Scars

by IceAngel

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And in the evening
Something is seething
Eyes, eyes that lie and skin that scars

~The Living End~


It was a cold night. Frost clung to the grimy glass of the windows of the tavern beside which he was standing. A dark sign swung precariously over the entrance. 'The Black Bore' it said in large black letters.

The alley behind him stunk of waste and human filth. Shadows flittered behind him as he came to stand beneath the ruddy lantern and bent to peer through the frosted glass. It was a disreputable establishment, there was no doubt, but in this black mood he did not care.

Without another thought Doom reached forwards and shoved the heavy wooden door inwards, holding his breath as the stench of alcohol and sweat washed over him. It was dark inside, and the only light came from the low-burning fireplace in the corner and the red glow from the candles.

The ceiling was bathed in smoke, and the grey choking fumes curled around everything and made his head spin as gazed about the room. He moved unsteadily to the beer-stained counter, leaving his hood over his face.

"Ale?" asked the barman, a greasy looking man with slit eyes, whose hands, as he leaned on the counter, were black with grime.

Doom nodded, and the barman went to work. After a slight debate about the price he was able to acquire his drink and move into the shadows at the back of the tavern. He found an empty seat in a corner and settled back, pulling his hood further down over his eyes.

It was the strangest of nights to be away from the palace, and he knew he would most definitely be missed. But he had had to get away. Up on the hill the celebrations for the New Year would be in full swing, and he could imagine the lanterns and candles lining the streets.

It was more than a celebration of the New Year. To the people of Del it was a symbol of a new era of peace. For the King had chosen a wife, and they were to be married that night amid the festivities.

He cringed inside as his thoughts turned to Jasmine, and what she would think of him for missing this 'happy' event. Lief would feel betrayed too, after all the years they had spent together rebuilding the Kingdom. And he knew deep down that it was selfish of him to think of himself on a day like this. But a new year brought with it the memories of all he had lost, and his friends that had been lost because of him. People he had left behind in Del when he fled in the King's place, Endon, members of the resistance, and most of all... Anna.

Just then a drunk stumbled past his table and stumbling, managed to spill his drink across Doom's cloak. The drunk laughed, reaching out to slap Doom heartily on the back in apology. But Doom would have none of it. His black mood and the reeking breath of the man pushed him over the edge. He slid his chair back sharply and caught hold of the man's shirt.

"Get your stinking hands off a me..." the drunk slurred, trying to pry Doom's hand off his clothes.

Doom struck out, his fist glancing off the side of the other's skull. The man slumped in his grasp, and Doom dropped him on the dirty floor.

As if nothing had happened, he turned back to his table and reached for his drink. Draining it in one gulp he lifted the glass to the surprised on-lookers.

As he looked up at his triumphant hand he saw red glinting through the glass. Blood. His mind slammed back into reality and he realised what he had done. He starred at his bloodied hand, seeing as if for the first time, the scars and battle wounds that crossed his palm.

Each was a life destroyed in favour of his own.

He staggered, barely catching himself on the side of a table as the world spun before his eyes.

And as he squinted through the dense smoke-filled air he gasped. "Jasmine?"

There was a red figure standing before him, who did indeed seem to be his daughter. "What are you doing here?" he stammered in confusion, "You should be at the palace."

She did not answer, and there seemed to be a great grief upon her face.

"What is it?" he whispered, reaching out for her face to comfort her.

But as his rough hand touched her cheek it left a crimson stain, and suddenly she fell. He did not reach out to catch her, somehow knowing it was he who had caused this... his hands.

"Jasmine!" He stared at the body, so still and pale.

Something touched him on the back, a heavy arm drooping over his shoulder. "Lost love, is it?" a harsh yet friendly voice asked.

Doom ripped around, startled by the touch and the voice. "I..."

"Have another drink on the house, you'll be sure to be over her in the mornin'" A glass was pushed into his hands, and the barmaid's sturdy arm left his shoulder.

He stood, staring at the drink in bewilderment. What had happened? He looked back to where Jasmine's body had lain, and now there was nothing. No, there 'was' something, there was a red stain on the floor. Blood.

"Jarrad?"

The voice was familiar, and Doom shook in terror to hear it. He had had enough of phantoms playing with his mind this night, and he still felt the shocking terror of hurting Jasmine pounding through him.

"Jarrad?" The voice came again, this time insistent.

"Keep away from me!" he shouted as the womanly figure emerged through the smoke. He backed quickly, lacking his usual grace of movement. He had lost so very much, he would not be the cause of her death too!

"Jarrad, it is I, Sharn. What has happened to you?"

The figure held out her arm, but again he shrunk away. He could feel tears burning in his eyes. "Keep back!" The glass he held fell to the floor and smashed loudly, spraying his pants with the dirty alcohol.

"I came to look for you," the figure of Sharn explained. "You were not at the festivities. Forgive me for following you. I was worried."

Her calm voice did something to reassure him. And he let her approach carefully. She reached out to touch him, and he flinched, expecting her to crumble as she touched him as Jasmine had before.

"What is it?" she asked, guiding his shoulder firmly back to the table. They sat down, and Doom tried to recollect his thoughts. "You should be celebrating! Think of what this night means! Of all you have accomplished, all the people you have saved!"

"Saved?" he spat angrily, "For every one alive there are ten who have died!"

"And think of those you have saved," she said calmly. Your daughter, your King, your friend." She curled her hand within his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

He could smell the sweet scent of her hair, and it overpowered the dirty smell of the tavern. Her presence brought him some semblance of peace, and he realized just how much he had to live for, and how much he had helped to protect.

And as he leant into her warm embrace he felt his scars heal.

~ Finis ~