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My eyes opened with a start, my heart thudding. The dream was one I had often as of late, a dream that I shared with Ian -or, rather, that Ian shared with me. The vivid dream always startled me, but I had to appear to be in control. Ian would be coming to my room shortly, looking for security and reassurance. I sat up in my bed and propped up the pillows against the headboard. Leaning back, I straightened the sheets about me and let my eyes adjust to the bright moonlight shining through my windows. I ran my fingers through my hair and took two deep breaths, forcing my racing pulse to calm down.
Within a minute, my bedroom door opened. I squinted at the light coming from the hall, but I could see Ian in silhouette at the threshold. He waited for a moment then entered, closing the door behind him. Only after he came to my bedside could I see that he wore pale blue pajamas, the ones with his initials embroidered in silver over the breast pocket. Ian liked them because they were similar to some of mine. His hair was understandably disheveled, but there were no tears in his eyes, nor tear streaks on his face. There were no outward signs that this little boy had just had a nightmare. Ian rarely cried, even as an infant, and he never cried if he was frightened. His eyes, wider than usual, were the only indication of his fear.
Ian said, "I had the dream again. The one where I protect the Wielder."
He knows I know this, as I always do, because of my connection to the Witchblade, yet I cannot bring myself to reproach him for stating the obvious. The context of the dream wasn't always the same, but the outcome was - Ian, as a young man, dies protecting the Wielder. Ian accepts this outcome resolutely because I have told him to.
"These dreams are a gift from the Witchblade, Ian, but they will not always come true. You are to learn from them to be faithful first to the Witchblade and then the Wielder. But to be faithful to the Witchblade, you must always be faithful to me."
He stood there for a moment and I could see in how his brow furrowed that he was waiting for something. Perhaps, like any other child, he considered asking to sleep in his parent's bed, but he knew I would not allow that. I smiled gently, reassuringly. "Off to bed now. We both need to rest."
Ian nodded, my words a token for the security he needs and my demeanor an example for him to follow. "Good night, sir."
I watched him leave my room as quietly as he had come, pleased at how composed he was. Ian, dutiful, intelligent Ian, would serve me and the Witchblade well.
I rearranged the pillows and leaned back to sleep. I knew enough about the Witchblade to know that Ian would probably not reach old age, most likely dying a violent death. The Witchblade could be very unkind, even to those who were faithful to it. Only alone in the middle of the night just before I drifted back to sleep could I acknowledge that Ian's death would sadden me.
This faithful reader will be waiting for more!! =) (NT) -- Spin, 18:10:39 09/05/02 Thu