William's head rang as the latest blow of many rocked him, knocking him against the wall he was now cornered into for perhaps the fiftieth time that day. The last vestiges of air from his lungs escaped with a violent huff as his back met the stone, exiting his lips in a jet of steam that seemed to match the colour of the snow dredged about them.
As all exhausted men do, his legs gave way beneath him as his breath left him, vision spinning like a small boat in a great storm as he sat. Snow crunched about him even as he descended, the blistering cold hardly noticeable to him as he glanced up to focus his vision on his assailant. He hardly heard what the Orc had said, seeing only the movement of lips and the cautious approach that no doubt signalled a request for him to yield. The Orc approached further, and his head rang again.
He gave little resistance, falling sideways into the hateful dunes of snow as blood trickled from his mouth, and his vision clouded even further. The stinging cold of the elements drew into him as he gasped for breath, face half-buried in the snow as the Orc repeated himself. He had naught the consciousness remaining to hear them, but he could estimate at what the words were, and gave his response anyway. His voice came out hoarse and gravelly as he turned his head to face the Orc.
"I don't- Mn. I don't yield."
The next ring of his head was greater in intensity, though not entirely unexpected given his response. The sheet of snow beneath him continued to soak like wine on silk, and everything around him fell to a curtain of sleek grey. What followed was just as predictable; the place he always found himself in slumber, voluntary or otherwise.
The ceaseless sun of a land far east replaced the kiss of winter snow, and he lay not in the courtyard of a prison, but on a sandy embankment. To his left, an oasis of rich green and clear water graced his glance, and to his right a familiar figure sat, smiling. Smiling as she always did, and always had.
He knew this place, and he knew this person. The memory was neither warm nor welcoming, however, a distant and cold light that lay just beyond his clutches; a night sky of stars that looked down upon a gazing child. He turned his head back to the water, peering at its surface and the banks.
"Dozed off, you did. Must be the heat." the figure spoke, with a lilt in her voice he'd almost forgotten.
"I.. mn. I must have." he replied, hesitantly. His face stung as he spoke, and he felt his face in response with a wince.
"What was it this time, Will?" the woman asked, leaning in some and into his view as she spoke.
He opened his mouth in reply, stopping as his gaze turned back to her.
The smile continued as she looked towards him, grey-blue eyes almost reaching his own, but ajar enough not to meet them. They were warmer than his, more blue than grey, and with far more mirth than his could hope to contain. Hair whose shade matched the sand loosely framed her face, and in his time looking towards her he'd forgotten entirely what he was to say. She smiled for a time longer, before matching his agape expression with a chuckle.
"Hallo?"
"Ah- orc." he replied, at long-last.
She gave a nod at that, moving a braceleted hand to the bruising as she replied.
"Tried your best, then."
"I did."
"You will try again?"
"I will."
She gave another chuckle at that, the sound carrying through the air like a lazy column of smoke as she moved her hand down to his shoulder.
"Perhaps you could talk, next time. Not fight."
"It's just training, Eira." he replied, though he knew she was in some jest or another.
"Training for what?" she asked, moving her thumb back and forth on his shoulder as she turned to him, pursing her lips.
"For when I need it, I suppose."
Her thumb stopped for a moment, at that. He could almost spy a frown threatening to grace her features from the corner of his eye, looming like some beast in deep water. She exhaled softly, before replying after a moment with a quieter voice.
"And what do you need, Will?"
He didn't have an answer for her, in truth. Not a serious one, at least, for it was not something he thought about at length. His own wants and needs were but a distant thing for him, in truth- a vague figure in the fog of his mind that came after what was expected and needed and wanted of him by others. He gave an empty resemblance of a chuckle glancing away.
"A good night's sleep, I think."
Her hand dropped from his shoulder at that, and she remained silent in response. But he dared not look back to her.
William had always prided himself on being courageous. Unyielding. But the notion of turning his gaze back to her turned his stomach more than most things ever could.
In her voice, he heard the decay of time. The cracking and fraying of branches, and the crumbling of stone. In her face, he saw the inevitable failings of memory. Mountains reduced to grains of sand from the ocean, and a sun that grew dim and cold. In her hands, he saw the inevitable. That no training could prevent her from fading, from his mind as she had in life. Two deaths, each as permanent as the other.
He knew that as the days passed, pieces of her were lost to time, like the rusting pieces of some grand machine. Perhaps her smile lost some of its brightness, or her eyes grew dimmer- as if some beast unseen to him had stolen just a few of the stars behind them.
Indeed, the memory of her was dying. The essence of her. And he knew in his heart he wasn't strong enough to lose her again, for all his armour and training and will. It was all he could do to make use of what fleeting time he had left. His voice came out soft and unsure, as he looked towards the opaline water once more.
"Can you sit with me? Just.. just for a while."
For just a moment, there was a pause and a silence. For just a moment, birds silenced their song, the wind ceased its dance, and the sky stopped to watch. But a hand met his after a time, and a weight leaned on his shoulder.
"Always." a voice replied, equally as soft as his own.
He wished in that moment he were some great orator- a hero of old that could move mountains with his spoken word, or sway gods and dragons alike with a speech. He'd speak of his friends, of his life. Of his great tales of battle, and the tales that held no greatness at all. He'd speak of the people he'd met- a Velheimer much like her, perhaps, or a man with the surname 'Beerfist'. Perhaps he'd speak of those he looked up to, of an elf almost as tall as he, or simply those who made him laugh.
Aye, there were many things he could speak. But he elected for the certain. For the cliched, and the guaranteed.
"So serious." she replied with a laugh- a laugh free of scorn or doubt.
"But pure. Come back to me, when you can. And you can." she followed, before a squeeze of his hand and a kiss of his cheek drifted the sand and the water and the sky beneath the waves once more.
William Arnyn awoke on a cot of white and purple. His body sore, his face bruised, but a question answered.
It was her. It had always been her.
[Hope you enjoyed this one fellas - it's a part of William that often gets left unexplained, but I hope I did it justice and wasn't too cliched
]
As all exhausted men do, his legs gave way beneath him as his breath left him, vision spinning like a small boat in a great storm as he sat. Snow crunched about him even as he descended, the blistering cold hardly noticeable to him as he glanced up to focus his vision on his assailant. He hardly heard what the Orc had said, seeing only the movement of lips and the cautious approach that no doubt signalled a request for him to yield. The Orc approached further, and his head rang again.
He gave little resistance, falling sideways into the hateful dunes of snow as blood trickled from his mouth, and his vision clouded even further. The stinging cold of the elements drew into him as he gasped for breath, face half-buried in the snow as the Orc repeated himself. He had naught the consciousness remaining to hear them, but he could estimate at what the words were, and gave his response anyway. His voice came out hoarse and gravelly as he turned his head to face the Orc.
"I don't- Mn. I don't yield."
The next ring of his head was greater in intensity, though not entirely unexpected given his response. The sheet of snow beneath him continued to soak like wine on silk, and everything around him fell to a curtain of sleek grey. What followed was just as predictable; the place he always found himself in slumber, voluntary or otherwise.
The ceaseless sun of a land far east replaced the kiss of winter snow, and he lay not in the courtyard of a prison, but on a sandy embankment. To his left, an oasis of rich green and clear water graced his glance, and to his right a familiar figure sat, smiling. Smiling as she always did, and always had.
He knew this place, and he knew this person. The memory was neither warm nor welcoming, however, a distant and cold light that lay just beyond his clutches; a night sky of stars that looked down upon a gazing child. He turned his head back to the water, peering at its surface and the banks.
"Dozed off, you did. Must be the heat." the figure spoke, with a lilt in her voice he'd almost forgotten.
"I.. mn. I must have." he replied, hesitantly. His face stung as he spoke, and he felt his face in response with a wince.
"What was it this time, Will?" the woman asked, leaning in some and into his view as she spoke.
He opened his mouth in reply, stopping as his gaze turned back to her.
The smile continued as she looked towards him, grey-blue eyes almost reaching his own, but ajar enough not to meet them. They were warmer than his, more blue than grey, and with far more mirth than his could hope to contain. Hair whose shade matched the sand loosely framed her face, and in his time looking towards her he'd forgotten entirely what he was to say. She smiled for a time longer, before matching his agape expression with a chuckle.
"Hallo?"
"Ah- orc." he replied, at long-last.
She gave a nod at that, moving a braceleted hand to the bruising as she replied.
"Tried your best, then."
"I did."
"You will try again?"
"I will."
She gave another chuckle at that, the sound carrying through the air like a lazy column of smoke as she moved her hand down to his shoulder.
"Perhaps you could talk, next time. Not fight."
"It's just training, Eira." he replied, though he knew she was in some jest or another.
"Training for what?" she asked, moving her thumb back and forth on his shoulder as she turned to him, pursing her lips.
"For when I need it, I suppose."
Her thumb stopped for a moment, at that. He could almost spy a frown threatening to grace her features from the corner of his eye, looming like some beast in deep water. She exhaled softly, before replying after a moment with a quieter voice.
"And what do you need, Will?"
He didn't have an answer for her, in truth. Not a serious one, at least, for it was not something he thought about at length. His own wants and needs were but a distant thing for him, in truth- a vague figure in the fog of his mind that came after what was expected and needed and wanted of him by others. He gave an empty resemblance of a chuckle glancing away.
"A good night's sleep, I think."
Her hand dropped from his shoulder at that, and she remained silent in response. But he dared not look back to her.
William had always prided himself on being courageous. Unyielding. But the notion of turning his gaze back to her turned his stomach more than most things ever could.
In her voice, he heard the decay of time. The cracking and fraying of branches, and the crumbling of stone. In her face, he saw the inevitable failings of memory. Mountains reduced to grains of sand from the ocean, and a sun that grew dim and cold. In her hands, he saw the inevitable. That no training could prevent her from fading, from his mind as she had in life. Two deaths, each as permanent as the other.
He knew that as the days passed, pieces of her were lost to time, like the rusting pieces of some grand machine. Perhaps her smile lost some of its brightness, or her eyes grew dimmer- as if some beast unseen to him had stolen just a few of the stars behind them.
Indeed, the memory of her was dying. The essence of her. And he knew in his heart he wasn't strong enough to lose her again, for all his armour and training and will. It was all he could do to make use of what fleeting time he had left. His voice came out soft and unsure, as he looked towards the opaline water once more.
"Can you sit with me? Just.. just for a while."
For just a moment, there was a pause and a silence. For just a moment, birds silenced their song, the wind ceased its dance, and the sky stopped to watch. But a hand met his after a time, and a weight leaned on his shoulder.
"Always." a voice replied, equally as soft as his own.
He wished in that moment he were some great orator- a hero of old that could move mountains with his spoken word, or sway gods and dragons alike with a speech. He'd speak of his friends, of his life. Of his great tales of battle, and the tales that held no greatness at all. He'd speak of the people he'd met- a Velheimer much like her, perhaps, or a man with the surname 'Beerfist'. Perhaps he'd speak of those he looked up to, of an elf almost as tall as he, or simply those who made him laugh.
Aye, there were many things he could speak. But he elected for the certain. For the cliched, and the guaranteed.
"So serious." she replied with a laugh- a laugh free of scorn or doubt.
"But pure. Come back to me, when you can. And you can." she followed, before a squeeze of his hand and a kiss of his cheek drifted the sand and the water and the sky beneath the waves once more.
William Arnyn awoke on a cot of white and purple. His body sore, his face bruised, but a question answered.
It was her. It had always been her.
[Hope you enjoyed this one fellas - it's a part of William that often gets left unexplained, but I hope I did it justice and wasn't too cliched
]
