My Warden (COMPLETED)

What's In A Name

?:?? ?

Green light warped around her body, distorting the creeping chill inches beyond her consciousness. She could feel it leeching through her shut eyelids but not see it. No, that wasn't right. There was an image, a hint of something lurking in the distance beyond the wobbling light. Lana thought she could make it out if she just screwed her eyes up tight and...

The dream faded away and she snapped awake, her heart pounding against her ribcage as if she'd stabbed the archdemon again. Lana reached for her staff always laying at her right side, but found her hand shaking too violently to obey. Numb and useless, her fingers batted at the staff, unable to pick it up. Okay, this is not a problem, she breathed, trying to steady away the anxiety burning behind her eyes. She merely slept on it funny. Having a rock wedged into her spine would do that. Shaking her hands to bring back feeling, Lana tipped her head back and screwed her eyes tight. She wasn't going to cry, she wasn't going to scream, she was going to hang on to reality, rise, and find food.

Pins and needles rose up her arms as blood flow returned bringing with it dexterity. As she reached for her staff, fingers finally closing around it, her eyes opened. The Black City hung suspended above her, the closest she'd seen it since entering the fade.

"It's a rather tempting sight, isn't it?"

Lana jumped in her seat and spun around to find Wynne perched upon the top of a column. The spirit carefully sanded down her nails without a care, then gestured towards the downfall of man. "You must be curious about it."

"The last people to tread there blighted the world," Lana repeated. Grit stuck to her teeth and she fumbled for her water skin to try and wash it away. Checking twice to make certain it wasn't the poison bladder, she drank the stale water while Wynne watched her.

"All the more reason to want to see it for yourself. Think of the truths you could learn."

"You sound like White," Lana sighed. She dropped her head into her lap, her fingers pulling back at the skin of her cheeks as she tried to calm herself. Waking grew more laborious with each passing day, shattering apart her psyche with an ice pick after each session, and she couldn't understand why. She also didn't understand what Wynne was doing here.

"Where's Jowan?" Lana asked. That was the spirit who waited beside her while she slept, usually with the promise of breakfast and the request for another memory.

Wynne dismissed her request, "Wherever leeches of his type squander off to. Probably flouncing in a puddle. I'm certain he'll be back like any bad copper." She finished sanding down her nails and placed the cheese grater in her pocket. Coy eyes turned to Lana. "You remember it, don't you? Your dreams."

"Except," Lana lightly bit down on her tongue, willing away the horror gurgling in her veins, "they can't be dreams." She'd thought upon the old spirit's words for days. It wasn't as if she had anything else to pass the time. Every morning -- or what passed for her mornings -- when Lana woke, she knew she'd dreamed but couldn't dredge a single image or memory of it to her consciousness. It was as if her eyes were closed and her ears shut, but she felt the dream happening around her, knew time was passing beyond her deaf and blind body.

Wynne crossed her legs at the ankle and placed both hands upon her knees. "Now we come to the crux of the situation. If they are not dreams..."

"What are they? Yes, I am ahead of you on this question," Lana sighed. She used to love this -- quick banter back and forth with mages, scholars, anyone who could catch her curiosity. Now it exhausted her. The spirit never gave anything back, it didn't care about the answers; all it wanted was to pick at the questions like a scab never allowed to heal.