Fanfic:The Return (Miahala Ives)
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Thought. The budding of realization, from deep within the Void. A single flame, unwavering, undying, but hidden. Muted. Then, as suddenly as it would seem to have appeared, it roared, fed by a deep well of emotions that had been suppressed. Anger and despair were all that fed this flame, and it burned in the mind's eye like a thousand suns. Then, the budding of emotions in the back of the mind, a nestled presence that had been desired for so long. Her presence. Far off, yet so much closer than he could ever imagine.
Her...
With the suddenness of an earthquake, he bolted upright, gasping for breath.
Miahala sat in her chair, leaning back with her hands laced on her desk. "No, Zakuri, we can't do that." She explained patiently, the Blue Asha'man was wearing on her nerves. After not having her favorite Blue Asha'man for eight years, this one received little patience. Especially that day, she had little patience left after arguing with a small, yet feral group, of Ji with attitude problems. Especially that one little Drin with the major issues, Leisha. Ugh. Then she pulled her mind to the question at hand...
Abruptly a long lost thread blossomed into her mind, and she screamed. Zakuri was at her side, "Miahala, what's wrong?" She breathily told him to get out, with much persistence he did and she collapsed against the door. Shaking, him. It was him. That shattered glass within her mind had suddenly came together in an explosion of emotions. But she felt... adrift as well.
Angry and lost. What was bloody happening?
He lay back on the sandy beaches of Arad Doman. The sky was a beautiful blue, untouched by any form of civilization. No villages or homes for miles around. That much he knew. But how he had come to be on this sandy beach was still hard to grasp. He was still becoming familiar with his name.
Darien. My name is Darien, he thought to himself. He was tall and thick with muscle, raven's black hair hanging long and matted. Stubble dotted his chin and cheeks, and he scratched at it distractedly as he tried to remember how he had come upon this tiny piece of paradise.
The emotions tucked into the back of his mind he knew to be Mia, but who this Mia was escaped him. It was as if he thought about it long enough, everything would come to him, but for now he was relegated to frustration and anguish at not remembering.
The clothes he wore were tattered rags, and he bore raw ankles and wrists. Shackles. He remembered the shackles, and the taunting voice that mocked him. Rage boiled up again within, and he was consumed by it.
She pushed herself to her feet, shaking to horribly that she could barely walk. She just kept repeating his name, over and over again, "Darien, Darien, Darien..." Images flashed through her mind at such a pace that she could hardly contain it. There was nothing before her: no office, no desk, nor chair or window. Just her past.
That first friendly drink in the Band of Brothers...
The surprise second meeting months later, beneath that old tree in the Gardens, a one year old Rynny on her lap.
Being laid gently to the blue blanket in his quarters, the birth of the bond within her mind.
A soft presence.
Sadira Rose.
Married.
Tianna and Tarven.
His death, like a slice to her heart, it had almost killed her...
She saw it all again and it overwhelmed her. She fell to her knees, crying out his name: "DARIEN! Come back to me," she whispered.
Come back to me... that sobbing, sweet musical voice called within his mind. She was mia'chiandra to him. In the Old Tongue, it meant 'my sweet girl.' And no matter how long that they would be together, he would always endear her as such.
I am coming, I am coming... he thought hard in his mind, trying to convey the speed at which he ran. He was barefoot and ragged, rushing through the stands of trees and open plains at a dead run, heedless of any obstacle before him. If some were to look upon him, they might think him one to run with wolves; others might say that he was a wolf. His ragged hair, dangerous eyes, and the fervor in which he pushed himself onwards.
Mia, oh Light, Mia... he thought tirelessly, and tears flowed from his eyes. They blurred his vision, but this did not slow him. I am coming...
She didn't know if she could take the suddenness of this emergence into her mind's eyes, her heart thudded against her chest as the bond, so long so, so blazing in her mind, swelled with him presence...
"Tell me you'll never leave me like he did, please, I just need to hear those words..." She asked, almost begging, so desperate she was to hear the sentence, true or not.
Darien felt those waves of anger and hurt, loss and now need. "I promise you, my dearest," he said, pulling out his sword and laying it bare before her. "I promise to you, I will not leave you..." he said softly, taking her hands in his. "Not even in death, Mia. Not even in death shall I be gone from you long."
As he lay there in the brush, the dream raced through his mind and repeated itself. It was a wonderful memory of their time together, the morning after they had bonded. He had meant every word he had spoken, and as he pulled himself up from his brief resting spot, he trudged onward. The land was growing more hilly, and the Mountains of Mist could be seen far off in the distance. Not long. Not long now. I am coming, mia'chiandra, I am coming as fast as I can...
Night Fell. Like a swath of black and stars, it cooled her skin. It was still there, it had not been a dream or some kind of cruel vision, but she was finally able to withstand it now. She canceled her afternoon meetings and ensured Leha, her yellow near-sister, who'd been summoned by Zakuri, that she was all right. She swirled her night green cloak about her shoulders and left the tower grounds. In the forest she sat beneath a tree, concentrating on the bond that pulsed and grew within her soul...
Was it true? Could it really be? He was coming closer now...
He trudged onwards, physically exhausted. He looked an awful sight, struggling up the steep country that was the foothills of the Mountains of Mist. It had been three days since he had heard her calling on the shores of Arad Doman, and he had not stopped running. He was bloodied and dirty, sweat-stained and tired, but he still went on. The only time he had even bothered to stop was for food, because he simply could not go on without it.
He could feel her, now, further up in the mountains. She waited for him. Upwards he pushed himself, further and further up the mountainside, not acknowledging the pain of his torn feet on the rocks, or the weakness of his muscles. Any normal man would have fallen down and died by this time, but Darien was of sturdier stock; he was Asha'man, and bonded to an Aes Sedai.
He pushed onward.
Three days. Yellows had been hassling her with relentless tenacity, they wanted to know why she wasn't eating or sleeping much, why cancelled meetings for three days without warning or reason and why her sitters and friends looked at her now with such concern. She wouldn't answer, but every night, she stared out at the sky. Like a love sick girl waiting for a ship to come home. She waited.
It was night again, only this time, she had an idea...Tai'shar, her black steed, now fourteen years old was by her side. She channeled soft threads of Air and Spirit and gave him the smell and memory of Darien. (She had trained this horse well.) "Go and find him, Tai'shar and bring him home to me." She whispered, her Saldean-slanted blue-green eyes starting into the black depths of his. He whickered softly and nudged her with his big nose, which she kissed the velvet soft diamond of and sent him trotting off into the forest, her flow of Spirit attached.
He lay there, now. The mountain still loomed upwards before him, the passes towards home slightly out of his reach. He couldn't pick himself up, now, to save his own life; which was truly what hung here now. He heard heavy steps, then raised his head to see what came to him in the night. There stood a horse, saddle but rider-less, stopped before him and whickering softly. He knew this horse..."Tai'shar?" he asked quietly, and the horse approached. With a sobbing smile, he pulled himself heavily to his feet, using all of his strength to climb upon the horse's back. As soon as he was settled, he leaned on the horse's beautiful mane. "Take me home, Tai'shar, take me home..."
Darien sat astride a tired old warhorse, bobbing in the saddle with weariness as it plodded along the well-worn path through the Mountains of Mist. It had been long, so very long, since he had seen these mountain passes and rolling hills. So long, in fact, that he had lost track of the years. ~ Light, how much have things changed? How much have people changed? How will they know me? ~
He was much changed since he had last left for Tarabon. Even now, the details of why he left still escaped his memory. He knew that he had been summoned, and that it was of great and valid emergency, but as to what it pertained to, his mind could no longer remember. What he did remember was betrayal, and a ter'angreal leash that kept him from the source. It worked much like an a'dam, he had been told, before they clubbed him and tossed him aboard a greatship, bound for the lands of the Seanchan.
Physically, he was thicker in muscle, bearing brutal scars across his back. His hair was long and curly, a trimmed beard and mustache outlining his facial features. The beard hid a scar along his left cheek, given by a Seanchan blademaster that was now lying dead at the bottom of the sea. His skin was sun-darkened by the brutal days he had been shackled and shielded, laboring away day after day for no reason other than punishment for being from Shienar. He was given this horrid punishment until the High Lady Teeran had expressed interest in him and bought him, raising him in status.
He then became an ornament, a prize that a High Lady could show as a status of her power. Then an assassin had killed her. He remained leashed, and little by little, forgotten. Finally, after nearly losing his sanity in the cramped quarters and meager food, he met a Seanchan who was young and naïve. He was a member of the ruling house that was responsible for High Lady Teeran's death. They became friends, and Darien was able to avoid the truth about why he was leashed. Quickly he gained the young man's respect, whose name was Roekal. Roekal spoke to his High Lord about Darien, spinning a tale that Darien was a believer of the Corenne, and that the High Lady Teeran had wrongfully held him captive because she disliked all of the peoples of the lands across the sea. Roekal told of how Darien had remained faithful, despite the mistreatment given to him by the Seanchan.
When the High Lord asked Darien if these things were true, Darien responded simply; "I am only a man, High Lord, but I can endure much." This pleased the High Lord, and Darien quickly found his way aboard a ship heading towards home. He was to be a steward of High Lord Androth, inspecting the lands that Androth had been given across the seas. Little did Androth know that Darien would only be aboard his ship for as far as it could carry him.
When the greatship reached only a league or so from the shores of Arad Doman, it struck a strong, baleful storm. The seas were some of the roughest that man had ever sailed, and the ship broke apart as she struck the rocks along shore. Darien was knocked unconscious, and he found himself strewn across the deserted beach.
Now, he rode in tattered clothes towards a place he once called home, wondering if he would be accepted back into that which he had been stolen from.
~ The End, or Another Beginning... ~
