No More Sorrow (Pt. 3)

[Bink]

((Warning: graphic words and violence in here!!))

“...get your hands off of me..!"

Bink gasped and jerked himself away from a blinking and bewildered Jehan. “Beloved... Beloved... it’s ok. It's me... there’s no one here but me."

Bink was pale and the remnants of the hands still upon the throat were so real and vivid he swatted his own neck in attempts to rid himself of the feeling. He didn't respond to Jehan at first. He just cried and fought to free himself from his lover’s arms. He was cold and clammy from the inside out. It took a good ten minutes for the feeling to leave his senses enough to remember he was awake. "...J-Jehan...?" He asked as he hunched over, blushing deeply at his own half sleeping actions. "...I’m sorry. I was asleep...I don't want to sleep anymore."

Jehan laughed and wrapped his arms about Bink's form drawing him close with a deep sigh. "That's ok, Bink. I don't think I can sleep either." He rubbed at his back as he cradled him close and nuzzled at his cheek. "But you're safe now... you're safe."

He took comfort in Jehan's words and resumed his crying. It had been the ritual between the two the past few days. Bink would wake up in a screaming sweat and Jehan would cuddle him. Bink would cry his eyes dry. Jehan, in turn would wait for Bink to finish before crying himself and retelling Bink about everything he had done with his father, Lord Bel, while he was asleep. He'd talk about his fears, his shames, everything.

The more and more Jehan would cry about it, the less and less Bink liked Bel. Tonight had been the worst of it. He had not fully remembered what it was haunting him in his dreams, but he felt the suffocation, the constriction of his lung and he felt the heat of the hands strangulating him. He waited and allowed Jehan to take the comfort he always did as he took comfort from his dreams as he could from the Sidhe.

But once Jehan was asleep, truly asleep, Bink moved from the bed and stumbled about the room to find clothes. He dressed in silence, that stiffness upon him. It was foreboding, a sense of the bleak and grave ahead. He was afraid, but he knew he had to do something. They had been in the camp two weeks and there hadn't been one battle.

He stumbled out from the tent, pressing his walking stick into the earth as he pushed off to walk forward. He hadn't gotten very far at all, not that he could tell, when he heard a voice from behind him.

"Heeeeeey Binkybutt! Where you going?"

Bink had tensed to the footsteps but then relaxed upon hearing Scrythe's voice. "Scrythe! You scared me a minute." He blushed as the deranged Sidhe merely chuckled and lurched up to his side, draping half his body over him. “I was going to Bel's tent to ta-OOmph! Scrythe! Stop that."

Scrythe chuckled as he gave Bink his general far too friendly hug and then stood. "Lord Belucatrados's Tent? You're going the wrong way for that." He laughed and turned Bink around, proceeding to walk and guide him there. Not that Bink wasn't thankful; he still didn't want another there.

"Scrythe... I kinda wanted to speak to him alone. I've been...dreaming and Jehan's so..." he sighed, stumbling about as he relied on his stick to move. "I hate that the man is using Jehan. He is using everyone here. Like he doesn't even care that there isn't a war and no one's fighting. It's all about him and his pride. Who cares about one man's pride anyway?" He stumbled again with his stick guide and growled, shoving it into Scrythe's chest. "Stupid thing. Take this will you!"

There wasn't even much pause between the grumbling of Bink and the wooden crunching and munching from Scrythe as the walking stick... became lunch. "...well... that wasn't exactly what I meant, Scrythe.... but ok..."

Scrythe laughed and gave Bink another of those overly friendly hugs of his. "You think too much you know. Just live in the moment." He nodded so hard that Bink could hear his neck snapping as he moved. “And lemme tell you something about Lord Bel, between you and me. The Host... we follow because he is Lord and he pays our leaders well. No one likes him. It’s a well known fact that everyone on Kaly's side is there because they want to be and they hate Bel. This war is a battle of Pride. Bel feels that only he can rule and war and has become so wrapped into himself that all the rest of the fae and their livelihood don't matter. Kaly and his mom hated that. They hated how he was killing everyone for his Pride. That is why there is war."

Bink paused a moment and had to smile at the strange and often time terrifying Sidhe. "Scrythe.... sometimes you say the wisest things."

"It must be all the pickled brains I eat. They are the best when you eat them with absinthe."

Bink covered his mouth and coughed into it. "I take that back... you are weird." He laughed and took a step forward without Scrythe or his once walking stick's help. "Just guide me there will you? And when we get there... will you stand outside? In case you smell or hear anything not right..."

"Sure." Bink took comfort in Scrythe's lack of questions. He generally had nothing but questions, but he was still eating the walking stick. He'd be preoccupied awhile. He walked with the crunching man until through shattered wooden splinters he heard the words, “Just walk right in. You're at Lord Bel's tent."

Bink didn't wait either. He heard guards growling and protesting as he walked right past and pressed his body into the tent flap to move it as he continued forward. The flap slid past his body and there was nothing. Nothing but that sinking feeling and a weight of uncertainty about his shoulders.

"Leave us and welcome.... little Seer." Bel's voice boomed and shook Bink's spine. He felt pale and suddenly wanted to run right out of that tent and cower against Jehan. But Bel wanted that, he could FEEL it. He wasn't going to give the man that satisfaction, even if he was right.

"My name is Bink, not Seer."

"But you are a Seer, aren't you?" Bel moved, his heavy footsteps pounding the earth as he slowly circled him. Bink had only ever encountered one other mimic such an action: 'Shee. That cursed demifae with much softer and guile steps would circle him effortlessly like a Vulture with eyes that pecked him apart. He'd never seen 'Shee's eyes, but he knew they had to be fierce and sharp. They certainly felt that way. Bel's eyes were heavy and cold as he was. There was no stealth in the man. "Address me as Lord when you speak."

"I would if you were my Lord, but you aren't. You're just Jehan's father." Bink snapped quickly, defiantly. He was amazed how well he could do so when he was scared stiff! "And a poor excuse for one too. I'm growing sick and tired of Jehan coming back in tears and dread because of you. He came to support you in YOUR war, not to take your words and abuse. If you're not going to really battle Kaly just say so! Then Jehan and I will leave and you can find someone else to make you feel better about yourself."

The backhand of a self proclaimed war god hurt. One could go into the elaborations of pain from a being born of war and conditioned to war in its angered fury, but it wouldn't take the pain away nor would it give the depth of pain such justice. It was safe to say Bink was so completely filled with that pain, he couldn't recall the moments between the uttering of his last word and being sprawled on the floor, coughing up blood.

"I am Tiarna of this Sithen! LORD over all the fae. My will shall not be swayed by the feeble words of a spy to Kaly's camp. I knew you were no good the moment you stepped in here with my son."


"He is only your son again because you other saw how pathetic you really are. You're no Lord. You're no God. You're a petty imitation of an Unseelie." The moment he said the words, he understood. Unseelie did not lie. How many times he heard the phrase come out of Jehan and the bana'Shee mouth. Out of the Ard Fiona, Nyx. Even out of Scrythe's mouth. All these Unseelie never lied.... but Bel did. "You are a liar, Bel, and unfit to rule. That's why Kaly pulled away. He knew your lies. You stopped being an Unseelie a long, long time ago..." Like the Shattered Prince...he thought to himself. Or at least in some of the legends he had learned about.

Bel's hands were cold and ripped into the flesh of his shoulders as he pulled Bink to his feet and ripped his blindfold from him. "You get that from Seeing? Let's have you see now. Tell me of my victories."

Bink squinted his eyes shut as he felt the fabric of his blindfold pulled from his face. His shelter and protection from the pains his own gift brought him. He was already crying in pain from the hit and the hand ripping into his shoulder, but he needed his blindfold. He couldn't survive without it. But he didn't speak to Bel. Though pained and shuddering, he didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Your sight is your own. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. A demon told him that once. The daughter of Kain, to be exact.

There was commotion outside, Bink could hear it. Scrythe had kept his promise and went to gather help to get inside. He must have smelled the blood. It was suffocating Bink.... suffocating...

Belucatrados hissed and dropped Bink to the floor. He yelped in pain, but it was nothing to the shattering, piercing agony that came with the chiming of the charms of his blindfold. He heard the heavy thudding, the thunderous sounds of a solitary footstep and then a piercing jolt to his eyes, his mind would hit him. Bel was stomping on his blindfold. "My Victory!" Bel roared. "Tell me, if you really are a Seer at all!"

"BINK!!" He heard Jehan's voice screaming from outside amongst the commotion. Scrythe too screamed for him and yet he couldn't answer through his own cries. It echoed in a rush through his head with each stomp. Of. Boot. On. Crystal.

And then a charm cracked open, the hourglass upon his blindfold, broke open and spilling out came the sands of the time it held forgotten.

In that moment, Bink learned of pain as the Prophet could never deal. Pain that the demons would dream about...yearn about. Pain that created the very word Pain. He learned it and felt it, and wished he never had.

With that pain came the memories. All of them. Every Sight he had ever seen with his eyes. He saw his mother. He saw how she hid him from the world in seclusion, telling him lies of what he looked like, where they came from, what he was. Who his father was. He recalled the details, every last bitter one of them of the sights, the sounds, the scents of his mother's last day... the liar, the selfish liar that want to live so freely with her son and allow him willingly to go through life adoring her and never telling him a single truth. Just like Bel was for Jehan.

For the first time he could almost say he was glad of her death, the horrible truth of witnessing the rape and murder of a mother, but just an instance. He remembered the after too. The Unseelie that took him. The Unseelie of his father's house! How they never told him... never showed him any of it. How they used him, beat him, twisted his mind to use his sight for their own delight. He remembered it all down to the point where he tried to take his own life.

And then, he remembered his father. He had a father! He knew him for such a short time and in that time, though he never said it to the man, he was glad. And his father cared too. Cared so much he gave his soul away to be lost to the world forever just to save Bink's life. To save his sanity. He did it because he never stopped loving his only son.

Bel was growling as he raised Bink's head, propping his chin upon a knee as the massive hands held his skull in place. Thick fingers pry his throbbing eyelids open.

The tent was blurry and dim, yet he knew He was staring up a Bel's eyes. They were small for his head and dead. Dead like him. The Sight took hold then and the world began to spin as every lie and deed Bel had ever done, the lies he currently spun, the lies he'd continue to spin. All of it came pouring into Bink's memory like a horrible crashing wave. HE cried out and pulled at Bel's hand to get them from his eyes, to close them, but the war God wouldn't let him. "So help me... you will see my victories, or I will be the last thing you ever see. All is better, either way. I'll not have you taking my son away from me any longer." He spit at Bink as his eyes began to bleed out, and his body began to bruise, his old whip marks upon his mark too, ripped and bled out. "You truly are a Seer, aren't you? Good. See me. See my victory and Die."

No. Bink said. Thought he did... screamed, begged... it all became so unclear. The world was growing cold and heavy and his throat felt tight... like he was suffocating... suffocating... "...get...your...hands.... off me...”

And then there was nothing but the silence.











((HAH!! Fooled you :P It's not the end. It's the beginning. Anywho, I'll be adding the second part to this this little bit of a cliff hanger here to Ning in the next day or so. Yes, I do have it already written. I'm tweaking it. And thankies to all of you that are actually reading all of these!))

[Blaze]

Loved it! Bink when you write...and Jehan too....I can see everything you describe and feel it all too.....sad, scary and compelling stuff!!! :)