Scoundrel's Answer Ch. 16

Near the bed, the enchanted Alan broke the kiss and gazed into Miena's eyes. The elder winced as he saw the genuine affection she returned. If he had only known then, he wasn't certain what he would have done, but whatever he had decided must certainly have been better than letting Miena dwell on her feelings to the point of insanity. And she was certainly, surely insane after everything she had done.

Alan watched Miena push his younger self back onto that bed, and draw the hem of that tailored robe upward, exposing her slender legs. The dark stockings that sheathed them were opaque, utilitarian things that came up to mid thigh, and only a glimpse of pale skin was visible as she shifted to straddle him. She leaned over the quite willing form beneath her, and spoke in a tone so soft as to be near inaudible, "Alan, I have wanted you to look at me like that since the day we first met."

Her blush burned brightly along her cheeks, and whatever response he might have made was silenced with a long, lingering kiss. The younger man's hands raised to begin to tug needfully at her robes, then gently caressed the ephemeral contours of her lean frame with the tenderest of touches. When their kiss broke once more, he gazed up into her wide eyes for a long while. She trembled, though even Alan's clearer headed older self couldn't be certain if it was from desire or panic.

"I love you, Miena."

The words rang true enough for the wizard, for she was soon fumbling at his shirt. Her lips were upon his, devouring and wanton, while her fingers scrambled for laces that were already undone, then buttons that simply weren't there. It was almost comical when, in her need and haste, she grasped the fabric and tried to tear it, only to fail miserably. Eventually, however, she slipped her hands down and under that white material, to caress over his bare torso beneath.

"Miena!" Alan was growing tired of the visions. He understood, at least in part, what might have fueled the wizard's obsession now, but the thoughts of his wife and his friend being violated by her spell, of the chaos she had wrought, of Daphne dying at the hands of her henchman, all caused his blood to boil. "Show yourself Miena. The real you. Enough with these dreams and memories."

"This is my favorite memory, Alan. You and I, no pretenses, nothing to get between us." Her response sounded from all around, even as the sounds of passion began to escalate.

Upon the bed, their younger selves worked to free each other from their clothing. The redheaded wizard was not a bad sight, those ropes drew upward over a body that had once been painfully thin, but now at least looked healthy. What few underthings the young thief found beneath were quickly slid from her pale flesh. For her part, Miena had already removed his shirt, and fumbled at the clasp to his trousers. Her own head ducked to trace her lips along his chest, teasing her tongue along that tight, fit frame. She flicked her tongue out to tease over his nipple, then dragged her lower lip over his skin, teasing back up along his pectoral toward his shoulder.

"But your memories were false, Miena. Even this one, if it is as true as you recall, was fueled by someone else's misfired charms. You never approached me when I could remember, Miena. You never told me how you felt when I was in my right mind. Perhaps things would have been different if you had, but now we will never know. We were friends, Miena, and good ones. But now you've hurt me. You've hurt the ones I care for. You've stolen real and precious memories from a woman that made me happy." As he spoke, Alan stalked about that vision, looking for some way out.

He moved toward one wall, and put his hand out to see if he could push right through. It was the only solid thing he felt within the chamber. He was almost about to give up when he felt it. The wall's texture didn't match up to the vision. Carefully, he began to feel around the edge.

"But she doesn't deserve you, Alan. She's just some frivolous, silly noble. She hasn't been through the things we have. She's no hero of the realm."

A soft cry from the bed momentarily drew his gaze. His younger self stretched out across those lavish sheets, his strong, agile form gazed up at the woman atop him. Miena now wore naught but her stockings and those cute little ankle boots. Her robes had been cast aside, though from their folds glittered that ever present Orb. It had found its way to the top of the pile, when surely its weight should have put it on the bottom.

Miena rocked her hips, and traced her wet slit back and forth across Alan's arousal. Her back arched just so, just enough to thrust those small breasts forth. This was the true, unaltered vision of what she had looked like. It lent credence to the idea that this was a real memory. It was surreal, watching himself with a woman from outside of his own body. Those hands grasped at Miena's hips, and slowly tugged her downward. The penetration was slow, gradual, and met a barrier. There was a moment's hesitation, and then he pushed through. She bit her lower lip to stifle the pained whimper, but it was still audible.

Alan closed his eyes upon the scene, and began to search in earnest along that slightly mismatched wall. "She is the woman I love." His heart was heavy after all he had witnessed, but it was still the truth. "And we aren't heroes ourselves, Miena. You let that go to your head, but we were just in the right place, at the right time. And we were paid handsomely for it."

She might have noticed what he was doing, for as the redhead upon the bed began to move with a slow, careful rocking against the thief's body, that all-pervasive voice took on a tone of concern, "Alan, what are you doing? Please, can't you just enjoy the memory? See how we were meant for each other?"

"No, Miena!" His response was sharper than he meant, loud enough to be heard over the raised voices from the bed. "I will give you one chance. Give my wife her memories back, let us go, and never show your face around this land again." It was an offer that he did not want to make, and felt ill prepared to enforce, should she accept. Yet he supposed it had to be extended.

"I cannot accept that, Alan. It would put me apart from you, and it would leave her, the undeserving wretch, in the place I should occupy! Is it her body, Alan? I can take her form if it would please you. Is it her connections? I can charm any nobles who aren't already friendly to whatever your purpose may be."

Alan felt a change in the wall, and then it wasn't a wall. He had been feeling masterfully worked and polished masonry rather than smooth plaster, a subtle difference, mostly in tone and texture. But at that moment his fingers felt the ridge of a door frame, and then the fitted boards of a door itself, bound tightly together and offering the contours of wood grain under his fingers. He opened his eyes to verify that he was still looking at a wall within the vision.

Behind him, the bed squeaked with those intense movements. He could hear bodies sliding and slapping against one another, the rustle of fine fabrics. Every detail of the vision was perfectly represented, as if it had been played over and over again. It seemed almost too real. Muffled moans gave way to soft cries, and then breathless words.

"See, Alan? You don't need those floozies, I can please you just the same as any," Her voice was louder than the shy whisper he had heard before, fueled by the act she was engaged in. Every thrust caused her words to pause and stutter.

"Miena. You are perfect," His own voice scalded his ears with its intensity. "Why have we never..."

The rising cry of the wizard bouncing atop the thief drowned out his words. The young Miena's voice rang out, barely comprehensible, "I'm, I'm- Oh!"

He couldn't let the vision linger in his senses any longer. He had to ignore it. Whatever was behind the door he had found must offer some escape from whatever powers Miena had used to ensnare him in her web of deluded memory. Alan's hand found an iron pull ring handle, and his fingers curled against the metal, ready to pull.

The vision collapsed around him, leaving in the pitch darkness once more. This time, however, the handle of the door was in his grasp. A delicate hand reached past his shoulder to press upon the door's surface, and though it couldn't hope to stop him if he put his full strength behind it, the voice that whispered into his ear gave him pause.

"Please, Alan. Don't open that door. I beg of you. I don't want you to see what is in there."

It was Miena. The real Miena, not some product of a vision or memory. A pale white light began to flicker into being above them, exposing a round room, with the top of the spiral staircase he had ascended earlier just peeking up from the middle. The walls were that close fitted stonework he had felt, and it bore no other decorations. A single wooden door stood before him, and no other exits were visible.

Behind him, Miena stood. Her idealized form, with all of its curves, was close enough that he should have felt her warmth. Instead, all he felt was a deep chill. Her hand splayed over the wooden surface of the wood near the edge of the door. Tears fell like icy rain drops upon his shoulder.

"It is done, Alan. I have restored your wife's memories. The spells that were holding them back are gone. Vick and the gnome are with them at any rate. You are free to go. I will never bother you again."

Her voice was thick with fear and sadness, and threatened to spill over into sobs at any moment. Alan looked over his shoulder, just enough to catch one glowing, burning blue eye. She bit her lower lip, then turned her head away.

"I could have been your everything, Alan. With my magic, we could have been King and Queen. All that you ever might have wanted. Riches, power, fame, I could have been your Elizabeth, your Charity, your Daphne. Everyone and everything. And if that wasn't enough, as long as I was the first in your heart, I would not have objected to others having their secondary place."

Alan's brow knitted, and he stared down at the handle under his fingers. On the one hand, she had given up, he should just take his wife and leave. On the other, she had caused such misery so far, and there was no guarantee that she would hold to her word. Her offer, too, was certainly one that would have tempted him in years past. Her magic was impressive, he knew, and it seemed to have grown by leaps and bounds since her supposed death. But something still troubled him.

"Miena," He picked his words with care, "When did you gain the power to show such visions, or to manipulate memories as you have?" She had always been a fair hand at impressive spells, but these insidious things were beyond what he knew of her repertoire. "When did you get the power to pull a whole tower back together?"

"It's not important, Alan. You know I've always had talent at the Art."

"It's important to me, Miena. Tell me."

Both held their breath, hoping the other would give in first. By all rights, such a thing shouldn't matter to him. But it did. For some reason he couldn't place, he felt he needed to know if his hunch was correct. When she finally answered, it simply confirmed his worst fears.

"The Nightmare Orb."

He knew what he had to do. With a sudden yank, Alan pulled that door open. Miena shrieked and clawed at his back with icy hands. The leathers he still wore did much to blunt the force of those dagger-like nails, but little to ward off the absolute cold that enveloped her very touch. It was numbing, chilling muscle and blood and nerves and making it oh so difficult to move. But move he did.

"No! Alan! Please!" Her cries were shrill, desperate. "I don't want you to see me like ... that."

The room beyond was dark. The only light that shone in cast from the chamber of memories. It stabbed into the darkness over his shoulders, and dimly illuminated a small, cluttered room. The walls were lined with shelves of dusty tomes, mingled with jars of odd reagents and stacks of scrolls. A lone desk was settled under a set of shuttered windows that resembled nothing in the current tower, but certainly recalled the original design he remembered so well.

In one wall, a fireplace lay long cold, while overhead, a chandelier of iron and crystal tinkled and creaked, disturbed by the breeze from his opening the door. The floor was bare stone, like the rest of that uppermost floor, and upon it, toppled candles and bent candlesticks of wrought iron lay scattered, as if they had been tossed about by some explosion.

The most heart wrenching thing in the chamber, however, were the pitiful, huddled remains that lay crumpled against one wall. Nearly skeletal, what flesh still clung to those bones was charred. The tatters of tailored robes which still clung to the body showed signs of severe burning. The body itself was twisted, as if it had been trapped under something heavy as whatever burned it progressed. And within one tightly clasped, skeletal claw, a silvery handle was held. The ominous black orb which topped it was turned toward the body's skull, where empty sockets might stare into its inky darkness for all eternity.

Alan's shoulders slumped, and behind him, Miena's form wavered. It became semitransparent, as if eyes upon her true remains weakened her ability to hold a solid form. She hid her face and sobbed, before turning away.

"You've been dead all this time. Miena, why? Why would you put me through all of this if you were already gone?" Alan wasn't angry. The rage that had stirred within him had been laid low at that sight. All he felt was a profound sadness.

"When I was dying, Alan, I didn't want you to be the one to find me. I didn't want you to remember me like that. I wanted you to remember how I used to be. Then the Orb, it said that I could make you remember me however I wanted you to. So I thought about us, about all the fun we had, about the times we shared and the adventures we went on. Then I remembered how I wanted you, how I always loved you."

Alan nodded numbly, "The Nightmare Orb, it has the power over memories and dreams, doesn't it?"

"It does. And it feeds off of those memories, those dreams. Those memories of you, that's what was going through my mind when- when I died."

"I thought we'd found the orb, and buried it in an empty tomb. How can it be here with a body we never found?"

"That was just a copy. I kept a few about, to mislead would be thieves." She sounded proud of such a simple plan, but it disturbed him that, of all the things she owned, all the tokens she possessed, this was the one she took such steps to safeguard. "The real Orb's been with me all this time."

He frowned at her words, and just stared down at her body. "Is this the truth, Miena? Or another misdirection? How do I know you're even Miena, and not just a projection of the Orb?"

"Does it matter, Alan? I don't even know myself. I don't want to know for sure. All I know is that I remember being me, and I remember you." Her tone changed then, "Alan, you could keep the Orb in a safe place. I could be with you again, except this time, it would be like in the old days. I could go back to wanting you from afar, I could help you rebuild everything I destroyed!"

Alan stepped forward into that dusty chamber, and crossed toward the body. As that ghostly form rambled on behind him, he knelt, and carefully pried the Nightmare Orb from where those dry, skeletal fingers curled about it. A few broke off, and crumbled into ash where they fell.

"Alan! Yes! Take me with you? We can be together again! I'll be your right hand girl, I could make you and your wife royalty! Just please, please, don't drop me Alan!"

Those last few words caused his blood to run cold. The old rogue stared down into the glittering, inky depths of the black orb within his hands.

"Alan?" Her voice grew thin, uncertain, "What are you going to do?"

Slowly, he rose to his feet, and turned to the ghostly image of his old friend. He looked into her eyes as he moved away from her skeleton, clutching the Orb in one hand. There was only one thing he could do.