Heir of Obsidian (A Throne of Glass Fanfic)

20 - Sleep Tight

Lars had given up, gone to bed as soon as the sun crept beneath the horizon. He couldn't muster the energy to do anything useful. He shifted in his bedroll, hyper aware of every stick that jabbed his spine and every cold, fat raindrop that leaked from the leafy ceiling above. The fire had long since succumbed to the rain, no more than a smudge of acrid charcoal against the even thicker blackness of the forest. He'd began to resent the darkness, especially here, where not even the stars could pierce the canopy. It seemed to only amplify somber feelings, making it twice as hard for him to stay in a cheerful mood.

Not that he'd been trying particularly hard to be cheerful. That emotion just seemed too stark in contrast to the forest and the King. He'd held on to the King's encouragement for about four hours and then the sun had started to sink, taking

his good spirits down with it. Asterin. All he was left with was that name and a feeling of wistful longing, like he was a witness to a life gone by, something that shouldn't have been lost but was. Water droplets splattered frigidly on his taunt, pale face. There was going to be more ice on the ground tomorrow.

He shivered and wished for the warmth of his home. This cold, wet forest lacked company, leaving him with only his thoughts to occupy him. He missed people, just people in general. If someone had asked me months ago if I would have succumbed to homesickness travelling by myself, I would have scoffed in their face. But now... now, he'd kill to just have a conversation with anyone who wasn't his own reflection.

He snuggled deep into his bedroll, before realising it was no use. Nothing would be able to protect him from the frigid cold freeing his very core. If only there were a way for him to escape this forest, to be somewhere warm and homely again -

He paused. He was alone in his body, in this forest - but was he truly alone in his mind? Yesterday, when the King had urged him to enter his mindscape, he'd discovered another land, another people. If he could only reach that mindscape again, where those witches and wyverns had roamed, then he would no longer be alone.

He sat up abruptly, braced his strong forearms on his knees, and tried to let the water dripping from the trees mimic a steely wind, the chase of a wyvern's breath. He could feel the land hidden in his consciousness beckoning to him, begging him to enter its warm embrace. His mind strained as he embraced the swirling fog, letting it hide his thoughts, blind his emotions. He had nothing left in this abysmal forest, and so he dived into the swirling black lurking in the back of his mind, headfirst into anything. Anyone.

Salt. Sand. Summer.

The world imploded in a sudden brilliance and when his eyes focused again, he was no longer curled up in his bedroll, in that dismal forest. He was no longer restlessly waiting for the King to return, no longer sidelined. A smile broke on his face and his heart lifted.

He was standing on a rocky outcrop, the sea gently roiling beneath him. Beams of sunlight shone down through the clouds above, creating patterns that reflected off the water and danced about the rocks. And when he heard a crashing roil beneath him, it was not from an impending storm, but simply from the sea foaming against the rock barrier. He felt he could finally breathe, in this new salty air. And this far above the sea spray, above the world, he felt as if nothing were tethering him to the earth.

His eyes traced the loose rock beneath his feet, and followed the stark lines of slate to a patch of tufty grass nestled for shelter under a solitary Meridian tree. It stood like a Goddess over the landscape. Where Orcus' mindscape had been a galaxy of empty, limitless power, this place - his place - was sharp and ancient and unpredictable. It was as if somebody had carved out his very soul and being and brought it to this one rocky shore. It felt like Benjali. It felt like home.