Jun. 15th, 2012

Choices

Jun. 15th, 2012 09:57 pm
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
He dreams. The same dream he has periodically.

He is standing in front of two mirrors. When he looks into the first, he sees a cheerful man in a top hat, surrounded by friends, despite his quirks. It's an appealing picture, until the dreamer realises that the man he is in this picture is contented with little tricks and minor magics.

He turns to the second, and a slight shudder goes through him as he recognises the figure in that image. It was how he looked when he was another person, a man wearing a cloak of raven feathers, carrying a staff bound with fell power. He has mighty magics at his command, and this time is not bound to the whim of a creature of Fae. But he is alone, his power and uncloaked nature having driven off all who would call him friend.

The first image turns to look at him and says, "Choose. Choose me, and the end to your loneliness. What worth power if you cannot enjoy it?"

The second image turns to look at him and says, "Choose. Choose me, and the power you once had, unfettered by any rules that you do not choose to accept. Ultimately, those others will turn from you anyway when they realise your true nature. Forget them and embrace the path to power completely, not this half-life you currently live."

As he always does, with an effort of will, the dreamer dismisses both images.

He says to himself, "I will find the third way..."

As he wakes, though, he worries that he might not find a third way. And in that case, which choice should he make...
[identity profile] nadriel.livejournal.com
A scruffy, dirty man, wearing layers of unidentified clothing, stood at the corner of the road.

But no-one noticed him. There were none with the eyes to see.

He ignored the minor spirits who (oh so carefully nowadays) clamoured for his attention. With his eyes able to see both worlds, he was well used to their presence, and chose to dismiss it.

What he focused on was the people he knew. He had spent the last couple of decades here on the streets of London. He had been known to the street gangs, the others who made the streets their home, for whatever reason.

But he saw no recognition in their eyes now. And why should they recognise him? He had removed himself from their world, as only one of the mightiest of the Wise (and such a misnomer that often was) could.

He would never forget what they had taught him of the importance of the individual, but now his eyes were turned to truths that they could not begin to comprehend.

This was their legacy too, and one day they would be able to claim it. But in order for him to enable this, he must first renounce them all. His life had always been about sacrifice, and he recognised that once again, sacrifice was called for. He knew now what he had to do.

He had cared for this city- he had bound his very soul to it. But now it was time for someone else.

And so he walked the streets as a stranger, where he had once been a familiar fixture. And as he walked, he said goodbye.

He did not know what would happen, or if he would even succeed. But he knew that if he did return, he could never again care about one single city as he had these last decades.

It felt like cutting part of himself off. But he did it anyway.

And one day he hoped he would see them again in the realms beyond, reborn in their birthright, following the path he had taken.

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