Private Tales Scorched Earth

[Raigryn Vayd]

Raigryn was mentally pulling at threads that kept slipping from his grasp. There had been more assassins in these caves when they had arrived. Now they had trainees trying to stop them. The situation had changes as he had been left to rot or his memory was simply failing him.

The ground was sloping down. Raigryn was aware he had been higher up in the cave system, but it had been impossible to tell how far. She seemed assured in the path she had taken.

As they reached light and slowed as they approached an exit into the outdoors he was struck by the desperate need to know what had happened in the time he had lost. Where had she been and doing what?

Made to forget? he signed, taking advantage of the light. He waved back towards the young man she had let go.

 

[Fife]

Fife watched his hands. She didn't know what he would have said or felt about this in normal circumstances. Raigryn had not offered very positive views on Disgust, but, while he had expressed disagreements, he had never outright judged her. Fife herself had plenty of moral hangups altering the minds of others. Her dark gray eyes glanced beyond him toward the receding light.

No. A lie. Her feelings on that truth were not veiled. Her own personal reproach added to the dark smear of Disgust around her head.

She turned and pulled him after her. Her pace had been slower already, but she slowed down further as they approached their destination. A narrowing passage and, and the very end, a single door. It was small and discreet and it was far from a promise of freedom, but it meant they were one step closer to it.

Fife drew Raigryn over to stand against the wall behind it. She let go of him to kneel and press her ear against the door and listen. She could hear people in the distance, but only a single sentry close by -- corroborating what her open mind already sensed. Still cautious, she slowly lifted the latch and cracked the door to peer out. The way was clear.

Whatever it had been before the Steel Coin had reallocated it as part of their temporary stronghold, the room beyond was now a storeroom. Fife opened the door, ducked through, and offered Raigryn a hand through as well. She led him across the long room, her soft leather boots deathly quiet. Fife guided him to a corner by the door, lowered the bag from her shoulder, and set it down with him. A quick check at the door confirmed the presence of the individual standing just on the other side of it. Returning, she spent a moment fastening her jacket closed and checking her range of motion with her left arm. Last, she vigorously rubbed her face like that could fix her mental imbalance. It couldn't.

Reluctantly, she turned to Raigryn.

Sentry outside. You wait. I will take care of her. Okay? She had formulated some part of a plan. Hopefully her lucky streak lasted and she wasn't just prolonging their inevitable capture and defeat.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

He had felt such determination when he had realised it was an escape and that she needed him. It has given him a false sense of confidence. When he looked back, he would think it faltered at the moment he felt the weight of a sword for the first time in so long.

Time had passed oddly for him. Actually going beyond those four walls made it painfully obvious that the effect hadn't worn off. In the chaos he had lost track of the sequence of events just as much as their location.

Raigryn wanted to tell her to stay. He wanted to keep her safe, as he should have done in the first place, and fix this himself. But he could not.

He gave a firm nod.

There might be fighting ahead, but he was no use in sneaking up on a sentry. He had been afraid that the idemni would try and take her from him, to turn her into a killer. It had taken time to realise that she had to make that choice herself.

He wanted to burn this place to the ground, but rock did not burn easily.

She would need him. He had a responsibility for what came beyond this mad dash for freedom. He could help her understand what her own magic was doing to her. She would be at the mercy of her own heightened emotions, possibly ghosts of memories that did not belong to her too.

 

[Fife]

Raigryn nodded and Fife nodded back, but she didn't immediately leave to execute the plan. Instead, she brushed the hair from his brow and back from his face. Her hand came to rest against his cheek and she tipped her head forward. Resting her forehead gently against his, Fife closed her eyes.

When they had first met, he had been a stranger she struggled to understand. Now she knew his face better than her own. She saw the reluctance and confusion in his eyes -- shadows she wanted to chase away and replace with the warm lights of happiness and mischief. It made her sad to see him so unlike himself.

Fife withdrew with nothing more to say; that small gesture said enough. Steadier than before, she took a deep breath and moved to the door.

The latch opened quietly, but she trusted her life to no hinge more than she had to. The sentry had her back to the door and was surveying the courtyard. A quick sweep of her eyes detected one other in the distance. She waited until she could see clearly that his back was turned to the door and its sentry.

She could have used lethal force to make this much easier, but she still had principles. With the advantage of surprise, hopefully she wouldn’t have to kill her. Fife mitigated the difference in height by kicking in the back of the sentry’s knees. She buckled, gasping before a cry, but Fife’s arm was already curling around her throat.

Fife dragged her to the ground and locked her arm in place. The woman was, as expected, relatively calm in her predicament. Though she struggled to break Fife’s hold, her hand quickly went to a dagger at her hip. Fife rolled her onto her stomach and kicked the weapon from her hand. It slid noisily across the floor and clattered against the stone wall, out of reach for now.

Fury bloomed in the guard’s mind, a shocking blot of color like blood on white linen, and Fife channeled it. It coursed through her arm, tightened her grasp and bolstered her resolve. The woman fought hard, making every attempt to break free, but Fife had her knees pressed into her back and pinning one arm to the ground. When her other attempts had failed and the will to fight had been bled from her, she reached back to grab her hair and scratch at her face, but Fife was unmoving. After a few more moments, the sentry went slack. Fife waited a little longer for the colors to fade from her mind and only released her when she was absolutely certain she was unconscious -- but still alive.

She dragged the sentry out of sight and away from the door before returning to the storeroom. Panting, she swept her disheveled hair back as she returned to Raigryn. Other than a few scratches, a busted lip, and a shortness of breath, she was no worse for wear. She smiled, a feeble attempt to convey reassurance.

All done. She helped him up and made sure he was still steady enough to stand. This was a lot more physical activity than he had done in months. Now we make a distraction.

Fife looked around. She poked her head in a few crates and cut open more than one bag before holding up two matching items in the dim light. Her grin flashed, as did the liquid sloshing around in the jars. Lantern oil. She unceremoniously smashed one on the floor. Picking up their bag, she stashed the other jar and rummaged around before withdrawing a tinderbox.

She knelt beside the oil spill and had the flint and striker at the ready when she paused and studied Raigryn. She stood, moved him beside the door, then went to strike the flint. Three strikes and a spark ignited the oil. It flickered along the surface in a ribbon of blue that raced toward a lot of very flammable goods.

The smile she gave Raigryn when she turned back was genuine. She took his hand, opened the door, and quickly led him out into the shadowed balcony. They stepped over the unconscious form of the sentry and Fife picked up her dagger as they passed.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

He dared to watch as Fife dragged the guard to the ground. This he felt. He felt it all too well. His sensibilities had not recovered from seeing that knife plunging towards Fife. His nerves were jangled when the sentry's fingers wrapped around the hilt of a knife.

It wasn't the fine idemni swordsmanship that saw Fife through the struggle. Nor was it the training he had imparted. It was, he thought to himself, a scrappy kind of determination that she had formed long before they met.

Fear was tinged with pride and guilt.

He smiled back at Fife when the flames danced along the thin line of oil. Not the forced smile she had seen him wear. Raigryn tried his own mental exercises to try and test his Aspects. It was trying to gather wet silt between his fingers. If be was quick be could form a shape, a spark of magic, from them. Soon it slipped away.

They will have a guard posted at the stables unless they are idiots, he signed as he remembered their goal. A sharp crack came from behind as something wooden caught alight.

 

[Fife]

Fife nodded in thanks for his warning. She knew -- had long since been observant of every guard and sentry in the Steel Coin complex -- but it was good to see him thinking beyond the current moment. That was a very good sign. Or, at least, she hoped it was.

She picked up the sentry's knife and filched her chain as they passed over her. They kept to the shadows down the corridor and into a steep stairwell. As soon as their boots hit the bottom step, however, Fife sensed a group moving quickly toward the growing fire. Not a moment later she heard their rushed footsteps nearing the door. Hastily pulling Raigryn beneath the stairs, she pulled her sword free before she ducked down with him. A mixed group entered and clattered overhead to the upward balcony. They didn't notice them. Fife lowered her sword with a gusty breath of relief when it went silent.

The closer they got to the stables, the more paranoid Fife felt. Her heart was racing and her body ached. Her mind tipped at each passing thought, unstable and wobbly at best. They were so close and yet she had the terrible sense of foreboding. Her luck was going to run out soon, and something a lot scarier than kids and yearling assassins was going to be waiting for them.

Finally, she secreted Raigryn through a long shadow to the back of the stables, where they knelt beside the dung heap. Fife tried the stall windows, but they were fastened shut.

Bad luck at last. Her head swiveled as she looked around for an alternative to going in the front.

Above the stables, the loft windows were open.

She withdrew the second jar of oil from her bag and held it up to Raigryn with a grin. It wasn't a great plan, but it was better than starting a fight.

She stuffed a rag into the narrow mouth of the jar, struck the striker to light its end, and backed up far enough to lob it through the window. There was the quiet sound of shattering glass, and Fife settled in beside Raigryn in the corner looking smug.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Why didn't I hear them?

He was left chastising himself as they hid and waited for the footsteps to stop.Everything was a confusing mess. It took far too much concentration to just keep putting his feet forwards in the right order.

There was fire behind them and freedom ahead of them. He could just about hold that mental compass in his mind and draw everything from there. Raigryn felt tired. Not the exhaustion of the body, but the heavy weight behind his eyes demanding sleep.

Damned Lawrence. He hoped the assassin burned alive.

As they moved he found himself watching Fife, drawing his cues from her instead of their surroundings. It was easier.

When she tossed the oil he frowned.

"But the horses?" He whispered out loud, failing to grasp the plan.

 

[Fife]

It was difficult for him to see her hands in the shadows, so Fife leaned in close to sign.

They will get out. They won't get hurt. I will grab one. That was the plan, at least. There wouldn't be much more time before the loft fire got someone's attention. Fife was dressed like all the other trainees in dark, simple clothing. There was little to distinguish her as an individual in their company aside from her sword and her token silence. She was going to rely on that in the general chaos she had set in motion.

It didn't take long for the hay in the loft to catch fire, and shortly thereafter someone took notice. Fife's fingers drummed on her knee as she waited, the last breaths of borrowed Fury still keeping her blood high. There was some yelling as the horses inside began to whinny in distress. She ventured to lean around the corner to see if the sentries were still in place. They were not.

Fife put her hand on Raigryn's shoulder to get his attention. Stay here. Be careful. I will whistle when I come back. Be ready.

With a final grin, she tied on a kerchief and sprang up. She held the top of the window frame and kicked in the shutter, the sound swallowed up by shouts for aid and the clattering of panicking horses within. The shutter didn't break the first time, so there was the rush of Fury through her limbs when she kicked again. It broke and she swung into the stall beyond.

Inside, the stall's resident stamped and reared. Fife's rough tumble into the alley beyond it wasn't the graceful roll of an assassin, but she managed to evade being trampled. The stables was heavy with smoke, and inside two people were already coughing as they opened stalls and tried to grab frightened horses and lead them out to safety. They were too preoccupied to question where she had come from.

Fife ran down the length of the stables, looking through the thickening smoke into each of the stalls. Part of her argued it was foolish to look -- that she should have grabbed the first one she could and go. In spite of that voice, her feet padded down the dirt path to the end clinging to her hope until she had seen every horse in this stable. She had to know, had to be sure they weren’t here before she left them.

And there they were: Dusty and Socks. Her heart surged with happiness and relief. Her pony’s shrill little cries made her feel guilty for frightening him, but she whistled to them and their ears flicked forward. She stepped into Dusty’s stall, shushing him and patting him, and he seemed calmer in the presence of the familiar sing-song notes. Fife looped the rope around his neck to lead him from the stall, then she simply opened Socks’ gate. The pony wasn’t going to leave Dusty’s side, ever the faithful companion.

More people had come, and Fife opened several stalls at the end of the alley. The horses followed Dusty’s lead as she finally swung onto his back and rode him out the front of the stables. They exited with a small herd, but it was only Socks who followed her when she steered sharply around the building.

Fife’s sharp whistle of Raigryn’s name was a brief warning before she turned the corner behind the barn. As she cleared the smoke, her head swiveled to check the balconies for more guards.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

The sound of the distressed horses easily cut through that fog. It made him feel something down below the level of his surface thoughts. Raigryn shifted uncomfortably, but gave a firm nod as she left him with simple instructions.

Raigryn watched her kick through the shutters and vanish into the smoke. A flash of fear cut through, but faded quickly. He looked down at the sword gripped tight in his hand.

His knuckles were white. Even with a fully grown man wrapping his arms around his wrist he refused to let go of the blood-stained sword.

Raigryn barely recognised the scream that left his lips. He struggled and kicked, even as he was lifted from the ground by three people. All that mattered was breaking free and bringing the sword down on his opponent again.

"I told you," one of the voices hissed, "arrogant and out of control."

Raigryn heard the whistle. If it hadn't been his name he might not have paid attention. He had become as attuned to that sound as his own name. He stumbled as he drew himself to his feet, but was steady as he rushed towards Fife. Keeping the blade in a reverse hand grip by his side, Raigryn drew himself up onto Dusty.

 

[Fife]

Fife brought Dusty to a halt, swinging down before he had fully stopped. She helped Raigryn on, whether or not he wanted or needed the assistance, then handed the bag up to him. She gestured for him to put it on his back before she crawled up in front of him. Her ribs stung sharply in protest and quite literally took her breath away. Nevertheless, she pulled herself atop the horse.

Reaching back to grab Raigryn's hands, she urged him to hang on tight. It was going to be a rough ride in a hurry with no saddle. At least one of them would be steady. Ish. She gave his hand a squeeze and ventured a look over her shoulder while she caught her breath again.

"H-hey!"

Fife whirled around to see a sentry on the balcony. Time was up. She grabbed the makeshift reins and fistfuls of mane, and spurred Dusty sharply with her heels. The horse startled and sprang forward. Socks, who had been circling anxiously, hurried to follow close behind.

Coming around the stable amidst chaos, she steered Dusty right through the other horses. The crowd parted in surprise as they kicked up to a galloped toward one of the open gates. So close! They were so close.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

He remembered arriving here. He remembered the time before that. They hadn't been wealthy, or overladen with their belongings but they had been comfortable. He made his small amount of coin writing and kept his box of scribe tools. They were prepared for travel. The time in the idemni camp was a bright light that would remain with him forever.

Now they were dashing from the flames with a single bag. Wounded, off-balance, hurting and hunted. But they were alive.

Chaos was on their side. Lawrence wasn't handing out orders and the full picture hadn't emerged and been spread through the remaining members of the order.

The sentry cried out again. Raigryn pushed through the fog to grasp his Misery. The curse was supposed to be small, but it lashed out without being properly formed or directed. There was a crack and a cry. Wooden beams that had been stressed suddenly gave way, plunging. The sentry fell towards the flames.

"Don't stop," Raigryn whispered.

 

[Fife]

There were occasionally moments where she forgot that Raigryn was who he was. The rush of Misery behind her, hauled from a near state of apathy, was a reminder -- a feat that could only be appreciated or perceived by another Empath.

Dusty passed through the gate without any hindrance. The path beyond began a narrow, winding route through rocky passes. Sheets of loose rock shifted beneath his hooves, and Fife had to draw him back around sharp corners as they climbed higher.

The first group of sentries saw them coming. Even in the faint light of early evening, she could see one of them raising their bow and taking aim. Fife's hand swiped in front of her, but no green shield was summoned. She couldn't reach her Avarice. Rather than halting her current mood, however, she only felt angrier. Thankfully the shield wasn't necessary, the arrow whizzing by harmlessly. Dusty clipped on and they passed by without a second volley.

The second group only watched them, confused but not attacking or impeding their progress. And beyond that, at the top of the plateau, was open plains. Freedom.

Only when they reached the open did she look back for pursuers. In the gathering dark, all she could immediately see was Socks, ears flattened and little legs working to keep up. Beyond that, she perceived nothing -- nobody pursued them yet. She knew that didn't mean somebody wasn't going to. And probably very soon.

Fife looked back over her other shoulder at Raigryn and covered one of his hands with hers in a wordless query.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Even if his feelings were spread thin by the potions they had been feeding him, he could feel the tension slowly uncoil from around his chest. He was out of his cell. They were out of the Steel Coin's base.

Raigryn slowly nodded. He adjusted his hand to place his thumb over the back of her hand. It would take time for him to unpick what had happened.

There was an open flash of fear.

What if this was permanent?

Raigryn took a deep breath. It was not a worry that could be solved right now. He had already improved with less of that vile liquid, there was no reason to believe it wouldn't keep getting easier.

"At a gentle pace. Keep going for as long as we can," he said. This was no longer a sprint. Enough space between them and the order would have too large an area to comb.

 

[Fife]

The press of his hand jarred her emotions loose, a wild thread of sadness and happiness spinning together strangely in her chest. It was the most honest affection he’d shown in months -- not honest repetitions of a stranger. Her breath came shallow and her chest hurt. Was she happy or sad? Fife felt his fear, its cause unknown but so close to her own. It set her mind away from what had felt like unshakeable Fury and toward that shared feeling of Misery. After a very exhausting evening, she was instantly overwhelmed.

She quickly pulled her mind shut, closing in her own emotions while also blocking out those of others. When they had arrived, her mental veil had been more or less a curtain, keeping in most of her thoughts but not that difficult to circumvent. Now she had a wall. Roughshod and nowhere near as refined as Raigryn’s, yet a wall stood where a curtain had once hung.

Fife faced forward and nodded. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before hers slipped free and took up the rope. She steered Dusty off the main path, slowed him to an easy canter across the vast rolling plains, and set a rough course toward the nearest portal stone. As long as they reached it first, they would be untraceable.

She didn't know where they were going beyond that. A question they would answer when they got there.

---

They had ridden through the evening to dawn. With the onset of early spring, the nights were still bitterly cold, though they easily shared a blanket. She’d held it closed tightly in front of her and it had worked just as well to keep him anchored securely against her back as they rode; she didn’t know if he’d tell her if he was wearing down or if he’d even know. Fife was taking no risks with his safety.

When Fife finally brought them to a halt, the sun was peeking over the wide horizon. The slip of trees had been a good place to stop before one of them fell off. Her eyes burned, her side ached, and her head felt as thick as cotton. Every part of her was exhausted.

Fife slipped down first and reached up to offer him a hand down. The copse had grown up alongside a modest creek that wound through the hills like a serpent. She didn’t need to lead Dusty or socks to it, the horses going over to drink on their own.

For having no plan at all, she seemed to be well prepared. She was far more capable than she had been a few months ago. She took the bag from Raigryn and held his arm to guide him to a level spot on the bank. She spent a moment clearing the ground of litter and motioned for Raigryn to sit down, waiting expectantly for him to comply.

Fife, however, did not sit. She rummaged around in the bag for provisions and insistently held out a stick of jerky to him. She held another between her teeth and continued rustling around until she brought out a cup and a length of rope. Still not sitting down with him, she walked down to the creek to fill the cup with water, tied a makeshift halter for Socks the way she had Dusty, and led the pair up to be tied.

Finally, Fife put the cup beside Raigryn and sat beside him with a gusty sigh. She rolled her shirt up, the cold morning air a shock against her bare belly, and gingerly shifted her bindings aside to inspect the cut beneath. There were several patches of dried blood where it had busted open again and the skin on either side of the long wound was bright red, but the Charity Raigryn had given her had likely prevented the worst of an infection. She’d live. Probably.

Just as carefully, she reset the bandages and lowered her shirt. For the first time since coming off of the horse, she was still long enough for her gaze to wander to Raigryn. She looked over him, searching for any sign of damage, for any indication that his confusion or apathy had returned.

She looked wary, uneasy. She was sitting out of arm's reach. Her mind was still closed tight.

You are okay? Do you need anything?

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

The cold felt worse than it should have done. Having been restricted to a single room, toyed with by alchemists, he had lost weight. It was a blessing that the passage of time was still hazy.

When Fife slipped down he gave a small jolt. He wasn't waking up, but was suddenly looking more carefully after his own balance. It was rotten to feel this far form his best when Fife needed him the most.

Or did she?

He watched her in silence as she set him down and rummaged through her belongings. In their time apart she had been planning this. Of course she had. What else would she have been doing?

In his moments of clarity he had been afraid. Whilst Raigryn had never shaken the overconfidence that had defined his early years he had known how dire the situation was. He always thought he could drag himself through any scrape, but they had taken Fife from him. He had been afraid that he would not get her back.

"Some water, some food, some rest," he said. "But...you offered those already."

He tried to smile. A piece of his personality. Shards of light cutting through the cloud cover.

"They can't...can't let them get to the stone before us. Have to know we're going there. My bags..."

They were gone. Not only his writing implements, but his coin. He would never have suspected Lawrence of using coin to bribe Fife. He was slow to continue his thoughts, but he got there.

"We won't have money where we end up."

 

[Fife]

It was difficult to smile back as she nodded in agreement. Worrying wasn't going to make him recover any quicker, and it was her own fault for being upset by it. A few moments of clarity didn't undo months of whatever concoction the Order had him on.

But she wasn't going to let him feel the weight of her sadness. She put on her fake smile and carefully moved onto the blanket with him. She let him work through what he was trying to say. He was still better than he had been. He was thinking in a line instead of scattered points. He wasn't just responding to what she said. Raigryn was expressing forethought and concern.

And then it wasn't difficult to smile at all. It was really funny. Bubbling up in a sudden eruption of dry, hissed giggles. Fife's brows scrunched up and she covered her wheezing laughter with the back of her hand. She shook her head, trying to indicate that it wasn't funny, but she was still racked with wheezing.

God, what a pair they were right now -- one feeling nothing, the other too much

When she finally stopped, her face was flushed and she gasped for air. All traces of the smile were gone and she only looked tired. She was so tired.

Slowly, Fife reached into her coat. She unbuttoned an inner pocket and fished out a coin pouch, which she unceremoniously tossed into the space between Raigryn and herself. She produced a second one from the other side. She pulled off and upended her boot, dropping another. She tossed them with the other. One alone held more gold than she'd ever seen at once in all her years in Elbion, and she'd thrown him three.

There is another in the bag, she told him, indicating their satchel. Fife was not looking at him, was not looking at the gold pouches. I think there is a village nearby. We can get saddles, provisions. I had them, but we left in a hurry.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Raigryn frowned when she started to laugh. A tentative, confused smile followed. He was worried about something. Her empathy. His worries were just between his fingers; he could only old them for moments at a time.

Raigryn let go and chuckled. It wasn't a full expression of mirth like her own. It was a reflection of the joy she swung into.

The frown returned when she laughed away the last of her energy. The smile returned as each coin pouch in turn emerged. This must have been the joke he wasn't in on.

"They might have a spy in a village so close...but...they know where we are going..."

She was close enough that he could reach out for her. Raigryn settled his hand on her shoulder. As it slipped down her back he let out a soft sight. Despite his weary bones, he took a firm grip of the back of her tunic and drew her a little closer, shoulder to shoulder.

"You did well."

 

[Fife]

She acknowledged his caution with a nod. They did. They would only be able to confirm their suspicions later.

He pulled her closer and she obliged. Fife settled against his side with her knees to her chest. The path his hand ran down her back left her shivering, her heart thumping. Their time apart now felt like an eternity behind her. They had been separated for a quarter of the time they'd traveled together. She had been kept away from him for longer than they had even been a thing.

You did well.

Fife tensed. The snap of the jerky tearing in her teeth was her only response. Behind carefully tended walls, her mind was an explosion of anger, bitterness, and regret.

No. No, she had not done well, and if he were at all himself he would have known that. He would have asked the right questions or would have just known, in that frustrating way as he always did, what she had done to get that gold.

But he wasn't himself, wasn't asking how or why or what did you do? Raigryn wasn't Raigryn because of her, because she had agreed to work with the Order. She had left him to be subjected to apathy, had left him in that tower alone. She had been glad to get away from him because she couldn't bear the weight of the consequences of her choices. She had been stupid and naive at every turn, and having a pile of gold didn't fix that. Handfuls of coins weren't going to make him better and gold couldn't wash her mind clean.

Her eyes burned for want of sleep and her head was spinning in a storm of feelings that didn't belong to her yet swept up her emotions into the tempest with them. She was tired -- tired of being awake and tired of feeling everything at once.

It was only a few seconds later that she slipped out from beneath his hand without so much as a gesture. She scooped up the pouches of gold and walked back to where the pack was. She deliberately kept her back to him as she returned them to their hiding places. When she was done, she stowed the unwanted remainder of her jerky and sat with her face in her hands, angrily scrubbing at her eyes and temples like that could banish her feelings. It never worked, but she tried it anyway. Finally, she faced Raigryn.

We should sleep.

Her eyes avoided his as she brought the pack and the spare blanket. Fife set the pack down for him to use as a pillow and draped the blanket over his legs. She laid down beside him beneath one end of the blanket, an arm curled beneath her head and the other tucked carefully against her aching side.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Raigryn was left sitting upright, looking down at Fife and wishing he could find the words to make this better. The arrogance of old was a sense that he could always find a way to fix any situation. Even now when he didn't really understand what was wrong. He could fix it.

"Yes, sleep," he said quietly. He was tired.

Raigryn cast his eyes around the area. They were well hidden from view. It would have taken magic to find them. Those spells took time to prepare. There was a chance they could have already put such plans in motion.

He knew how to make some simple magical wards, but such information was well hidden at the back of his mind now. Some older memories were clear as day, those ones were not. In the state they were in they were going to increase their odds by getting rest more than through setting watch shifts.

"I don't...really know how much time passed. I am glad to be back with you."

A final thought. All the words he could grasp as he laid back down. A simple gesture followed: giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. Raigryn closed his eyes and drifted off almost instantly. He was unlikely to be the first to wake. He was tired through his bones.

 

[Fife]

It wasn't fair to be upset when he couldn't understand, but she wasn't really upset at him. One more scrap of guilt for the pile as he laid down behind her. His words made tears burn in her eyes, angry and sorry that she was this way. It took her several moments to compose herself before she sat up and turned around.

He was already asleep. Fife watched him for several moments, seeing him in sunlight for the first time in a long time.

Later. She would make it right later. For now, they both needed rest.

---

Fife was the first one up. She had slept very little, but such had been the plan. After tossing fitfully for a handful of hours, she finally got up with no intention of lying back down. She afforded Raigryn a little longer, caring for Dusty and Socks and taking a much-needed moment of privacy to hug and cry on her pony's neck. Misery draped around her mind like a blanket of ivy, heavy and shadowed.

When she woke Raigryn it was midday. Not as much sleep as he needed, but all she could let him have for now. She knelt beside him and gently rubbed his arm. Fife whistled his name as he awoke, the notes cheerful as the warm sun overhead.

We need to wash before we go, she signed as he woke. They both looked like shit. Nothing to wake a person up like the brisk morning water -- a feeling she missed about Indretar but one he had often expressed his distaste for. That made her smile a little, hopeful.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

Raigryn nodded slowly. He was slow to take up, but as he did so the fog cleared a little more than it had the previous day. In its place came the pain. Fog condensed to droplets and froze into ice. The headache that came with removing the last traces of the potion from his system was going to be monumental.

If the last of it could be removed. And if it could be, Raigryn was aware enough to worry about the lasting damage. He didn't heal as well as he once had. If his skin didn't end quickly, it fell to reason that his thoughts might not either.

Today he had enough wits to try and shield his fear a little better from Fife. Not quite enough, but it wasn't spilling open.

"I didn't see any clean clothes," he muttered as he stood up. On just a few occasions he had been left with a bucket and a sponge in his 'guest room'. Fife was probably going to be much more aware of his aroma than he was.

His arms trembled lightly as he removed layers on the way down to the creek. Fife would see how much definition had wasted away. He hadn't reached an unhealthy gaunt shape, but there was definitely less of him left.

 

[Fife]

Fife was hovering. She carried the bag and took the layers he shed on the way to the water, never out of arm's reach of him and perpetually touching him in some way Discarding what she had articles to replace. She set everything down on the bank and began removing her own clothes with a little more expediency.

The water was brisk, halting her progress for only a moment before she steeled her will to press on. She held onto Raigryn as she waded in far enough for him to sit in the creek up to his chest.

Wielding a rag, Fife began scrubbing him clean. Living in Indretar had awakened two things in her: she liked being clean and she quite liked being bossy, even at Raigryn's expense. From his head to his toes, he was shown no mercy on either proclivity -- even in his reduced state, which only became more apparent as she cleaned weeks away from him.

He wasn't alone in that regard. Her slim figure had pared down since they'd parted. Ribs showed through her sides as she moved, the weight she'd gained in happy comfort shed by a grueling regimen. Lean muscle flexed in her arms and shoulders. Her grip was sure and steady. She was, as always, merciless to herself as she adapted to hardship.

Bruises and scrapes, however, didn't wash away. Blood and grit dissolved, but the remnants of their hasty escape lingered. A split lip, a black eye, a long slice and ugly bruising on her ribcage. She was dappled from top to bottom with green and purple. Beneath all that, the scar of her burn crept up her arm and neck. It faded at the point of her jaw, only faint swirls of paler skin much softer than that patterning her shoulder. It was long healed, but would be a lasting reminder. Just like the scar on her chest would be. The pain would fade, but it would remain to haunt her.

None of it matters, she reminded herself. Fife could have lost whole limbs, her hearing or sight -- any loss and regret short of her own life would have been worth having him back, and even that she would have given to see him freed. He was alive. They were together. Lawrence was wrong, and that made her truly happy.

Satisfied he was as clean as he could be for now, she relented. His hair was white again and his skin was pink from the rag and the chill. Fife held out a hand to help him rise.

Almost done, she signed with the other. Come. Sit. Be warm while I wash. Nevermind that her extremities were also pink and she was visibly shivering. Encouragement to hurry.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

There was no place for any argument. He had found the idemni way of communal washing very strange. It wasn't that he didn't like bathing, he just liked the water warm and to be left in peace to soak.

All he offered Fife was a slight groan of resistance at the speed of the scrubbing. It was summarily ignored. His skin was left a pale pink, slightly sore from the treatment it had been given and exposed to the cold of the water. It still felt better to be rid of the grime.

Looking up, his eyes charted a course from wound to wound until he met her eye and nodded. Raigryn groaned as he stood up.

How long were we there? he silently asked himself.

It was slowly sinking in that Fife had lived a life without him. She had planned their escape and enacted it without any of his input. She had not been idle during that time and he still had no clue what those damned assassins had her doing. It wasn't hard to guess.

He reached out gingerly and touched the skin around the knife wound. It was red, but not in the swollen, angry way that would indicate infection. Old knowledge came easier to him that trying to untangle the recent past.

"I'll go and sit," he said plainly. Raigryn was clean, but when sat on the soft moss with his hair plastered to his face he looked a shadow of his former self.

 

[Fife]

The touch of his fingertips to her ribs made her heart flutter, the flight of birds startled out of the underbrush. Fife very quickly averted her eyes, only looking up again to nod in confirmation. She shivered from a bit more than the cold, and as soon as he was settled, Fife returned to the freezing water gratefully.

She avoided the concern and questioning in his eyes for now, chased away the twist of guilt in her gut with cold water and the easy excuse of mental balance.

She did not take as long to bathe, but spent some time washing their outer garments. They would do them just fine until they could be replaced beyond the portal stone. After they dried, of course. She came ashore and laid the garments out to dry off in the weak spring sun

Returning, she deftly slipped into her own clothes before helping him with his. Fife smoothed down the front of his shirt and offered up a small smile, glad that she had guessed his size. More or less. Fife told herself that any lingering physical change would repair with time, just like his mind.

She couldn't accept anything less, couldn't think about their future and their happiness sundered right now. She'd barely dammed in her emotions as it were; her mind was too delicate to dwell on her fears today. It would all come back because it had to. It would get better because it had to.

Fife sat him back down and covered him with the blanket. She stemmed off any conversation by handing him a ration of jerky and lighting back down to the water to dip out a cup for him. She lifted her shirt and loosely wrapped her chest, putting a cautionary barrier between wound and garment.

She conveniently had something else to do. She fetched a comb from her bag and raked through the tangles in her hair with a scowl. When she had finished her own, Fife tucked the blanket better around his shoulders and knelt behind him. She was not nearly as coarse with Raigryn's overgrown mop of silvery hair, taking her time to gently pick through each fine knot. There was only the sound of the comb, of her fingers following it. His hair lay smooth and neat when she was done. Coming around to face him, she parted it the way he normally wore it.

It was not the same. He wasn't the same and neither was she.

Fife met his eye and her hand fell from his hair to his cheek, then finally came away entirely. She arrived at the unavoidable moment where she had nothing left to do. She owed him answers and he deserved to know. She did not want him wondering for days how much time he had lost in the dark.

It has been three and a half months, she told him. Fife fought the sudden terrible need to look away. Her gaze faltered and she blinked too much, her tired, bloodshot and blackened eyes going misty.

Was that a long time? Was it nothing at all in the broader scope of the world? Did it only feel so terribly long because she had so little experience, because she had been lonely and embittered? The muscles in her jaw fluttered as she clenched her teeth, braced for his reception.

 

[Raigryn Vayd]

"No..." he said softly. A tentative counter to her statement. A stone thrown from foundations that quickly crumbled beneath him. He simply couldn't wrestle with his memories. The days had blended together. In a way he was glad some of the first days had gone.

His brief recollection of the leather collar strapped around his neck and the vile potion pumping into his muscles was particularly painful.

"Three and a half months," he echoed mournfully. "I am...sorry."

This was his own failing and those stubborn, arrogant streaks couldn't see it any other way.

"I was useless. I should have..."

Raigryn had no way to finish that. He shouldn't have led them into danger, but he had done so a dozen times. He should have taken action sooner, but he had been a glimmer of life away from a ghoul.

"Lawrence wasn't going to let us go, was he?"