OOM: Dream

[politestpirate]

Wellard does not dream much. When he does, it is all bits and pieces, randomly, of places he has been to-

(The trip on board the Pearl did a lot to add to his mental atlas.)

Mixed with people he knows or has only met in passing.

Tonight, oddly enough, he seems to be back in Kent, walking past old hedgerows that seemed just as tall as when he had been 12, and passing through scattered groves of trees-

It takes a while, for Wellard to realize, that the trees have grown taller and more dense. It is now an old forest that the path moves through, empty and quiet, with the occasional lamppost lighting the shadows.

Wellard has never been here before, so even in the dream, there is a bit of confusion and apprehension as he keeps walking.

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[takiena_called]

Somewhere along the path, as the forest becomes slowly more overgrown (still silent, though, as if the animals are afraid to speak), a beautiful horse, profile strong and proud, whiter than should be possible, stands in the midde of the path. She is still, and her Rider is as well. The small figure could be made of grey glass for his near-translucence, and he gazes up at the sky with coal-bright eyes. If it weren't for the slight breeze through the forest, he and the horse might be statues.

The wind belies that, though, rustling Iselen's mane, and smudging the outline of the Child.

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

He does not know these woods.

He does not know that horse, nor does he recognise the Rider.

Though maybe, he should.

Wellard pauses on the path, a distance back, watching them both. A dream or nightmare, he is unarmed, and lost, should anything happen. However-

"Hello?"

[takiena_called]

Iselen's Rider turns his head calmly; the outlines of the young face blur and stretch out before they lazily catch up with the movement. Iselen and her Rider do not know these woods either, though that hardly matters (they also don't make a habit of knowing people, which might matter more). He wears a sword at his waist, though, and Iselen is more than capable of taking care of herself. There's a pause of someone trying to recall some dusty, useless memory before the Child smiles slightly, amused (the Hunt does not tend to bother with social niceties).

"Hello."

His voice sounds like that of the distant breeze threading through the forest. It is not dangerous, but it is by no means serene.

This is new, the Rider knows. Few have approached a member of the Hunt willingly, fewer have survived, and none have shown the lack of respect or fear as this young mortal has.

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

If Wellard knew this was a Rider of the Wild Hunt-

Well. He does not, right now.

He does stay back, with some caution, though he gives the Rider a careful nod.

"Good day to you, sir. Do- do you know where this place is?"

What do you say to someone in a dream? Specially when past the smoke and blurring, he looks too much like someone Wellard knows. He bites his lip, and steps forwards.

[takiena_called]

The Rider's smile widens into a grin at the question. "One of many forest in one of many worlds. Have you lost your place, mortal man?"

Iselen's Rider would pity the mortals confined to one world (and to the ground), if he cared to (or knew how).

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

Wellard raises an eyebrow, looking at the Rider.

"But its one I do not know- and this is a dream. This forest isn't in any world, so I can't really have lost my way. I'm just wondering what place it is supposed to be like."

He smiles wryly, and shrugs.

"Where I'm from was made to look like Scotland, but it isn't.

[takiena_called]

There's a flicker of confusion in the Rider's eyes, and Iselen shifts restlessly. The hand that goes to calm her blurs into smoke for a while.

"You are from a place on Earth, then--this is likely near by." He explains, before asking "A dream?" the wind-voice sounds confused. The Hunt does not dream, not now that they have access to the sky.

And the Child was never confined in the cave.

(He dreamt, before, and he knows it--but he cannot remember what before was, much less what he saw in the night.)

(Someone heard things in the night, though, a part of him [larger than it would be in the waking world, but the Child doesn't dream] remembers. He was supposed to protect that person.)

(He can't remember why.)

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

Wellard nods slowly, biting his lip. "A dream, yes. All I really know is Earth, so this place should be close to it, and... it would be close by. However such things work."

"... Where are you from, that you don't know of dreams?"

[takiena_called]

The Child's expression is disturbed, because this is wrong and the Child does not know why. The Hunt does not often face problems that cannot be solved with violence, and those they do Owein takes care of.

"I have Iselen, the sky, and my brother kings--what need would I have for dreams?" The Rider sounds uncertain, though a strong joy runs beneath it.

(The Hunt is life, and the Hunt is better than before.

Whatever before was.

It is).

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

Wellard blinks, and raises an eyebrow. "Everyone dreams. Its... memories and thinking of new things, and all everything else in your mind. Your hopes and fears and.... so on." He bites his lip, and shrugs.

"Ah... then, if I may ask- what is your name, sir?"

[takiena_called]

"I am the Child of the Wild Hunt, Iselen's Rider," says the mist-outlined boy, sounding confident once more. "And who are you to ask, mortal man?"

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

... Wild Hunt.

Wellard has heard stories. None of them were particularly good.

However, it is a bit too late to run now, so he takes a deep breath, and squares his shoulders.

"Henry Wellard."

[takiena_called]

The Hunt (they rode through all the worlds...back when the world was young) is not in the habit of making (have to teach him to throw a snowball properly) friends.

But that name (Enry Welyd) is familiar.

"What?" Iselen's Rider says, sounding particularly young and maybe (almost) familiar.

(If Iselen's Rider was thinking properly, Wellard would be in danger. This is no longer amusing.)

(But Iselen's Rider isn't thinking properly.)

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

Young and (very) familiar.

Wellard looks at him sharply.

(The Longest Road)








"Finn?"

[takiena_called]

Iselen and her Rider were already backing uneasily away, uncertainty warring with the coal-brightness of the Rider's eyes.

This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong. He has no brother kings to stand beside him, for this is a dream and the Hunt does not dream. The Child is armed, but alone, and not ready for this. Nothing should be a threat to him and yet...

(Thank you, Henry)

...and yet there is fear, and uncertainty. At the name he turns Iselen around and, for the first time, one of the Wild Hunt flees from a mortal man into the sky.

(All of the Child still mortal enough to dream feels young, so young, and wants to cry and cling to some comforting warmth. He doesn't think it will help this horrible feeling, and he thinks somehow he is too old to weep.

The night is cold, though, and there is no one here besides Iselen. His few wayward tears fall into her white, white mane.)

[politestpirate.livejournal.com]

Wellard is hardly a threat- Nor is he afraid, at this moment. Certainly not afraid of the Child or of the Wild Hunt-

But maybe afraid for the confusion and panic he saw for a moment in the coal-brightness of the eyes that looked remarkably like Finn's for a few moments.

There is no way to go after him-

In this dream he cannot fly. All Wellard can do is watch the Child and Iselen disappear into the night sky among the stars-

And worry and wonder about Finn before