The healer had gone. Gilean, she thought, that's his name. He had said that she should trust this big man. That he was telling her the truth. She did belong here. This was her home. The whole thing seemed absurd. This place was enormous. Who needed a house this big? "This is your home," the big man - Carl... Colin said. "It was your home before we were even married."
"We're married?" The words finally seemed to mean something and she looked at her hand. No ring.
"Yes, I'm your husband." Car... Colin held up his hand revealing a band. "You wear yours on your necklace."
"Why? I mean..." Who wore a wedding ring on their neck and not their finger.
"You recently switched. But that's a long story."
She searched her mind - twinkling lights, black wall - there was nothing. She walked into the library followed not long after by the big - Colin - carrying an small boy with blonde hair. "Sanria... this is our son, Orn."
"No... sorry, I don't have a child that I'm aware of. But he looks like a very nice boy." The small boy - Orn - reached toward her excitedly.
"See... he knows who you are."
"He's a nice boy."
"Yes... he is. You can hold him. Maybe it will help?"
"I think it will let him pull my hair." She chuckled and turned away.
"So have you read all of these?" she asked. She knew what they were, knew what they were for, but why this house had so many was beyond her.
"Oh, no. Not by a long shot. But I think you may have. You loved spending time in here."
"Can't say I remember that... everything seems like a big blank spot. Only thing I remember is waking up just a little bit ago."
"It's ok. It will probably take some time for it to come back. At the worst, you can read all of these books again for the first time."
"If I stay, I guess so."
In the kitchen, her eyes fell on a rose that seemed to shimmer with its own inner brilliance. "Now that is pretty."
"You got that on a recent, but unexpected trip. Another long story, I suppose." There seemed to be a lot of 'long stories.' "I know you're trying to help me, but I really don't remember any of this. You're telling me I'm married with a child and..."
"Yeah. Instant family that you don't remember."
"Is he our only one?"
"Yes. Well... We lost two before they were born. That would be one of the more fortunate things to not remember. The last loss was very recent... and it's been difficult."
"Was that why they found me dead?"
"I don't know for certain... We also lost a close friend. Maybe it was just all too much."
"Maybe so."
"Tell you what. Let me make us something to eat. I've never been brought back from the dead, but it sounds like you could use some sustenance."
Lights
It was cold. Very cold. The kind of cold that seeps down through your skin, chilling muscles to the point they ache when asked to move, chilling sinew and tendon to the point the creak when moved, chilling down to the very surface of the bone and into the marrow. The warmth that flooded through her was like a fire, still, she couldn't feel it just yet. By the time her heart began to beat once more, moving sluggish blood into circulation, she was staring up at a myriad of twinkling lights. They were soothing.
She heard voices but her mind couldn't quite grasp what they were saying - the meanings just weren't there yet. The lights were so soothing. A large man came into view, he was stroking her hair. "Oh Sanria, what happened?" Who in the heck was this? "You're ok now. Everything is ok. Why Sanria... why did you do it?" The man looked like he was about to cry. Why?
"What are you talking about?"
The man's face was confused - that much she knew but she wasn't sure why.
"I'm sorry... who are you?"
"I'm Colin. Your husband."
The words didn't quite register or make sense. She tried to stand up but her legs were simply not strong enough to support her weight. She had to sit back down. The big man was helping her. "You said your name was Carlin?"
"Colin. It's me, Colin."
She searched her memory... it was a big blank. Nothing there but twinkling lights from moments before. Something had to be there, but all that greeted her was a solid black wall of emptiness. "I'm sorry, I don't know a Colin."
"You've been through an ordeal. You just can't remember right now. But it's ok. I'll take care of you. You're among friends."
Friends... she looked around. The big man, the woman laying on the floor with long silver hair, a man with silvery hair... Something didn't quite feel right. She didn't know these people, she didn't know herself. "I don't know who all of you are, but I don't think I'm in the right place."
"No, you are. This is your home."
It didn't feel like home. None of this was right, but there was nothing to fall back on. The black wall in her mind was solid, impenetrable, and gave her nothing. The healer had done this to her, but what? Brought her back to life. The questions were mounting, the feeling of dread growing, "I think I should probably go... Carlin, can you help me to town?"
"No, no. This is your home. Sanria, your son, Orn, is inside. Do you remember Orn?"
"I don't have a son, Carlin."
"Colin, dear. Colin."
She heard voices but her mind couldn't quite grasp what they were saying - the meanings just weren't there yet. The lights were so soothing. A large man came into view, he was stroking her hair. "Oh Sanria, what happened?" Who in the heck was this? "You're ok now. Everything is ok. Why Sanria... why did you do it?" The man looked like he was about to cry. Why?
"What are you talking about?"
The man's face was confused - that much she knew but she wasn't sure why.
"I'm sorry... who are you?"
"I'm Colin. Your husband."
The words didn't quite register or make sense. She tried to stand up but her legs were simply not strong enough to support her weight. She had to sit back down. The big man was helping her. "You said your name was Carlin?"
"Colin. It's me, Colin."
She searched her memory... it was a big blank. Nothing there but twinkling lights from moments before. Something had to be there, but all that greeted her was a solid black wall of emptiness. "I'm sorry, I don't know a Colin."
"You've been through an ordeal. You just can't remember right now. But it's ok. I'll take care of you. You're among friends."
Friends... she looked around. The big man, the woman laying on the floor with long silver hair, a man with silvery hair... Something didn't quite feel right. She didn't know these people, she didn't know herself. "I don't know who all of you are, but I don't think I'm in the right place."
"No, you are. This is your home."
It didn't feel like home. None of this was right, but there was nothing to fall back on. The black wall in her mind was solid, impenetrable, and gave her nothing. The healer had done this to her, but what? Brought her back to life. The questions were mounting, the feeling of dread growing, "I think I should probably go... Carlin, can you help me to town?"
"No, no. This is your home. Sanria, your son, Orn, is inside. Do you remember Orn?"
"I don't have a son, Carlin."
"Colin, dear. Colin."
White Wolf of Living
Kaliadra didn't know what had happened until she woke up. Fear flooded her elvish senses and she jumped to her feet before collapsing back to the ground. She recognized where she was as Sanria's cavern. She knew Colin, she recognized the purple esper priest and the other with silver hair as the two that came into the realms after Sanria. They spoke and it slowly came to Kaliadra that Gilean had brought them back to life after Sanria had killed herself - and her.
From the conversation it was clear that Sanria had lost her memory, something Kaliadra found as a bit of a blessing. "Throm is dead, isn't he?" she finally asked.
"Yes... how did you...?"
"I could feel it... I could see in her mind at the very end."
Though she couldn't feel any pain from Sanria any longer, Kaliadra felt her own sense of loss. She was still connected, but worlds apart. It was a feeling she didn't want to think about. She turned to Gilean and leveled her gaze. "You are fortunate she remembers nothing... because if she recalled the torment she was going through, she'd probably want to kill you for bringing her back."
Once more, Kaliadra resigned herself to a fate reserved for her people when they had done inconceivable wrong. She shimmered once more into the form of a wolf. Within days, she would begin to forget. Within a month - she'd cease thinking like an elf. Blissful peace in an animal- like existence. "It all felt so wrong...' Gilean said. "I didn't realize that part of that was you."
Kaliadra looked back at the healer, understanding his words and taking them to mean she was an unexpected burden. It struck her deeply, and with a final sigh, she limped on all fours out of the cavern and into the forests beyond.
From the conversation it was clear that Sanria had lost her memory, something Kaliadra found as a bit of a blessing. "Throm is dead, isn't he?" she finally asked.
"Yes... how did you...?"
"I could feel it... I could see in her mind at the very end."
Though she couldn't feel any pain from Sanria any longer, Kaliadra felt her own sense of loss. She was still connected, but worlds apart. It was a feeling she didn't want to think about. She turned to Gilean and leveled her gaze. "You are fortunate she remembers nothing... because if she recalled the torment she was going through, she'd probably want to kill you for bringing her back."
Once more, Kaliadra resigned herself to a fate reserved for her people when they had done inconceivable wrong. She shimmered once more into the form of a wolf. Within days, she would begin to forget. Within a month - she'd cease thinking like an elf. Blissful peace in an animal- like existence. "It all felt so wrong...' Gilean said. "I didn't realize that part of that was you."
Kaliadra looked back at the healer, understanding his words and taking them to mean she was an unexpected burden. It struck her deeply, and with a final sigh, she limped on all fours out of the cavern and into the forests beyond.
Learning Curve
Claire wasn't sure how she could have been so wrong about someone. Just the day before, Gilean had invited her out to lunch and they had a good conversation about Psycho, about their planar travel, about Gilean himself. But now she was faced with a different side of Gilean.
She had been contacted by Gilean to help locate Sanria. Apparently the woman had been missing, and far be it from Claire to avoid lending a hand when it was needed. They, she and Gilean together, had located Sanria. Rather, her body. The woman had stabbed herself and her corpse lay frozen in the snow.
Claire couldn't believe it when Gilean began proclaiming how wrong it was. Had he no sense of history? And when he said the gods shouldn't have allowed it to happen - well what about all the atrocities acted out on those who wanted to live? This woman had taken her life, and while Claire believed there were always better ways, many people were slain, slaughtered, brutalized every day across the world of Toril.
Against her desires, not even listening to her, Gilean resurrected not only Sanria, but the elven woman they had met on their trip, Kaliadra. Apparently they had both killed themselves. And for his not listening - Sanria had absolutely no memory.
Claire shook her head in frustration. They should have brought the woman home and let her husband bury her and grieve. That was much more natural than what they - he - had done. As far as she was concerned, Gilean had over- stepped his bounds. He had played at being a God without considering what the possible outcomes were. He had brought back a woman that obviously wanted to be dead when so many who didn't want to be dead remained so. Makou lights lit the streets, did he not think about what made that substance? Did he not think about bringing back those espers?
Claire hung her head and for the first time in nearly a hundred years, warm tears found their way down her slender nose and fell to the floor.
She had been contacted by Gilean to help locate Sanria. Apparently the woman had been missing, and far be it from Claire to avoid lending a hand when it was needed. They, she and Gilean together, had located Sanria. Rather, her body. The woman had stabbed herself and her corpse lay frozen in the snow.
Claire couldn't believe it when Gilean began proclaiming how wrong it was. Had he no sense of history? And when he said the gods shouldn't have allowed it to happen - well what about all the atrocities acted out on those who wanted to live? This woman had taken her life, and while Claire believed there were always better ways, many people were slain, slaughtered, brutalized every day across the world of Toril.
Against her desires, not even listening to her, Gilean resurrected not only Sanria, but the elven woman they had met on their trip, Kaliadra. Apparently they had both killed themselves. And for his not listening - Sanria had absolutely no memory.
Claire shook her head in frustration. They should have brought the woman home and let her husband bury her and grieve. That was much more natural than what they - he - had done. As far as she was concerned, Gilean had over- stepped his bounds. He had played at being a God without considering what the possible outcomes were. He had brought back a woman that obviously wanted to be dead when so many who didn't want to be dead remained so. Makou lights lit the streets, did he not think about what made that substance? Did he not think about bringing back those espers?
Claire hung her head and for the first time in nearly a hundred years, warm tears found their way down her slender nose and fell to the floor.
A Life for a Life
*A white wolf the size of a small pony stalks the forests of Myth Drannor. She pauses, locked on the scent of a small rodent. Her ears prick with the sound of tiny feet in the underbrush. She lowers her body in a crouch, anticipating with a drooling mouth the kill she will savor.
She lays her ears flat, the rodent is close. She cannot contain the saliva that comes flowing into her mouth. In silence she licks her jowls and read- ies to pounce. With a jolt, a pair of green eyes flash into her mind. She shakes her head, as if the image is a mere sneeze she can cast away. It is not.
She sees herself on a beach and hears the laughter. She smells the scents of herbs and the green eyes that smile with warmth. She shakes her head as the taste of tea floods over her tongue. Barely, the wolf has enough time to remember the face - Throm, and understand where the memory is heading. And why.
Crystal blue eyes widen in horror as the piercing pain of blade to heart is felt in her chest. It knocks her onto her side and she releases a deep howl that drifts into a whine. She tries to draw in a breath, but her sides feel as though they are on fire. She shudders, her limbs twitching. She begins choking. She cannot pull in the air - she cannot pull in air - she cannot -
Kaliadra twitches on the ground, an elven woman. Her eyes flare brightly for a moment, then slowly dim.*
She lays her ears flat, the rodent is close. She cannot contain the saliva that comes flowing into her mouth. In silence she licks her jowls and read- ies to pounce. With a jolt, a pair of green eyes flash into her mind. She shakes her head, as if the image is a mere sneeze she can cast away. It is not.
She sees herself on a beach and hears the laughter. She smells the scents of herbs and the green eyes that smile with warmth. She shakes her head as the taste of tea floods over her tongue. Barely, the wolf has enough time to remember the face - Throm, and understand where the memory is heading. And why.
Crystal blue eyes widen in horror as the piercing pain of blade to heart is felt in her chest. It knocks her onto her side and she releases a deep howl that drifts into a whine. She tries to draw in a breath, but her sides feel as though they are on fire. She shudders, her limbs twitching. She begins choking. She cannot pull in the air - she cannot pull in air - she cannot -
Kaliadra twitches on the ground, an elven woman. Her eyes flare brightly for a moment, then slowly dim.*
Final Words
Sanria had gone as far north as she could. Her throat raw from breathing in the freeing air. The tears on her cheeks grew icy before they had even coursed their way down her face, leaving a dried trail of saltwater. She couldn't feel her feet. She couldn't feel her hands. She couldn't feel anything but the void at the center of her chest that spread from her heart and into the entirety of her being. She stumbled and fell into the snow on her hands and knees, her palms reddening with the cold. Karen, the help's voice rang in her mind, 'I'm sorry, M'lady... we found him by the fire... he's dead.'
Sanria let out a roar of anguish and sat on her heels. She had lost Emalia. She had lost touch with Tarran. She had lost two children that never even made it to birth. She had lost her grasp on a realm that made everything okay. She had barely kept herself together. She had dared hope that the night spent by the fire with Throm was the beginning of what should have been and what finally would be. She had no idea that it would be the last time she'd see him alive.
Sanria slid from her heels and sat in the frigid snow absolutely broken. She wanted to tear out the thick feeling that curled in her chest and throw it away, but she couldn't grasp it. The pain was beyond her reckoning - as was everything else. She let out a gut wrenching howl and gripped her head in her hands. She screamed out his name, the word billowing steam from her mouth. There would be no Bastion in the skies to save her this time. There would be no rescue. There would never be.
Sanria opened her pack, barely able to see for the tears that continually welled up in her eyes. She found what she sought, and could barely grip the handle of the dagger, so numb were her fingers. She stared for a long time at the glinting metal, the steel shining white in reflection of the ground and the overcast skies. Snow began to drift down around her in thick, lazy flakes. She looked skyward and the flakes caught on her eyelashes and face, staying whole and remaining.
A flash of green eyes aglow. A long stretching memory of time in the sand, time in a garden, cups of tea. As if guided, the blade slid between Sanria's ribs and into her heart. The pain was excruciating, blinding, then - exquisite... the tea was exquisite. There was no more cold, no more pain. Sanria was sitting in front of a fire and beside her was the one being she could never attain. Throm smiled back at her, his eyes sparkling. She took his hand as her body fell into the snow. She leaned over and gave him a kiss as the blood left her body to turn the snow crimson. She whispered the words, "I love you," before the image faded and Sanria's life parted ways with Sanria's body.
Sanria let out a roar of anguish and sat on her heels. She had lost Emalia. She had lost touch with Tarran. She had lost two children that never even made it to birth. She had lost her grasp on a realm that made everything okay. She had barely kept herself together. She had dared hope that the night spent by the fire with Throm was the beginning of what should have been and what finally would be. She had no idea that it would be the last time she'd see him alive.
Sanria slid from her heels and sat in the frigid snow absolutely broken. She wanted to tear out the thick feeling that curled in her chest and throw it away, but she couldn't grasp it. The pain was beyond her reckoning - as was everything else. She let out a gut wrenching howl and gripped her head in her hands. She screamed out his name, the word billowing steam from her mouth. There would be no Bastion in the skies to save her this time. There would be no rescue. There would never be.
Sanria opened her pack, barely able to see for the tears that continually welled up in her eyes. She found what she sought, and could barely grip the handle of the dagger, so numb were her fingers. She stared for a long time at the glinting metal, the steel shining white in reflection of the ground and the overcast skies. Snow began to drift down around her in thick, lazy flakes. She looked skyward and the flakes caught on her eyelashes and face, staying whole and remaining.
A flash of green eyes aglow. A long stretching memory of time in the sand, time in a garden, cups of tea. As if guided, the blade slid between Sanria's ribs and into her heart. The pain was excruciating, blinding, then - exquisite... the tea was exquisite. There was no more cold, no more pain. Sanria was sitting in front of a fire and beside her was the one being she could never attain. Throm smiled back at her, his eyes sparkling. She took his hand as her body fell into the snow. She leaned over and gave him a kiss as the blood left her body to turn the snow crimson. She whispered the words, "I love you," before the image faded and Sanria's life parted ways with Sanria's body.
Falling Action
'Throm? Are you alright?' Sanria asked as she looked at him curiously. It was no small wonder she might be able to see that he wasnt exactly himself at the moment...not that he had been for quite some time though. He nodded as strongly as he could muster. 'I am alright indeed. Feels good to be... myself again.' he lied as Karen distributed steaming mugs to them both. It seemed as though Sanria saw right through the facade as she sat down beside in front of the fireplace her look turning skeptical. 'Well, you dont look quite your old self just yet.' And even as he sat there, the life force in him ebbing away, he found himself completely at peace. His mind unfettered by cold calculations and dual motives, Throm was merely able to enjoy being in the presence her familiar company once again, one final time before they were to part ways for the last time. His mug grew impossibly heavy so that he had little choice but to cradle it in his lap as their conversation grew late into the evening. Karen kept the mugs ever full as if she herself was aware of Throms need for this conversation, aware of his need for peace at long last. But as all good things must come to an end, the evening finally came to an end and Sanria eventually went on her way. Throm was left where he sat, content and left with the inescapable revelation that old wounds of past would be healed forever. Karen stood in the entry way smiling over at him. He returned the older womans in kind. 'Karen, I would like it if you could ensure I remain here undisturbed for the rest of the evening.' Karen nodded calling out over her shoulder as she walked towards the door. 'Call if you find yourself in need of anything. I wont be but a stones throw.' Throm closed his eyes and sank further down into his heavy robes. From his hands the tea mug fell softly to the floor but Throm afforded it no concern as he felt his breath leave his body. His time had come. No more would he draw air into his lungs. No more would he enjoy tea with Sanria. Yet what he had been able to experience he was grateful for. These thoughts were to be the last of Throm uth Bannon.
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