Part 1
Part 2
He thinks.
There isn't much to do in the Night Kingdom, so.
He thinks. And he walks.
Slow, ponderous steps that take him past rock formations and patches of flowering grasses. All he's ever known is the ever-present dark of this place, but images flit through his mind, brief snapshots of times and places and people that did not belong to him.
Faceless shadows drift in the distance, silent in their passage. Will he ever become like them? Is it even possible, for an entity like him, to lose his sense of self and wander aimlessly until the end of time? Can he even say he has a sense of self, when he only exists as a caricature of another man?
He ponders and he walks. Does the other man also think as much as he does? Does he contemplate existence and reality as he does? Does he hold onto these convictions that are branded, carved into his very being as he does?
"Your thoughts are very loud."
He stops in his tracks, his journey with no destination cut short by the interruption.
The man who so effortlessly cut through his inner turmoil sits on a small rock outcrop. With one elbow resting on a bent knee, the man watches him with a calm curiosity.
He frowns at the man. He feels like he should be offended by the statement, but he can't seem to get the words out to convey himself.
The man rests his chin on the heel of a palm. "Not going to defend yourself?"
He grunts. Finally, he opens his mouth to reprimand the man, but what comes out is- "You are not the doctor."
The man with his pale hair and pale eyes shrugs with one shoulder. "And you're not the commander, so I'd say we're even on that front."
Thrain stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do or say.
Guthred takes pity, because he lets out a huff that neither mocks nor condemns. "Are you planning on standing there the whole time? There's plenty of room on this rock. Or are you waiting for me to salute?"
The commander is blindsided with a fleeting not-memory of the doctor's namesake, chattering away in a medical laboratory as deft hands adjust equipment and variables. He blinks away the domesticity. He sits next to the doctor, close enough but not too close, and rests his hands on his knees.
"There is no point in saluting." He pauses. Thinks. Says the thing that weighs most heavily on his mind. "He rejected me."
Guthred hums, a sound that is perfectly neutral. "Yes, your expression makes it most obvious. Would it make you feel better if I said I too was rejected?"
Thrain ruminates on the revelation. He appreciates the attempt to comfort him, but the knowledge still sits sour in his stomach.
"Not used to rejection?" The corners of the doctor's lips tick up almost imperceptibly. "I suppose a character of your calibre is accustomed to being catered to."
Thrain quells the juvenile urge to take the bait. "I understand rejection, Doctor. But these memories, they tell a different story. Surely you understand."
The fictional man next to him turns his head just enough to look at him out of the corner of an eye. "Do you really need me to explain it to you?"
Thrain manages to hold back his scowl, but the aggravated sigh escapes before he can contain it. "I understand the logic of it, but- Am I- Are we that different?"
"Of course." The amusement in Guthred's voice tickles at his ears. "We are not theirs, therefore they are not ours. You'd do best to accept it and move on."
The commander turns to the other man. "If he and I do not belong together, then what purpose do I have? I am a commander, yet I have none to command. The one who should be my second-in-command does not accept me. What am I to do?"
Guthred's eyes are irritatingly placid. "You're very bothered by this."
Thrain nearly throws his hands into the air but catches himself just in time. "Are you not? You've lost the entire meaning of your existence and you don't care?"
Guthred makes a vague noise. "It's not that I don't care. It's more that I've decided to move on. Just because you've lost your purpose doesn't mean you can't find another one."
"And?" Thrain's skin itches with the need to do something, whether it's to pace or to yell into the darkness. "Have you found it?"
Guthred shrugs again. "Still looking. But I'm not too concerned. I have all the time in the world, don't I? After all, I'm just a fictional character residing in the afterlife. You don't see any of these departed souls having existential crises now, do you?"
Thrain harrumphs and an overly familiar voice echoes in the depths of his mind with teasing words. He soldiers past the not-his-memory. "That's because those souls have already lived their lives. But we are different. We never truly lived. We were brought into existence fully formed, with the memories of our other selves grafted onto our pysches. We did not ask to be burdened with the life someone else already lived."
Guthred cuts a nonchalant figure but his eyes are sharp like glass, observing Thrain almost clinically. "And yet here we are."
Yet here they are. Even after airing his grievances, Thrain is no closer to finding a solution. He sits and stews in the ensuing silence. Guthred is right. Thrain knows that he's right. But that doesn't make it any easier.
Guthred speaks up again. "The question is, what do you want to do?"
What does he want to do? Not the man he was made in the image of, not anyone else. Him.
The answer to this deceptively simple question eludes him.
Where is the decisiveness? Where is the fortitude, the courage that allows the real Thrain to move forward? Is he so poor an imitation that these qualities abandon him at the first sign of mental weakness?
"What if I don't know what I want?" He speaks his uncertainty into the still air.
Guthred huffs near silently. "Then I congratulate you on breaking free from your limitations as a fictional character."
Thrain makes a face. "I don't need to be congratulated. What I need is an answer."
By now, Guthred's propping his head up against his arm. "It's fine to not know what you want. Most people spend their whole lives not knowing. But unlike most people, you have more than enough time to figure it out." He sweeps his eyes critically over Thrain's face. "There is no quick and easy answer. You just have to accept that."
Thrain lets out a quiet breath. What other choice does he have? The only way is forward, even if it may be slow and arduous. He takes in a deep breath even if he doesn't actually need to breathe and feels his heart settle. "You speak wise words, Doctor. Are you sure you're not a shaman in disguise?"
Guthred snorts. "If I was my original self, I'd have choice words about that."
Thrain feels his lips twitch. "Hmph. That would be something to experience. But thank you, for humouring me in this moment of weakness."
"Good thing it ended when it did." Guthred rolls his eyes. "I was starting to run out of things to say. It's hard enough being a doctor and you want me to play counsellor on top of that? Talk about a tall order."
Thrain impulsively, childishly rolls his eyes back at Guthred and smiles at the man's astonishment. "I hope you brush up on your skills, Doctor. I foresee many instances of calling upon your guidance in the future."
