Awakening [rebirth]
Jun. 3rd, 2006 03:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taichara posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
kh_drabble... long, I know *headdesk* Apologies ahead of time ..
Title: Awakening [rebirth]
Challenge: None
Wordcount: 898
Characters: One of the Sage's disciples, and a new arrival to the fold.
Spoilers: Spoilers for pre-game events, and also for various events concerning Ansem.
Notes: After the darkness comes the dawn; and everyone gets a second chance at life, right?
The faintest of sounds impinged on his concentration –- provoking a softly-muttered sigh mixed with a note of surprise –- and Even glanced towards the rumpled bed and its now-familiar, unnamed inhabitant, mired once again in the bedclothes and tawny hands clutching the much-abused sheets.
One hand hovered above the pages of the heavy textbook balanced in his lap; and he waited patiently for some further response.
-*-
Sensation filtered slowly in through a hazy mist in a mind long wracked by pain and fevered nightmare. Dimly, he could recall a city of violet dawn and the ringing of waterfalls like chiming bells, a witchfire palace; and the desire to somehow reach that warmth, that soft-shining light that called through the darkness ...
But now –- where was he now --
Gingerly he turned his head; and when only the briefest of pain-sparks danced behind his lids, he eased his eyes open the merest slit and made some attempt to assess his situation.
The softness surrounding him resolved itself after a heartbeat of confusion into a heavy coverlet, dark as garnet ... and at this present moment tangled quite fiercely about himself. Sunlight –- how long had it been? -- filtered across the darkly-polished floor, past the ivy-hung shelves, from a window framed in lacy brass ...
... and, as his heavy-lidded gaze traveled across the chamber, it came to rest on a figure draped in white; and with a start of almost-fear he realized that was not alone.
Seated at the great rosewood desk was an unfamiliar face, heavy locks of palest cream spilling down the shoulders of a snow-white coat not quite long enough to hide the dark and cobalt clothing underneath. One long-fingered hand –- almost obscured by the coat's heavy cuff –- balanced a well-worn tome across one thigh; other slowly set a teacup upon the desk, as one pale brow lifted and the ice-blue eyes fixed onto him.
“Awake at last, are you?
“How do you feel, now?”
-*-
Even suppressed a wry chuckle as the brilliant-ember eyes of the stranger snapped wider in surprise; and then gave up altogether, and approached the bed as the sun-king's foundling struggled to right himself, wild locks of cinnamon-ivory mane flying in all directions.
“ ... how did you notice ...?”
His voice was pitched low, with an odd and foreign lilt to it; distinctly unlike Even's own harsh high tenor, or even Elaeus' chest-rumbling growl.
“Your eyes burn like a dying flame. It's not hard to notice that -- even if you may be trying to mime sleep in order to observe me.”
Deftly, Even pulled free the coverlet and arranged the pillows to give his charge some chance to support himself; and then he glided towards his seat at the desk to pour chilled water – and not the throat-freezing tea he had been idly sipping for hours – into a fresh teacup, as the invalid regained some of his composure and the hectic flush faded from the tawny cheeks.
“My name is Even.
“What shall I call you by?”
-*-
The question takes him off-guard as readily as does the sudden knowledge that this sharp-cheeked scholar is not as bookishly frail as he had seemed at first glance; and it takes him long moments to find any sort of answer, moments during which this Even returned to stand still and patient alongside the bed to offer him the water.
Long moments indeed, as icy eyes watch him wordlessly, and he reaches a nervous hand –- unsteady yet –- to accept the cup and drain it dry. There is nothing in his mind but the confusion and the darkening storm ... and a word, a name.
“... Xehanort.
“that –- I think –- is my proper name ...”
At this Even looks about to respond with further questions; but Xehanort races him to the chance, eyes like fevered embers.
“how long ..?”
The question trails off, unfinished, and his gaze slides away towards the window and its soft sunlight. Even lifts a brow again, and takes his seat at the desk with a wry smile playing on his thin lips.
“How long have you been lying there, between life and death?
“Days upon days, now; this would be my fourth turn to be watching over you while you thrashed and burned.
“Frankly, he was beginning to fear that you would never wake again.”
'He'; and somehow Xehanort knows, remembers even through the fever and the pain. The one with the so-careful touch and the gaze of burning amber, the one who bid the guardians at the gate to spare his life ...
“where is this place?
“who is he ...?”
There is a sudden bark of not-unkind laughter, unnervingly high, as Even pours another cup from a pitcher spiked with emerald greenery, and takes a sip before responding.
“You have never known this place before, have you ...?
“This is the Radiant Garden.”
He sighs, and runs a hand through his pale-cream hair, then leans across the desk to pluck another tome from the cluttered shelves. Quickly he leafs through the pages, searching, pausing only a moment to favor Xehanort with a careful, speculating glance.
“It was Sage Ansem -- our king, my teacher -- who took you in.
“Let me explain about this world, his creation, and we shall see if it means anything to you.”
Title: Awakening [rebirth]
Challenge: None
Wordcount: 898
Characters: One of the Sage's disciples, and a new arrival to the fold.
Spoilers: Spoilers for pre-game events, and also for various events concerning Ansem.
Notes: After the darkness comes the dawn; and everyone gets a second chance at life, right?
The faintest of sounds impinged on his concentration –- provoking a softly-muttered sigh mixed with a note of surprise –- and Even glanced towards the rumpled bed and its now-familiar, unnamed inhabitant, mired once again in the bedclothes and tawny hands clutching the much-abused sheets.
One hand hovered above the pages of the heavy textbook balanced in his lap; and he waited patiently for some further response.
-*-
Sensation filtered slowly in through a hazy mist in a mind long wracked by pain and fevered nightmare. Dimly, he could recall a city of violet dawn and the ringing of waterfalls like chiming bells, a witchfire palace; and the desire to somehow reach that warmth, that soft-shining light that called through the darkness ...
But now –- where was he now --
Gingerly he turned his head; and when only the briefest of pain-sparks danced behind his lids, he eased his eyes open the merest slit and made some attempt to assess his situation.
The softness surrounding him resolved itself after a heartbeat of confusion into a heavy coverlet, dark as garnet ... and at this present moment tangled quite fiercely about himself. Sunlight –- how long had it been? -- filtered across the darkly-polished floor, past the ivy-hung shelves, from a window framed in lacy brass ...
... and, as his heavy-lidded gaze traveled across the chamber, it came to rest on a figure draped in white; and with a start of almost-fear he realized that was not alone.
Seated at the great rosewood desk was an unfamiliar face, heavy locks of palest cream spilling down the shoulders of a snow-white coat not quite long enough to hide the dark and cobalt clothing underneath. One long-fingered hand –- almost obscured by the coat's heavy cuff –- balanced a well-worn tome across one thigh; other slowly set a teacup upon the desk, as one pale brow lifted and the ice-blue eyes fixed onto him.
“Awake at last, are you?
“How do you feel, now?”
-*-
Even suppressed a wry chuckle as the brilliant-ember eyes of the stranger snapped wider in surprise; and then gave up altogether, and approached the bed as the sun-king's foundling struggled to right himself, wild locks of cinnamon-ivory mane flying in all directions.
“ ... how did you notice ...?”
His voice was pitched low, with an odd and foreign lilt to it; distinctly unlike Even's own harsh high tenor, or even Elaeus' chest-rumbling growl.
“Your eyes burn like a dying flame. It's not hard to notice that -- even if you may be trying to mime sleep in order to observe me.”
Deftly, Even pulled free the coverlet and arranged the pillows to give his charge some chance to support himself; and then he glided towards his seat at the desk to pour chilled water – and not the throat-freezing tea he had been idly sipping for hours – into a fresh teacup, as the invalid regained some of his composure and the hectic flush faded from the tawny cheeks.
“My name is Even.
“What shall I call you by?”
-*-
The question takes him off-guard as readily as does the sudden knowledge that this sharp-cheeked scholar is not as bookishly frail as he had seemed at first glance; and it takes him long moments to find any sort of answer, moments during which this Even returned to stand still and patient alongside the bed to offer him the water.
Long moments indeed, as icy eyes watch him wordlessly, and he reaches a nervous hand –- unsteady yet –- to accept the cup and drain it dry. There is nothing in his mind but the confusion and the darkening storm ... and a word, a name.
“... Xehanort.
“that –- I think –- is my proper name ...”
At this Even looks about to respond with further questions; but Xehanort races him to the chance, eyes like fevered embers.
“how long ..?”
The question trails off, unfinished, and his gaze slides away towards the window and its soft sunlight. Even lifts a brow again, and takes his seat at the desk with a wry smile playing on his thin lips.
“How long have you been lying there, between life and death?
“Days upon days, now; this would be my fourth turn to be watching over you while you thrashed and burned.
“Frankly, he was beginning to fear that you would never wake again.”
'He'; and somehow Xehanort knows, remembers even through the fever and the pain. The one with the so-careful touch and the gaze of burning amber, the one who bid the guardians at the gate to spare his life ...
“where is this place?
“who is he ...?”
There is a sudden bark of not-unkind laughter, unnervingly high, as Even pours another cup from a pitcher spiked with emerald greenery, and takes a sip before responding.
“You have never known this place before, have you ...?
“This is the Radiant Garden.”
He sighs, and runs a hand through his pale-cream hair, then leans across the desk to pluck another tome from the cluttered shelves. Quickly he leafs through the pages, searching, pausing only a moment to favor Xehanort with a careful, speculating glance.
“It was Sage Ansem -- our king, my teacher -- who took you in.
“Let me explain about this world, his creation, and we shall see if it means anything to you.”
