The Minstrel

The Memory of Dreams

 Killian hated dreaming. Dreams were unrealistic fantasies that would be, upon waking, a disappointment compared to the dismal reality he found himself in the best case scenario. At the worst, they were nightmares that left him in a cold sweat. Fortunately for Killian, it was rare that he ever had to bear them. On the occasions which he did happen to dream, it was rarer that they would be recalled upon his waking. This was also to his personal favor. However, unfamiliar surroundings bred a sort of mental restlessness that compelled his imagination to run wild.

As his time to leave Flotsam had grown short, Killian had been having stranger and more vivid dreams, the likes of which he would rather avoid. Despite this, he could not hold out much longer as the untold hours passed in the darkness. There was a silent tension that had taken hold of the Orcs and had bade him not to speak another word. He had been so shocked at the realization of what he had seen above deck - about what he had learned of Sharroc - that he had almost been careless enough to address it directly to the Orc himself. One look at the murderous glare he had given Ghuzul at her mention of his family had told Killian now was not the time.

Since then, Killian had fought off sleep until he could bear it no longer, and his eyes closed against his will.

Golden waves caressed the sides of the SilverSail as the vessel smoothly cut through the shimmering water. Killian's eyes drank up all that they could catch. Rapidly, he swiveled his head from side to side, standing on the very tips of his toes to see if he could spy even a speck of land on the distant horizon. Never before had he not been able to see solid land. In fact, never before had he been out to sea.

Killian strained his arms against the rail, attempting to pull himself even a hair higher, but a burly arm restrained him by the waist just as he gave a final heave.

"We've crossed leagues from the Gildstream Isle by now, Killy. We're out in the center of the Dractorian Sea - nothing to be seen even from the top of the main mast."

"Even if I stood on my tip-toes?" Killian wondered with awe.

"Even if I stood on my tip-toes."

There was a warm laugh, and Killian tilted his head backwards to catch his brother's smile.

"Can you lift me, Al?" He pleaded.

Aldred rolled his eyes as he hoisted Killian onto his shoulder with a concentrated huff. Killian steadied himself against his brother's shaggy head, never taking his eyes off the endless ocean.

"I won't be able to do this much longer," Aldred warned reproachfully, "You've almost reached your twelfth roat, and nearly a man."

"Nearly able to Captain my own ship?" Killian asked, swinging his legs back and forth.

Aldred raised his free hand to stroke his beard. "Well, you'd have to apprentice first, like I did under father."

"Will you take me as your apprentice, some day?"

Aldred was taken aback at the question. Killian's legs had stopped swinging as he turned his head at last to his brother. Aldred nearly chuckled, but changed his mind after seeing the hopefulness in the child's eyes.

"I suppose there's nothing for it - I'll see what can be done. For now at least, allow me the journey to get the lay of my own ship."

Just then, a pair of footsteps approached with the accompanying call of "Captain Silversail!" that caused the pair to turn towards the visitors. Leading the duo was a bright-eyed young sailor in a uniform so spotless it appeared new even to the inexperienced. He waved and smiled earnestly, long strands of tied black hair swinging at each step. Though Killian did not immediately recognize him, he did recognize the middle-aged man that followed closely behind. Aldred quickly set down his brother as he moved to embrace the first man.