Amber: In The Beginning
Dec. 9th, 2007 05:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
markedcardHe'd wanted this.
Since that conversation on the bluff overlooking the Abyss, and the Courts beyond, he'd wanted -- desired -- burned for this, even if it hadn't been a conscious thought at the time. And the liege lord of Amber had given him permission to try.
Merlin took a deep breath, and then another, fighting down a case of nerves. This was what he needed to do, to conquer, silencing wagging tongues in regards to his parentage once and for all. Honestly, he wasn't afraid. After all, the Logrus had been navigated and triumphed over, even if he had few sane memories of the weeks directly afterward.
And there were eyes on him, at least one person standing near the doorway. Possibly two. Which made things easier, really, because he wasn't about to bungle this attempt in front of an audience. Even if the Chaosian side of him did not want him to step foot on that thing.
One more breathe, and the lordling moved forward before he could think better of it again, placing his first step onto the Pattern. The raw Power shooting up through the soles of his feet, never mind the bloody boots, was enough to make his teeth grind together. Half a dozen steps managed, then a baker's dozen, and he found himself fighting to get past what felt like a wall of pure electricity wrapped in a blanket of steel.
Time stood still, or perhaps even faded away altogether, and Merlin wasn't sure how long it took him to struggle through what had to be the First Veil. He knew better than to stop moving completely, or try to step off, for that only led to death, and that was a state of being he'd every intention of avoiding. Forever, if possible.
Finally, finally, the young halfbreed felt himself break past the barrier, which made him feel like dancing a jig. Memory suggested caution, much to his own chagrin, for there were still two more Veils to endure, and he was moving toward them no matter how slow his step.
The lights behind him, and in front of, combined with the sparks resulting from each movement of his boots, effectively blinding Merlin to everything else but his current location. He could no longer see the exit, or hear anything but the roaring of his own blood, dual bloodlines screaming for supremacy. Which, y'know, hurt like the dickens. But he kept going anyway, one foot in front of the other and ignored the pain radiating throughout his frame, until a sudden lack of resistance almost made him tumble off the Pattern and to his Doom.
Whoops! Merlin righted himself just in time, taking a few quick steps forward and around the Grand Curve before something slammed into him with all the finesse of a locamotive (or so he'd understood from his father's tales), and tried to re-write his innards. Really, it felt like a giant hand was trying to turn his body inside out sans any sort of numbing salve, which really did break things down to extremely simple concepts.
Just. Keep. Moving.
And so he did, even reduced to crawling once he'd slowly battered his way through the Final Veil some time later, flesh tingling in a way that was the polar opposite of 'good', until he dragged himself into the center of the Pattern and lie there like a broken survivor. Merlin's head was pounding, his body felt like it had been trampled by an entire herd of zhine, and his throat... well, that felt like it had been living in the desert for a few decades.
It was Merlin's last sane thought for the near future, this demand for a glass of water and maybe some soup. In a shower of rainbows, the young Chaosian princeling found himself in Amber's kitchen, with a host of underlings, and a massive bear of a man gaping open mouthed at his unusual arrival.
"Glass of water, please?" He croaked.
Since that conversation on the bluff overlooking the Abyss, and the Courts beyond, he'd wanted -- desired -- burned for this, even if it hadn't been a conscious thought at the time. And the liege lord of Amber had given him permission to try.
Merlin took a deep breath, and then another, fighting down a case of nerves. This was what he needed to do, to conquer, silencing wagging tongues in regards to his parentage once and for all. Honestly, he wasn't afraid. After all, the Logrus had been navigated and triumphed over, even if he had few sane memories of the weeks directly afterward.
And there were eyes on him, at least one person standing near the doorway. Possibly two. Which made things easier, really, because he wasn't about to bungle this attempt in front of an audience. Even if the Chaosian side of him did not want him to step foot on that thing.
One more breathe, and the lordling moved forward before he could think better of it again, placing his first step onto the Pattern. The raw Power shooting up through the soles of his feet, never mind the bloody boots, was enough to make his teeth grind together. Half a dozen steps managed, then a baker's dozen, and he found himself fighting to get past what felt like a wall of pure electricity wrapped in a blanket of steel.
Time stood still, or perhaps even faded away altogether, and Merlin wasn't sure how long it took him to struggle through what had to be the First Veil. He knew better than to stop moving completely, or try to step off, for that only led to death, and that was a state of being he'd every intention of avoiding. Forever, if possible.
Finally, finally, the young halfbreed felt himself break past the barrier, which made him feel like dancing a jig. Memory suggested caution, much to his own chagrin, for there were still two more Veils to endure, and he was moving toward them no matter how slow his step.
The lights behind him, and in front of, combined with the sparks resulting from each movement of his boots, effectively blinding Merlin to everything else but his current location. He could no longer see the exit, or hear anything but the roaring of his own blood, dual bloodlines screaming for supremacy. Which, y'know, hurt like the dickens. But he kept going anyway, one foot in front of the other and ignored the pain radiating throughout his frame, until a sudden lack of resistance almost made him tumble off the Pattern and to his Doom.
Whoops! Merlin righted himself just in time, taking a few quick steps forward and around the Grand Curve before something slammed into him with all the finesse of a locamotive (or so he'd understood from his father's tales), and tried to re-write his innards. Really, it felt like a giant hand was trying to turn his body inside out sans any sort of numbing salve, which really did break things down to extremely simple concepts.
Just. Keep. Moving.
And so he did, even reduced to crawling once he'd slowly battered his way through the Final Veil some time later, flesh tingling in a way that was the polar opposite of 'good', until he dragged himself into the center of the Pattern and lie there like a broken survivor. Merlin's head was pounding, his body felt like it had been trampled by an entire herd of zhine, and his throat... well, that felt like it had been living in the desert for a few decades.
It was Merlin's last sane thought for the near future, this demand for a glass of water and maybe some soup. In a shower of rainbows, the young Chaosian princeling found himself in Amber's kitchen, with a host of underlings, and a massive bear of a man gaping open mouthed at his unusual arrival.
"Glass of water, please?" He croaked.
