(So, I had a dream last night, and this is what I ended up writing afterwards. It has a character from my fantasy trilogy in it - Arisso - but he isn't a main character in that trilogy. Which means that this is the only place you'll see this particular scene, because he isn't supposed to have his POV shown in the actual novels at all.
It's not very good writing, and it's random. But this blog has been too quiet as of late, so I decided to post it. Like it, hate it, print it out and burn it - I really don't care. It's just here to be here.)
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“Deffrui.”
Arisso opened his eyes slowly, and the world began to come into focus. Hazy-minded, he blinked a few times before remembering. Elves, the forest… unconscious… ambush!
He lunged forward, being yanked backwards again when the chains attached to his wrists and ankles pulled taut. With a low growl, Arisso snapped his head up to look towards the door of the cell, wanting to see who it was that had awakened him.
An Elven lady with long tresses of pale gingery-blonde hair stood just a few inches out of reach of his range of movement, her face serene. Her gaze was fixed upon him.
“What do you want, Elven witch?” Arisso spat. “Are you here to finish me off? Why didn’t you or your friends do so long before now?”
“I stopped them, mo rhan. I wanted to speak with you.” Her voice was soft and lilting, and reminded Arisso of the dainty silver bells often rung during festivals in the village he grew up.
“What could you possibly have to say to me?” Arisso muttered, his face set in a scowl as he stared at the stone floor beneath him.
The Elven lady’s mournful sigh could barely be heard, and would not have been, if not for Arisso’s keen senses. She spoke again, with determination glowing in her eyes. “You are Arisso Carnar, son of a man known as Earc Carnar. You grew up in the town of Tamarack as a boy, moving to Erathna when you came of age, and joining the forces of Lord Rarrick as an adult. You—”
Arisso interrupted, a twinge of shock jolting through him. “How do you know these things? Who are you?”
He was not prepared for the next four words.
“I am your mother.” She looked at him with such gentleness, such… such love. How was this possible?
“Lies! My mother died when I was born, witch! You have invaded my mind and stolen my memories!” Arisso snarled, lunging forward again. The chains stopped him, but he was now only a few mere inches from the Elven lady.
Something tiny and bright glistened as it slid down the Elf’s cheek, but she managed the smallest of smiles, continuing to speak. “You have always felt slightly different. You sense things others do not. You are now thirty and nine winters old, and where your comrades’ eyes begin to wrinkle at the corners and their bodies begin to weaken, you still seem a young man, no more than twenty and seven winters old.”
Arisso’s breath caught in his throat, and he started to interrupt, but her words held him in thrall, even moreso than the chains.
“You do not have the tapered ears of most half-elves, nor do you share our stature or demeanor. If you had been raised by someone less embittered at the world and less greedy than your father, perhaps your personality would have been different… but your eyes… they are eyes that have seen oceans of starlight, skies of fire, and many years of love and sorrow. They are an Elf’s eyes, mo rhan. You have not seen all those things, but your ancestors have.”
Arisso shook his head once, a sharp and jerky movement as a flash of what could only be described as denial and panic surged through him. “No.”
“Look into my eyes.”
Though what he wanted most was to keep his gaze fixed on the ground, Arisso found himself lifting his head. Despite the shadows in the room, he found himself looking into two eyes, shining with tears and full of love, watching him. They were the gray of the sky after a fierce storm and the silver of the sea during a winter dusk… the same shade of gray as his own eyes.
He tore his gaze away, letting his arms hang in the chains and staring at the floor. Terror and uncertainty raged through him, slowly gathering in his heart, where he forced it to turn to anger. Anger and hatred was the only way to deal with such things… Half Elf, half human...
With a sudden speed that took even the Elven lady by surprise, he lunged against the chains again, roaring, “I am NOT a filthy half-breed!"
She took a step back, and he saw her tremor, just slightly. In a soft voice, she whispered, “One day, mo rhan, you will know the truth.”
Before he could snap back with a retort, she had left the cell. The door locked behind her with a dull clang that rang with an ominous finality.
A finality that worried even the hardhearted Arisso Carnar.
