Until the end

[Kiaran]

He moved with the purpose of a man possessed. Not blinking, not hesitating he marched silently through the dark night.
The cottage materialized as if out of nowhere, between the brush and foliage of the forest. No light made it through the fogged windows, but Kiarán knew the cottage was not empty.
He knocked on the door, three quick raps. Silence. Kiarán waited, nothing happened. Then a voice materialized, loud and booming.

“Who goes there?”

Kiarán cleared his throat. “It is Kiarán.”

More silence. As he stood there, alone in the dark looking at the closed door, he began to feel doubt. It materialized in his stomach as an intense heat, spreading from beneath his navel through his gut and up his chest. His skin began itching, strangely, but he would not move. He even held his breath.
Suddenly the door swung open and for a moment, Kiarán’s vision blurred as blinding light radiated from through the doorway. In its center, the silhouette of a man took form, and slowly, as Kiarán’s eye adjusted to the light, he could begin to make out its details.
Anhagath was clad in an amalgamation of cloth robes and dented plate armor. His lips were clenched together so hard they were almost white and his golden eyes peered inquisitively at Kiarán.
And Kiarán looked back into them, feeling their penetrating stare, as if they were trying to read his thoughts.

“Come in, quickly.” said Anhagath, before closing the door behind them. “What do you want?”

Kiarán did not answer. He merely looked around the single room of the cottage. They were alone. Good.

“Well?” he repeated.

Kiarán’s gaze snapped back to Anhagath, finding his eyes. “They cannot read me,” he thought. “If they could…”

He took a step closer. Then another, until they could stand no closer. Slowly, but surely he raised his hand, placing it gingerly at Anhagath’s cheek. The old mage looked bewildered, but did not protest.
He had surprised himself. He would have expected his arm to tremble, but it did not. It filled him with courage. Convinced him that what he was doing was right.
He let his hand caress Anhagath’s cheek, finding its way to the back of his head, entangling itself in his long, white hair. He exhaled as he tensed his muscles, gripping the old elf’s hair firmly.
With his other arm he deftly unsheathed the dagger from his belt and buried it deep in the mage’s gut.

As it broke skin, Anhagath groaned. It was a groan of pain, but more so one of astonishment. The astonishment was apparent in his white eyes. His arms spasmed and flailed before finding their way around Kiarán, clasping his tunic firmly, as his feet gave way under him. Kiarán held him up, as he let the dagger run diagonally across the mage’s abdomen, tearing flesh and viscera. He could hear the dripping of blood against the stomped clay floor beneath.
He let the dagger go and brought the hand around Anhagath, holding him close, as he convulsed in his embrace.
He was heavy. His feet no longer supported him, and his grip on Kiarán’s tunic was loosening. His groans too were weakening.

“You needn’t say anything,” Kiarán whispered into his ear. “I know.” He leaned back, still holding the old elf up in his grasp. He looked at him, studied the pained expression on his face. The fear in his eyes. He was close, so close that he could feel his hot breath upon the skin of his own face.
“Do not be afraid, Anhagath.” He nodded reassuringly at the mage, “I am with you. I will be here. Until the end.”

The mage started shaking in his grasp, and Kiarán held him closer again. “I am here for you.”
He could feel the mage’s head shake from side to side, as if refusing him. Was it denial? Perhaps. But it no longer mattered.
Finally the mage grew limp. Still. Kiarán’s ear tickled from the heat of his last exhalation.
He did not move, yet holding the limp body in his grasp. He closed his eye.



With a gasp he came to. It took him a while to get his bearings in the darkness. The sheets of the bed were clammy with his sweat. His heart was pounding. He was not sure, what he had just seen. Was it a dream? What was it about? He closed his eye, trying to remember, but it was all a haze.
He opened his eye anew looking through the room. It was not familiar. Then he remembered. The inn, Astranaar, Ashenvale. He was not alone. He turned on his side, and found the warm, silent shape of Melandrel. She was lying on her side, her back turned against him. He could tell that she was sleeping from her deep, slow respiration. He snuggled up close to her, putting his arm around her. She gave a faint moan and stirred a little, but she did not wake. He nuzzled his face against her hair and inhaled deeply. His heart had already calmed. He closed his eye, and relaxed as sleep gripped him again.

[Thondalar]

Holy crap! Well. I expected a COMPETLY different type of story when I read a cheek was caressed O.O Well written, Kiaran!

[Anhagath]

(Jokes, I loved it and it's very well-written, and super creepy...
....)

[Eluvere]

Holy crap! Well. I expected a COMPETLY different type of story when I read a cheek was caressed O.O Well written, Kiaran!

I must say I was mildly dissapointed xD Kiaran you naughty bastard

[Aariam]

Hot. I mean, what?!

Loved it, though. Hope you write more!

[Darathir]

Kiarán is not alone in having these fantas-- dreams.

I like