Chapter 18 - What we dream of...

At first it seemed she was sitting cross-legged against a wall so tall she couldn’t see its top. She wore green and gray wool, leggings and a snug yet comfortable tunic over a dark shirt, complete with tall leather boots. A long, curved dagger with the hilt heavily ornate was stuck in her belt.
The wall behind her meant safety, she knew it for sure. Yet, as much as she looked at it there was no visible gate, not even a crack, no way to enter. Memory eluded her. She focused on the forest. Under deep set shadow it whispered in a thousand voices.
There was danger in that forest, very much so albeit she couldn’t tell what. Her hairs almost stood on end with the vileness of it. She broke that line of thought too, as she slowly got up and worked her way through the trees.
Something urged her on and far from the imagined safety of the walls. She could distinctly remember never being there before, but every step she took seemed familiar in a disconcerting way …. it was a forest of the north with oaks and pines and fir trees; here a dry twig crunched under her boots, there she sank almost to the knee into a pile of dead leaves.
Autumn was showing on every branch, yet somehow she knew it should have been spring. She kept going. There was no way to keep track of time in that slow trekk…ten minutes could have passed…or a century. And suddenly she stood in the middle of a clearing, lush grass dappled with shadow from the large oaks surrounding it.
The wind whirled around, bringing a scent she thought she should recognize. Danger. But all she could see were a man and a woman, sitting in the grass under a tree.
She took a hesitant step closer.
The man looked at her…looked through her as if she were not there.
Eireannan.
The name came from the depths of her memory. She did not remember who he was or how they had come to meet before; still she knew him. To her surprise she realized she could not recall her own name.
The man had green eyes and lithe elven features in a face framed by dark braided hair.
Eireannan Sarálondë.
Somehow she thought the name was important. She had to remember why.
The feeling of danger rose in the pit of her stomach until she was not able to breathe normally. A thousand…a hundred thousand evil eyes were fixed on her back, following every movement. Waiting.
The wind stirred again. There was something odd about that scent in the air…That was important too.
Her mind strained. She had to remember…
She took another step forward towards the pair.
The woman sitting in the grass rose in one fluid motion and came towards her, anger openly painted on her face. She had the same elven features as the man, eyes bluer than the sky above and dark blonde hair cut short. A stern yet beautiful face.
“You shouldn’t be here!”
For a second she thought the woman was going to hit her.
“You shouldn’t be here!”
“Leave her…”
They both turned towards the man in the grass. He smiled bitterly and only then did she understand he had seen her all the time.
“She shouldn’t be here! It is neither her place nor her time…!”
“You’re dead, Nin…”
The words were not in Common, yet she knew their meaning as soon as they were spoken.
The wind rustled through the leaves surrounding them in a billowing fog…it rose out of nowhere and grew until nothing else remained in sight.
“You are dead…”
She couldn’t see as far as her boots, as far as her knees. Panic clenched her throat, making it hard to breathe. The man’s voice came disembodied from somewhere beyond the thick layer of mist.
She had to remember. The urge was stronger than ever before. Had to remember. Had to….remember…
Only the woman remained, just her torso and face visible in the shifting shadows. She was so close they could touch by extending a hand. Blood oozed from a hundred wounds all across the woman’s body, tissue barely holding together on bones, under ragged clothes. And the face…Horror gripped her. There was no face anymore just a horribly looking mass of raw flesh…
She couldn’t hold back the scream that seem to rip at her throat…

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Lainné’s body jerked suddenly upwards, with a moan and she tensed. For a second Eireannan was certain she was going to snap fully awake, yet she relaxed, her erratic breath steadying. A bad dream, gone…

He wondered what she was dreaming of.

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Daria paused in front of the tent and slowly lifted the flap, trying to peer inside through the darkness. Her heart drummed against her ribs like a caged bird.

That woman… She clenched her hands together to still their trembling, but she was shaking with anger and grief from head to toe. That red-haired-whining-good for nothing woman!

She wanted to scream – no matter her howl would have waken the entire camp. Did he really believe she would ever grow to consider him…a father? That was how he acted all the time, true – even when she did not need him to, even on those nights when, sleeping close to him she had wondered what would happen if she would snuggle under his blanket and kiss him.
No matter how hard it hurt, that was just a dream. A dream of madness never meant to be. In a perfect world he would reach out to pull her closer, kiss her back and make love to her. But then, in a perfect world the Scourge would have been nothing more but a nightmare and they would have never met – an elven noble of Quel’Thalas and a village girl from Lordaeron…

Yet the awareness did not lessen in any way the pain she felt.

Gripping the sword hilt, Daria stalked away. Had anyone been awake, they would have seen her shoulders shake with muffled sobs as she walked.

Soon afterward, it started to rain.