Dark Clouds

Sparhawk's eyes came open. Seik was lying on his chest, as was her custom; he'd gotten used to waking up with her weight on top of him, the steadiness of her breathing lulling him back to sleep. One small hand was curled into a half-fist on his shoulder, grasping his tunic in loose fingers. Even now, was she worried he'd vanish on her? He laid there for a long few minutes, listening to the even rhythms of her breath, inhaling the scent of her hair. One of her ears softly flickered occasionally in sleep, and her face looked so peaceful. He wondered what she was looking at behind her downy veil of eyelashes, what sorts of dreams she had now. He raised a hand to brush her hair back from his chest, letting the silkiness of it pass through his rough fingers, then stroked her ears caressingly.

He was too old for her, too broken, too cynical, too consumed by vengeance. She was as beautiful and unspoiled as dawn on a spring day. She was the freshness of sun-warmed air, the azure blue on the western horizon; she was sweetness itself; she was anything anyone could ever ask for. Since promising to spend nights with her, their relationship had grown and flowered in a way that he had not expected. She had been slow to respond to his gentle advances at first, and he had not pressed her, but when she had finally opened up to him it was with the same tenderness and love that she had always given him. It was more than he was worth. It had never felt like that with Lillias. SHE had always been ardent, but with a demanding petulance that he had once found engaging.

He grimaced at thoughts of Lillias spoiling his morning's peace. If it really WAS morning. The fire had died down to the merest embers. Mel was nowhere to be seen; she tended to make herself scarce (with the requisite sighs, glares, and other displays of high drama that he was accustomed to ignoring). Carefully, he slid out from underneath Seik, repositioning her in the rumpled blanket that was usually their bed. She sighed in her sleep at the change, but it did not rouse her. He straightened and stretched, grimacing at muscles and joints cracking in protest. Sleeping on the floor was alright for an old campaigner, but it got hard to get up in the mornings sometimes.

He stoked the fire, putting on a few more logs, then stripped to the waist. His morning routines had become crystallized over years of use; he brought water from the outside fountain, then washed. His hands skirted over the old, deep, purple gashes in his body almost mechanically. They still ached, especially on mornings like this one. The summer air outside, even in the very early morning, was rich with humidity. He didn't bother with breakfast, pulling on a clean undershirt and all of his armor. He spared one more glance for Seik, now almost lost in the blanket, still sleeping soundly. Then he soundlessly left the room, loosening his knives in their sheaths.

He could likely make his way down to the grotto blindfolded, for all that he had not made the trip in years. And it was back, as he had expected--the statue of the Dark One. The air in the shrine was a great deal fresher than it had been previously, even though he had repaired the door. Someone had probably been visiting here recently. Kohra, he guessed. The others likely wouldn't need this place. Sparhawk had made a few efforts to clean the dust and cobwebs out of the shrine, and had repaired or hidden most of the weaponry, the pieces that were not rusted beyond usefulness. He hated to see his brothers' hideout in such disrepair.

He carefully lit the candles, then gazed up at the statue. It showed Lillias's face now. That wasn't particularly surprising. For all of his gentle words and careful solicitude for Seik of late, only one thought consumed him. His mind was always dwelling on it. He dreamt about it, when he did not dream of Danae, and a million plans for its fruition spun in his mind. Nothing else mattered in comparison. He felt his fists clenching up reflexively, his fingertips digging into his palm even through his thick buffalo-hide gloves.

That bitch took everything from me. Every word she said to me, every memory we shared, the child we created, the life that we built together--it was all just a lie. A perversion. And she'll try to take everything else I have, too. I know her. It rankles her, like a flea digging into her ear, that I have any happiness at all. She even killed Danae. Our own DAUGHTER! An innocent that loved her. It's unforgivable. While she lives, I can never know life or peace or joy. While she lives, none of the people I care for are safe. While she lives, Seik and I can have no life together. This isn't a life anyway. It's just a prison term. And it's all her fault.

Enraged, he drew his bow and snapped an arrow from the string; it clattered from that hated, beautiful face and fell to the floor. He turned on his heel and strode from the shrine, taking the steps two at a time. There was work, so much work, left to be done. Soon. Soon, he would avenge Danae. Maybe then he would be able to enjoy peaceful mornings like this one again instead of being consumed by this horrible emptiness.