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Post by Indubitably on Oct 16, 2012 18:44:47 GMT -5
Wind cradled the curtains, pushing them in and out like a steady song. Night was upon the people of Sylian and as sure as the moon was bright, the darkness was cold. Milo shivered under his blankets in his deep sleep; untroubled by the crying trees and blistering wind that flowed into his room. His fever was more than slight; sweat poured from his clammy forehead despite the cold. An infection had won him over and the man had done nothing but rest the past three days. His dreams were vivid and he awoke for minutes at a time only to roll over and surrender to yet another nightmare.
It was not a nightmare of dreams, but an only slightly altered form of the reality that haunted Sylian at this time. His dreams focused on famine and loss. Flies tapped on the walls as they searched blindly for a way out into the cool open air when in fact flies were rarely seen all year. The fields were bare and the fruit naked from the trees and the wind sent a chill up the spine of the oaks as they shivered in response. Milo looked down in his dream to see his belly empty with nothing showing but a hole created by the thought of the hungry people that plagued his mind.
While Milo was healthy and well-fed, he knew of the hunger of the lesser people. Lesser, he would huff. It meant nothing but unfortunate. He felt the pain in his belly and he clenched at it with closed fists and found no relief. The faces of people clouded his mind, their hysterical laughter haunting him as he cried. The tears felt real, warm and salty as they rolled down his cheek. Fire burst from the pits of hell and rose from the dusty ground of the barren fields. All around him the fire licked like hungry tongues and he covered his face to protect what little he had left from his seemingly frail body. He screamed out.
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Post by Indubitably on Oct 17, 2012 21:20:10 GMT -5
Almond eyes unclosed to the room around him. Sweat rolled from his brow and down the side of his face and onto the drenched pillow that sat below his head. Milo rose weakly and wiped his face with both hands, keeping them at his eyes as he recalled his dreams. He could never forget them. The man hung his feet from the side of his bed and let them dangle there as he rubbed the back of his wet neck. A sigh escaped him as he rose, his feet hitting the cold wooden floor. The male walked across his familiar room to bucket that held water, his feet slapping the ground as he walked. He leaned over and washed his face. The water was cold and it sent a shiver down his spine, but it felt good none-the-less.
He dressed his bare chest in his white threaded shirt and walked to the door, hesitating at the knob. It took him what seemed forever to open the door and peer through. He heard the movement of metal as a familiar face stood before him. Milo looked away and closed his eyes. "Crixen, you startled me..." he said, his deep voice was trembling with the cold.
The man gave a slight smile that hid his disapproval. "You should not be up and walking Milo" he said, his voice raspy with age and knowledge.
Milo stood still. "The night is young, and I have slept for days, I wish to walk," he insisted.
For a moment they both stared. "Very well, Sir." Crixen took off his heavy coat and covered Milo with it, wrapping it tightly around him. The grayed man nodded, taking the door and opening it slightly giving way for Milo Bolbec to walk through. The Maester took the man's arm; his fingertips were gentle and soft from years of careful handling.
The two walked in silence for several minutes. The only sound was the gravel of the garden crunching beneath their feet. The night was free in the open air and the stars shone brilliantly up above. The moon gave a distinctive glow that only it could make. It too was brilliant in all ways.
“I’m going away Milo,” Crixen said with much hesitation. Milo’s eyes shot towards his uncle in confusion. His eyes turned to that of a golden boy.
“Why? Where will you go?”
Crixen stopped and turned to Milo. “You are young, Milo. But you are also a man in many ways.” Crixen hugged his nephew, taking his hand and placing it on Milo’s head, pulling it towards his embrace. “You will be strong. Stronger than your father at your pace.”
Milo did not question him.
Milo did not understand him.
But it was so.
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Post by Indubitably on Oct 17, 2012 21:30:41 GMT -5
Milo’s eyes scanned the page of a dusty book that he held up to his eyes with one hand. He kept the book open with his thumb and rested its covers on the other four fingers. His almond-colored pupils went right, left, right left, back and forth, back and forth as he studied the contents of the old book. Milo was secretly a fan of literature, not that anyone else knew. He simply just didn’t share that with anyone, not that he was avoiding the whole idea. He did not care others knew his mind was made from the books he borrowed from the library that he rich, well-to-do father stocked for laughs and to say he had a library of his own. Milo was certain that his father had never even picked up a single one of the books he had bought. Maester Vladik was a simple man with simple needs, books were not a necessity.
Three knocks sounded on the door to the library. Milo looked up, his eyes peering over the top of the leather-bound book. It was Crixen. A wide smile crossed his face, revealing a single dimple on his right cheek and a set of white pearls in his mouth. “Crixen! My old friend!” he said rising to his feet, setting the book with its pages down so that he did not lose his place. Milo rushed over to Crixen and embraced him in a father-son hug. The two hugged for several moments before they pulled back. Milo kept his hands on Crixen’s shoulders and laughed nostalgically.
“I know I have not been around of late,” Crixen started as he placed his hands behind his back and walked around Milo and over to the book he had set down, taking note of its cover. His back was turned to Milo as he stroked the binding of the book with his forefinger and collected dust at his fingertip. He turned around in a swift, deft movement, his hands returning to their position behind his back. “I have been busy, you see.” Crixen’s eyes narrowed in a serious manner. Milo crossed his arms over his chest and titled his head attentively. “I traveled to Dragon’s Peek,” the grayed man said in a whispered voice. Milo shifted uneasily.
“Did you find my mother?”
There was a pause.
Milo stared at Crixen
Crixen stared at Milo.
They stared at each other in silence.
The grayed man looked shocked. "When...how did you---” He paused.
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Post by Indubitably on Oct 17, 2012 21:31:21 GMT -5
Another knock sounded at the door and the two men jumped slightly and turned around. Sloane walked in. She was dressed in her gown and walked barefoot on the cold wooden floor. A smile crossed his lips, but Milo knew it was just to be polite. “Crixen!” she said with excitement, “when did you arrive?”
“Only just now.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Sloane’s eyes targeted Milo and she gave a sincere smile. “Brother! You promised…remember.”
Milo stood for a moment.
Another moment.
“Oh! That is right, dear sister! Come! I will read to you.”
Milo and Crixen exchanged a quick glance. The two understood right away. We will discuss this later.
WIP
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