Chap 7 -- Altered Perceptions -- Witchblade Karma

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Date Posted: 11:31:19 08/12/02 Mon
Author: wormie
Subject: Chap 7 -- Altered Perceptions
In reply to: wormie 's message, "A Complex Genesis" on 20:48:06 05/20/02 Mon

A/N: This is an AU story beginning after Convergence & stumbling now into an alternate Transcendence. Usual disclaimers apply--I sooo do not own Witchblade or any of its characters nor do I claim to.

Big thanks, as usual, to Jessica, my beta-reader...any mistakes are mine =)

Ch 7 -- Altered Perceptions

Rest easy.

Those two words had haunted Ian Nottingham all last night and he knew he would have no rest this night either. Upon returning to the mansion, Mr. Irons had no specific instructions for him; he had only wanted Ian to come home. Mr. Irons had expected him earlier, but he had no admonishments for Ian for his tardiness. Mr. Irons knew that Ian had been with Sara but had not said anything; he had only dismissed Ian for the evening with a reminder to stay at the mansion.

In his room, Ian had collapsed onto his bed. He was exhausted but still could not sleep. His mind was unable to find peace, even knowing that both his masters were safe. No, his mind was not the source of his unrest; it was his emotions.

From the window in my room, I watched the car drive away. Yesterday, I had been mad at Ina-she was already learning to protect the Wielder. Because of her, Mr. Irons was disappointed that I was not ready for my training. Today, I was a little sad that she would not be staying. Because of her, Mr. Irons had shown me The Witchblade Room and, without her here, I may not be allowed back there.

"Ian."

I turned immediately from the window. Mr. Irons stood just inside the door to my room.

"Will she come back?" I asked.

"Do you want her to?"

I shrugged, not sure of what answer he wanted but knowing the simple gesture was a mistake. Mr. Irons did not like vague answers to his questions.

I expected him to admonish me, but he didn't. Mr. Irons sat on my bed and motioned for me to approach him. I stood before him, attentive to what he had to say. Whenever he had told me something like this, face to face, it had been important.

"Why do you think she had to go?"

I said the only thing I could think of. "To complete her training."

"Why would you want her to stay?"

"It would have been fun to play with her," I replied honestly.

"It is not 'play', Ian. It is training. Do not forget that."

I nodded. It was always 'training' -of mind or body. I wondered why all my training hadn't been enough and why I was not ready to train like Ina. I didn't dare ask Mr. Irons about this for fear that I would not be allowed to return to the Witchblade Room. I was ready. Why couldn't Mr. Irons see that?

"To protect the Wielder," he continued, "you must be strong. But to wear the Blade, you must have the will. The will is weakened by emotion. What you do and what you feel are two different things. You must keep them separate if you are to do your duty."

Mr. Irons smiled gently. "Perhaps next time Ina is here, you two will train together." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "In the meantime, young Nottingham, I'm afraid I must suffice."

He stood. "Come. It is time for your history lesson."

Ian had spent his entire life separating emotion from action, and, even then, only allowing himself to feel certain emotions. That was part choice and part training. Some emotions he had found useful-anger gave him focus; fear of failing in his duty gave him purpose. Most others he knew were weaknesses. Ian's training -his life- was to prepare him to serve the Witchblade, the Wielder and Kenneth Irons, and that service required a warrior -always loyal, lethal as necessary, and without weakness.

Then he had met Sara Pezzini and all that effort seemed to be in vain. Watching over Sara these last few months had awakened radical ideas in his heart and mind - not just the concepts of compassion, desire, and love, but that perhaps someone like him could have -and give- those things. Only just starting to understand what it meant, he could tentatively say that he loved Sara, but he could not allow his feelings for her to change his duty to her, the Witchblade or Mr. Irons.

Sometimes Ian wished he had never met Sara Pezzini. She had altered everything in his life -his perceptions of the people in his life and of what his life ought to be. When he was younger, he had learned of a samurai's Daisho and had thought of himself and Ina in those roles of Long Sword and Companion Sword, with the Wielder as their samurai - a simple scheme that made sense to a child. Irons was teacher, father, and separate from that scenario. Irons would fancy himself as the samurai's master, Ian thought, then smiled thinly thinking that Sara Pezzini would have no master. Neither, he realized, did Ina.

Ian had always seen Ina as a colleague, a fellow warrior, a fellow pawn in Irons' master plan. Yet Ina had always found a way to be more. She'd had the freedom to be more. Only now did he see that Ina's gentle smiles and caresses had the maternal warmth of family. Brotherhood from shared pain - he had read that somewhere once, but only now did he understand it.

When Sara seemed willing to go with him to see Gabriel, Ian had to take her. He was surprised that Sara had not demanded the address and gone by herself, but he was grateful for the opportunity to earn her trust and serve the Blade. Ian worried about Ina's reaction to Sara. He had hoped they would get along, because they would need each other. Ian closed his eyes, the events of the previous night replaying in his mind.

With Gabriel safe with Ina, I had returned home to find that Dr. Immo had not finished preparing the serum for Mr. Irons. Mr. Irons had fallen asleep in his chair in front of the fire, the hounds at his feet. I watched Mr. Irons sleep for a moment, recalling briefly how he had watched me sleep when I was a child. He would read to me or tell me stories about the Wielders and I would pretend to fall asleep. I could hear him breathing in the room. Sometimes he would pat my hair or cover me with another blanket, but he would never say anything, perhaps so as not to wake me. This man, always so strong and vital, was at that moment so terribly vulnerable. Was that the same thought Mr. Irons had had when he had watched over me?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I sat on the stairs in the study. I waited as Dr. Immo administered the serum, my mind jumping between my moments with Sara and my life with Mr. Irons. The serum might help him or not; either outcome would set me on a difficult path.

I lost all sense of time - it could have been five seconds or five hours - then Mr. Irons stood, arms wide in his triumph over nature, exclaiming, "Behold! Time runs two ways."

I barely heard the exchange between him and Dr. Immo. My mind was now locked on my path - What would he have me to do Sara or her friends to ensure a supply of her blood? Or would he just want to keep her in a frozen limbo like Elizabeth Bronte? Why would the Witchblade do this to me or Sara? I didn't understand.

"Ian."

Mr. Irons called to me, but I wouldn't look at him for fear of losing the small shred of control I had. He walked over to me and placed a hand on my back. When was the last time he had shown me affection like that?

"Rest easy," he said gently. "I know what you tried. Had this experiment failed I could have spared our fair lady, but since it succeeded, you know what you must do." He paused then humbly added, "my life is in your hands."

Yes, his life was in my hands...as mine had been in his.

Ian knew it would come to that - he would have two choose between his two masters. The solution came to him with an almost surreal clarity. It was simple, really. He could not serve two masters - not these two masters. In this instance, he was not the exception to the rule. No, he could not rest easy.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kenneth Irons sat in his favorite chair already feeling older. Since Sara's periculum, the Witchblade had decided not to favor him with its gift of youth and only the Wielder's blood could help him now. It was troubling that one infusion of Sara's blood was starting to wear off after less than 48 hours. He would need more of her blood soon.

Ian walked into the room, his coat cloaked about him like a cape and his scabbarded katana in hand. He shrugged the coat off his shoulders and withdrew the katana from its scabbard with a twirling flourish, casting the scabbard aside as he did so. Ian had always had a flair for melodrama.

"How dramatic," Kenneth commented dryly.

Ian took two hesitant steps, his expression contrite...like a child who knows he has done something wrong.

"It is written no man can serve two masters. I thought I could prove the exception. I was mistaken."

He continued to walk towards Kenneth, and Kenneth's eyes focused briefly on the sword. Ian held the hilt in his right hand, letting the blade rest in his left palm. His stance was almost menacing, but there was nothing dangerous in his eyes. No, this was something else entirely. If Ian were threatening Kenneth, he would offer a fair fight-Ian's foolish sense of chivalry would dictate it. Kenneth had encouraged Ian's quixotic pursuit of honor-it set boundaries on Ian's behavior and thus made him predictable and directable.

"And now you agonize between your devotion to me and your 'passion' for Sara Pezzini."

Ian knelt before Kenneth, and, with head bowed in submission -or was that shame?- offered the sword.

Kenneth pushed himself out of the chair. Whatever little drama Ian was playing at seemed to require it.

Ian turned his head up to him. "You gave me life. It's yours to take back. I would consider it a mercy." With his head once again bowed in quiet submission, Ian stood the sword on end and added softly, "If you don't, I shall."

With a surge of fury, Kenneth simultaneously took the sword and grabbed Ian's head. He held Ian at arm's length, the sword poised at his side to initiate the fatal blow. But he couldn't do it. Ian, there on the floor, had looked up at him with those damnable, troubled, intelligent brown eyes.

Kenneth drew Ian closer, Ian's head resting against his hip. Ian's hair fell around Kenneth's hand, and his hair was still as soft as when Ian had been a child. In that moment, Ian was the little boy who had entered Kenneth's life so long ago-the little boy that never wanted to displease him. He felt Ian place a hand on his leg in the semblance of an embrace. Kenneth had raised that boy -with discipline, yes, with an agenda, yes, but with affection, too- only to be betrayed. Ian's betrayal was not completely unexpected, but it still upset Kenneth. He hated that Ian's betrayal could affect him at all and, for that, he wanted Ian to suffer.

"I am not a merciful man, Ian." If Ian could not serve his master, then so be it. "And it is also written, 'As for this worthless slave, throw him out into the darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.' "

He pulled Ian's head back. "Begone, Ian. Your darkness awaits." He had wanted to see the pain in Ian's eyes. He was not disappointed. He let go of Ian's head and walked away. He did not need this Ian. Kenneth Irons had another, and that Ian would be loyal.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ian was not sure how long he stayed on his knees. He trembled from fear, pain and loss. For a moment, he dared hope that Mr. Irons would, for once, see him as son and not student. But that would never be. That was not his way. Ian had given Mr. Irons the opportunity to collect on his debt of honor, but that was not his way either. With his honor tainted, what did he have left? Only Sara, and she had rejected him as well.

Ian knew his darkness and knew that he did not want to live that way. Not again. He had to do something soon, before that darkness overtook him. He was certain that Sara had some foolishly dangerous plan to encounter the White Bulls by now. He would help her. With luck, he would serve Sara and the Witchblade one more time and permanently escape the darkness he knew would soon consume him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

to be continued...

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Glad to see you are writing again!! Muchly enjoyed this :) (NT) -- Beck, 12:18:08 08/12/02 Mon