Bound #Wattys2017

Four Years Before: Julian Thornstead

A/N: So basically this part is taking place four years before the epilogue. The italicized part is Julian being  possessed from last chapter.

Julian looked down at his sixteen year old self, his first time meeting this girl. Two years- had it already been so long? Would it be all he would get with her? He watched silently with the slithering thing- there was no use fighting it. It would be better for both of them if he simply let himself go.

He frowned at the brown haired girl in front of him, eyeing her small form. She looked swift, but didn't seem to pack any muscle or strength.

He was a warrior, he'd been fighting on battlefields for mortal kings for almost half his life- ever since he'd lost everything. Ever since a part of his soul was torn from him, lost to the world. He would not be able to work with a silly noble girl who could not fight or strategize, only joining the cause to run away from the comforts of a rich household- the comforts of safety. Something he'd never had.

"She is your blood-partner."

He looked up at the goddess of Wisdom, his expression incredulous and disbelieving.

"She is not. She can't be my prophesied partner."

The goddess, as beautiful and cold as a cold marble statue, only looked at him silently.

"She can't be!" he had sputtered. "Look at her, she's just a silly little girl dressed in fighting leathers." He gestured at her for emphasis.

The girl glared at him before approaching. He stood there, wondering just exactly what she would do. Pout? Cry? Whine? If she meant to pick a fight, she would lose without a doubt.

"What are you doing?" He asked gruffly as she put a hand on his forearms, covered by his worn arm guards.

She said nothing as she rammed her knee between his legs and flung him over onto his back. Pain blossomed in his lower regions, causing him to let out a groan. That bitch- He suddenly found himself pinned underneath her, a wicked dagger at his throat.

She leaned in with a lover's closeness before whispering in his ear.

"Do not underestimate me."

And that's when he knew- he saw it in her eyes. Those glowing amber eyes were empty, so empty. And yet so full of emotion- he could see the fear, the rage, and the sadness that swirled in those beautiful irises.

She suddenly looked older, much much older than she was. And he felt... remorse. How could she have suffered so much at the young age of fourteen? How many happy days of tea and gossip has she lost; how many hours of giggling and flirting had she been robbed of?

"What's your name?" He asked quietly after he had regained his breath.

"Layla," she replied, slowly rising off of his chest. "Layla Abbarick."

"Julian Thornstead," he answered.

Her cracked lips curled into a small smile. "So this is the famous general I've heard so much about. I'm sad to say I'm disappointed."

He snarled at her, baring his teeth in a growl.

She helped him up quietly, then stood, staring at him.

"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious. As an army general, he did not have the luxury of bathing when he needed to.

"I deem you worthy of being my blood bound. I want to seal our bond."

He stared at her. "You want to what?"

"You heard me."

"I... deem you worthy of being my equal," he answered grudgingly.

She took her dagger, now gleaming blue and orange and emerald- and held out her hand.

In turn, he called to that power lying deep in his soul and created ice- ice as a material, and wind to shape it.

A large sword appeared in his hand- not his most elegant work, but it was strong. Stronger than steel.

"That's overdoing it a bit, isn't it?" she asked with a frown. "We're exchanging blood. I don't want my hand amputated."

And he laughed, the first laugh he'd had in a long, long time.

The memory shattered as he held out his hand for Layla to cut his palm- and as Layla held out her own hand to be cut by his sword. The dark thing cackled before taking to another part of his memory, digging through his life- and he let it.