Dream Walker by alyse [ - ]
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Category: Legend of the Seeker
Characters: Other
Rating: PG
Genres: Character Study
Warnings: None

Summary: Old wisdom says that if you wanted to look into a man's heart, look to his dreams.

Story Notes:
Written for Legendland's 'Dreams' challenge. Go, team_seeker!

Old wisdom says that if you wanted to look into a man's heart, look to his dreams, and Shota has always had skill in seeing things not normally seen.

She's proud of her visions, more than proud. Her power is worth more than any queen's mantle, and she wears it better. It thrums through her veins, sings in her blood, rises to her bidding with a single thought.

It rises now when she calls it, crouched over her basin and stirring the water with one long, elegant finger. To touch the water when she looks to the future would taint it, but that taint is just what she needs for this magic.

The Mord-Sith is awake and Shota skirts carefully around her mind, as wary of it as she would be of any untamed beast. Even so, she catches glimpses of what roils beneath the surface: black and red, dark and deep. The Mord-Sith frowns, suddenly alert and shaking her head as if disturbed by a fly. Her fingers reach for her agiel, closing around the hilt unthinkingly, and the red flares vibrantly, pulsing fiercely.

Shota retreats, screams ringing in her ears, and opens her eyes with a gasp. Her heart is racing as the water settles and it's long moments before she tries again, treading more carefully this time.

Zeddicus sleeps and she lingers for a moment. His dreams are familiar: complex patterns of shapes and lights, layer after layer of them, deep beyond reckoning. They do not distract her for long; they've long since diverged from her own and it's the Seeker's dreams she's after.

The Confessor's dreams are white and gold, empty halls and empty eyes filled only with the fervent devotion that her magic brings. The screams that ring in Shota's ears this time are muted, but the Confessor doesn't glory in them as the Mord-Sith would. And even in her dreams, there's a beacon of light, something warm flickering amongst the cold stone. The Confessor finds it and falls into eyes that are dark and deep.

Shota twists, and slides neatly into them too.

There. Summer meadows and autumn forests. Trees towering up to the sky, dim light slipping through the leaves to dapple the forest floor. Birds sing up in the darkness, trilling calls that the Seeker names one by one. Some of them sound like children's laughter, and the Seeker's longing is clear.

It's peaceful, tranquil, and up ahead someone in white moves through the trees, dark hair flying as she runs.

The Seeker follows her, drawn like a moth to a flame, and Shota opens her eyes.

How disappointing. She expected more, somehow. Dreams of glory, of destiny, not these pedestrian, run of the mill fantasies. She has no time for something so mundane.

They say to look to a man's dreams to see his soul, but Shota no longer dreams when she sleeps. Her dreams live with her in the waking world, and she has only one.

Shota dreams of power.

The End