed than I do how to fly,” he answered honestly. “I said I needed help. I do not know everything. I must rely on those who do.”Drydan actually looked surprised at Kierian’s response, while Noel smiled and nodded. Bedivere looked pleased. “While there may be time at some point to learn these skills, now is not the time. I must rely on those who possess the knowledge to lead.”
“You remind me of someone we both know,” Noel said with a chuckle. Kierian looked at Noel. He was sure the confusion was apparent on his face. “There will be time for that later,” the older Warden assured him.
“If you say so,” Kierian said. He rose from the crouch he had assumed too long, his legs complaining at the mistreatment. “There is one thing.”
“Your highness?”
“I really wish you wouldn’t, Bedivere. Kierian is just fine.”
“So be it…your highness.”
Kierian stuck his tongue out at the older man. Noel chuckled and turned back to study the model with Bedivere. Kierian understood that Bedivere was only trying to dispel the tension in the room. While Drydan had committed to helping, he certainly wasn’t doing it for Kierian and made his feelings known in his uncharacteristic stoicism. Even now, after Kierian’s admission, he was still watching the boy, mistrust in his eyes.
“Luna and Shinoran, we need them.” All three men looked at Kierian in surprise. “I cannot tell why, but we do.” His Dark Sense, spirit blood, something was insisting on their participation.
“Carthas is in the opposite direction,” Drydan said.
“If I must go there myself, I will. We need them,” he insisted.
“It’s too much time,” Drydan argued. “Time we don’t have.”
Bedivere was strangely silent, as Kierian and Drydan stared at each other in a clash of wills. It was then that Kierian Felt it; the same burning, the same wrongness that he had shared with Elana. He closed his eyes, grief rising in his chest.
“Bedivere…” he whispered as Drydan and Noel both turned to look at the old knight.
Bedivere’s head was bowed, his chest barely registered that he drew breath. He was no longer crouched but seated on the ground, strands of his hair falling into his face. His body was tense, but Kierian knew he was fighting pain, such pain.
“I think,” he breathed. “I am out of time.” His voice was airy and hoarse. He looked up at Kierian, his eyes sunken, a single drop of violet blood at the corner of his mouth. “You feel it?”
Kierian nodded. He closed the space between them and knelt before Bedivere. “Uncle…”
“I must tell you a thing, young Kierian. You are very much like her, your mother. She wanted you, lad. I had never seen a happier maid than when she was pregnant with you. She did not curse you at your birth. I am sure of this. She had smiled when she held you and wept as she died.” Kierian reached out a hand and placed it on Bedivere’s shoulder gently, tears were now rolling down his face. “I must ask you…” Kierian dropped his head as a sob escaped his lips. “Please, Kierian. I cannot bear the pain any longer. You know this. Please?”
The boy, feeling so much older beyond his years, raised wet eyes to meet the brown gaze of the man who had taught him so much, who with Elana and his grandfather had given him some semblance of family. He couldn’t breathe. He reached for Shika, needing the Ward’s presence. The Ward filled his mind, sharing in Kierian’s memories of Bedivere, Feeling his grief and echoing it. Only a moment later, Kierian found himself between the two Wards, both were glowing slightly.
Bedivere gasped and convulsed as the strange affliction warred with his body. He fell to his back, coughing. Drydan immediately rushed to his side and supported his head, allowing him to breath more freely. Kierian could feel the burning increase in intensity. He reached to Bedivere, his grief almost overwhelming. He Felt it then, the calm. Noel, who knelt next to him also seemed to Feel it. His eyes were closed as he seemed to soak in that wondrous peace. Both Wards echoed Noel. Taking his cue from all three, he gave into the peace rather than float on it as he had before. There was power here, great power and strength for when he had no more. This power would carry him as long as was needed. It-no he…no, they- like Shika did not judge Kierian by past indiscretions. While Noel and Dannen had separate auras as did he and Shika, they did not. With the Sesshou and his Ward’s strength behind him, and Noel to keep him from overextending his healing body, he extended his will toward the old knight. He was now crying out in pain, the sounds edging closer to screams. He could hear the commotion heading toward where they had set up this little war council.
“KIERIAN!” Bedivere screamed. “PLEASE!”
While the calm aided him, it could not erase the pain Kierian felt. As he had for Elana, for the poor wretched thing in the forest, he closed his eyes and willed the pain to stop, to spare the soul it tormented. He truly had no idea how this power worked, but he had faith in it to spare those who suffered.
Peace, Bedivere. There will be no more pain.
The screams ceased as stillness descended. Just as he had with Elana, he felt that special part of a person that gave them their individuality; free itself from the cage the affliction had placed around it, and flee into a welcoming darkness. There was never any pain for the soul at this stage. But not for Kierian. He slumped forward landing on his forearms, his head cradled in his hands. Sobs racked his body. However it might be justified, he had once more killed someone he loved. It felt as though his heart was breaking into a million tiny pieces. The agony of the loss was as intense as Elana’s had been even though he knew he had released both Bedivere and Elana from their pain. His hands dove into his blond curls as he sobbed. He was drowning in his grief.
Then like a light from the heavens Shika was in his mind, filling it with love and warmth. He did not rob Kierian of his sorrow, but rather allowed Kierian to grieve and shared in his grief all the while giving him a much need anchor, a line back to himself. He felt Noel pull him into the elder Warden’s embrace. The calm, like Shika’s warmth, surrounded him allowing him to grieve without losing himself. A small part of him felt guilty, but the calm took the guilt and soothed him.
:No, my brother. There is no need for guilt. We will carry you until you are able to walk again. And one day, it may be you who carries us.: The Sesshou’s mindvoice was filled with compassion and gentleness. All Kierian could do was give into the grief, not only for Bedivere, but Elana whose death he had kept secret for so many years and for his grandfather. He wept, as Noel rocked him gently, stroking his hair.
It was sometime later when he finally calmed. He rested against Noel’s shoulder, numb. He vaguely registered Drydan lifting him into his arms and carrying him through the crowd of Drue’eth that had gathered to Lanora’s home. It was Drydan who gently tucked Kierian into bed, pulling the blankets around the young Warden as he curled around his Ward, feeling drained of all strength. He listened to Drydan’s retreating footsteps and lie in the still for long moments.
He had never wanted any of this. All he had wanted was to earn the approval of his family. He had not wished to cause trouble, to be the reason for Elana’s and now Bedivere’s death. He didn’t understand any of this, nor why Fate, it seemed, had singled him out to play some role in these events that brought so much pain to so many. But he could no longer run. He would do what he could to alleviate the pain, to help the people. He had to. He was a Warden.
The older man had seemed to age overnight, his strength fading. Kierian knew as well as the old knight that Bedivere was on borrowed time. He had promised to do what he could to help Kierian. Uncle Bedivere had been one of the few saving graces outside of Elana in his life at Camelot. Kierian remembered warm summers spent in the company of Arthur and his favorite companion. It was Bedivere who had taught him to tumble in order to avoid attacks from heavier fighters; Bedivere who with Arthur and Elana had taught him to love learning and reading. His favorite lessons had been history lessons with Bedivere. All of that seemed so normal compared to all he had learned in the last month. He was a Warden, his mother had been one of the mysterious Umla’eth who, according to Lanora, went willingly with Roland and now, on top of all, he possessed some strange spirit blood. He still didn’t understand exactly what that meant. Noel had hinted at his ability to understand the balance, and Elana had often discussed the balance with him. He understood it from the perspective that it had a tendency to right itself, but he had no idea how he was supposed to fit into this picture. Everything he had ever wanted to know had been flung at him in such a small time. It was overwhelming. He was grateful to the solid presence of his “uncle” Bedivere. It hurt to watch him fade before their very eyes. He had always admired Bedivere’s bravery and his devotion to Arthur. He had told the knight as much as they departed from the meeting hall.
“I owe your grandfather as much,” he had as they walked into the moonlight. He had not elaborated any further, but Kierian sensed there was much the older knight was not saying. Kierian wondered if it was more for Arthur that he had agreed to help than Kierian. He would not have been surprised or upset if it were so. He was, after all, Arthur’s favored companion, a relic from an age long past, when the kingdom had been much younger.
“What think you, Kierian?” Bedivere asked, his voice tired. The question drew the boy out of his thoughts. He found himself at the center of undivided attention.
“I have never planned nor participated in a siege, Bedivere. I have no more a notion of how to proceed than I do how to fly,” he answered honestly. “I said I needed help. I do not know everything. I must rely on those who do.”Drydan actually looked surprised at Kierian’s response, while Noel smiled and nodded. Bedivere looked pleased. “While there may be time at some point to learn these skills, now is not the time. I must rely on those who possess the knowledge to lead.”
“You remind me of someone we both know,” Noel said with a chuckle. Kierian looked at Noel. He was sure the confusion was apparent on his face. “There will be time for that later,” the older Warden assured him.
“If you say so,” Kierian said. He rose from the crouch he had assumed too long, his legs complaining at the mistreatment. “There is one thing.”
“Your highness?”
“I really wish you wouldn’t, Bedivere. Kierian is just fine.”
“So be it…your highness.”
Kierian stuck his tongue out at the older man. Noel chuckled and turned back to study the model with Bedivere. Kierian understood that Bedivere was only trying to dispel the tension in the room. While Drydan had committed to helping, he certainly wasn’t doing it for Kierian and made his feelings known in his uncharacteristic stoicism. Even now, after Kierian’s admission, he was still watching the boy, mistrust in his eyes.
“Luna and Shinoran, we need them.” All three men looked at Kierian in surprise. “I cannot tell why, but we do.” His Dark Sense, spirit blood, something was insisting on their participation.
“Carthas is in the opposite direction,” Drydan said.
“If I must go there myself, I will. We need them,” he insisted.
“It’s too much time,” Drydan argued. “Time we don’t have.”
Bedivere was strangely silent, as Kierian and Drydan stared at each other in a clash of wills. It was then that Kierian Felt it; the same burning, the same wrongness that he had shared with Elana. He closed his eyes, grief rising in his chest.
“Bedivere…” he whispered as Drydan and Noel both turned to look at the old knight.
Bedivere’s head was bowed, his chest barely registered that he drew breath. He was no longer crouched but seated on the ground, strands of his hair falling into his face. His body was tense, but Kierian knew he was fighting pain, such pain.
“I think,” he breathed. “I am out of time.” His voice was airy and hoarse. He looked up at Kierian, his eyes sunken, a single drop of violet blood at the corner of his mouth. “You feel it?”
Kierian nodded. He closed the space between them and knelt before Bedivere. “Uncle…”
“I must tell you a thing, young Kierian. You are very much like her, your mother. She wanted you, lad. I had never seen a happier maid than when she was pregnant with you. She did not curse you at your birth. I am sure of this. She had smiled when she held you and wept as she died.” Kierian reached out a hand and placed it on Bedivere’s shoulder gently, tears were now rolling down his face. “I must ask you…” Kierian dropped his head as a sob escaped his lips. “Please, Kierian. I cannot bear the pain any longer. You know this. Please?”
The boy, feeling so much older beyond his years, raised wet eyes to meet the brown gaze of the man who had taught him so much, who with Elana and his grandfather had given him some semblance of family. He couldn’t breathe. He reached for Shika, needing the Ward’s presence. The Ward filled his mind, sharing in Kierian’s memories of Bedivere, Feeling his grief and echoing it. Only a moment later, Kierian found himself between the two Wards, both were glowing slightly.
Bedivere gasped and convulsed as the strange affliction warred with his body. He fell to his back, coughing. Drydan immediately rushed to his side and supported his head, allowing him to breath more freely. Kierian could feel the burning increase in intensity. He reached to Bedivere, his grief almost overwhelming. He Felt it then, the calm. Noel, who knelt next to him also seemed to Feel it. His eyes were closed as he seemed to soak in that wondrous peace. Both Wards echoed Noel. Taking his cue from all three, he gave into the peace rather than float on it as he had before. There was power here, great power and strength for when he had no more. This power would carry him as long as was needed. It-no he…no, they- like Shika did not judge Kierian by past indiscretions. While Noel and Dannen had separate auras as did he and Shika, they did not. With the Sesshou and his Ward’s strength behind him, and Noel to keep him from overextending his healing body, he extended his will toward the old knight. He was now crying out in pain, the sounds edging closer to screams. He could hear the commotion heading toward where they had set up this little war council.
“KIERIAN!” Bedivere screamed. “PLEASE!”
While the calm aided him, it could not erase the pain Kierian felt. As he had for Elana, for the poor wretched thing in the forest, he closed his eyes and willed the pain to stop, to spare the soul it tormented. He truly had no idea how this power worked, but he had faith in it to spare those who suffered.
Peace, Bedivere. There will be no more pain.
The screams ceased as stillness descended. Just as he had with Elana, he felt that special part of a person that gave them their individuality; free itself from the cage the affliction had placed around it, and flee into a welcoming darkness. There was never any pain for the soul at this stage. But not for Kierian. He slumped forward landing on his forearms, his head cradled in his hands. Sobs racked his body. However it might be justified, he had once more killed someone he loved. It felt as though his heart was breaking into a million tiny pieces. The agony of the loss was as intense as Elana’s had been even though he knew he had released both Bedivere and Elana from their pain. His hands dove into his blond curls as he sobbed. He was drowning in his grief.
Then like a light from the heavens Shika was in his mind, filling it with love and warmth. He did not rob Kierian of his sorrow, but rather allowed Kierian to grieve and shared in his grief all the while giving him a much need anchor, a line back to himself. He felt Noel pull him into the elder Warden’s embrace. The calm, like Shika’s warmth, surrounded him allowing him to grieve without losing himself. A small part of him felt guilty, but the calm took the guilt and soothed him.
:No, my brother. There is no need for guilt. We will carry you until you are able to walk again. And one day, it may be you who carries us.: The Sesshou’s mindvoice was filled with compassion and gentleness. All Kierian could do was give into the grief, not only for Bedivere, but Elana whose death he had kept secret for so many years and for his grandfather. He wept, as Noel rocked him gently, stroking his hair.
It was sometime later when he finally calmed. He rested against Noel’s shoulder, numb. He vaguely registered Drydan lifting him into his arms and carrying him through the crowd of Drue’eth that had gathered to Lanora’s home. It was Drydan who gently tucked Kierian into bed, pulling the blankets around the young Warden as he curled around his Ward, feeling drained of all strength. He listened to Drydan’s retreating footsteps and lie in the still for long moments.
He had never wanted any of this. All he had wanted was to earn the approval of his family. He had not wished to cause trouble, to be the reason for Elana’s and now Bedivere’s death. He didn’t understand any of this, nor why Fate, it seemed, had singled him out to play some role in these events that brought so much pain to so many. But he could no longer run. He would do what he could to alleviate the pain, to help the people. He had to. He was a Warden.