APPARITION !!!

chapter one ;   found and lost....

He had never seen a ghost. But like his brother used to say, there is a first time for everything. As all queer things do, it started on an unassuming, ordinary day.

*—*

"Hit me again," Borin roared. Mikael dodged the axe with ease and counter attacked his opponent with the blunt end of his sword. The sound of weapons meeting each other was loud but less noticeable compared to the cheers coming from their audience.

Mikael panted and grinned mischievously. "No, my friend! I do not wish for you to be defeated so soon," he taunted, walking in a circle. Borin bared his teeth.

"We'll see," was his ominous promise. Borin nearly flew from his side towards Mikael with his axe. They parried and dodged each other for it seemed like hours. Mikael jumps to avoid an attack from Borin but he misstepped.

He didn't notice the elevated mud collected over and tripped over it. Borin seeing his advantage brought his axe over Mikael's hand and lo; there's a sword flying in the air with his owner of the ground; axe pressed on his throat.

"I surrender," he croaked, cross eyed at the axe. Claps followed and Mikael took the offered hand with a blank expression.

Borin clapped on his shoulders, his grin wide but teasing. "Look who was defeated," he gloated. Mikael scowled. "What on nine realms is up with you, Mikael? Thoughts on Astrid, already?"

Mikael pressed his lips into a thin line. Astrid is the daughter of his father's closest friend. Many had been telling Mikael and his family about how good she is for him as a future wife.

Mikael despised Astrid with a passion. She was cruel to the smallfolk, and giggled more than he had ever seen a maiden do.

"Fuck off. The gods smiled on you once," he grumbled, shrugging off Borin's hands. He glowered at the amused disbelieving smirk his friend was giving. A cough broke him off the heated staring contest between them.

Mikael gave a shallow bow towards the man who interrupted them. "Alejandro," he greeted. Borin mimicked him, so did the trainees who had been watching Mikael and Borin fight.

Alejandro grinned sharply. He's a stern man with hair as black as coal, with grey hair sprinkled along, quite like the fur of their vicious hunter dogs.

Maybe that's why he is nicknamed 'The Dog of Fellsskogar.' "Do ya know what ya did wrong, boy?" He asked.

Mikael scowled, but still answered, "I didn't pay attention to my surroundings."

"Damn right ya didn't, boy. " Alejandro agreed. "Yer footwork could use some work too, lad. Look into it, ye?" Mikael nodded. Alejandro slapped on his back, making Mikael stumble. Everyone laughed.

Alejandro continued on to Borin, congratulating and telling him tips on what all moves he could improve. The rest of the boys listened to the old man speak, except for Mikael.

Mikael just stood there until he was dismissed, his thoughts heavy.

Usually Mikael' s attention never waned from his lessons—he wanted to be the best warrior their village had to see yet. But Mikael then thought he saw something in the corner of his eyes.

Something dark but disappeared as soon as it spotted Mikael watching them. It wasn't familiar; Mikael had never seen something like that ever in his life. Dark, pale, twisted and confused were his only impressions of the strange apparition.

Easily ignoring Borin's worried frown shot towards him, Mikael bid his friend, master and the rest of the trainees a good day. He sauntered onto the end of the village, keeping in mind to not be seen.

It was reckless, walking alone. However safe it was, wild animals still lived nearby and so did bandits. But Mikael was curious and he was sure in his abilities to escape.

He paused at the edge of a tree. The tree was dark and thick as all trees. Yet unlike the other tree's, this banyan tree had a hay bed on its corner.

A bed that was not there the past few days. Quick as a mouse, the familiar figure came to Mikael's vision singing a jaunty tune.

Mikael's hands played with the tips on the knife he kept in his belt. His eyes sharply observed the figure, calm and composed.

"What brings you here, stranger?" He asked, mildly. The dark shape of a man flinched, as if he were startled. Mikael was greeted by white eyes. Entirely white with no pupils, to his horror. He gripped his tiny knife tighter.

The man didn't notice his stiff bearing, or maybe he didn't care enough. There was an airy, melancholic air about him; as if he were sad about something.

He looked like some of the womenfolk of Mikael's village arriving with the men of his village; lost and so terribly sad.

"A continuum of terrible choices, I think," said the apparition.

"You think?" Mikael had never seen quite a grown up man who allowed themselves to appear so doubtful. It simply is not done so. The apparition gave him a ghost of a smirk.

"Aye."

Mikael gave him a baleful glare, sensing he was being mocked. "What business do you have here, you vagabond?" He gave a dimlet eye through the mismatched shirt sleeves and trousers of the stranger. His curly hair looked like it hasn't been brushed since ages.

Even though he doesn't smell, Mikael felt his nose crinkle with disgust. He had no respect for people who let themselves be so shabby. It was uncouth.

Really, brushing one's hair with a comb was no hard feat! Mikael's tiny brother did it at just five nameday's old and he was just a babe! And those clothes were quite inappropriate for the winter coming!

A lazy upstart then, he concluded.

The vagabond chuckled. Mikael's jaws clenched at the next words. "I do not know, my tiny furious friend. I appeared here someday before. I don't quite remember," he frowned, as if the fact is terribly distressing for him.

It was Mikael's turn to frown now. "What are you named then?" He eyed the vagabond distrustfully.

The vagabond shook his head. "I do not know," he said.

"Do you know something then?" Mikael cried loudly. He covered his mouth with his hands, startled at the loudness of his voice. Quickly he glanced back towards the direction his village and waited. He wasn't that far, only at the edge of an inhabitanted part of their lands. None appeared and Mikael felt his cheeks turn red. He turned back to see the vagabond staring at him with a puzzled look.

Mikael flushed. "What?" He demanded with all the fury a warrior would snarl at an enemy.

He did not know why he acted like that; Mikael never had lost control over himself since many moons. A future Jarl should be serene and calm; and there he was intense and an utter disappointment of not even being able to control his anger.

"Name me then," the vagabond said unexpectedly. Mikael blustered. The damn creature ignored his disbelief. "I have no name, no place to call my own so I'm asking you, my friend. I have no memory of any names given to me. Give me a name so that I may be nameless no longer." He gave out a small snort and then continued. "Maybe, I'll even remember it."

Mikael after his outrage, tilted his head, considering.

What can one say to such a pathetic, loathsome question? As much as he distrusted this ruffian, this man gave Mikael honour to name him.

It wasn't something Mikael had ever been blessed by. Naming one was sacred, something that was kept aside for the folks themselves or their mothers. One had to make sure the name given must fit their babe.

He eyed the ragged ruffian. No, Mikael was nearly a man, very near from taking the responsibilities of his people from grandfather. He shall bear this as it is his responsibility.

"Arlan," he decided. The ruffian perked up. "It fits you and your odd ways."

And the newly named Arlan bowed his head and said, "Nice meeting you, my furious friend."

"Indeed," he said, bemused at the strange way of wording. "I am Mikael." He didn't bother with the proper way of greeting. Arlan grinned, as if pleased. He ignored the queer feeling in his chest.

What an odd creature indeed.

*—*

Moons pass by and Arlan comes and goes.

Mikael does not know where he goes, nor when he comes but now after so much time spent with his new ruffian, Mikael knows not to worry much.

He was no threat to him nor his people. Indeed, if he was, Arlan never remembered much of importance, much to Mikael's discomfort.

He finds it odd that Arlan loses his memory so frequently. It wasn't proper; his ruffian is young and spirited, not one speck of grey hair. Old folk and injured people lose their memories, not folks like Arlan.

But Mikael keeps quiet, contemplating. He keeps quiet and their meetings secret; until he realises only he can see Arlan.

*—*

"Must you be so obnoxious, Arlan," Mikael huffed, panting as he climbed down the tree's cautiously.

Arlan grinned from the ground— the fool had jumped from a great height without any injuries. Mikael wasn't jealous, not at all.

"Your legs are quite small and lazy, my tiny friend," Arlan japed, waving a small red cloth. "You need time before you reach my level." Mikael didn't bother answering to the smug little shit.

Mikael had wanted to play fetch flag and Arlan had agreed without any protest. Mikael was the best in those games, just like his brother before him was. And now, there was Arlan who snatched his crown of undefeated yet, like it wasn't any effort.

It was so like Arlan, doing things without any thought; Mikael couldn't feel but pleased. His ruffian was being more active, and started to remember their encounters more and more.

It felt like victory. If Mikael had his way, nothing would stop Arlan from being claimed by death.

"One day," Mikael vowed, "I'll beat you and laugh at your displeased face." He glared something fierce but Arlan only laughed, his eyes crinkling with mirth.

"I'm sure you'll, Mikael," he agreed. "But until then, I'll beat the shit out of you." Arlan ruffled Mikael's short hair. He scowled and batted away his hands.

"Stop it!" He hissed, shoving his elbow at his ruffian. He ignored Arlan's gasp of pain.

By gods, he deserved it, Mikael thought viciously. None touched his hair. None.

"Stop what?" Came a familiar voice. Mikael and Arlan flinched backwards, both their eyes bulged up with surprise.

Few feet back stood Borin, his expression bemused. Logs of wood were carried on his back. "Mikael, what are you doing here, talking to yourself?"

Later on, Mikael would forever deny that he squeaked. But later came in years after, when he was with his beloved, and not as a boy so now he squeaked out, "nothing!"

By Borin's raised eyebrows, he did not believe Mikael. "Lie better," he said. "If there's any girl out there." Borin trailed out, smirking.

Mikael turned red. "Fuck off," and he stormed off.

Later, but not so far away, he would realise Borin didn't acknowledge Arlan. Then, he'll be guilty because he didn't realise this fact and apologise stiffly to his ruff—friend. Later, present and so far away, the norns will laugh and dance with each other.

Things were changing and the games grew more chaotic.

*—*

"You're not resting, Mikael." A pale hand hovered near him in askance. Mikael nodded tiredly.

Arlan frowned. He nudged Mikael to lay down on the grass. Mikael closed his eyes. A cool cloth laid on his forehead made him open one of his eyes.

"Mother hen," Mikael accused at Arlan's worried hovering. His ruffian only shrugged.

"You looked like shit," was only his reply. "Was your father rough, again?" A hum was his reply. Mikael closed his eyes again. His limbs were aching of a good kind of pain that comes only after staying too long in training.

Father was vicious today. Mikael had barely enough time to defend himself before his sword was off his hand.

Arlan cursed loudly at the large bruises on his chest. Mikael was too tired to berate him. It helped that none could hear his ruffian.

A series of experiments had been conducted when Mikael brought these suspicions to Arlan. Even his ruffian was surprised, but then again he doesn't know who he is, Arlan had said sheepishly.

"It does make sense now. I wondered if I looked truly terrible for people to ignore me so," Arlan mused, his expression dark. Mikael exhaled angrily but didn't say anything.

Mikael trained, bore his father's lectures stoically, survived— he would return to that corner of the village and see Arlan sitting peacefully with a pipe; he would smile.

Friendship, Mikael thinks, is a wonderful feeling.

Mikael, if he were of a dreaming kind, could've said that he finally had someone whom he could call a friend. Mayhap, shield brother too.

But he wasn't. It wasn't time, not yet.

For all his talks about improvement, Mikael knew he was lonely since Harold's death. He knew his father and mother wished he was dead instead of his brother. He knew he was deeply wounded—jealous— of Borin's bonds with his family.

Borin, his friendly rival no matter how much he liked Mikael, would never choose him when it was family. Mikael tried not to didn't mind much; he was happy his friend had more than a sense of duty to his family unlike him. But that didn't mean Mikael felt green with envy whenever he watched Borin with his family.

But now, Mikael had someone who cared for him. Who sees him, mayhap might choose him when time comes.

The rage in Arlan's eyes made him warm in chest, much to his shame.

*—*

"What do you do when I'm doing chores, Arlan," Mikael struck a log with his axe absentmindedly. They were in the forests again, this time Mikael doing his chores instead of playing with his tween friend.

Wasn't it a shock when Arlan said he was only ten? Nearly a man grown, but more so than Mikael. He hoped Arlan grew with him; unless the unfortunate curse of his friend's would deny him that pleasure.

"Oh, I amuse myself by walking in front of men," Arlan smirked. "Eric has been keeping Sigrid and her husband's bed warm instead of his wife's for many moons, if you're curious."

Mikael slowly turned towards Arlan with a bemused expression. Arlan saw this and a hilarious expression was formed in his face. He flushed red. "Nothing so nefarious, Mikael! I leave when they start tumbling, it's amusing that's all," he denied vehemently.

"I'm sure you did," Mikael agreed amicably. "If you did not, I wouldn't mind my friend." He resumed his chopping. Mikael would be a hypocrite to judge Arlan since his brother did more disagreeable things as bad sports.

There are some things you don't want to know about your eldest brother, in Mikael's opinion.

Exhibitionalism wasn't the worst of things Mikael had the displeasure to know early.

"Anyways." Arland had recovered and sat by the shade of his tree like a smug cat. He eagerly changed the topic. Mikael let him get away now. He knew he'll revisit someday. "I hear and see many secrets which are useful. I've concluded that I don't need food to survive. The curse seems to sustain me."

"I thought you couldn't eat?"

"I cannot, " Arlan agreed. "But I tried to. Those meat pie's looked absolutely mouthwatering!" He looked wistful. "I wished I could eat them."

And what can Mikael say to such a heartbreaking comment? Nothing.

He set down his axe and walked towards Arlan. Mikael bowed down to one knee. "What are you doing?" Arlan asked, incredulous.

Mikael ignored him. "I, Mikael son of Ulrick, promise you to find a way to defeat your curse to the best of your abilities." His head stayed low.

"Mikael," came Arlan's soft voice. They both knew Mikael kept his promises. Breaking promises was a slight against his honour, something Mikael hated. "You need not—"

Mikael risked a glance towards Arlan. His ruffian had unshed tears in his eyes. Mikael felt uncomfortable, but he refused to be cowed by tears. "I believe this is what brothers do, Arlan," he said gruffly.

Arlan slammed into him and the rest of the conversation was denied by Arlan's heartbreaking sobs.

*—*

Mikael walked with a sense of purpose. His people ran around him, trying to find their missing family members.

The men in their village had just returned after their raids for winter. Exotic things were in every corner and so were girls of every age. Usually, Mikael would be curious about the new things but he had no patience for it now.

Not when he had someone to see.

His people and the foreign girls ignored him, much to his relief. He saunteried through the crowds and shouting men with the ease of a slippery fox.

Arlan was quite a bad influence on him. He used subterfuge instead of honour in battle and life and Mikael was slightly ashamed Arlan influenced him so much.

That was another thought for another time.

Mikael then stoped infront of a modest house. He walked into it and saw the back of a woman— who it seemed, was talking to her plants. The woman was a beauty; her complexion as dark as nights without stars. Her dark hair was curled around her neck and tied in braids— and she wore a simple dress. In the end, she looked at some of the peasant girls Harold loved to bed; but there was no mistaking the predatory stance and aura of hers.

"Lyanna," Mikael bowed to her in respect.

"Mikael," she said, slowing standing up." What do you need?" She was blunt at her words. Mikael's lips twitched into a smile.

"My lady, I'm here because I want your help. I'll go swiftly along as long as I get my answer." He didn't bother saying talking to plants.

People were eccentric enough; who was he to judge them if they caused no one harm?

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Ask then." She said.

"I want to ask about curses, my lady," he said. "About spells and how to unbind them. About memories, if you don't mind. Mayhap, invisible creatures."

Lyanna eyed him suspiciously but nodded. "Give me time, child. I'll look into my grimoires."

And Mikael grinned, feeling light hearted.

*—*

"Are you alright?" Asked Mikael. Arlan sat on his hay bed; looking a bit grey faced. His eyes were feverish and unfocused.

"Mikael," he whispered. "Oh,I'm quite sorry, I thought you left just some time ago?"

Mikael frowned; the deep lines on his forehead deepened. "A night has passed since my last visit, Arlan. I ask again, are you alright?"

"Oh," Arlan didn't quite whisper, it was louder this time. "I do not know Mikael. I've so many blank spaces in my memories," he said. His next words made Mikael clutch his friends shoulders desperately.

"I think I'm losing my memories, again." Arlan confessed sadly.

*—*

Mikael ran as fast as he could. He passed through startled women and children alike with nary a care.

He slowed down to Lyanna's house. The healer was outside, plucking some herbs from her garden.

Lyanna, seeing him, ushered him inside. "Now—"

Mikael interrupted her. "Did you find anything?"

Lyanna scowled. "Let me talk to you , impatient child." Mikael looked at her blankly. She sighed.

"There are many candidates, my child. You should understand this first. One's mind, without magic can succumb which—"

"My friend is not some simpleton!" He hissed. "It is magic that hinders him so much! You're a witch, woman. Give me something useful! "

Lyanna straightened up, her eyes gaining a dangerous light. "You," she curled the word with sheer anger,enough to make a grown man wet himself, "shall speak to me with respect or be forbidden from my home."

Mikael snarled, nor caring a whit about any disrespect he's showing. "Respect my grief first!"

Both glared at each other until Lyanna sighed.

"Your impulse and anger, child," the Bennett witch said, "will get you nowhere." She let out a sigh. "Oh bugger off, I'm not quite horrible to have a grudge against a child five and forty nameday older than me."

Mikael bowed his head low. He took he olive branch extended to him. "I apologize, my lady. I'll take care for my words."

Lyanna huffed out a laugh but didn't say anything else. She offered Mikael a chair.

"Your new friend i presume, could be some sort of creature" Lyanna started. "With a curse cast on him. I know no creature able to be invisible with the exception of mayhap dragon magik. I want more knowledge, boy."

Mikael chewed his lips thoughtfully. "My friend," he said, because there is no use for cover now, "is cold to touch. He requires no kip nor nourishment of any kind. That's all I can give you."

Lyanna stared at him, long and hard. "What?" Mikael snapped.

"Mayhap a spirit," Lyanna mused. "But they're not seen unless they create havoc and mischief. They're dead men who once walked on lands we walk now. Those who could not pass to Valhalla nor Hel, because they're restless. But they're harmful and vicious," she ended, looking regretful. "I've no knowledge of any curse nor about the race of this creature, child. I'm quite sorry."

Mikael nodded. "I beg you, will you look more?" Lyanna nodded her consent and he stood up. His legs felt weak but he refused to show any weakness to anyone, least of Lyanna.

"You care for your friend," Lyanna said when he was near the entrance of her house. "You've had less temper tantrums and brooding since many moons, Mikael." Mikael's hair of his neck raised up. I'm watching you, she said subtly.

A subtle threat, one benefitting a woman like Lyanna of the house of Bennett. He glanced at Lyanna.

If glares were fire, Lyanna would've been turned to ashes. Mikael took a deep breath. "I'll grant you one favour, my lady. On my honour and sword if you and your family keep my secrets. Anything I can do that does not risk my duties as a future Jarl."

Lyanna cocked her head. "Unless I can see your friend, and ever after that, I can give you no remedy, boy." She said empathic enough. "I'll keep your secrets if you keep my family safe and in your favour in the future."

Mikael nodded his consent and walked away.

Perhaps, he was undeserving of any good but politics was something he thrived in.

*—*

"What do you see?" Mikael asked.

Borin gave a run over the tree's with a critical glance. "Green everywhere, Mikael. I see some herbs, and flowers. What is the matter?" Borin threw Mikael a bewildered grin.

"Nothing," Mikael said, feeling hollow.

*—*

"I dream of many things," Arlan admitted sheepishly. He looked grey still but his eyes still held a sparkle. "Of big metal contraptions moving without the aid of horses or carriages. Where the air was unclean, the world wore strange fashion and no sword in hand!" Mikael snorted at the feeble indignant tone.

"Horrible," he agreed. Arlan nodded furiously but then flinched and clutched his head. He wavered away Mikael's concerned face with an air of ease.

"There were dreams of a man lurking a city to lower a city's gates by a massive horse too. But their engineering was more primitive than the swordless, unclean air dreams." Arlan mused. "It was as if I've lived through those times; they were intense and life striking. Yet those times were very different time periods as well."

Mikael shook his head. "Your mind made playing games with you my friend. Take some rest." He patted Arlan's hands and stood up.

He stopped at the sudden pressure at his hands. Arlan was clutching his hands desperately. "My furious friend," he breathed, as if he had no more air to breathe. "I feel like I'll not die. I don't remember but my heart says this and I know this to be true; I might disappear, but I'll be your friend forever until you've no need of it."

Mikael stared blankly at their joined hands and nodded dumbly. "Maybe," he said, voice thick with emotion.

Then he fled.

Next time he visited Arlan's resting place; he was gone.

*—*

Did u guys see the unsubtle way i referenced Trojan war? And the way i made Bennett's a lowkey noble family? I refuse to believe the Bennett's weren't royalty at the older times.

GLOSSARY !!!

Fellsskogar = name of Mikael's village.
Jarl = chief