Not quite an LT fic...
This is a silly notion that's been rattling around my head for a while now, so I wrote out the story and posted it here. I hope you enjoy it!
It ends on a battlefield, the way it should. I lie on the ground and I feel my strength wane. The lines have passed over me: I am now far behind the enemy, out of reach of my own side. Death is coming for me.
--
It begins in a circle. I am so young and full of confidence. I have been chosen to be the champion of our people, and I know that they have made a good choice. I will stand strong against our enemies and I will never let them win. I will live for our ideals. I will protect our land.
That was the day that I learned fear.
--
In between the two is an indeterminate stretch of wakeful nights, paranoia, and dread. I came to question myself. I feared myself mad, and then, when I found that what I saw was true I learned myself to be a coward.
--
When I was chosen as champion, long ago, I was given a ritual slot to grant me strength and ability above those of my fellow warriors. I took this offer as the honour that it was. I don't know what really happened in that circle, all I know is that somewhere between the practices and the ritual the words changed. And the void heard them.
Even as the ritualist spoke the words I felt the tension rise. The watchers heard her, and they knew that she was calling on strong magic. Then, everything froze. I watched the team stand still as statues and I myself froze. Not from magic, you understand, but from fear, because in that moment I saw movement where before there had been nothing to move. I heard voices whispering. I shut my eyes tight for fear that I would see things that I was never meant to see. In that moment I truly expected to die. But I didn't. The moment passed, the ritual continued, the senses of the real world flooded back to me and I opened my eyes again. We finished the ritual and I retired to my camp to wait for the magic to take hold. I had escaped death, and soon I would be better than any other warrior. I awaited with anticipation.
The day passed and I felt no new strength. My eyes were as they always were, and my skills, although finely honed, were no different to how they had been before. The sages told me that it would take time, and so I waited. Then the night came. I went to my tent at the end of my shift, happy to let the night guard take over. I retired into my bed and wrapped the covers close around me. I slept. And then... I woke. I don't know how to truly get across the severity of this: It was never my habit to wake during the night. I listened for sounds of the night-guard, but what I heard was not what I expected. I heard laughter, and singing, and snippets of conversations that made no sense, and somehow the voices sounded... wrong. When I woke the following morning I put it aside as stress from the busy day, and perhaps even a dream, rather than a true awakening. Back then I did not know.
--
For a long time I simply assumed that the ritual hadn't worked. I ignored the people that I saw moving among the crowds: People who looked different, moved different, ignored everything around them, and yet studied it all with intensity. I ignored the words that sometimes hung at the edges of my hearing. During the long nights I stayed in my bed and ignored the sense of unreality that closed in all around me. The weeks passed, and the Gathering came around. My faction assured me that they still wanted me as their champion. The ritual hadn't worked, they said, but even without it I was a fine warrior. And so I went to foreign lands with my fellow countrymen for fighting and drinking and diploming. I hoped that by filling my days I would finally be able to cast aside the unknown fears that haunted me and that by working hard and tiring days I might finally be able to sleep through the nights. Among the outlandish people from other lands the strangers were less noticeable, but still it seemed to me that they were more numerous here.
Some hours after we arrived our camp was attacked. They appeared out of nowhere, people said. One moment they weren't there, the next, they were. As my companions fought them I was nowhere to be found. They said not to worry. They said that there was no way I could have been there. There was no way I could have known the attack was coming.
They know nothing.
I saw the attack coming. I saw people enter our camp as if they had every right to be there. I saw them stand about my friends with their weapons raised and I saw my friends standing helpless and still. I knew that I was the only one to see them. I knew that no-one else could move. They stood as if frozen in time. And I ran. I hid from the things that I could not understand, and then, when they were gone, I hid from the shame of running. After that I went home. A coward is of no use to his faction. There was no reason for me to stay there.
--
For many years I withdrew from the world. I stood down as champion, but I told no-one what had happened to make me act so. I might never have returned to battle had it not been for the ties that bound me to my fellow warriors. The ties that pulled me back in when I heard of the death of one of our number. A good fighter. A good friend. I returned to my faction to mourn his death and when I was there I was asked to stay. I finally broke my silence. I told them what I was. I told them why they didn't want me among them. But they did. When I was young I thought only of war and these were my fellow warriors, but now that I had learned fear I found that they were also my friends. And so I stayed with them.
Somehow, telling them of what I'd seen made it more real. They didn't laugh at me, or mock me, as I'd expected. They did ask questions, though, so many questions. And when they did I realised that I had never really questioned it myself, I had only hoped for it to go away. I began to study it. For the first time in my life I wanted to learn. I began watching the strange people, instead of ignoring them. And I began to see how I could use them. Soon I was back at the front of the battleline again, being listened to by the commanders. But this time it was not my skill at fighting or tactics that they were interested in. As I scanned the battle formations I looked for the people who didn't fit in. I looked for the lone figures in the centre of the field. And when the lines met I listened for the words that hung on the edge of hearing when the weapons clashed. I told the commanders what no-one else could. Most of all I watched for the tell-tale pocket watch, and I warned the healers that somewhere out there, someone was in danger.
Over the years I saved many lives by watching the strange people and learning their ways. I learned how to tell when their presence foretold attack, and when it meant that there might be a poison in the air. And as I learned I came understand myself better too. I became at peace with the fact that once, many years ago, I had run from something that I did not understand. And so, as I lie with my blood flowing out, I do not fear death. Nor do I mourn the life that's ended, for it was long and full.
--
It ends on a battlefield, the way it should. I lie on the ground and a strange man stands over me. He smiles sadly at me as the seconds tick by and he looks at the distant fight. Far too distant for me. I know that I shouldn't be conscious, shouldn't be able to watch the tide turning, and my friends winning back a battle that had been almost lost. I can see them moving towards me again, but too late. The strange man presses a button on the watch and reaches out a hand to help me up. He is wearing a colour that I have only seen among his kind and, inexplicably, a dressing gown. I take his hand and stand without hesitation.
"Hard luck mate. Sorry."
"It was a good death, I guess that's something."
"First time you've lost a character?"
A minute ago his words would have made no sense to me, but now I nod.
"Any plans for the next one?"
I think for a moment.
"Perhaps a bard..."