Guardians - Prelude
"Rhys! Hey RHYS, wait up!"
The figure in demand turned, lavender hair floating gently around his fragile face as he waited patiently as an auburn haired girl caught up to him -- and then proceeded to throw herself in his general direction, latching onto his frail figure, and gravity took over.
"Oomph! Arya...Get off...can't...breathe-"
"Oops! Sorry Rhys." The redhead disentangled herself from Rhys' personage and began bouncing in place as he pulled himself up from the dusty road. "Where you going? Where you going?"
Rhys stared in amazement as she continued to bounce, for a moment not registering her question.
"Well...?"
"Um...towards the plaza I guess.... Why?"
"O GOODY! Wanna take me shopping? Word has it the traders have just returned and they have some nifty stuff with 'em and I was thinking about picking up a pendant for mom she likes that sort of stuff and some music for dad because I know he's been aching for something else to play and GUESS WHAT?!? They also brought back some blades from the smithies in Kayth...mmmm.... Nice blades those excellent craftsmanship...well balanced...and even the King's guards are demanding the blades and can't get them, but the traders have some, and they are calling out to me -- and of course one must always come when called. O! And it's almost your birthday is there anything you want?"
It took Rhys a full moment to realise she had stopped to breathe, and another to notice she was staring intently at him, and then he realised that again she wanted him to say something.
"But you don't-"
"O NONSENSE! You're my brother, and what would I EVER do if I didn't get my favorite little brother something for his sixteenth birthday? I could never face the world after committing such a sin, nor would I let you suffer such an OURAGEOUS indignity!"
Rhys sighed, a weary half-smile flickering within his deep blue eyes... "Brother" ...a loving term that just didn't fit, and Arya, dear Arya, was oblivious to his pain every time she used the term.
He, like everyone else that had met her, was not immune to Arya's theatrics, and soon he was smiling in truth.
"Ok...If you insist-"
"I do!" She grinned.
"Well then, to the plaza."
"Yeah! Shopping here I come!"
"For me."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know!" She grabbed his hand and was gone, dragging Rhys' slender figure behind her.
~ ~ ~
The market was busy -- more so than was usual -- as people crowded into the plaza, eager to see what the traders had brought back with them on this trip.
Arya was no exception, and she pushed and shoved with the best of them. Rhys, on the other hand, was much more inclined to slip carefully through people as he murmured apologies. Besides, he had been put in charge of carrying the results of her shopping spree -- many of which were quite breakable -- and he didn't want to have to deal with her if they came home with less than everything perfect.
"Rhys! Rhys! Quit being so slow!" Her voice called from ahead, childishly impatient.
"I'm coming! Slow down, why don't you?"
"Hmph! You're no fun!" Then she giggled, and continued to push her way deeper into the crowd, leaving a wake of impatience and irritation behind her to lead him on.
~ ~ ~
After hours under the sun, pushing his way in and out of the milling throngs of people, Rhys had finally worked up enough courage to beg Arya a respite.
"Ayra?" The plea was soft, only half heard.
"Huh?" Came her pre-occupied response/
"Do you think we could stop now?"
"Rhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyssssss," she turned, fully intending to beg for more time, only to be caught by the pitiful imploring gaze of his sapphire eyes. She stopped, and then pushed her way back to his forlorn figure. "Oh you poor THING! Why didn't you say something sooner? You look absolutely pitiful. You shouldn't do this to yourself; you're going to make yourself sick one of these days. I swear...without someone to constantly take care of you, you'd waste away to nothingness-"
"Can I just go home?" He cut her off before she could continue on.
"Of COURSE! You really should have said something sooner," she said, grabbing him by the arm and leading him homeward, "besides...we have to get you ready for your birthday party."
If she weren't dragging him, he probably would have engaged in a nice, long discussion with the dusty road on the laws of gravity.
~ ~ ~
Rhys sat back in his little corner of the excessively loud and noisy room wherein the party that was supposed to be held in *his* honour was in full swing. The noise, the people -- all of their *fun* activities -- had began to leave him lightheaded after a scant few minutes. As the hours wore on, he began to creep farther and farther back in his little corner under one of the tables that had been set up for all of the food...and the kegs of ale...and the bottles of wine....
He wasn't sure what was worse, the sheer volume of people, or the fact that someone had decided to bring the liquor. Now half his "family" was drunk, and the other half not deigning to come near the "besotted fools." He shuddered at the memory of being discovered at one point in the night by his aunt, and how she'd dragged him out into the middle of the face-off she was having with his father...
~ ~ ~
"Now shee here! Thish party ish for your own son. Doncha thin...doncha think he shoul be havin' shum fun?" His aunt had thrust him out in front of his father, using the hand that wasn't holding the glass of whatever it was that was making her speech awfully slurred.
"How could he have fun with you drunkards running around making so much noise?!" He grabbed Rhys, pushing him off to the side. The volume of his father's complaints made Rhys wince.
His aunt grabbed for him again, latched onto his wrist, and drug him back into the middle of the fray. "I'm not drunk. Uh-uh. Juss havin' a few glashes of wine. Rhysh doesn mind, now do ya?" His aunt wavered on her feet a bit as she gazed at him imploringly, and he shook his head timidly, afraid of upsetting her.
"YOU'RE DRUNK ALRIGHT! IF I'D KNOW WHAT TYPE OF INEBRIATED FOOLS I WAS GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH ONCE I MARRIED YOUR DAUGHTER I NEVER WOULD HAVE GONE THROUGH WITH IT! LOOK WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO MY SON! HE'S NEVER GOING TO WANT TO COME NEAR YOU AGAIN!" He grabbed Rhys' other wrist and yanked him back.
Rhys, for his part, could only let out a startled "Meep!" as he was yanked back and forth between the two squabbling adults.
"WELL IF I'D KNOWN WHA' TYPE'VE PRUDE MY GIRL'S BE PLANNIN' ON MARRYIN' I'DA NEVER LET 'ER!!" She jerked on Rhys' arm for emphasis, pulling him out of his father's grip, and he let out another startled cry.
His father opened his mouth to say something else, but she never let him. "I DON' WANNA HEAR ANOFER WORD FROM YOU!" With that, she let go of Rhys -- who promptly fell to the floor and tried to crawl away -- and dumped the glass of whatevershehadbeendrinking on his father's head and stalked off in the direction of the "refreshment" table.
His father sputtered for a bit, wiping the liquid out from his eyes, then stomped off the other way, for lack of anything better to do.
Rhys had decided to try and find a better hiding spot...
~ ~ ~
He'd made it to a far corner of the room, underneath a covered table, without being noticed. There he'd stayed since the fight, watching people as they passed out from alcohol and exhaustion. The noise, and the buzzing in his head, began to quiet down, but there was still a constant tension in the air as remaining family members continued to stare each other down. So much for a fun birthday...
He began to look for a way out, desperately yearning to be somewhere *anywhere* but in that room. The stale air was choking him, the smell of the liquor was making him sick, and the remaining noise was driving him insane. If he could just get out from under the table without being noticed, he could crawl out the window he'd noticed earlier. Slowly he crept out, looking around furtively, praying no one would notice him. Luck was on his side as he quietly stepped up onto the table, put one foot, then the other, out the small open window, and slowly lowered himself to the ground.
~ ~ ~
Outside, alone, in the silvery light of the full moon, Rhys found that he suddenly felt much better. He could actually THINK without having to overcome the sheer volume of random thoughts running through his head. WHY had Arya thought that he'd want all those people around him? Sometimes, more than others, he realised just how alone he was. With only his thoughts to keep him company, Rhys slowly drifted through the night letting some unknown instinct guide him through the ebony darkness.
He wondered about his "family".... How had he ended up with them? They never spoke of his childhood -- his first words, his first steps -- as they did with Arya, and he could remember none of them himself. He only vaguely remembered Arya as an infant...she was about four years younger than he. The harder he thought, the more the memories seemed to elude him, slipping out of his grasp. Sixteen years to his life, but the memories weren't all there. In fact...if he looked back, he could only recall the last twelve years of his life...before that was black. Not even the greyness of half-lost thoughts, just complete darkness.
Except for the single silvery figure that had been haunting his dreams. A figure as silver and as enigmatic as the full moon overhead. Always just out his of reach, never able to turn back...no matter how hard Rhys cried for him, the figure never stopped.
"Him?!?" Rhys jerked, almost stumbling over the roots of a massive tree that had chosen that moment to present its self in his pathway. ::Him? But how do I...:: Loneliness, pain, desolation - they washed over him, dragging him down, threatening to drown him in sheer desperation. Then, without warning, it HURT.
Fire licking at his skin, withering, blistering, burning, peeling away; raw nerves exposed to the burning flames, stabbing waves of pain emanating from the inside outwards. Pain borne from the malignant power that was flowing through him, like a myriad of wailing voices within his head, echoing with all of the discordant grace of a thousand screaming harpies. It wound around him, piercing through all his barriers, crucifying him upon strands of ebony-dark energy.
Rhys took one halting, faltering step forward before the world inverted itself, and he could move no more...Sights became sounds, and sounds were felt as the power twisted him into a helpless ball of screaming agony. He cried out, his mind begging for release where none would be given, cried out with the only voice he could use. Then, suddenly, the power released him, dropping him like a broken toy on the cold ground beneath the shadow of the giant tree. He knelt, shivering uncontrollably, trying to regain some semblance of control over his mind. As he sat, another shadow, darker in more ways than one, fell over him.
Rhys took a terrified glance upwards, and was pinned by the coldness of the obsidian gaze that fell upon him, heartless and icy.
"Meep!" Rhys slipped back against the tree, trying to put as much distance between himself and the dark stranger. Not dark stranger -- mage -- Dark Mage, who was quickly closing the additional distance between them, a look of dark malevolence and untempered hatred flashing in the silver-shot black eyes. He reached for Rhys, gripping his wrists in a one-handed hold, dragging him up, forcing him to stand.
"Who are you?" The mage hissed, his voice like frost covered velvet, silky smooth and without a hint of warmth within. "Who are you that you dare to destroy my spell-weavings?"
Rhys stared with a look of blank confusion and absolute terror within unblinking blue eyes. He did not understand what the mage was asking him, did not know how he could have destroyed his spells. But the mage wanted answers, it was said in his grip, his stance, within the frigid gaze that was locking him into silence. Swiftly he looked away, closed his eyes, and tried to speak over his fear, "I -- I don't know -- I don't know what you mean." The grip on his wrists tightened, a sharp crack of pain following. Rhys let out a little whimper, but did not flinch, did not open his eyes.
Anger and frustration were written plainly on the mage's face as he began summoning forth more of his power -- a crackling blue-black flame within the palm of his free hand. Rhys jerked, eyes opening, widening, as the first tingling of the ebony power began to brush against his mind again.
"HOW?!" The single imperative word a dark threat.
"I don't know I was just here and then it HURT and I didn't do anything I don't know how I was just trying to make it stop hurting because it was cold and dark and I don't like being alone and it hurt too much and I tried to stop it but I couldn't because I don't know how to make it stop anymore I couldn't make it stop because it was confusing and I could see it but I couldn't touch it and it wouldn't let me go and it hurt and burned and I wanted to make it let me go but it was too dark and I couldn't stop it all alone and it was confusing me and making me sick and hurt and then it just let me go and I was afraid to touch it..." The words fell from his lips as the tears fell from his eyes. He couldn't stop -- he was too frightened to stop.
Confusion flickered briefly over the mage's eyes, and the black flame disappeared. Stunned by the fearful confession, confused by the truth that the child was speaking, he faltered. Then voices, shouting panicked voices, broke through his reverie. He began his summoning, planning on silencing the child -- preventing him from speaking forevermore -- but stronger magics than even he knew how to control stopped him. Fear overtook him, then he dropped the child, and stepped into the waiting darkness and the swirling magic to disappear into nothingness before he could be found.
Rhys surrendered himself to the darkness as shock set in, last thoughts of the beautiful molten silver eyes and sable hair of a Dark Angel a dark angel flickering and dying a silent death as his world faded into black.