Ashan 121, Arc 724
His sleep had hardly ever been dreamless during the previous three arcs. It had often been troubled by nightmares, especially before his unexpected recovery, as countless traumata and manipulations had taken their toll. He had frequently dreamed of fire, of people burning, of himself burning, of someone dragging him from his home while he screamed for them to let him stay.
He needed to stay.
The dream he had had the night before, a few breaks after the All-Tavern’s tournament had concluded had felt different from his usual dreams. It hadn’t been as dark and violent, and it had been more colorful, in a way that few of his dreams were, as if a part of reality had seeped into it.
There had been a woman in it, a surprisingly small woman with dark hair that was quite young, younger than he was. He had almost immediately remembered that her name was Faith.
He had met her before.
He was sure of it.
There had been words as well, not her words, but somebody else’s words, a voice, soft, like a whisper carried by the wind:
When the Dragon wakes and the Healing Hands grow cold,
And when the Queen of Masks rests in her Grave,
Past and Future will unite,
So that the Order will open its hands
And let the Pride of the Peacemaker fly again.
And the addled King will rise,
Divested of all the horrors he was accused of.
And where Lightning Strikes and Thunder roars,
A Door will close, but another one will open,
And what was broken will be Reforged.
When he had awoken from the dream, slightly confused, as he often tended to be after a particularly vivid dream, he had known where she was. She was here, in Rharne. He decided that he would talk to her, as soon as possible. He wasn’t sure what the poem – or was it more than just a poem? – meant, but it was obvious that it connected the two of them in some way. Was he not the addled King? Had his mind not been broken into a million pieces?
Would he be reforged? Had he been reforged?
Since his recovery at the beginning of the cycle, he’d often wondered why he had gotten better, after such a long time without any significant improvement and if it was due to the skill of his healers or something more. Why had he survived when almost everybody that he had known had died, and why did parts of his mind still feel so strange, nevertheless?
Who did the voice that had spoken those words and revealed Faith’s location to him belong to?
There were likely, as was almost always the case when it came to such things, certain risks involved in investigating, but the benefits outweighed the risks by far in his opinion.
Maybe, he would finally get some of the answers that he was looking for.
He headed to Faith’s house in the morning. He doubted that she or her family (Did she have a family, a husband or children?) would appreciate it if he woke them up in the middle of the night, despite the sense of urgency he felt.
His clothes were of decent quality, but comparatively plain and of Rharnian make rather than obviously foreign – an olive-green coat with minimal embroidery, a dark-grey shirt and black pants, among other things - and he'd put some effort into his appearance in general.
He didn’t want to appear in any way threatening or untrustworthy lest she refused to hear him out.
He’d thought about how to broach the issue with Faith – provided that she was actually at home right now – but there were far too many unknown factors for him to plan anything.
He wasn’t sure how she would react, or if she would even take him seriously if he asked her questions such as “Have you ever met a dragon, or actually woken one up?” for example.
He furrowed his brow very lightly as he finally stood in front of her door before he straightened himself and rapped his knuckles against it exactly three times. Having done that, he took a few steps back and clasped his hands in front of his body.
Once someone answered the door, he told them in a polite tone of voice, “I’m looking for Faith. Is she at home? I’d like to talk to her about something that happened last night.”
He’d decided that it would be best not to blurt things out like some sort of thoughtless fool.
Dropping a small hint would be advantageous though, in case Faith had experienced something strange as well.
In any case, his words would hopefully pique people’s curiosity sufficiently.
His sleep had hardly ever been dreamless during the previous three arcs. It had often been troubled by nightmares, especially before his unexpected recovery, as countless traumata and manipulations had taken their toll. He had frequently dreamed of fire, of people burning, of himself burning, of someone dragging him from his home while he screamed for them to let him stay.
He needed to stay.
The dream he had had the night before, a few breaks after the All-Tavern’s tournament had concluded had felt different from his usual dreams. It hadn’t been as dark and violent, and it had been more colorful, in a way that few of his dreams were, as if a part of reality had seeped into it.
There had been a woman in it, a surprisingly small woman with dark hair that was quite young, younger than he was. He had almost immediately remembered that her name was Faith.
He had met her before.
He was sure of it.
There had been words as well, not her words, but somebody else’s words, a voice, soft, like a whisper carried by the wind:
When the Dragon wakes and the Healing Hands grow cold,
And when the Queen of Masks rests in her Grave,
Past and Future will unite,
So that the Order will open its hands
And let the Pride of the Peacemaker fly again.
And the addled King will rise,
Divested of all the horrors he was accused of.
And where Lightning Strikes and Thunder roars,
A Door will close, but another one will open,
And what was broken will be Reforged.
When he had awoken from the dream, slightly confused, as he often tended to be after a particularly vivid dream, he had known where she was. She was here, in Rharne. He decided that he would talk to her, as soon as possible. He wasn’t sure what the poem – or was it more than just a poem? – meant, but it was obvious that it connected the two of them in some way. Was he not the addled King? Had his mind not been broken into a million pieces?
Would he be reforged? Had he been reforged?
Since his recovery at the beginning of the cycle, he’d often wondered why he had gotten better, after such a long time without any significant improvement and if it was due to the skill of his healers or something more. Why had he survived when almost everybody that he had known had died, and why did parts of his mind still feel so strange, nevertheless?
Who did the voice that had spoken those words and revealed Faith’s location to him belong to?
There were likely, as was almost always the case when it came to such things, certain risks involved in investigating, but the benefits outweighed the risks by far in his opinion.
Maybe, he would finally get some of the answers that he was looking for.
He headed to Faith’s house in the morning. He doubted that she or her family (Did she have a family, a husband or children?) would appreciate it if he woke them up in the middle of the night, despite the sense of urgency he felt.
His clothes were of decent quality, but comparatively plain and of Rharnian make rather than obviously foreign – an olive-green coat with minimal embroidery, a dark-grey shirt and black pants, among other things - and he'd put some effort into his appearance in general.
He didn’t want to appear in any way threatening or untrustworthy lest she refused to hear him out.
He’d thought about how to broach the issue with Faith – provided that she was actually at home right now – but there were far too many unknown factors for him to plan anything.
He wasn’t sure how she would react, or if she would even take him seriously if he asked her questions such as “Have you ever met a dragon, or actually woken one up?” for example.
He furrowed his brow very lightly as he finally stood in front of her door before he straightened himself and rapped his knuckles against it exactly three times. Having done that, he took a few steps back and clasped his hands in front of his body.
Once someone answered the door, he told them in a polite tone of voice, “I’m looking for Faith. Is she at home? I’d like to talk to her about something that happened last night.”
He’d decided that it would be best not to blurt things out like some sort of thoughtless fool.
Dropping a small hint would be advantageous though, in case Faith had experienced something strange as well.
In any case, his words would hopefully pique people’s curiosity sufficiently.
