Geddoe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trueltning_fury) wrote2009-02-01 11:59 pm
trueltning_fury) wrote2009-02-01 11:59 pm
Prose entry - nightmare
Geddoe was not entirely unaccustomed to dark dreams. On random occasions, whenever it felt like it, True Lightning would seep into his unconscious and visit him with nightmares of its own past, his past, or strange hints at different would-be futures. It also liked to tap into his own worries and thoughts and build unpleasant dreams out of them, as it had during the fall when Sigurd was late in returning home from his voyage with Kika.
This night...was not one of those same old nightmares.
The noise and fog of battle was all around him and in his ears, his nose, the acrid tang of dust and blood on his tongue. Geddoe could not place the time or location of this fight, but he'd been in many like them before. His limbs labored by rote, slicing, swinging, beating back foes who appeared as nothing more than shadowy shapes in the chaos. Geddoe was not afraid of battle. For long years he had fought without being afraid of being cut down, for some reason he knew he could make it through these wars. And yet, something in his heart misgave him this time. His chest constricted with a nameless fear, the bitter sense that something terrible was happening and if he didn't find it, he couldn't stop it. For a moment the way around him cleared of enemies, and Geddoe stood straight, looking around wildly in a vain attempt to spot just what was worrying him so much. Was this a battle of the old war, putting Kaiden and Wyatt in danger? Or the recent one that troubled his unit and his own fate? Nothing looked familiar, all was gray fog and a din of steel ringing on steel. Bodies jostled his, but none attacked him, leaving Geddoe free to wander the battlefield in search of a reason for his foreboding.
Then, he heard something he dreaded. A cackling laugh, echoing. Geddoe's sense of focus sharpened onto just one figure in the gloom, who rose up like a tower gleaming in plate armor. But the phantom vanished back into the mist, almost goading Geddoe to pursue him. He ran ahead, and only then became aware of someone at his right hand. His blind side. He had to turn his head to see, even though some part of him already knew who it was - some inner sense, or perhaps the sound of his gasping breath. Sigurd looked to him with a wry smile. "We've almost got him," he panted. "One more should do it."
Geddoe opened his mouth to question Sigurd's confidence and knowledge of their foe, but no sound came. Instead, the battle flamed to life around them, requiring him to stop and swing his blade at more faceless foes. Sigurd vanished from his side, and pretty soon that inner sense twinged like a beacon of alarm - his partner had gone too far away from him, and was in danger. Geddoe cut through more shadowy bodies to find Sigurd a few paces away, fighting hand-to-hand with his knives couched in his palms. The armored phantom reared up suddenly behind him, startling Geddoe. He sucked in his breath and yelled, "Sigurd! No!"
It was too late. Sigurd didn't even turn around to see what he was being warned about. A sword ripped through his middle from behind. Geddoe was running as fast as he could over the soft, muddy ground, only half-aware of a roar in his throat, but he was too late. The scene seemed to be miles away from him now, and no matter how hard he pumped his legs, he couldn't catch up. Sigurd's breath caught, and the light went out of his eyes, while Geddoe fought desperately to get there, to save him, to catch him. The cackling laugh rang in his ears and all around him, and his right hand suddenly seized with pain. Everything turned to blackness and pain around him, but right before his sight he could still see Sigurd with the blade in his gut, his blood stark red against the black swirling around them.
...he's dead. He's dead. He's dead. Sigurd!
Geddoe was not aware of how much he was stirring in his sleep, or moaning under his breath, but he awoke with a sudden start, his dark eye wide and unseeing in the dim darkness of the room he shared with Sigurd. For a moment there, he didn't even register the warm body beside him. His heart pounded with fear and dread, and in the unsteady moment between sleep and waking, he felt himself believe that Sigurd was dead.
This night...was not one of those same old nightmares.
The noise and fog of battle was all around him and in his ears, his nose, the acrid tang of dust and blood on his tongue. Geddoe could not place the time or location of this fight, but he'd been in many like them before. His limbs labored by rote, slicing, swinging, beating back foes who appeared as nothing more than shadowy shapes in the chaos. Geddoe was not afraid of battle. For long years he had fought without being afraid of being cut down, for some reason he knew he could make it through these wars. And yet, something in his heart misgave him this time. His chest constricted with a nameless fear, the bitter sense that something terrible was happening and if he didn't find it, he couldn't stop it. For a moment the way around him cleared of enemies, and Geddoe stood straight, looking around wildly in a vain attempt to spot just what was worrying him so much. Was this a battle of the old war, putting Kaiden and Wyatt in danger? Or the recent one that troubled his unit and his own fate? Nothing looked familiar, all was gray fog and a din of steel ringing on steel. Bodies jostled his, but none attacked him, leaving Geddoe free to wander the battlefield in search of a reason for his foreboding.
Then, he heard something he dreaded. A cackling laugh, echoing. Geddoe's sense of focus sharpened onto just one figure in the gloom, who rose up like a tower gleaming in plate armor. But the phantom vanished back into the mist, almost goading Geddoe to pursue him. He ran ahead, and only then became aware of someone at his right hand. His blind side. He had to turn his head to see, even though some part of him already knew who it was - some inner sense, or perhaps the sound of his gasping breath. Sigurd looked to him with a wry smile. "We've almost got him," he panted. "One more should do it."
Geddoe opened his mouth to question Sigurd's confidence and knowledge of their foe, but no sound came. Instead, the battle flamed to life around them, requiring him to stop and swing his blade at more faceless foes. Sigurd vanished from his side, and pretty soon that inner sense twinged like a beacon of alarm - his partner had gone too far away from him, and was in danger. Geddoe cut through more shadowy bodies to find Sigurd a few paces away, fighting hand-to-hand with his knives couched in his palms. The armored phantom reared up suddenly behind him, startling Geddoe. He sucked in his breath and yelled, "Sigurd! No!"
It was too late. Sigurd didn't even turn around to see what he was being warned about. A sword ripped through his middle from behind. Geddoe was running as fast as he could over the soft, muddy ground, only half-aware of a roar in his throat, but he was too late. The scene seemed to be miles away from him now, and no matter how hard he pumped his legs, he couldn't catch up. Sigurd's breath caught, and the light went out of his eyes, while Geddoe fought desperately to get there, to save him, to catch him. The cackling laugh rang in his ears and all around him, and his right hand suddenly seized with pain. Everything turned to blackness and pain around him, but right before his sight he could still see Sigurd with the blade in his gut, his blood stark red against the black swirling around them.
...he's dead. He's dead. He's dead. Sigurd!
Geddoe was not aware of how much he was stirring in his sleep, or moaning under his breath, but he awoke with a sudden start, his dark eye wide and unseeing in the dim darkness of the room he shared with Sigurd. For a moment there, he didn't even register the warm body beside him. His heart pounded with fear and dread, and in the unsteady moment between sleep and waking, he felt himself believe that Sigurd was dead.