This is an AU. Think middle-ages. Sort of. A reclusive sentinel comes to the aid of a runaway Guide in trouble. Lotsa angst, h/c and a bit o' smarm. Enjoy.
Thanks to the prompt and ever-vigilant Shallan, Guardian of grammar and punctuation.
Java Head
James Ellison strode with purpose through the thick woods. In the deepest part of the forest, it was almost certain that he would not encounter another human. Especially in the black of night.
The tall, serious man preferred to hunt late at night. Game was more plentiful then. He smiled grimly. The curse that drove him into exile also gave him an advantage over most men. His sight was not hindered at all by the lack of light, and the night gave him the solitude he desperately needed.
Now that his hunting finished for the night, Ellison made his way toward home. He had been very careful in using his abilities to aid his hunt and had no trouble this time. His heightened senses were unpredictable at best. Sometimes he could control them and sometimes not. This had been a good night. He'd shot a pheasant, which he'd learned to love while living in his father's household.
Ellison understood his abilities, knew what he was. His kind was rare, but not unheard of. Most sentinels eventually accepted a lifetime partnership with a guide. A guide was a person with a unique gift of his or her own. A gift which included the ability to give the Sentinel what he lacked -- control.
But guides were hard to find. They were rumored to have magical powers, which made them pariahs of society. Viewed with superstition and fear, they were often targets for violent attacks and scapegoats for anything that went wrong. So they remained hidden, if possible. Once discovered, they were either executed or sold as slaves -- most often to cruel or desperate sentinels.
Thus far, Ellison had avoided the need for a guide. A very private person, even as a boy, he resisted the idea of exposing so much of himself to anyone just as he abhorred the thought of holding that same control over anyone else.
But it was getting harder each day. There were times when Ellison thought he would surely go insane. The sensory spikes were like fire and ice in his mind. The zone-outs had left him unharmed so far, but he was totally vulnerable while in the deepest of trances. He knew that he'd lost hours before when he'd zoned. He almost hoped he'd be killed by a mountain lion or an equally lethal animal.
It was in this dark mood that the self-exiled James Ellison made his way home. Home was a well-hidden sod hut, deep in the thickest woods, that even the best rangers could not find.
Ellison was pulled out of his reverie by a sensation -- a flash or clarity. It was a feeling that he associated with the brief moment right before he fell into a zone-out. Except he hadn't been concentrating on anything, and he wasn't falling into a zone.
Suddenly, some distance ahead, he heard a commotion. Angry voices. Cries of pain. Hurrying forward, Ellison saw the glow of a campfire with several figures nearby. He guessed it to be about a mile away. Moving swiftly and silently, he reached the small mob in about ten minutes.
Stealthily concealing himself behind a tree, Ellison looked upon a sight that had become too horribly familiar in his lifetime. The fire lit up a clearing. Four large men stood in front of the fire, encircling a young man who hung suspended from a tree branch by his bound wrists. His head hung forward, his long hair concealing most of the cuts and bruises on his face. His shirt hung in tatters around his bony hips, revealing a back covered in welts oozing blood.
From his hiding place, Jim could hear the young man's labored breathing and knew he was struggling to maintain consciousness. The Sentinel also knew that this man was a guide. He felt it as surely as he felt the heat of the fire, and Ellison knew the young man felt it in return when he lifted his head slightly and, cracking open swollen eyes, looked in the sentinel's direction. Ellison knew the kid couldn't see him in the dark shadows, and it was disturbing that he knew he was there.
As Ellison looked into the blue depths of the guide's eyes, he had an epiphany. With a dizzying combination of sorrow and relief, he knew this man was meant to be his Guide.
The empath's attackers had apparently thought that the young man was unconscious. Then they noticed the guide's movement and they moved forward to resume their torment.
Staying in the protection of the darkness, Ellison silently dropped his game satchel and drew his bow off its resting place on his shoulder and, with the speed and silence of a well-trained soldier, let loose a volley of arrows that dropped all four men with deadly precision almost before they were aware they were being attacked.
Certain the men were either dead or so close to it that it didn't matter, Ellison stepped from the shadows. Knowing that others could be near by, he put out the fire. His attention was pulled to the empath when the young man gasped in fear at the sudden darkness.
Ellison knew the kid was overcome with pain and confusion. Speaking in a low voice, he talked as he worked. "Take it easy, kid. It's okay. I had to put out the fire so we wouldn't be seen by any others."
Ellison picked up the game satchel and went to the young man's side. The kid felt the large man's presence in his private space and flinched. Conflicting thoughts were at war in his mind. The man had rescued him. The Sentinel had rescued him. Sentinels were dangerous. They were slave masters. They didn't rescue guides. They owned them. But he'd definitely felt something strong and good in this one.
Dear God, he hoped so because escape was out. His running and hiding days were over. Let him be good, God. Please let him be good, he prayed silently. He didn't have to struggle anymore. His future was set for him. Finally, he let darkness pull him under.
The sentinel knew when the young man lost consciousness. It was actually a good thing because as battered as the kid was, any touch or movement was going to be agony and they were going to have to get out of there fast.
Running his sensitive fingers over the empath's ribs and abdomen, Ellison felt bruising, but no broken ribs. Right now, the kid's front torso could take more than his back. After securing his bow and arrows, Ellison wrapped one arm around the kid and cut him down with a vicious swipe of his hunting knife. Slinging the young man easily over his shoulder, he set out in the direction of his home.
Home, such as it was, was still several miles away. It was late and Ellison was weary from his nightly hunt. The adrenaline from the short battle was fading quickly, but he was fueled by an urgency to get the kid to safely.
After several minutes, the sentinel paused to listen. He heard nothing but the young man's uneven breathing. He was certain there was no one else in the area. If the bodies were not found soon, the nocturnal scavengers that frequented these woods would eradicate nearly all evidence of them. After assuring himself that the young man was alright, he continued on.
Ellison was glad when he finally reached his hut. He could feel a storm coming and the kid would be waking up soon. Carefully, so as not to jostle the kid needlessly, Ellison stooped to get his tall frame through the low doorway. His vision adjusted to the utter blackness and he eased his bundle to the bed. Aware that the young man was now conscious, he gently positioned him to lie on his stomach.
"Easy, kid. I'll light a lamp as soon as I get some fire wood in. There's a storm coming."
Soon, Ellison had carried several armfuls of wood in. First he lit a lamp, as promised, and set it on a high shelf to allow it to give the entire room a soft light. He then turned to the fireplace and stirred the coals, adding more wood, and soon had a small fire going that quickly warmed the one-roomed hut. After setting a pot of water on the fire, Ellison finally turned his attention toward the young man.
He laid the back of his hand against the battered face. Though the kid didn't open his eyes, he flinched slightly and tried to pull away.
Ellison sighed. Not with impatience, but in sorrow. Guides -- empaths -- were treated badly. They had no rights. They were hated and feared and their lives and treatment were open season to anyone with a whim to mistreat or even kill them. They were outcasts who dared not reveal themselves even to each other. They had no reason to trust anyone. Especially sentinels. Once bonded to a sentinel, their very lives were dependent on him or her. Their empathic barriers were totally destroyed during the first bonding and they would go insane and die without the mental shielding provided by their sentinel. As desperate as Ellison felt his own situation was, he knew there was only hopeless despair no matter where this kid turned.
Ellison drew his hand away and made his voice soft and unthreatening. "Easy, kid. I'm a sentinel..."
The heartbeat escalated. Ellison tried again.
"I'm a sentinel -- but I'm not going to hurt you." He paused a moment. "Can you open your eyes?"
With great effort, the young man slowly cracked open his eyes.
"Tell me your name," Jim requested kindly.
"Blair Sandburg," he whispered.
"Blair," Jim repeated. "Blair, I did not rescue you to claim you. When you are well, you are free to leave. Understand?"
The blue eyes regarded him for a moment. The kid nodded slowly.
"I won't... force a bond. Okay?" A nod.
"Will you let me help you? I need to touch you?" Another nod.
"Okay," the young man whispered.
Ellison nodded in return. "Good." He got up from where he'd been squatting and went to the other side of the large room.
The younger man tried to stay awake, but his eyes were heavy and refused to stay open. He dozed to the sounds of the Sentinel puttering around. Comforting sounds that reminded him of his childhood. Lying in bed listening to his mother puttering around the house -- a time when life was safe -- before he discovered he was different -- before he discovered that the world hated him for something he was born with. Something he couldn't help. Something he didn't want.
"Chief, you alright?" The soft voice near his ear woke him with a start. The Sentinel was again kneeling beside him, looking at him with concerned eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked again. "Your heart's beating too fast."
Blair nodded. "Remembering." His eyes looked away, afraid. "Sorry."
The Sentinel put his hand on Blair's arm, this time ignoring the automatic flinch. He understood that the kid would be jumpy for awhile. Maybe forever.
"Don't apologize, kid. It's okay." He reached down and brought up a large pair of scissors. At the sight of the sharp instrument, Blair's eyes widened and his heart beat jumped again.
Immediately, Ellison lowered the scissors and gently squeezed the kid's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. Listen, I'm going to cut your shirt off you. It's ruined anyway, and this way I won't have to move you as much. Okay?" He waited.
Embarrassed by his fear, Blair closed his eyes. "Okay," he said softly. "Sorry."
Jim sighed again. "Look, Chief. I've got a pretty good idea what kind of hell you've been through. You don't have to apologize for being a little jumpy. You've done nothing wrong. Okay?"
"Okay. So..." Blair swallowed. "Okay."
Blair lay quietly as Ellison cut what was left of his shirt from his back. He was tense, waiting for something to happen. He knew the Sentinel was telling the truth. The pain and exhaustion had stripped away his barriers and he couldn't have blocked Ellison's emotions if he tried. Nothing but honest concern came from the man, but Blair was unaccustomed to kindness. The empath knew how to deal with cruelty. He was unprepared to deal with compassion.
Ellison's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "I need you to sit up, Blair. I want to get the rest of your shirt off. You need some water, too."
Blair's face grimaced with pain. "Can't move."
"Come on. I'll help you."
Trying to be careful, Ellison practically lifted the kid to a sitting position. Blair bit back a cry of pain, but was trembling and gasping by the time he was upright. His muscles were like water and he was forced to lean against the Sentinel. Ellison supported him with one arm, and with the other, he deftly cut the remainder of the tattered shirt and pulled it away from the battered torso.
Blair was roused from his fog of pain by the rim of a metal cup touching his lips.
"Here, Blair. Drink this." When Blair hesitated, Ellison sought to reassure him. "It's water, Chief. That's all."
Cautiously, Blair tasted it and detected no drugs or potions in it. Not like-- He cut off that memory and took a bigger drink, swallowing with a grimace. His throat was so dry and raw that it hurt and he turned his head away. Gently, the Sentinel's hand guided Blair's face back to the cup. "One more drink, Chief," he urged. Blair complied and Ellison eased him back down on his stomach.
Ellison reached behind himself and set a pan of warm water on the floor beside him. "Blair, I'm going to wash your back. I'll be very careful, but I'm using a mild salt water solution so it's still going to hurt."
"Okay."
Ellison was careful, unbelievably gentle for such a strong and large man. Blair marveled at the man's sensitive touch, though it still hurt. The warm water cleaning the dirt and sweat from his open wounds felt like fire slowly eating at his skin. The young empath clenched the bedding beneath him in tight knots and didn't move.
Ellison knew the young man's pain. He heard the harsh breathing and rapid heartbeat. Saw the spasms and tremors that gripped the muscles. Smelled the sour sweat on the skin. "I'm sorry, Kid. I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say. Anything he could say at this point was so inadequate.
Even in the middle of his own pain, Blair picked up on the Sentinel's sorrow. He knew the man's grief was for him. As the Sentinel reached down to re-wet the cloth he was using, Blair snagged his arm with weak fingers. Ellison looked at him questioningly.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Ellison gave him a small, warm smile. He laid his hand briefly on top of the curly head then went back to his job.
After washing Blair's back, Ellison cleansed the raw wounds around his wrists. Thankful that chore was over, he held up a small clay jar.
"What is it?" Blair asked.
"A few years ago, I was injured and received help from another empath. An old woman who lived deep in the woods. She taught me to make this salve. It has healing properties."
Blair nodded in understanding and approval.
Again, Ellison turned his attention to Blair's wounds. Only this time, the Sentinel's touch brought blissful comfort. Blair was familiar with the scent of the salve, recognizing it as a plant that deadened pain as well as healed. The gentle ministrations soothed his strained nerves and lulled him to sleep.
When Blair awoke awhile later, he surmised he'd been out a few hours. Thin daylight shone through the one small window by the door and the fire across the room had burnt down most of the way. He was still lying on his stomach on a very soft surface. He was covered with a warm but lightweight blanket.
With a bit of embarrassment, he realized that he was naked under the blanket. He supposed it had been necessary to check for other injuries. But he would have seen...
The Sentinel. Blair pondered this mysterious man whose name he didn't even know. He was an unbonded sentinel living in solitude. Unbonded, it was in his genetic nature to rescue an unbonded guide, but there the expected behavior ended. Most unbonded sentinels would have forced a bond between them. But this one had not. He had, in fact, promised Blair his freedom.
Curiosity overtook common sense and, craning his neck to search for the Sentinel, the empath stretched bruised and torn muscles, causing him to yelp.
Immediately, the Sentinel jerked open the door and rushed into the hut. Seeing no obvious emergency, the tall man slowed down and calmed himself. Walking to the bedside, he knelt down and felt Blair's forehead. "What's wrong, Chief?"
"I'm okay. I just moved too fast."
Ellison pulled the blanket back to check on Blair's wounds. Seemingly satisfied, he pulled it back up. "Can you sit up?" He held up a cup of water.
"I think so."
Carefully, Ellison helped Blair sit up, keeping him covered with the blanket. The younger man sat, muscles tight with pain. Ellison placed the cup in shaky hands. "Hurt?" He asked kindly.
"Better than before," Blair answered breathlessly. He raised the cup to his lips and drank, slowly. After he had swallowed about half the water, he handed the cup back to the Sentinel.
Ellison helped him lay back down, on his side this time. Blair watched as the Sentinel checked his wrists. For the first time, the empath noticed the bandages wrapped around them. As Ellison unwound the bandages, he felt the bright blue eyes on him. "What?" he asked.
"I don't know your name."
"Guess I've been too busy. My name's James Ellison. Just call me 'Jim'." Ellison put salve on the wrists then re-wrapped them in clean bandages.
"Why are you doing this? Helping me?"
"You mean, 'why aren't I kidnapping you and abusing you and generally treating you like trash the way everyone else does just because you're different'?" Ellison had finished and remained where he was, leaning his shoulder against the bed. "Maybe you should credit my father for that," he said in a strained voice.
"He taught you to treat people well? As equals?"
"No. When my sentinel abilities appeared, he drove me away. Disowned me."
Blair was shocked. "But sentinels are honored! Revered! I don't understand."
"To my father, a sentinel is as much a genetic freak as a--" he cut himself off.
"As an empath," Blair finished for him.
"Yes. Before my senses were heightened, I didn't consider the treatment of empaths. They were 'non-persons' to me. When I became an outcast myself, I was much more sympathetic. I saw that we were both 'gifted' by chance. Genetic 'flukes'. Neither by choice. I rejected the idea of a guide. I refused to be a slave owner. Most sentinels abuse their guides and I would have none of it. Without a guide, I was forced out of society simply to save my sanity."
"How long?"
"About five years." Lost in thought, Ellison was pulled back by a soft touch on his hand. His eyes met those of the empath's. Compassion and understanding shone out of them.
"I'm sorry... Jim. To be shunned by your own father..."
Reaching up, Ellison patted the smaller hand. "It's alright, Chief. There was never any love lost between me and my father. If it hadn't been the senses, it would have been something else."
Noticing Blair's eyes looking heavy, he put an end to the conversation. Standing up, he put his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Sleep, Blair. We'll talk more later."
Feeling completely safe for the first time since he could remember, Blair eased back into sleep.
Ellison tidied up, stoking the fire and began preparing the mid-day meal. After washing the used bandages and Blair's pants, he hung the items to dry near the fire. He then made himself a brew of coffee and sat in a chair watching Blair sleep, contemplating his young charge.
Where had Blair come from? Jim had never seen him in the twice a year ventures he took to the local community of which the Sentinel had never learned its name. He knew empaths were necessarily nomadic, moving around a lot to avoid detection and capture. Apparently, Blair hadn't moved fast enough this time. The kid didn't look very old. Late teens perhaps. How long had he been on his own? On the run?
Ellison's mind went back to the discovery he'd made when he'd undressed Blair earlier to tend to his injuries. He had a mark on his hip -- a brand -- in the shape of an eye. It wasn't a new scar either. It was a couple years old. Someone had, at some time in Blair's life, laid claim to him. More than likely another sentinel. Jim was livid at the abuse heaped upon such a young person. He'd also felt a flash of jealousy.
But the kid was still unbonded. He may have been a slave, forced into servitude for another sentinel, but he'd been able to avoid bonding. Jim shook his head in wonder. Empaths were forced to bond all the time. All that had to be done was to physically abuse them enough and their mental barriers would deteriorate, making their minds vulnerable and destroying any chance of resisting a forced bonding.
Standing up, he moved to stand beside the younger man. Stretching out his hand, he held it, palm open and down, above the curly head. He closed his eyes and waited a few seconds. Then he felt it. A low, warm vibration, sending pleasant tingles slowly up his arm and toward his heart.
Suddenly, the Sentinel's senses -- his mind -- were filled with the empath. The sound of his lungs filling with air with each breath. The rhythmic beating of his heart. The sight of his eyes moving underneath his eyelids. Long, dark eyelashes resting on pale skin. The scent of sweat and blood that still clung to the small body because a more thorough washing would cause too much pain. And underneath that was the comforting yet wild scent that was Blair Sandburg.
Ellison realized he was zoning and he jerked his hand and senses away from the kid. The break in connection was felt by Blair and the young man stirred in his sleep. Ellison froze, holding his breath until the kid settled back into a deep sleep. When Ellison was sure Blair was okay, he went outside.
He didn't go far, not wanting to leave Blair alone. Standing only a few feet from the hut, he looked out into the trees. Taking slow, deep breaths, he let the cold breeze drift over his face, slowly easing away his turmoiled emotions. He ran his long fingers through his hair and let out a shaky breath. He couldn't believe he'd lost control like that. For crying out loud, he'd been imprinting the kid. Imprinting him. Right after he'd promised Blair he wouldn't force a bond. But why? How had it happened? Was it because his senses had been so out of control lately? Or because they were both unbonded? Blair was a strong empath -- the Sentinel could feel that. The desire to bond was strong. He'd have to be careful, especially now after what had just happened.
Looking around, Ellison noticed the day had turned pleasant. The ground was mostly dry after last night's storm. It would be a good opportunity to replenish his supply of firewood. He didn't need to go far and he'd be close enough to listen for Blair. Maybe the work would clear his head. Picking up the ax leaning against the hut, he went to work.
Blair looked around and found himself back in the woods, his wrists tied to the branch above him. His feet dangled above the ground, making him unable to support his weight at all. His arms and shoulders were in agony and his back was on fire! Blair looked down and saw flames beneath him. His heart sped up and he tried to kick, but he hurt too much and he couldn't move. The fire climbed up his legs until it reached his chest. No. No. He couldn't move. Couldn't get away. Blair threw his head back and screamed.
Strong hands were shaking him and he fought back. No. Let go. He struggled to escape the hands and the fire.
"Chief! Blair! Come on, wake up!" A quiet, urgent voice. Gentle hands held his face. His eyes flew open to see the Sentinel's face only inches from his own.
"Jim," he gasped. Then his face scrunched up as the pain hit him again and he curled up, tightly clenching his muscles, inadvertently causing himself more pain. "Jim, oh damn, it burns."
"Easy. Easy, Chief." His hands moved from Blair's face to the back of his neck and his arm. He spoke in a low voice to get through Blair's pain and nightmare leftovers. "You're okay. You were having a nightmare. You're safe now." He kept his voice calm and quiet, trying to soothe the empath.
"Burning... on fire..." Blair said desperately.
"You have a fever. You were laying on your back. That's why it hurts." Jim stroked his forehead lightly, brushing damp curls away from the sweaty face. "Relax, okay? You've got your muscles all tensed up. Try to relax. Relax. That's it," he said as Blair reacted to his soothing litany and practically deflated, easing the stress of bunched up muscles. Gradually, his breathing slowed down and he seemed to return to reality.
"Better?" the Sentinel asked softly.
Blair nodded. "Thanks," he whispered.
Jim stood up and went to a darkened corner that Blair had noticed served as a kitchen. The young man heard the sound of water pouring and stirring. Then the Sentinel returned to his side with a cup and a pan of water. He touched Blair's arm to get his attention. "I need you to sit up again, Blair." Ellison felt a slight tremor of fear run through the feverish body. "I'm sorry, Chief. I know it hurts. I have something I want you to drink. It'll fight the infection." Jim could see in the empath's face that he was fighting his fear and his distrust of all people.
Blair searched Jim's eyes and after a long while, he nodded.
After Ellison got Blair up, he held the younger man carefully against him, letting him catch his breath. It took longer this time, but the waves of agony gradually abated.
"Here." Ellison put the cup to Blair's lips. Blair tried to hold the cup but his hands shook so badly that the Sentinel had to help support it.
Slowly, Blair drank the tonic, draining the cup. By the time he was finished he could barely hold himself up. He was dead weight as the Sentinel laid him back down, this time on his other side so he faced the wall.
"Blair, I'm going to put more salve on your back. Okay?"
"Okay," he whispered.
Slowly, gently, the Sentinel applied the healing balm to the empath's back, letting the soft strokes of his fingertips ease the smaller man's pain as much as the salve did. He didn't talk. He doubted Blair could hear him anyway through the fog of pain, fear and fatigue. Ellison thought about the Guide while he worked.
His Guide. He knew it now, and let himself admit it. He wouldn't force Blair to bond. He had promised and he would keep his word, but he knew Blair would come to him of his own free will. Ellison vowed that the young man would never regret it.
The inside of the sod hut was dark and warm. That, combined with the soft crackle of the fire and the soothing sensation of the salve worked together, making Blair relax. Exhaustion and the kindness of the Sentinel shattered the barricade of his carefully guarded memories and emotions, releasing them to cascade unrestrained through his mind.
Ellison caught the subtle change in the empath's breathing. He was still relaxed and free from pain, but his mind was no longer resting.
"You okay?"
"Just... remembering."
"Where you from, Chief?"
Blair shrugged then winced as the gesture pulled on damaged tissue. "Long ways. Doesn't matter anymore."
"Did you have to leave family behind?"
Blair was silent. Jim thought he'd chosen to ignore the question when the young man finally spoke.
"I had to leave after my mo... mother... she died pro... protecting me." Blair's voice was to broken that Jim could barely understand his last words.
Jim's heart wrenched at the young man's grief. "Sssssshhhhh," he said softly. "It's alright, Chief. You don't have to talk. It's alright." Jim soothed him with quiet words. He finished his ministrations and pulled the warm blanket carefully over Blair's shoulder. He laid a gentle hand on Blair's head, fingers softly clenching in the long curls. "Go back to sleep. I'll be right here."
Slipping quickly into sleep, Blair's fuzzy brain didn't have time to wonder about the warm connection flowing into him from the Sentinel's hand.
When Blair woke again he was still feverish, but it had gone down some. Ellison checked his wounds and found them to be in the beginning stages of healing.
Again, the Sentinel helped Blair sit up and leaned him back against a wall of soft cushions, wrapping him warmly in his blankets. Though his back was still raw and tender, it was a relief to sit up. Jim fed him lunch, stew -- light on the meat and spices, rich in dumplings. Jim had used meat from the pheasant he'd shot the night before. Blair was humiliated to be spoon-fed, but he was still too weak to manage the chore on his own.
Ellison put his fingers under the bruised chin and tilted Blair's head up. When the empath met his eyes, he gave an encouraging smile. "It'll come back, Blair. Your strength will come back. I promise." Jim removed his finger and Blair's head dropped back down.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Besides," Jim spoke as he resumed feeding the young man. "With all the hell you've been through and survived, I know you're stronger than you realize." He paused as he scooped another bite into Blair's mouth. "You would have to be if you were able to resist a forced bonding."
Alarmed, Blair suddenly looked back up. "What do you mean?"
Guiltily, the sentinel met his shocked gaze. "I'm sorry. I saw the brand when I was tending to you earlier. It's the mark of a sentinel. A powerful sentinel. One who had laid claim to you. Yet you're still unbonded. How is that?"
Blair was silent a moment, but Jim felt that he was ready to tell his story. So he waited.
"I had to leave home when I was only twelve. I never knew my father and my mother never spoke of him. It was just the two of us." Blair smiled a little at happy memories. Jim found himself sharing the smile, glad that the kid had some good memories stored away.
"When I was about ten, my empathy revealed itself. Mother was terrified for me. We lived far from the village and rarely ventured among people, but they have ways of finding empaths. Mother sheltered me and taught me to control and hide my abilities. She taught me how to build and maintain my barriers and how to use my empathy to protect myself. I think my father may have been an empath. For a non-empath, mother knew an awful lot about them.
"After a couple of years, someone finally found out. A mob from the village attacked our hut, setting it on fire, meaning to drive us out. Mother pushed me out the back door into the woods. She said she'd be right behind me. She must have known they would see us and follow. I was always small. Mother said..." his voice broke and he swallowed before he continued, "...said I always ran like a rabbit. I ran into the woods. Nobody saw me. About the time I realized she wasn't with me, I heard her scream." Blair's voice was thick and shaky. His breath was rapid and shallow as he relived the nightmare. "When I ran back a ways, I could see her lying on the ground, surrounded by the mob. There was a long sword st... sticking out of her chest... blood, so much... she was lying... in it, I knew she was... she was..."
Blair hadn't noticed that the Sentinel had moved to sit beside him until the big man carefully pulled him into a firm hug. Blair let his face fall on Jim's shoulder and he wept, sobbing over the vision of his mother's death.
"I ran... got away... for so long, I hated myself for running. Later I knew that if I'd been with her, we'd both be dead." Quietly, Blair rested against Jim. Instead of pulling away, the young man was content to stay where he was. He was quiet for so long that Jim thought he'd gone to sleep. Then he spoke again. "Sometimes I wish I'd died with her. Then I could rest... I'm so tired.... always running, hiding."
"Don't wish for death, Chief." Jim tried to comfort him, suddenly afraid for the young life in his care. At the same time, he remembered wishing for his own end just the night before.
"I've thought about killing myself," Blair went on in a tired flat voice, "but I never actually tried. Never had the guts. I think I probably would have though, when the Baroness had me. Except she never let me out of her sight unrestrained."
"The Baroness. Is that the other sentinel? The one who marked you?"
Blair nodded against the muscular shoulder. "Baroness Alicia Bannister. Her senses were way out of control. She needed a guide desperately. She bought me on the auction block."
Jim closed his eyes against the image of Blair in chains.
"She was beautiful, tall. Like a goddess, but vicious, spiteful. I felt it in her the first time she got near me. She picked me because she said I was strong. I helped her with her senses, taught her to control them. But I wouldn't bond with her. She nearly killed me then; she was so furious. That's when she had me branded." Blair shut his eyes, like pulling a curtain to hide the memories. "She said if she couldn't own me one way, she would another. I got really sick when the brand got infected. She left me along alone for a few days, letting me recover. I knew I had to escape. She'd try to force the bond again. I knew eventually she would either succeed or she'd kill me."
"How did you escape?"
"She came to me in the night. The guards on watch were at a minimum and it was dark. I knew there probably wouldn't be a better opportunity. I convinced her I was ready to bond. I told her to concentrate on my heartbeat and lured her into a zone-out." He chuckled mirthlessly. "By inducing a zone-out, I was burning my bridges. She'd beaten me before when she'd zoned and I knew she would kill me for causing one. I had to escape. It was easy after that. I hadn't realized I had some allies among the guards."
"They let you pass?"
"They were very discreet about 'not seeing' me. One of them even distracted another so I could get past."
"How long ago was that?"
Blair shrugged. His movement slow and heavy. "Dunno. Couple years. Stayed on the move..." A yawn interrupted him.
"Here, kid. Take a drink of water, then you can go to sleep. Save the rest of the story 'til later."
Sleepily, Blair took a few swallows. Settled back on his other side, he fell asleep.
I'm a sentinel.
Beware of sentinels, Blair. They'll hunt you down and claim you. They're cruel masters.
Never let yourself be bonded.
You'll never be free.
I'm your new master.
You will bond with me.
If I can't own you one way, I will another.
I am your sentinel.
I own you.
You will bond with me.
I own you.
You will never be free.
Never be free.
Blair woke with a jerk, a sob caught in his throat. He winced in pain and his hand automatically reached toward the brand on his hip. He stopped short when he saw the Sentinel sitting on the floor across the room, watching him. Something in the man's eyes frightened him. Terrified him. He'd seen that look of hunger before. On the faces of other sentinels. In the Baroness' eyes.
Ignoring the pain in his back, Blair drew away from the hungry eyes, trying to press himself against the wall behind him.
"You... you tried to bond," he said fearfully, accusingly; his voice shaking with the shock of betrayal.
The hungry look in Jim's eyes vanished and was replaced by shock and shame. "No. No, I didn't try..." the voice was weak with futile denial.
"Then what was it? What did you do?"
Jim hung his head then slowly lifted it back up, meeting eyes wide with terror. No, Blair. The look in those deep blue eyes hurt the Sentinel. He didn't want this. Didn't want to hurt him. Then tell him! Nothing but the truth. He has to trust you.
"Before, when you were feverish-dreaming, I knew you had to be strong to resist a forced bonding. I... I was curious, so I... I just held my hand above your heart and I felt the current running between us... I was gonna cut it off but... I... I started to zone on you."
"Zone on me?"
Ellison dropped his eyes. "Your heart; your breathing; your scent."
"I can't believe it! You were imprinting me! You said you wouldn't -- you promised!" Blair clenched his fists in helpless rage and fear. He promised! He betrayed me!
Jim wanted badly to go to Blair and put him at ease, but he knew that to make any move toward him right now would be the worst thing he could do. He looked back up into Blair's hurt and angry eyes. "I'm sorry, Blair. I didn't mean to. It just... happened." He spoke with quiet urgency. "I broke it off as soon as I realized... what I was doing." He held Blair's gaze a moment then dropped his eyes back to the floor. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking his head.
Blair wanted to forgive Jim, to tell him it was okay. The presence of the Sentinel had been as healing and comforting to him as the medical care and physical protection the man had given him. But Blair knew all too well the blinding need that drove sentinels to hunt down guides. They could go for years without one, but their senses would eventually be completely out of control and they would be driven to insanity, often to suicide.
Jim meant well. He was an honorable man, but his control over his senses was worse as each day passed. Jim hadn't told him. He didn't need to. Blair had been hunted by hungry sentinels many times. He knew what it looked like.
Blair was seized by panic when Jim moved to get up. Ellison looked up and realized what Blair was thinking. Embarrassed, he looked away. "It's okay, Blair. I'm just going outside." A sliver of hurt pierced his heart when the empath sighed in relief.
Ellison started to open the door when Blair's voice stopped him. "Jim."
The sentinel looked down at him. Blair caught the hurt look in Jim's eyes and had to swallow before he continued, "You... you're coming back, aren't you?"
Some of the hurt melted away and Jim nodded his head. "I'll be back, Chief." He closed the door firmly behind him.
Blair turned his head to face the wall. He wished he didn't hurt so much. He wanted badly to turn on his side and curl up into a tight ball.
He was more mad at himself than he was at Jim. He wasn't really mad at Jim. It just scared him when he realized how close to the edge the Sentinel was. But he was furious with himself, because part of him ached for the bond as much as Jim did.
More than anything, Blair wanted freedom. To be left alone. To be his own man. But in his short lifetime, he had been hunted, claimed, captured sold and enslaved. His rare times of freedom were spent in constant fear. If he lived long enough, Blair knew he would eventually end up a bonded guide. His resistance grew weaker each day. He could either be a guide to a sentinel like the Baroness or to Jim Ellison.
The storm of his mind passing, Blair rested as the pain faded to almost nothing. It was quiet in the hut. Long shadows signaled the end of the day. Blair was drowsy and felt sleep tugging at him. He knew Jim was nearby. The Sentinel was upset and didn't want to distress Blair, but the sentinel imperative to protect the guide was the strongest of any force on the earth.
"It's okay, Jim," he said quietly, knowing Ellison would hear him. "Please come back now." Then he let sleep pull him under.
When Blair woke up, Jim was there. Working silently, his face etched with misery. Blair longed to reach for him, to comfort him, as Jim had done for Blair. The empath started to move his arm, but jerked in pain when fire shot across his shoulder and back.
Jim was at his side immediately. "Easy, Blair. Your fever's back. Makes everything tender." Anxious to care for him, yet afraid to actually touch him, Jim's hands hesitated uncertainly then pulled the blanket down away from Blair's shoulders, careful not to touch him.
Ignoring his pain, Blair reached out again and grabbed Jim's hand. Surprised at the firm grip, Jim looked into eyes that were no longer fearful. The anger, the helplessness, was all gone. In their place was a trace of sorrow and surrender, but mostly acceptance.
Jim lightly shook his head, glancing at the floor. "Sandburg, you don't want this."
Blair's fingers tightened their grip. "Don't want what, Jim? To be life-bonded to someone who cares about me as a person? Someone who is more concerned with my feelings and needs than his own? Don't you think I know what you're risking by promising me my freedom? Insanity or death in a zone-out. I can't leave you to that."
"Why, Blair? Why would you change your mind?"
"My so-called freedom wouldn't last long, Jim. I'd rather stay with you than be claimed by another."
Jim's hand was still encased in Blair's. Wrapping his fingers around Blair's, he returned the grip. "You can stay, Blair. Please stay. Whether or not you stay as my guide, we'll discuss when you are well."
Blair pulled his other hand from its hiding place under the pillow and cupped it over Jim's. In answer, he allowed the connection to flare slightly. Jim understood. It was Blair's promise. As his Guide.
Blair improved a little each day, his health and strength returning under Jim's gentle and patient care. With the Sentinel's constant care and the necessary physical contact, it was only natural and to be expected that the Sentinel and Guide would inadvertently begin to bond. As soon as Jim realized it was happening, he tried to distance himself from Blair.
The young man, who was by now up and around, followed Jim outside one morning. He was wearing one of Jim's shirts. It was entirely too big for him, which made it perfect to cover Blair's still-healing back and shoulders. His feet were bare, having lost his tattered boots sometime during his attack, but he was accustomed to being without the luxury of boots.
Blair stood in front of Jim but well out of his way as the tall man chopped wood. The empath watched silently in awe, as the powerful man (his sentinel) swung his ax, cutting each log clear through with a single stroke.
Finally, Jim stopped working and acknowledged the smaller man before him. "Why are you out here in your bare feet, Sandburg?"
"I lost my boots, Jim."
"You're gonna get sick again."
"I wasn't sick, Jim. I was injured."
"You had a fever. You're still weak."
"Why have you cut yourself off from me?"
Jim looked away. "We've started to bond."
"I know."
Jim looked back at Blair. His long hair drifting in the cold breeze, pale face and dark circles under his eyes made him look like a lost waif. Yet his voice was deep and strong. Jim studied the young man's face and, seemingly satisfied with what he saw there, nodded in agreement. He held his hand out to signal that they go into the hut.
Once inside, Ellison helped Blair back to the bed, propping him up comfortably. The empath was often frustrated by his body's slow recovery. The simplest of tasks still exhausted him.
Jim sat in a chair that he'd moved next to the bed. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the bed and gently took Blair's hand in his.
Entwining his fingers in Jim's, Blair looked into Jim's eyes. "I can't leave now, Jim," he said seriously.
"Chief, we can still break--"
"No." Blair's refusal was quiet yet final. "No, Jim. You pursued the bond. Yes, it was by accident and even against your will, but you did."
"I don't want to hold you. I don't want to be responsible for your enslave--"
"You're not." Blair squeezed Jim's fingers. "I choose to stay. I want to stay. We belong together. Don't you see that? Don't you feel it?"
Jim tucked their clasped hands beneath his chin. "I feel it, Chief. I felt it the first time I saw you." Blair saw a flash of realization cross Jim's face.
"What?"
"I felt it before I saw you."
"What do you mean?"
"In the woods... right before I found you. The first thing I noticed... I felt... everything was perfectly clear and sharp... the way it is right before a zone-out, except I wasn't zoning. It was you, Chief. I didn't know what it was because I'd never felt it before. I know now that it was you. It was you, Blair."
Blair couldn't speak, his heart was full of some undefined emotions. Sentinel and Guide held each other's eyes, suspended in that moment of perfect understanding and unquestioning acceptance.
Blair swallowed and tried to still the waver in his voice. "I choose you, Jim."
Ellison closed his eyes a moment, then opened them again. "Are you sure, Blair?"
"Yes," he whispered. "My Sentinel."
"My Guide," Ellison whispered in return. He placed his free hand around the back of Blair's neck and drew him forward until their foreheads touched. Blair rested his other hand on Jim's shoulder, leaning on the tall man to keep his balance.
"Lower your barriers," Jim whispered.
The empath dropped his barriers, his mental shielding which he had built in his youth and maintained since, his protection against the world, his barricade, his fortress against the violent and ugly emotions that emanated from the people around him. He had carefully and diligently kept his barriers in place, never lowering them, not even under the abuse by the Baroness. He dropped them now without effort or thought, because Jim asked it of him. Because to complete the bond, he would have to open himself up totally to the Sentinel.
When Blair dropped his barriers, he felt an immense relief. His and Jim's lives would now be intertwined until death. He was no longer alone. Never again would he have to run. He was still an empath, yes. But now he was a bonded Guide. Another sentinel would not dare pursue him and the only way he could be bonded to another would be for Jim to die. Legally, he was now under the care and protection of his bonded Sentinel. And anyone who harmed the Guide was at the mercy of the Sentinel.
How could I have run from this? If only I'd known.
As Jim wrapped his mind and emotions around Blair's, soothing him, warming his heart with his oath, his senses climbed to their highest peak, reaching out for miles with no pain. The ease and beauty that he felt -- the sense of freedom -- he felt like he was flying, soaring. His heart was full to bursting from joy -- then Blair was grounding him -- pulling him back, back to his Guide before he could lose himself. His senses descended, returning to the safe and solid presence of his Guide. Too tired to open his eyes, Jim felt Blair beside him. Felt the connection running strong between them. Knowing they were safe and secure, he allowed himself to slide into deep sleep.
Never alone, Blair. Never again. Unspoken, Jim's promise was solid, nonetheless. Blair floated in the bond, resting in the surety of their eternal covenant.
The End
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