Fanfic:What was, what is and what may be
| Author(s) |
|
|---|---|
| Character(s) |
|
This is a piece of fanfiction. Only the original author(s) or Librarian(s) should make content changes to this page. |
This place did not exist in the known world. The nightly air was thick, hard to breathe in. There was not floor yet she could stand, though beneath her feet was only more of the thick, substantial mass her lungs swallowed in and out, in and out. Her body felt ethereal, part of this place that was no place. Warmth or cold did not exist...
A wise man had once said that behind a closed door, everything was possible until one opened it. Though this place might not exist in the world of the waking, the White knew that since it was here, it would be elsewhere, in a form of reality. A Portal Stone World perhaps, where certain possibilities were more likely than in other worlds, in the past, in the future.
Moving her wiry hands, she shaped the black mass to take form after her memories and a marble floor appeared beneath her feet -- all other possibilities vanished instantly. The Power of Thought shaped a tall dome, white marble richly inlaid with gold.
Under her feet, gold seemed to grow into the shape of a many-rayed sun and there she was, a collapsed reality. This place was the dream-reflection of the Dome of Truth in Amador, the capitol city of her native Amadicia. Her silver hair had molten into the gold she had been born with long ago, and dressed in the radiant blue dress that had been a present from a girl whose future she had changed, she startued up the broad staircase that led to the place she was destined to be tonight.
Godfrid Fondir, by the Grace of the Light, Lord Captain of the Amadician Children of the Light held a simple office. The heavy oaken desk had not been moved in years except by the cleaners who struggled to put it back in the exact same place when they finished polishing the floor. The dressers were crafted from the same sturdy wood and neat rows of books stood here and there, apparently at random but in definite order to the eye of one who knew what to look for. The complete works of Lothair Mantelar took a prominent place.
The only displays of beauty and art in the large office were the golden sun in the back of the heavy oaken chair facing the desk and two small paintings on that same desk, featuring two women with hair like the sun. One of them was in her late thirties, fine lines framing bright emerald eyes.
Aleatha took it up and looked at it, a single tear appearing in the corner of her eye. Marlena Fondir, her sweet mother. The portrait vanished from her hands and re-appeared on the desk, the place where it solidly belonged in tel'aran'rhiod. Although she had let no one notice, she had been heartbroken when the news of her mother's death had reached her. Only years after Aleatha's former life had ended abruptly with the Healing of Marlena's broken neck, a plague had taken her.
The small cottage in Valantor she was born and raised in had been burned to cinders and her father had moved to Amador where he let his work consume him. Wiping away a second tear, Aleatha looked at the second painting.
She remembered that day well. Her father had missed Bel Tine that year, and her twelfth name day with that. To make up for it, he had taken his wife and daughter to Amador on a vacation, to show them where he worked, where his loyalties lay. Aleatha, scared out of her wits by the knowledge she could channel and the knowledge of what the Children would do if they found out, had been reluctant to go but in the end she had given in to her parents' persuasion. The sun had been shining brightly that day and Godfrid had made a street artist paint the two women in his life.
Smiling red lips framed white teeth and a sun-tanned skin adorned with small freckles covered the face of a blonde with eyes the colour of ripe hazelnuts. Although she smiled, her look was sad, as though she knew too much for someone of her age. Golden hair lay over her shoulders like a waterfall of sun. The mirror image of her mother, young Aleatha was, except for her eyes that were her father's.
A mirror was a possibility quickly brought to current reality and the White recognised herself and screamed, blonde hair dying and fading to grey, brown eyes freezing and turning into cold iron, blushes fading and bloodless skin clinging to bones, gauntly, painfully.
Around her, the Fortress of the Light faded into the pool of things that may be and, breathing in the heavy darkness, Aleatha Fondir sank on her knees and made a decision.
This summer, she swore, I will travel to Amador and recover what was lost...
In the shrouds of the World of Dreams, the World of what was, what is and what may be, the body of a white-dressed Dreamer flickered and disappeared, its owner returning to sleep.
