The Wardancers' Song
Part 1: Wardancer
She cherished the feel of the blades in her hands. It all boiled down to this, it always boiled down to this, this feeling, this essential moment, eternally frozen in time.. The moment before, in the midst, of battle, where you found yourself one with the blades, one with the dance, one with the music drumming through your head, guiding your hands, your steps, your life. It was at these moments, in the middle of the dance, that she was most alive, fully *there*, alive for this moment and this moment alone, and no matter what would happen, no matter what would come to pass, this one, eternal moment would always, always be there.
Movement. Shapes. Light falling on shades falling on blades, flickering from the shade, one moment one movement poised to jump. Frozen in time, for one instant. Suddenly, then, there was nothing frozen at all, all was movement and there was no more time to think, only time to act, hands and blades and feet moving of their own accord, step and slash and dance and move, move, guided steps dancing to the music, swords moving with careless precision-
Speeding up speeding to the moment where time becomes a blur and there is the dance and just the dance and nothing but the dance turning spiralling twisting turning dancing going down down into the music down into yourself deeper and deeper within dance till you drop or till there's nothing else to do but dance and dance and
Darkness. Silence, the silence at the end of all things when movement has ceased and the voices music dance has ended silence and silence and darkness. Still. No more movement, no more dance. Sleep. Rest. Slumber. Until needed again, until called upon again?
Where does the dreamer go when the dream is ended? Where does the call go when all is said and done?
I remember a voice asking me. "You have fought myriads of battles. You have faced Chaos, you have faced Demons, Thronesitters, Horrors, you have faced what most people couldn't dream of but wake up screaming night after night, or lose their mind and wander in darkness forever. What is the worst you have ever seen, dancer? What is the worst you have ever seen?"
And the answer I would have to give is: "A Harlequin, crying."
I wander. I wander and am lost. I go where I am called, I wander where the road takes me. My blades are in the service of my Lord. I go where I am needed. I have lost count of the battles I have fought, my mind reeles at the thought of the things I have seen. Yet I know that rest is not for me. Few wardancers ever die a natural death. They die at the sword – live by the sword, die by the sword, as the saying goes, and in our case it's the truth, the literal truth. Or they live on, progress, become.. become.. I know what I strife to become.
Not all is battle not all is darkness not all is strife. But all is the dance. The dance is all. It's not for nothing one of the names of my Lord is the Lord of the Dance. And so we follow him in the Dance, even when we're not. Light and darkness, fighting and preserving, but all is caught up in the flow of music, all is captured in the Dance.
They found her lying on the battlefield. Her swords were broken, and so was she. The figure, wrapped in darkness, who walked over the battlefield and found her, slowly knelt next to her and touched her bloodied face. She moaned softly, and the man smiled, or at least, the corners of his mouth curved upwards under his hood. She was still alive, anyway.
He picked her up, gently, and carried her away. She moaned again as pain lanced through her. All she wanted now was an end to the pain, a return to the darkness from which she had been called back. But that was not to be, that was not for now.
Part two: The Madman's Song
NOW
You've got what you always fought for.
You are there.
Are you happy?
Tell me truly, little one. Are you happy now?
Now you fully understand the warnings, now you fully understand what they always tried to tell you. Don't do it. Don't go for it. Settle down, withdraw, draw back, get out of here get out GET OUT while you still can get out get out get out.
You didn't.
And now you're here, your dream has turned into a nightmare, and you're here. Make othe best of it, Dancer. Dance.
You're nothing but a puppet on a string. Dance.
I order you and you obey.
You used to smile when you saw my face. Now I smile when I see yours. Little one, dancer, you always dance to my tunes. And there's no beauty about it, nothing grand, nothing lovely, high, idealistic. It's just what there always was, but more of it. Translated to a higher scale. And there is more beyond it. You have been privileged and cursed to know about it you learned about it long before anyone else should have. Sign of your unique nature what people had in store for you but you ignored the warnings and now you are here.
What? Still more you want? What do you think, it will get better after this? Have you learned nothing, little one? It doesn't get better, it only gets darker, it only gets worse.
You said the worst thing you have ever seen is a Harlequin, crying. Now, Dancer mine, you know why he cried.
It's all in my hands now.
Part 3: The Solitaire's Song
Tears, tears of blood on a white face not pale but white sheet-white paper-white blank and white as paper as snow blood in the snow. Drops of blood. Just a few drops but they're mine. Bright red on white, the red drops of tears.
And no-one knows why I'm crying, no-one knows what has touched me so. But I have been touched, I have felt the touch, I have felt the burning. The pain will never leave me now, I have been touched and the pain shall always be with me shall be passed on to all whom I touched. It is not said for nothing that a Solitaire's touch means death. The pain is almost stronger than living.
I have said too much already. My pain is my own, my darkness is my own. Darkness unlighted by a star, by a single stone. My road is darkness and Chaos stands at the end. I long for oblivion but that is the one surcease which I can never reach. Oh Cergorach, have mercy!
There is always, always the Dance.
There is only the Dance.
There is nothing but the Dance…