9AN: First of all – a big thank you to readers who left a review for my previous story. I hope you will enjoy this one as well
The idea for this one was part of the plot for my longer saga on A & L. I had it drawn out in my head but I never reached that point with that story. But recently I read Dunkelherz's story "Winter in Kyralia" – a chapter describing this precise moment in history – and it popped up in my head instantly. So I finally got to it and wrote it down. The plot relates to the story of Lorlen choosing healing as his specialty, which was supposed to be developed in the longer story but never happened. However, if you followed that one to the last chapter you'll probably understand what reasons I had for him to make that choice. Anyway, even if you didn't read that one, don't worry, it is not needed to comprehend this plot.
In my original idea (for the whole saga) Akkarin was much more of a bad character, but with time I must have softened because I made him a better man ;) In all, even though the title is scary, this oneshot finally ends on a positive (I think?) note.
xxx
Akkarin woke up to a ray of light caressing his face. He opened his eyes and blinked as the sun blinded him momentarily. Has he forgotten to draw the curtains in the evening? With his rooms on the high floor of Magicians Quarters leaving the curtains open shouldn't be a problem, unless…? Was it really that late? Akkarin sat in his bed and run a hand through his hair to pull it aside. The curtains were drawn, but not so tightly as to block this one sun beam from entering. It danced playfully on his bedsheets as the curtains shifted in the light breeze from his slightly ajar window. The sun was high in the sky. Miraculously, he overslept. He remembered laying down early in the evening, waking up after what seemed like just a moment of fitful sleep and going for a walk to clear his mind of the remains of what he'd seen in his dreams. And then… When he lay down again he slept peacefully until now. It was his first calm night's sleep in… what? Tendays, months even.
xxx
The nightmares started on the very first night after their escape – the first one he let himself rest, that is. They've been on the run for two days and two nights straight by then, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the possible chase once Dakova's brother learned about what had happened. He could probably go on, healing away his tiredness, but his companion fared much worse. That first night Akkarin woke up with a start to see Takan's face looming over him. His first instinct was to grab for the knife he'd stolen, to defend himself from this last slave that could betray him.
"You screamed in your sleep, Master".
Akkarin breathed out slowly and calmed himself. "Thank you for waking me up. And I'm no master." Takan just shrugged and turned towards the remains of the meager fire they risked lighting.
"Go to sleep, I will take watch now. I can't sleep anyway". Takan looked at him again, scanning his face as if he could read the true reason from it, but then obeyed.
They switched watch one more time and this time he didn't wake Akkarin until the first light. The screams he heard in his dreams did not find a way out this time, it seemed. But he heard them even as he opened his eyes, lifting the eyelids that seemed heavy as stone. The faces he saw in the dreams faded but he could still hear their voices. On the verge of his hearing, in the ruffling of the winds, in the screech of the dry bushes moved by the breeze, they seemed to follow him even when he was awake.
In reality, they hadn't screamed much, not many of them at least. Some looked at him in shock, some frantically tried to defend themselves grasping at that one chance for survival after they saw Dakova fall. What chance did they have really…? None. But the worst were those that looked at him with resigned eyes as he drained life from them. That was the fate they'd expected. The life of a slave of an Ichani never lasted long. They died at the hands of a black magician sooner or later, what did it matter which magician that was? Those eyes haunted him the most. Night after night he met them again.
Funny how as a slave his dreams were never filled with nightmares, it was freedom that brought them. As a slave he escaped into dreams from the nightmarish reality. His mind either blanked out, letting him sleep like a log or took him back to the happy days of his childhood, when he was the fulfillment of his parents' hopes - their pride - or to his times as a novice, when he enjoyed the carefree life without much responsibility. With each day, each tenday and each month passing these memories belonged more and more into the realm of dreams and fantasies than reality. They seemed like a fairy tale that he'd imagined, not like true memories. And now as they got closer and closer to the Kyralian border his hope to bring those happy days back into his life grew stronger. But the nightmares didn't subside. Worse, they less and less resembled what had really happened and instead turned into a distorted grotesque.
On the day that he saw the Northern Fort in the distance behind them – they avoided the main road so far – it finally sank in. He escaped. They didn't need to hide anymore. He didn't dare use magic in public – who knew who'd be watching and how much hassle it could cause. But they could pretend they were just tired travelers after some mishap on the road. They finally joined the traffic on the main road. Akkarin dug out a few gems from the stolen knife and bought them a solid meal and a night at a cheap inn. The innkeeper's daughter even brought a big tub and two buckets of hot water to let them refresh. After the meal and bath, Akkarin collapsed into the softness of the bed – first time in years – and didn't even remember when he fell asleep. But when he woke up, he clearly remembered the nightmare.
In the dream, he again killed for power but this time the slaves were barely human. Their features were twisted as if they overcame a strange illness that left them marred. No, some of them were not ill, they were already rotting – many days have passed since they died. Yet, he went through them, trying to squeeze any leftover power, knowing deep inside – as you can be sure only in a dream – that it will never be enough. He scavenged the dead-yet-alive bodies frantically gathering what life was left in them. This time they didn't scream. They whispered among themselves but he could not catch the meaning. He knew that there were words there and that they were important but no matter how he strained to sieve them, their sense escaped him. Just when he was to give up he heard a soft whimper among the voices. He froze. It was her voice. Tarika, lost somewhere among the other slaves. In that moment he knew he had killed her. Just like the others, he had taken her life from her and left her to rot. He must have not recognized her, was she already misshapen as the others? He started to hysterically push through the throng of bodies – there were so many of them now – maybe he could still save her, give her his own power. He tried to follow the soft crying but now the slaves were blocking his way; they proffered their arms as if inviting him to drain them again. He kept shoving them aside, pushing through, searching the faces to find her. But there was no end to the sea of bodies. One of them grabbed him by the arm, trying to pull him back, shaking him…
Akkaring woke up with a gasp, finding Takan at his side, shaking his arm. "Master, it's already late, I think we should be on our way".
Akkarin only nodded in response, unable to fully shake off the dream. He was covered in sweat; he must have been throwing himself in the bed something fierce. Mercifully, Takan never mentioned that. He just woke him up as on every other day.
xxx
Lorlen spread the salve evenly, trying to be as gentle as possible. Even so he heard the child whimper in pain as the cold cream irritated the rash covered skin. He'd already cleaned the pus – that was the most painful part – but the skin was left red and sensitive to touch. Lorlen wished he could ease the boy's pain with a bit of healing magic but he knew he didn't have enough power left for that. This boy – Warren was his name, wasn't it? – was already the twentieth he treated today. And there were at least as many waiting. Healing Quarters were filled to the brink, even some corridors were adapted to hold the ill. The yellow pox was taking a heavy toll this year and the healers were spread thin as it was. Magic was left for bringing the fever down and stopping the inner inflammation, especially in the most severe cases. Treating pain was secondary. And even this frugality didn't seem to be enough. The adults weathered the illness quite well and the odds were generally good. But the elderly and the kids – especially infants – deteriorated quickly and their chances depended heavily on early treatment. Lorlen saw more deaths this autumn than in the past two whole years combined. Don't think about it he chastised himself. Now was not the time to grieve. Warren was the lucky one and he would live.
"Here, all ready" he said lifting his gaze to find the boy's face contorted. "The pain should ease in a few minutes. Can you hold on that long?" he smiled reassuringly and was pleased to see Warren smile back through his pain.
"Now, the medicine" Lorlen poured a few drops from the bottle onto a spoon filled with honey. He offered it to the boy, careful not to spill its contents. Warren obediently swallowed the liquid and put on a brave face. Lorlen smiled at him again and patted his head. "I'll see you tomorrow then. Your parents will be here to visit in the morning. Until then".
Warren was the last in this room so Lorlen gathered his medicines and moved on to the next one. That one went smoothly – those were recovering kids – but once he finished there he had to tackle the more difficult cases. He took the stairs to the second floor rooms, wondering whether little Teira's condition had improved – she was only 4 and her parents unnecessarily delayed her hospitalization. He left her last evening in the care of Lady Ilaya who had the night shift. She was a young healer, only graduated last year but she had talent and was dedicated. Well, tonight he would take over her shift. Thinking about it reminded him that the condition of his patients was not the only worry that nagged at him. He sighed inwardly and went to the little prep room at the end of the corridor to receive a briefing from Ilaya. Teira was thankfully improving but some others deteriorated. He thanked Ilaya and bid her goodbye, making sure that their arrangement was still alright for her. Of course, who wouldn't want to switch a night shift for one during the day? Lorlen needed tomorrow's afternoon free and offered to take the shift tonight. Tomorrow he had scheduled a meeting with Akkarin.
Akkarin! Of all people… After five years of travelling – of which he was presumed dead for three – he appeared out of nowhere at the Guild's gates. That was a tenday ago. During that time they met only briefly because his friend was being dragged from one meeting to another – all Higher Magicians appeared interested in his story. Lorlen had to take his place in the queue it seemed. Truth was, he wasn't sure he really wanted a longer meeting… As the day got near, he was closer and closer to having it postponed; surely his overload with work was a good excuse. All because their reunion was not what he had imagined – back when he still believed it possible.
After years of fretting, of anxiety, of worrying and then of downright despair he has finally come to terms with the fact that Akkarin would not come back. No one knew what could have threatened him – a young, powerful magician – but it was finally accepted that he must have perished somewhere in foreign lands. Lorlen was probably the last one to acknowledge this, but he finally did. And then, on one of the darkest days after two of his youngest patients died, he saw Akkarin enter the Magician Quarters. It seemed like a ray of light entering a dark room. A sign that impossible sometimes happens. Yet… it turned rather awkward.
In his sudden joy, Lorlen leaped to greet his long lost friend and hugged him tightly. Akkarin only stiffened in his grip. Of course, that was probably inappropriate – they weren't kids anymore, but grown up men. Akkarin seemed to have matured a lot, but so has Lorlen, hasn't he? He tried to cover his awkwardness by asking questions and offering a lot of old and novel news from the Guild. Akkarin seemed interested, he inquired about old friends and offered himself bits of his story, asking for a longer meeting to "catch up with everything". All seemed as it should be for two friends who haven't seen each other for so long. And yet…
Maybe it was because it was too much as "it should be"? Like a theater play, two actors rehashing their roles but not really living them? Akkarin seemed distant, reserved. He'd changed somehow. But all people change don't they? And it's been so long… And yet… Something about him was thoroughly different. Something intangible, and yet decisive. He asked but didn't seem interested. He smiled but didn't seem joyful. It made Lorlen feel that his own joy was misplaced, inappropriate, overdone. So he withdrew, asking polite but not overly inquisitive questions and filling their first minutes of contact after five long years with small talk. Was this part of growing up as well? Was this how they will interact from now on? No long nights spent talking about the future, about their dreams and worries? No silent conversations spent understanding each other without words? Just polite small talk…
Lorlen shook his head, clearing his thoughts as he heard his next patient crying. This thinking was no good. He should focus on his work. On the true problems that he could solve. His misunderstanding with Akkarin was small deal. And it was a problem for tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow everything would turn out alright?
xxx
Akkarin nodded politely to Administrator Perren's thinly veiled suggestion that the Guild's foreign affairs were going downhill. He resisted the urge to turn around and take another look at the clock hanging on the wall slightly beside him. He didn't know whether the older magician has noticed him peeking at the time before. Probably not. The Administrator didn't seem to notice many things these days. He had always been a bit scatterbrained – how come he was chosen for this position, anyway? – but with age his absent-mindedness has gotten much worse. Everyone knew it was Lady Farea – the Administrator's assistant – that was really running the Guilds inner affairs. Now, the gossip that Lord Balkan shared with him – on yesterday's meeting or maybe two days ago when he met all Higher Magicians? – stated that Farea was with child. Akkarin ran into her husband a few days ago, but he didn't say a word on the matter. It seemed both of them delayed any public announcement for fear of the havoc it could cause. Who would take over once Farea took her maternal leave? Akkarin focused back on the elderly Administrator and watched him scroll through his written report for the tenth time at least. Surely, without her this institution would fall.
"Ah, I see here you have visited the Chamber of Ultimate Punishment… Don't you think we should do something about it? It is mighty dangerous, isn't it?" Administrator Perren asked not even raising his gaze from the papers.
"Of course, Administrator" Akkarin replied. "I think the Chamber should be sealed – the danger is too great. However, I suggest that we take samples of the crystals there and subject them to careful analysis. Perhaps a trusted alchemist could take care of that – study them without revealing too much to the general public. As you can read further in my report" he pointed with his chin to the other stack of pages "I found evidence that similar crystals were used by tribes outside of the Allied Lands. This could pose a danger to our safety."
"Ah, yes, yes… indeed." The Administrator shifted his attention to the other stack and seemed to forget about Akkarin's presence. Akkarin pursed his lips. What did this guy know about true dangers? What did any of them know? Did they even care what happened outside the borders? Life in the Guild seemed filled with token worries about politics in Vin or Elyne, with petty quarrels and grievances. With "fights" over who will be responsible for the teaching program of – physical education – of all things. Over whether boys should take fencing classes and girls dancing lessons or maybe they all should take part in both. Since his very arrival Akkarin has been thrown into this – subjected to trivial gossip of who dated whom and who held a grudge against whom – whether he wanted it or not. Everyone assumed that was what he'd be interested in. Indeed, he vaguely remembered following all that back in the day. Right now he didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
This was the dream like perfect life that he'd escaped slavery for. Everybody engrossed in their daily, small affairs. All the while the true danger loomed just outside the border. Magicians that could wipe the Guild of the map. Every night he dreaded the moment when he had to lie down to sleep for fear that he would see them in his dreams. The Ichani, their cruelty and almost unchecked power. Or their victims that finally fell to Akkarin's own desperation for freedom. He loathed the nighttime for the nightmares it brought but when awake he found the reality even more surreal. It seemed to him impossible that for the past four years when he led the life of a slave, everyone in the Guild went about their everyday, little affairs. How could those two realities be true at the same time? Even now, as he watched the Administrator halfheartedly reading about the outside world, there were people in Sachaka suffering and dying at the hands of the Ichani. There were black magicians being trained in their closest neighboring country. Back there, life in Immardin seemed like a fantasy. Here, the harsh reality of the Sachakan wastelands seemed impossible.
Akkarin was glad he hadn't decided to tell the truth about his "journey". For how could he even attempt to convince the magicians that his story was true? Right now he had hard time believing in it himself. The past and present were both surreal to him. He felt suspended somewhere in between of the hell of his memories and nightmares and the ridiculous reality of Guild's life that he could no longer relate to. Would he ever learn again how to cherish the trifle successes and to fret over minor worries of everyday life?
"Ah, you're still here?" the Administrator looked up from the papers and was now staring at Akkarin in bewilderment. "Is there something more you need?"
Akkarin wanted to shout at him, to laugh in his face in frustration. He smiled politely instead.
"No, Administrator. I should be going anyway, I have another meeting scheduled in a few moments."
"Sure, sure." Administrator Perren responded quickly and buried himself again in the papers, losing interest in his guest completely.
Akkarin rose up, inclined his head in respect – though there was no chance the Administrator would notice it – and left the office hastily. He had barely ten minutes left until his scheduled time with Lorlen. He hoped his friend had some dinner prepared because due to all the meetings he hadn't had a chance to eat a proper meal. He quickly rehashed in his head the story he fed everyone and which he intended to tell Lorlen. All the way from the Sachakan border he worked on it, perfected the details and then rehearsed it together with Takan – so that their versions would corroborate each other. He had now sold this story so many times that he felt he might start to believe in it himself.
Sitting by the dinner table in Lorlen's rooms he was grateful that he rehearsed the story so well. Lorlen was an avid listener and he was also very attentive. Akkarin broke a sweat here and there when Lorlen asked a detailed question. At least he seemed truly interested, which was a nice change after the talk with Administrator Perren. But when he finally stopped his inquiries, Akkarin was sure he didn't manage to convince him fully. Lorlen was simply too clever and he knew Akkarin too well. He must have felt where Akkarin filled the gaps with half-truths and outright lies. Thankfully – for whatever reason – he didn't press.
They moved to the Guild's news over the dessert. Akkarin inwardly breathed with relief, now it was his time to ask questions. He learned about Lorlen's job as a healer (and a pretty nasty bout of yellow pox this autumn), of the passing of his late mentor, Lady Alaya, the previous Head of Healers (but then, she was over a hundred years old!), of the marriage of their friend Mikkel – a plump Elyne boy who always made Lorlen smile – to the greatest beauty in their class, Keirra ("Impossible, isn't it?") and of many such. Lorlen jumped from topic to topic, trying to keep the conversation going, for when he stopped talking the silence stretched unbearably. Akkarin listened and tried to join in by asking a question here and there but he found it hard. He was so removed from all what was happening in the Guild that he didn't even know what to ask about. Not only that, he just couldn't force himself to feign interest. It all seemed so… trivial? Did they always talk about such matters? He stretched his memory and couldn't really remember what it was that kept them occupied for whole nights worth of talking. Mikkel's tough adventures as an Alchemist under the supervision of Lord Margen ("Yes! Really!") brought a smile to his lips, but they still appeared as petty as any news he'd heard from others. Childish even. Was it all they had in common really? Only the remnants of their exploits as novices…
It was as if there was a great chasm between them – of understanding and experience – that Akkarin just didn't know how to cross. It left him wondering whether it appeared because of his time as a slave or if it was there all the time, only so much harder to notice when they ploughed through their education together? Could he ever again share his feelings with Lorlen? How could he ever describe what it was to feel truly helpless? How did he even start to explain what it was like to face powers beyond his understanding? To be overwhelmed by guilt that can never be erased? No. There was no chance he could share his experiences with Lorlen. The only – alive – person that could truly understand him was probably Takan.
He was actually grateful when Lorlen excused himself explaining that he needed to take the night shift at the hospital. He bid him goodbye and went up the stairs to his own apartment. It felt weird to own a place to live again. To own anything, for that matter. Not that owning a soft and comfortable bed helped him sleep. He sighed. Maybe he'd opt for an early night? If he fell asleep quickly maybe he'd get some rest before the nightmares started…
xxx
Lorlen quickly washed his hands in the bowl on the stool by the wall. The water was tepid but he didn't dare use magic to heat it. He was careful to save every little drop of power he could. It has been a long, tiresome day and for him it only just began. A long night spent distributing medicine, watching children shivering in fever, tucking them in and, most of all, worrying about those that didn't seem to improve. All this just to learn in the morning that the disease has spread into the Southern Quarter. The ill were flowing in faster than they could find them beds to lie down. They squeezed all the recovering patients – adults, kids, elderly – together into one room, even released some of them early, but it was hardly enough. Lorlen didn't even want to think how the healers would manage to treat so many. He focused on here and now. Clean the cysts, apply salve, give anti-inflammatory potions. He now used magic only when the patient's life was threatened. He tried not to think how few healers they had and how little magic they possessed. But his focus wavered when he was watching parents literally begging them to admit their children – holding them barely conscious, flowing through the parent's arms. They didn't have enough power to treat even the most severe cases. Some non-healers were helping by lending their power but it was still a drop in the ocean of needs. He tried to steer his mind away from it, but one question kept coming back: how many of those kids would not make it through the night?
Lorlen only left the hospital for a short while in the afternoon. He needed to grab something to eat anyway and simply rest for a second, so the meeting with Akkarin came in handy. For an hour he was able to focus on Akkarin's story and on recent Guild's gossip and it helped him clear his mind. Not that the talk was any better than their previous encounter… But Lorlen didn't have the mind to bother about that. It was still good to see Akkarin alive and healthy and settling back to the life in the Guild.
He went back to the hospital in a slightly better mood but it dissipated quickly. The situation was getting out of hand. He ran into Lady Vinara in the prep room and she told him she needed to leave and join her deputy, Lord Tarrik in the palace. That left him in charge. "I'm sorry Lorlen, but there's no one else I can trust with this". They both knew what these words meant.
And so here he was, walking through room after room filled with the ill. He sat on the verge of a bed and put his hand on the forehead of the girl lying in it. She was burning.
"Felitia, of House Betel. Five years old" Ilya supplied from behind him, where she was standing with a pen and a pad noting his prescriptions.
Felitia looked at him with glassy eyes, trying to focus on his face through the fever that was shaking her. She was small, even for her age. Even before he sent his mind's focus into the girl's body, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. The disease was eating her.
"No" he said simply and heard Ilya write something down on her pad. Just yesterday he was standing there, behind Vinara, playing the role Ilya now had. Vinara usually left for the next patient immediately, leaving it to him to do whatever was needed or delegate it to another healer – unless the case was complicated, when she acted herself. But Lorlen stayed.
He wanted to scream his lungs out, to tear his heart out so that it would stop breaking. He smiled gently instead, calming the girl with a touch of his so much colder hand on her face. He prepared a potent pain-killing potion that would give her strong sleep. Normally, he wouldn't give such a drug to a child, but he wanted her to rest. He sat on the verge of the bed, holding her hand, until her eyelids drooped and she drifted into dreams.
xxx
Akkarin woke up with a start. He could hear his own heart pounding in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. He sat in his bed, trying to erase the sights from his dreams. The nightmare was one of the worsts. Again, he searched for Tarika, knowing that it was him who killed her. But I didn't kill her! It was Dakova! He laughed bitterly. If only he could reason with his own conscience… Besides, Dakova's sins would not erase his own. He rose from the bed, went to the washroom behind a screen and splashed some cold water on his face. He breathed in and out a few times to calm his heart. There was no chance he would manage to fall asleep now. He made a small ball of light and looked at the clock on the wall. Three in the morning. The worst possible hour. It was pitch dark outside and an autumn drizzle was starting to turn into a downpour. Good, Akkarin thought. The rain would feel real, tangible and he hoped it would bring him clarity.
He dressed quickly and left his rooms quietly, trying not to wake Takan. The Magician Quarters were peaceful at this time of the night. He walked the silent halls wondering how many different stories were the people inside dreaming. Why couldn't he share in their dreams?
He stepped outside and was instantly battered by the intense rain. He raised his face to the sky and let the water flow down his chin. He stood like that for a moment, breathing in the night air. Then he put on a shield against the rain and the chilling wind and went towards the forest. Once he left the perimeter of light from the oil lamps that circled the square before the Magician's Quarters, the darkness of the night enveloped him. He let it be. He wandered aimlessly through the forest, remembering all the times when he'd been there before. Hiding with Lorlen after running from the alchemy classes. Sunbathing on a summer Freeday. Drinking water from the spring. Could he become that boy again? Did he want to?
He must have been walking for a solid hour when he emerged again into the more civilized area in front of the University. He walked slowly towards the lights in front of the magicians building. The rain was much stronger here in the open. He was close to stepping back into the lights when he saw a figure sitting on a bench in front of the entrance to the Quarters and facing the fountain in the square. He couldn't see clearly from the distance but the person didn't have a shield on against the weather. Who could that be? Why would a servant go out in the middle of the night? His heart started beating faster, the instincts from living out in the wastelands kicking in. He approached slowly, keeping to the shadows so that he wouldn't be seen. But, no, the figure was dressed in magician's robes. Green? He came closer. The hunched person didn't notice him or chose to ignore his presence. Akkarin took a few steps towards him – it was a man – and stooped slightly to see his face. Could that be…?
"Lorlen?" Akkarin approached him in haste. "What are you doing here?" Lorlen raised his head and gave him a blank stare. He seemed unaware of the rain that was pouring down on him.
"Akkarin?" he asked in a soft voice.
Akkarin moved closer and stretched his shield so that it covered them both. Lorlen was already soaked through and through. "Weren't you supposed to have the nightshift tonight?" he asked.
"I was…" Lorlen answered but then turned his face away from Akkarin and continued to stare at the fountain.
"The Queen Mother has fell with the yellow pox", he finally said. "Lady Vinara's presence was requested so she spent most of the night in the palace. She just came back recently to check how we fared." He laughed without mirth. "I guess I was doing a poor job at being in charge, because she sent me home to get some sleep. Only I can't sleep…"
For a while Lorlen stared blankly ahead, rain water dripping from his face. "How does she manage to do it, I wonder?" he asked finally.
Akkarin kept silent. He didn't know what to say.
"You know," Lorlen started again after a few minutes have passed, "when I chose not to specialize in Warrior Skills I was running away from something. I know you were mad at me for that, but I just couldn't face the responsibility of wielding power that could be used against a living person." He paused for a while. "No matter who that person was, villain, criminal or just some unfortunate fellow in the wrong place at the wrong time." His voice grew soft and his eyes were still fixed somewhere in the distance. "I didn't want to learn the art of killing. I wanted to save lives, not bring them to an end". A pause again.
Akkarin scanned his face as Lorlen thoughts were wandering somewhere where he did not have entry. He looked worn and tired but even more than that, he looked despaired.
"But that's all a hoax, isn't it?" He finally looked at Akkarin, his gaze accusatory. "For when was the last time that a Warrior has actually killed anyone?" Akkarin opened his mouth to reply but then thought better of it. Oh, Lorlen, if you only knew... He laughed inwardly. I am a killer.
Lorlen shifted his focus again to the fountain before them. "All this training, practicing in the Arena – it's all just for show. For fancy duels to entertain the masses." He laughed bitterly. "We are the true killers. We, who pretend we save lives." He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands.
They sat like that for a longer while; the sound of rain mixing with the splashing of the fountain.
"Don't get me wrong, I was prepared for death" Lorlen rose up again, letting his hands rest on his knees, keeping his posture unnaturally still. "Every healer has to learn to face the death of their patients. Sometimes magic is not enough, some people are beyond saving no matter what you do. But today…" He inhaled deeply, as if preparing for physical exertion. "Today I played God. I went through room after room of sick children – some as young as a year old – and pointed my finger at those who should live and those who should die. And no, those that I sentenced to death were not beyond saving. It's just a matter of calculation" he laughed bitterly. "If I use magic – mine or other healers' – to treat a very difficult case, I will not have enough power for two less severe ones that I can heal easily and be sure will have no complications the next day. So I go and apply the merciless mathematics of magical power." His voice faltered at the end and he hid his face again, this time resting it against his knees and huddling them with his arms.
Akkarin sat dumbfounded. How could he have been so stupid? How could he think that he was the only one who ever felt helpless? Who couldn't erase the feeling of guilt? And what could he say to make Lorlen feel better? With the most prominent Houses saving their daughters for strategic marriages, win the Vin and Elyne blocking some from joining the Guild for political reasons there would never be enough healers for emergencies like this one. Worse, Akkarin knew all too well that there were not enough magicians altogether to keep the Guild and the Allied Lands safe.
He put his hand on Lorlen's back and sent some healing magic to ease his weariness. Lorlen rose slowly but Akkarin kept a hand on his shoulder.
"Why didn't you tell me anything?" Akkarin asked softly. "I could have lent you my power."
"I didn't want to burden you with this… not just after your return," Lorlen sighed. "I'm sorry, I still don't want to trouble you. You probably have enough on your plate anyway."
"It's no trouble. My power is going to waste when it could be doing something good. This might not save every patient, but every little bit helps, doesn't it?"
Lorlen nodded silently. He was still sitting motionless as a statue, as if frozen.
"I will join you tomorrow morning in the hospital." Lorlen nodded again and finally looked to face Akkarin. "Thank you." He seemed woken from a reverie.
"For now, let's get you to your rooms. You're completely soaked. No one will profit from you falling sick." Akkarin pulled him up and tugged him towards the Magician Quarters.
xxx
Akkarin stretched and looked at the clock again. It was 10 already. He felt that this day was going to be different. A new start. He finally had a purpose and a new line of possibilities stretched ahead. He would need some time to plan everything but for now there were more pressing matters. He jumped out of bed and started dressing when Takan knocked politely on the door.
"Come in!"
"I have breakfast ready, should I bring it here, Master, or shall you eat in the dining room?" Takan asked.
Akkarin stopped in his moves. "Can you pack it so that I can take it along?"
"Of course," Takan nodded in response.
"And make it two servings, please. I'm sure Lorlen forgot about breakfast."
xxx
AN: Thank you for reading! As a final note I wanted to mention that the idea of "playing God" was unfortunately inspired by a true story. Some years ago I watched a documentary on the "Live Aid" concert (you can still find it on youtube), which was organized to gather funds for the starving people in Ethiopia. There was a story of a young volunteer who went along the fields of dying people and marked those kids whom they would help – because they didn't have enough supplies for everyone and had to forsake those too far gone. I don't remember much else from the documentary, but this one bit stuck with me through the years…
