This is my first fic, it's an adaption of Outlander where Faith, Jamie and Claire's first child, lives.
This timeline is not the same as the shows/books, but the storyline still stays the same (mostly). Claire gave birth to Faith before they left fo...
The nightmare is always the same. The narrative, the plot, never changing. The nightmare comes often, and with it, brings cold sweats and mumbled cries. It is real when I am there, as I walk between the world of sleep and reality, heaven and hell.
There is a clearing, I know it as Culloden Moor, but in my dream it is just a vast space of greenery. The grass rolls out for miles, trees bunch in the distance, there's not a house in sight. I look out for a while, the birds sing in the trees around me, I look up at a mother bird nestled in her home with her chicks. I smell the lus nam ban-sith, the fairy flowers, blooming out of season. When I look back at the clearing, the grass, the trees and the flowers have been swallowed by a blanket of thick fog.
I start walking, to try and find my way home, but it's cold and wet and I dither as I go. I look for chimney smoke in the distance, listen for a familiar voice, but nothing I know is here, and I walk on strange land. I keep going for what feels like miles, until I am tired, until my feet are sore and bleeding, until my dress is dirty and soaked through.
I have to stop, because I can't go on anymore. My legs are weak, my nose runs from the cold air and I have lost hope of what I am searching for, so I can not go further. The birds have stopped chirping, the flowers do not bloom here and I sink with the weight of my wet skirts. I lie in the grass of the clearing and let the fog lull me to sleep, before I go I can hear a faint sound. It's the sound of breathing, I feel the warmth of it on my skin. When I open my eyes, my father lies next to me, bloodied and bruised, lifeless and limp. He doesn't move, his eyes stay closed and his red hair is black with mud.
"Da" I whisper, and I try to shake him awake. He doesn't respond, the sound of my voice fails to travel where he is. I reach out to him, my small hands on his wounded chest. He is slippery with blood, I'm not sure who's it is.
"Wake up da" I cry, as I shake him again. I lean down to listen to his breathing, it grows weaker on my cheek. I know I must take him home, where ma will make him well. I try to grab his arm, his leg, his chest, anything I can to lift him. I am small and weak and can't gather his weight, no matter how hard I try.
I watch, as the blood seeps into the grass next to him. I watch, as the colour leaves his face.
I kiss him on the cheek and press our foreheads together.
The nightmare is always the same, this story never changes.
I watch my father die on Culloden Moor, I watch as he takes his last breath next to me. I cry as the fog covers us, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
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The nightmare violently jolts me awake, the cup by my hand comes crashing to the floor from my jolt. My breathing is quick and sporadic, I can feel my heart racing under my hand as I try to calm myself down. The nightmare never gets any easier, I have just learned to live with the aftermath.
