Islana's Story
Cleran had no idea what to expect from Islana. His best guess was that she'd try to fight him off, or at least shy away from him. And he'd let her, of course; he wasn't allowed to hurt her. So he'd have scared her in to thinking he was trying to escape, and surely she'd scream so someone could come carry him off, it would look as though he had done the best he could to Jereh.
She didn't fight him.
It took him a long minute to realize that nothing he'd expected happened. She didn't struggle, or scream, or even move except to let him continue to kiss her, to kiss him back. He wondered for a fleeting second why she wasn't trying to escape, but he found that he didn't want to think about it. What he wanted was to keep kissing her, and for her to keep kissing him.
This was definitely the second most intense kiss he'd ever experienced. The first had been when Islana had kissed him to try and escape. He'd been utterly lost in that moment, and the fact that Islana hadn't wanted to be doing it hurt as much as it had when she'd stabbed him.
And why is this any different? She thinks you'll kill her if she doesn't... he suddenly thought guiltily, and pulled away.
Islana caught her breath after a second, but didn't try to push Cleran away. "Well?" she breathed finally.
"Well what?"
"You kissed me. Now... Now you kill me." She shut her eyes and relaxed against the wall. Her heart was racing and her mind was screaming at her that she was insane, that she needed to scream, to fight, to get away from this Warrior... But her body didn't obey her brain. It sensed something she couldn't remember having felt before, not for a long time. It told her that she could trust Cleran.
She waited for what felt like an eternity before she could feel him start to move, and even longer before she dared open her eyes. She found that the blade had been lifted away from her neck, he'd turned to face her, and now Cleran's brown eyes gazing into her blue ones.
"Islana," he whispered. He'd sheathed the sword and his hands were free, so he reached forward for hers and held them up in the scant space between their bodies.
"Did... Did you feel it?" she asked. She wasn't sure what 'it,' meant, but there had been something there. If she'd been taking the time to think, she never would have said it, she'd have protected herself by keeping silent.
He brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her fingers gently. "I felt something."
She freed her hands gently, to his dismay, but she wrapped them around the back of his neck instead. It made her nearly quiver with delight when he wrapped his own arms around her back and leant forward. Then they were kissing again, with all thoughts of who and what they were forgotten utterly.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 10: The Morning After
Cleran woke, confused, but with a feeling of rightness washing over him. He let the feeling intoxicate him, amazed at how powerful it was, before he took stock of the situation. He was glad he'd taken that moment, because as soon as his mind began to work again, the sense of rightness vanished to be replaced by guilt and confusion.
He was lying on his side on a fairly hard bed, tangled under a heavy set of sheets and blankets, his arms around Islana. She was sleeping gently, her head on his arm, white hair splayed over her back and shoulders. She wasn't (and he suddenly realized that he also wasn't) wearing anything.
He wondered how it had happened. Or rather, he knew how it had happened; he remembered it very clearly. He couldn't help but smile slightly at the memories of the previous night, and knew that he probably would always smile to remember them.
He stopped smiling abruptly as the reality came crashing down on him: he'd spent the night with Islana, the woman who was supposed to be his worst enemy, the woman who'd dragged him to this God forsaken frozen island. She was the woman who'd killed so many men, who'd destroyed the fleet, who'd nearly killed his brother...
And then it got worse. He'd spent the night with this supposedly evil woman, and enjoyed waking up with her in his arms. The guilt settled in slower than the shock had. He'd betrayed the Warriors, not by being with her, but by enjoying it. He'd betrayed Dysis, and Ocando. He was a traitor. And—he could barely bring himself to think it—and he'd probably do it again, given a chance.
Slowly he began to disentangle himself from Islana and their blankets. He didn't want to wake her; she looked far more peaceful than he'd ever seen before. And then another kind of guilt settled over him, something he'd thought of briefly the night before in the hall way.
The first time he and Islana had kissed, it was because Islana was trying to escape. She hadn't wanted to. The second time, when he'd kissed her, she'd had a sword to her neck. She hadn't had a choice. She must have thought if she didn't kiss me back, I'd have killed her. And that lead to all of this. Oh, Sundancer...
She hadn't wanted it, she hadn't wanted him, she'd just been afraid for her life. He stood in the cold air of the room and began to pull on his clothing. She didn't want me, I forced her, I'm no better than any of the Warriors who raped her. I was too absorbed in myself to think about what she really felt, what she really wanted, Sundancer, forgive me, please...
His thoughts were consumed by a downward spiral. He desperately wished he hadn't woken, that he hadn't moved and let himself think anything, that he could go back to simply lying in bed with Islana in his arms. He finished dressing himself and glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on Islana. When he'd pulled away from her, he'd tucked the covers up around her to keep the cold out, so he couldn't see much of her. He was glad he'd thought to do it, though, as it was nearly cold enough in the room to see his breath. His inspection of the room revealed that the fire had died down to coals while they slept.
He made his way to the fire place, thinking that the least he could do was build it up so Islana could wake to a warm room.
Islana woke slowly, and worse yet, she woke alone. She knew that was wrong. She'd fallen asleep with Cleran, and she had been certain he wasn't the type to disappear. She'd been certain he wouldn't run away. Not if he'd felt what she had. And he must have, after all, he had kissed her.
But there was no one in bed with her. Then again.... she thought to herself. He couldn't have killed me. If I know anything about him, I know that. But maybe he did this instead, maybe it didn't mean anything to him and he...
She heard movement and rolled over, finally opening her eyes. She saw him. He was standing above the fire, back to her, unmoving. He was fully dressed. And he was holding the fire poker.
He was holding the fire poker in the fire. He wasn't stoking it; he was just standing. Heating it.
She froze.
The image came to her mind, unbidden: another Warrior, back turned, heating the poker. He turned around, he told her to scream.
She'd screamed.
She would scream again, she knew.
And she knew she'd been wrong. Not only had it meant nothing to him, he was going to kill her.
Her mind went blank, or rather, her mind went full: too many images, too many feelings. Too much pain. She couldn't think rationally, she couldn't even comprehend running, or screaming for help, or trying to fight him. All she could do was stare.
Cleran could feel her eyes on him. What is she thinking? he wondered. Cursing me? Crying? Is she going to speak to me, or yell at me, or just... Just leave altogether? That would be the worst.
There was no point in putting it off. Still idly holding the fire poker, not even realizing what he was holding, what her greatest fear was, he turned around.
His face didn't look malicious. Neither had Ocan's, though; Ocan had seemed calm. Smug, but calm. At least, he had until he was standing right over her, and she was screaming. Then he had smiled, then the glee showed through in his eyes. She just stared at Cleran, trying to recover, trying to think of what she could do. Finally, she managed a single sentence: "Just don't ask me to scream."
"Just don't ask me to scream," she said. She was staring, but not at him, exactly. She was staring at the metal stick in his hand, and she'd gone white—even compared to her normal, pale skin. She was barely blinking. And despite her words, she looked as though she were only a moment and a half from shrieking.
He realized suddenly how bad that would be for him. And then he realized why she was staring at the fire poker, and why she looked so terrified.
Cleran dropped it. It clattered against the ground and he held up his hands, praying she would stop giving him that look. Finally, he said quietly, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize..."
And then everything came rushing back to her. She was out of the trance, and she glared at him with fire in her eyes. "You didn't realize what?" she spat. "That you'd have to kill me while I was awake? Or that if I screamed, the room would be flooded with Knights so fast you'd never have a chance to even reach me?"
He shook his head. "I didn't mean—I wasn't going to—I'd never." He meant he'd never have used the poker on her, that was what she thought he was doing. At least, that was what he hoped she'd think he meant. But he meant more—he meant he would never have forced her if he'd realized how much she'd regret it. He'd never make her choose between that and death.
For a split second, he wondered why she would think he would force her to make that choice. But then he realized everything he'd said in the cell—he had only been joking, at least until she'd kissed him, but there was no way for her to know that. Of course she'd think he would have killed her. She had no reason not to.
"The hell you wouldn't."
"I was just—the fire had died down. It was cold. I thought... I wanted the room to be warm when you woke. I wouldn't have used that... Thing. I'm not like Ocan. I'm not."
She said nothing, so he continued. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for everything that he did to you. I'm sorry I let him, I'm sorry I never told him to stop. I'm sorry I made you think I'd kill you if you wouldn't sleep with me then. I'm sorry I did it again last night—I'm sorry we&151;Sundancer, I—" He swallowed hard. "I'll never again. Never."
"Never what?"
"Never hurt you—not like that," he said, nodding towards her bed, "and not with that," he added, nudging the poker with his foot, and noting her shudder. "Never."
"You're sorry about last night?" she asked. He couldn't interpret her tone of voice or her expression at all. She was just staring, waiting for an answer.
He nodded solemnly. "More sorry than you could ever imagine."
There was a long silence. "That's what I figured," she spat, her voice malicious suddenly. "Would you turn around, please?"
"Islana?"
"Turn around, Cleran. I need to get dressed."
He did as told. Islana was angry at him, but he was almost relieved. If she'd just been upset, the kind of upset where she gave him that look, and couldn't even speak... He didn't know what he'd have done. But she was angry, and he knew he deserved it, so he figured it was best not to argue.
He could hear her getting dressed behind him, but stared at the ground resolutely. He was standing in front of a looking glass—he wondered if she realized that—but he wasn't going to take advantage of that and watch her through it. She didn't want him to see her, and he couldn't blame her after what he'd done. The least he could do was give her that much respect.
She stopped moving and he dared to look up. He saw that she was sitting on the edge of her bed behind him, now fully dressed, head in her good hand. She said nothing, just sat there, and he didn't know how to comfort her, or even if he should trys—after all, it was his fault, and he was probably the last person she wanted to talk to. He watched through the mirror as she finally sat up, pulled her bangs out of her eyes, and looked over at the mirror. He stared down guiltily.
"My brush," she snapped. He reached for it, and tossed it over to the bed. He didn't want to get too near her, he didn't want to scare her. He continued to watch in the mirror as she pulled the brush through her hair, then pulled it back into its usual braid. It was amazing that she could do it with one hand, he thought.
Sundancer, she's beautiful, he thought, almost against his will. It was true, though, even despite the anger and worry etched in her every movement, and even despite the lingering visible after effects of the torture chamber. Before, Cleran had thought she looked exotic, now... He forced himself not to look at her. You don't deserve to watch her, bastard, he told himself. You don't deserve for her to look at you.
That made it all the more surprising when she did.
Islana was watching him in the mirror too, he realized suddenly. The room was silent aside from the crackling of the fire, but he didn't dare break that silence. Islana stood, finally off her crutches, and walked up behind him. She replaced the brush on the dresser top, and just stood behind him for a long moment.
Then, finally, she spoke. "Well, fuck you. I'm not sorry. I'm getting breakfast."
[EYECATCH]
The way Islana was stomping through the halls was a little frightening. She was careful enough to control herself when she was in the kitchen and the bath house, but when she was more or less on her own, the fact that there was something on her mind was etched in every movement she made.
By the time she made it back to her room, her thought process had gone completely out of control. On the one had, she had meant it when she told Cleran she hadn't regretted anything. She never regretted anything. The feud between herself and Erra Kelanister, the mistakes she'd made, and she wasn't going to kid herself, she'd many many mistakes, the destruction she had caused, everything. She'd done what she had to. She was rarely actually in the wrong, though sometimes she wasn't in the right, either.
But this...
The worst part was that she couldn't bring herself to regret it. She knew she should have. She should have felt awful about having wanted Cleran so badly, about having indulged that desire. After all, she was a Knight, he was a Warrior, and they were at war. And after everything the Warriors had done to her, she shouldn't have wanted anything to do with him. She had thought she'd rather die than let a Warrior so much as touch her.
But she couldn't deny the fact that when he'd kissed her, she had felt something incredible; when he had taken her hand, she had nearly melted.
No, she corrected herself, the worst part is that I don't know why. Goddess damn it, I shouldn't.... I should hate him.
But she was feeling something beyond explanation. She hated that unknowingness, the uncertainty. It left her feeling more angry at.. Well, at Cleran, for lack of anyone else to blame. She knew that wasn't entirely fair; he'd never done anything to make her want him. Until that point, he'd barely done anything other than go out of his way to hurt her—or at least, annoy her; he'd rarely ever hurt her.
Against her will, a handful of memories flooded her mind—swimming in pain, unable to think, to focus on anything except how much she hurt, how much she wanted to die, unable to pull herself back to reality—and then—
He was there. He hadn't even realized how far gone into her pain she was, and he certainly didn't care. But the way he was making fun of her, as annoying as it was, gave her something else to think of. It gave her something to do, something to focus on, it had kept her from losing her mind...
She sagged against the wall, clutching the plate she'd fixed for Cleran so tightly that her knuckles went white. Goddess, please, I can't... I can't....
It took her several minutes to stop trembling, to force herself to start walking again. Pace after pace, slowly, she made her way back to her room
. Cleran was sitting on his chair, quietly, looking almost serene. He turned around to look over his shoulder and saw her, looking paler than usual, and clearly shaken and upset. "Islana," he whispered, practically jumping to his feet and rushing to her side. He placed an arm around her, but she didn't seem to notice, until she looked over at him with the most frightened eyes he'd ever seen. She began to tremble under his grasp, her eyes going even wider, and the plate slipped from her fingers.
She looked down as it crashed against the ground and shattered. She opened her mouth as if she was going to scream when she saw it, but all that came out was a slight whimper.
Cleran looked down at it and finally understood. There was a lot more of her that needed to be Healed than just her body, and this was part of it. The plate reminded her of Ocan, of the cell, of the first time she'd tried to escape. He didn't know what brought on the first flashback, but it didn't matter, he just knew he had to help her get back.
"Islana!" he half-yelled, shaking her slightly.
She turned back to him, obviously terrified still. He realized he might have made it worse, he was a Warrior, he'd been there the first time, and he began to panic.
"Please..." she whispered, before he could figure out what to do. "Please, I need you." And then she collapsed.
Cleran caught her instinctively, his mind reeling. She needed him? Had she really meant that, had that been to him, or had she been too out of it to know who he was? And why would she need him?
He carried her to her bed and gently laid her down and pulled the covers up around her, then leant over and kissed her forehead. He wondered what to do then, and decided to attempt to clean up the spilled plate.
He was nearly done when he heard her stir, and turned to watch in time to see her sit up. She didn't say anything for a long time, then buried her face in her hands. "Goddess..." she managed, but that was it.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I'll be fine," she said determinedly. "I'm sorry about your breakfast, I'll go get another—"
"No, it's all right," he interrupted. "You should probably lay down for awhile. I'll call Jereh, she can—"
"Don't be stupid," Islana said, her turn to cut him off. "You can't go anywhere, you're supposed to be tied to that chair. And I don't need Jereh."
"Don't you be stupid. You need help, Islana, you need... You need help."
"Not her." Islana shuddered. She was recovering, but didn't think that she could deal with Jereh yet. "You. I just need you..."
She would later be amazed at herself for realizing that, but even more amazed that she'd managed to say it. Islana never left herself so emotionally open like that, not since she'd begun fighting with her grandfather. She didn't want to get hurt, and no one could blame her for it... But she'd not only realized that it had been Cleran who'd kept her from losing her mind in the first place, but she'd actually asked him for help.
"Me?"
"Just... Just talk to me..."
"Uh..." he said hesitantly, straightening up and walking to the bed. He sat next to her, then asked, "About what?"
"Anything. Please," she begged. "What... What was it like for you, growing up?"
"Growing up. Hm." He didn't really know what to say, but he also didn't want Islana to end up frightened again, so he settled back into the bed, half-laying down and half-sitting, and thought. "All right," he said. "Well... My father..." He took a deep breath, not really comfortable talking about his parents. "My father is Ryel Serathi. He's a Ranking Lord, so he's pretty powerful.
"My mother was one of the maids in his manor. Apparently, she had a reputation as a light-skirt, and when I was bornˆâ Well, it didn't help. She wanted to leave me off at a founding home—I know because she told me—but Lord Serathi asked her not to."
"You call him Lord Serathi?"
"I have to." He shrugged, trying to make it seem as though it didn't matter or make any difference, but it was still clear he was swallowing down bitterness as he spoke. "He asked her to keep me, but he didn't ever recognize me. So everyone knew he was my father, but he hated me."
"Then why did he take care of you?"
"He felt guilty." Cleran sighed. "He wanted to keep me around as penance for having messed up. So he made sure that I was cared for. He wanted nothing to do with me—I was his humiliation, he said." He gave a very short bark of laughter. "Something that Dysis will never, ever understand." He paused and took a deep breath.
"So my parents were wonderful, you can tell." His voice positively dripped sarcasm. "Dysis was great, though. I mean... Neither of my parents wanted anything to do with me, but he took care of me. He was the only family I really had."
"No wonder you're so devoted to him."
"Not much else for me to be devoted to," he sighed. He'd never spoken about his family to anyone before, but he'd never really had anyone to talk to. The only person he felt close enough to was Dysis, and Dysis had a blind spot where his family was concerned. He just didn't understand how Ryel could at the same time take pity on Cleran and detest his existence. For a long time he hadn't even wanted to think about how it had been possible that his father—one of the people Dysis had placed on a pedestal—had had an affair at all, but after he came to terms with that, he decided to treat Cleran as if he were his legitimate brother.
Dysis meant more to him than anyone else he'd ever met. And yet, he thought, vaguely frightened, last night with Islana was wonderful, and I know he would kill me, and I'm still sitting here pouring out my soul so she'll feel better. Oh, Dy... Can you forgive me for this?
"How did Dysis become the High Priest?" she asked, slightly more interested now, sounding less like she was about to collapse again.
"Well." He paused. "Dy was always the most religious one in his family. I mean, everyone went to church and all, but he was the only one who really felt it. He knew for years that he wanted to be a priest; he told me before he told anyone else, I think. He started studying religion when he was about thirteen and announced when he was seventeen that he was going to be a Priest. His parents weren't thrilled to see him go, but couldn't stop him... And Dy took me with him.
"I had never even thought of becoming a Warrior until then. I mean, why would I? But I didn't want to be left alone, and so when Dy suggested it and Ocando seemed to accept me, it just sort of happened."
There was a long silence, but it was a more comfortable one. To Cleran's great delight, Islana stretched a little bit and settled against him. He put an arm around her. True, he didn't want Dysis angry at him for this, but she needed him and he could sense that.
Finally, she spoke up. "What are we doing, Cleran?" she asked quietly.
He decided to keep everything light hearted, although he was wondering the same thing. "Well, right now we're having a conversation like normal human beings."
"We're not normal, though. I mean.... We are, but not together..."
"All right, how's this?" he asked. "Right now, I'm helping you calm down, and you're helping me, uh... Get some of this out of my system."
"Does your family upset you that much, then?"
"Sometimes." He shrugged. "More than it used to."
"Why?"
"Well..." He almost told her that the why had nothing to do with the other conversation they were having, the more important one. But since he'd said so much already, he figured a little more wouldn't hurt. "Awhile ago... A little over a year... I got hurt in a battle. I was hurt badly, if it wasn't for that Healer kid, I'd have died. Dysis was busy with the aftermath of the battle, but he dropped me a note... But as I was lying practically at my fucking deathbed, fighting to recover, neither of my parents bothered. Neither of them cared. Not a note, not an offhand comment that they're glad I didn't die, or that they're glad I recovered... Just nothing. I mean, if anything ever made it clear they didn't care if I live or die, it's that."
"Then fuck them," Islana stated, matter-of-factly. "They don't deserve you."
"What makes you think I'm such a prize?"
"Well, for one, you're sitting here offering to help me recover, and you've got no good reason to."
"It was my fault you were hurt to begin with."
"It wasn't. It was—"
"I could have stepped in and stopped Ocan. I could have, dammit!"
"But why would you?" she demanded. "Before you go blaming yourself, think about it. You did exactly what you were supposed to. It's just that things have gotten more... complicated."
"Fine," Cleran agreed sullenly. "But I don't have to like it."
"You don't like this particular complication?" she asked, reaching for his hand and guiding it to her thigh. He gaped for a moment and she winked, then released his hand, but noted he didn't move it.
"No, I like that complication a great deal," he said. "It's just... I feel so guilty. No matter what we do from here, either I've betrayed someone or I'm going to, and I owe Dysis so much..."
She pulled away from him, and he shuddered at the air that rushed between their bodies. "Then we should forget last night," she said.
"But I don't want to, dammit!" he snapped. "I've never felt anything like last night before, and I don't believe that something that felt so right could possibly be that wrong!"
"So what do you want to do about it?"
He sighed. "I don't know," he groaned. "What do you want?"
She shrugged. "I... I needed your help. I needed you, you kept me from losing my mind entirely. I think..." she bit her lip. "I think I can manage on my own. If I have to. But I don't want to. I've been alone for a long time and... I don't want to do it on my own."
Cleran remembered Ilyan telling him how Islana had cried because she was lonely. Now she was as good as telling him that with him, she wasn't lonely, and she had said she needed him. No one had ever really needed him before. And it was kind of his fault that she had been in such bad shape. And, damn it, the previous night had felt good. It felt as though he needed her, too, even if he couldn't understand quite why.
He reached over and took her hand. "You won't have to cope alone," he promised. "We'll find some way to make this work, and I won't ever leave you to cope alone." He turned to face her, and they kissed gently. But they both knew it was more than a kiss; it was a promise. They couldn't have defined what was between them, but they both knew it was something important enough to fight for. Cleran wrapped his arms around Islana, and despite everything she knew she should have felt, Islana found that she felt safer than she had in a long, long time.
Neither of them noticed, but a tiny spark inside the jewel of the necklace Islana wore began to glow. It was a soft light that went on and then off, almost as though someone had winked. Somewhere, Ilyan Kelanister smiled. It would be a long time before anyone else noticed, but he knew that the world had just shifted on it's metaphorical axis, and that things would never be the same.
[CLOSING CREDITS]