"OK Anthony, count backwards from 100."
Anthony glances at the IV dripping anesthesia into his arm, and looks back up at the blinding overhead light, and closes his eyes. "Right. 100... 99..." Suddenly he feels clever and amused, and lets out a little gigglesnort before he quips, "69. Uh, 420."
The anesthesiologist chuckles. "Good. Keep going..."
"Wow, I think I'm higher than..." Anthony grins so hard his face hurts. "Snooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooop."
Anthony opens his eyes for an instant and the anesthesiologist is trying not to laugh. Anthony mumbles, "When the pimp's in the crib ma, drop it like it's hot, drop it like it's hot, drop it like it's hot..."
And then the world fades away, and Anthony melts into the light shining down on him, drifting on a sea of sunbeams.
Anthony looks up into a sky that seems to be made of labradorite, flashing silver-blue and gold, with an iridescent rainbow haze reminiscent of an aurora, over a sea of stars. It's like something from one of Sören's paintings. Anthony looks out over the shining ocean, with swan ships in the distance, and actual swans close to shore. Strands of long hair blow out in front of him in the breeze - blond. Specifically, shifting pale silver and gold, like a fainter reflection of the light.
Anthony walks through a seaside palace with great marble columns lined with crackles of gold, overlooking the sea and a coastal forest. He sees himself in the reflection of a fountain, with long silver-gold hair like the "swan prince" in Sören's Christmas gift, wearing a cloak and tunic of green embroidered with gold.
He walks along the beach, each step leaden, like walking to an execution. The gold-and-silver iridescent light is gone, and now he watches the sunrise, lighting up deep blue twilight in a dramatic blaze of pink, orange and gold, softening the blue into many shades. It feels like seeing the sunrise for the first time, and Anthony's mouth opens, falling to his knees in the sand in awe - sadness and joy all at once - and he begins to weep.
A memory of fire in a forge, of Sören with longer hair, beardless, bent over an anvil with Anthony's cock gliding in and out of him, hips slapping together, passion burning as hot as the flames.
A memory of light, of three jewels in a crown Sören is wearing, his face as bright as the sun both from the jewels and his smile. I love you.
Now Anthony is kneeling on the shore, alone, looking up into the rising sun, holding out his hands to catch rays of sun like he's trying to catch embers of Sören's spirit, wishing Sören was here to see this, feeling a shattering sense of loss.
Feeling cold that never goes away, even in the sun's warmth. A memory of swords and blood, snow and ice. Turning back into the fog, into the cold, away from Sören, alone.
A vision of Sören burning to death, like the nightmares Sören's told him about, going up in smoke and ash, and Anthony sees it in a crystal sphere long after it's happened - watching it over and over again, consumed with guilt.
There's someone else he doesn't recognize - familiar but can't place it, but his soul knows who it is, eyes of brightest blue flame, facing a giant many times his size, wearing a dark crown with blinding jewels, wielding an enormous hammer like Thor that's at least the same size as the man. The man is killed, but first he lames the giant's leg. Anthony winces with pain watching this in the sphere too, feeling like his heart is breaking, surprised the sphere doesn't break along with it.
Years and years and years where he carries on, numb, silently bearing the weight of his grief. Watching sunrise after sunrise, without Sören. Feeling dead inside.
Sunrise becomes sunset and he rides a horse, leading the charge to war, his blood boiling to avenge Sören, to avenge the other man killed by the hammer-wielding giant. He dies against a pack of monsters, mortally wounded, bleeding in pain. He knew there was a chance he would die in this battle, but he still wasn't expecting it, and yet as he lays there, his life fading, it feels like relief. An end to the endless grief, the loneliness, just existing, not really alive anymore. Anthony watches the last light of sunset burn in the deep blue dusk, and he hears himself call out: Fëanáro.
Everything is cold. So cold. So dark.
"Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Shit. FUCK. FUCK. MOTHERFUCKER."
Anthony wakes up in the worst pain of his life, feeling like he's been split in two. Suddenly bright light is burning his eyes and he lets out a helpless moan as he sees people in masks and scrubs hovering over him.
"Congratulations," one of them says. "The surgery's done!"
"That's nice," Anthony says. "Fucking shoot me." He groans with pain. His mouth feels like it's made of parchment paper. "Water."
They bring him ice water and Anthony chews on the ice, and Anthony's mind's eye replays the intense, harrowing dreams he had while he was under, starting with the ice, the snow. Anthony shudders with the visceral horror of the memory - it was just a dream but it felt so real.
Right down to the grief, feeling like he had a piece of his soul ripped out while he was under, not just his uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes and cervix. The excruciating physical agony mirrors his anguished, tormented mental state in the dream. As dry as his mouth is, he has to stop with the ice water because he can't sit up anymore, laying back down, sobbing in pain. "Fuck. FUCK. FUCK. Fucking motherfucker."
"Here, let's get you some Dilaudid," one of the doctors says, and starts a new IV.
Soon Anthony is floating again and the pain fades into the background - still there, but detached from it. Numb. His brain feels like it's made of jello.
But then, the floaty waves turn dark and choppy, tossing and turning, his mind's eye replays the dreams again, and he tries to call out for Sören, needing his husband, needing to know his Sören is alive - even though he's the one who had the major surgery, not Sören; the memories of snow and fog, smoke and ash, the taste of fear lingers even as the pain quiets down - but he keeps calling out babble, or someone else's name. "Fëanáro. Fëanáro."
go to chapter 38 | go to story index | go back to Maglor Shrine | go to home page