From every there to here

Set in the distant past during a time when nothing was certain and hearts were left shattered in the wake of an awful betrayal, leading to the ruination of the kingdom of Ilkova. Three years have passed since Lugh last saw the man he used to call his love, the one responsible for said destruction, having himself turned to the life of a knight-errant in hopes of setting things right.

He's come back to me.

Again I turn to look up at that achingly familiar face, the gentle touch at my shoulder asking for unspoken compliance.

He needn't ask for it. Not here, not from me, my arms thrown around him all too quickly as my heart fills with nameless desperation, my grip greedy as I pull him close despite everything to hold and kiss him before he can slip away.

It is a selfish desire, but it is my own, though some stirring part of me isn’t fully convinced by the breath against my neck, or the warmth of his cheek, the longing prompted by the mere sight of him far too acute and raw to be soothed by this pale facsimile my memories have conjured up. The fingers sink in and the dream turns - remembers what took place when smoke and ash covered the sky.

I’m made a ruin, his fingers tearing the flesh from my bones, peeling it away like softened clay one handful at a time. All that there is, he takes, and only his name remains as a scream finally shatters the aggrieved look on his face. Nothing is left behind.

I jolt awake, left startled by the sound of my own voice, my teeth grit together harshly as the tension clings to me yet with its icy fingers. My throat tightens, the cold sweat on my temple and back marking the dream for what it was. In the nightmare my heart had quickened, raced at the tender memory before it had exchanged itself for the surreal; the regret and all the choices born from it that had led to this dim room with its moth-eaten curtains and dusty corners, as strange and meaningless as the hundred other rooms before it.

It hurts, but my heart remains quiet.

I am alone.

* * *

It's been years since I saw him last. The scars have grown pale, the pain dull, its sharp teeth not so much gone as merely worn down to the bone. It gnaws, persistent, as unwilling to fade as that silent imitation, eager to mock the dreams it sprung from at every turn, night after night.

What became of Mordreaux after that day? When royal blood was spilt at my hands a second time, opening a door for madness and death to swallow all present in a retribution unlike any seen before?

Taking my life as well would’ve been too kind, I suppose. An instant penitence, but a touch of lingering madness on the other hand would certainly explain these thoughts. Ghoulish, inescapable. Ever keen to pick at these scabs of feelings from one day to the next, hoping that years would fold onto themselves and simply wash away what was done. It won't happen - not after the lives lost that day - this taste of regret as pointless as that reoccurring dream.

The sun doesn’t care one way or the other though, and I set him aside until next evening as I get out of bed. Perhaps Mordreaux would’ve found the dismissal comforting, if he knew just how difficult it was to actually do even with the smoldering ruins of Ilkova haunting my every waking moment.

The switch to the life of a hedge knight had been the only easy thing about what had come after, my desire to serve another crown thoroughly exhausted long before the scent of smoke and scorched bodies faded from my clothes. Twice I swore fealty to a king, and twice it cost far too much, these villages with their dirt roads as lonesome as they were freeing in comparison, taking only what I can offer.

Hunting monsters and beasts had come about by sheer chance, the magic at the root of all this accursed heartache of some use at last. Popped joints and broken fingers were a common price to pay when contending with beasts robbed of their intellect, any bruises an inconvenience at most though not a fully unwelcome one. Not for how monotonous the days or the weeks tended to become when traveling alone.

That witch’s ageless blood on the other hand I've little to say of. I cannot follow him, but neither can I cease with this, bound to wander from one town to the next instead in search of any temporary meaning there’s to be found and… maybe, just maybe, a clue. A rumor, anything that would confirm he is still out there somewhere.

Surely Morgan wouldn’t have simply let him lie down and remain there for worms and all that crawl on the ground to feast upon. No, there had been a goal to her cruelty and the fool she had made of me - a plan to reaffirm her son's loyalty by staging everything.

But for every monster, every turned mage, there had been a dozen ordinary men. Some desperate, others looking to be left alone. I couldn’t fault the latter for their desire, even if it rarely was enough to sway the rest of their communities to sway their axes and knives.

Regardless of the details, for me it is the same dance and song from one town to the next. Wandering knights are trouble, the strangers' eyes say nigh every time; those with a taste for the strange and unknown even more so, any sell-sword's perceived lack of loyalty to a lord deemed as much a threat as it was an opportunity for straightforward justice. Thankfully said opportunism has proven to be in demand plenty.

Yesterday had been one such day, the arrival as well as the talks with the guardsmen its own tiresome ritual, but at least this inn had more use for a gold coin than whatever sensibility my presence or questions about local rumors might've offended. I lock the door to the room and continue where I left off last night as I slip out into the daylight.

Although in demand, hunting beasts as a profession bears meager rewards, but Greenvale is just the size of a hamlet there might not be any trouble to offer aid in. Closed-off, cozy almost with its red wooden houses, though many of them appear empty, but it's only at the edge of the town's walled borders that a girl suddenly stops me.

A fey with black eyes and hair has made himself a court in the north of the village.