OOC: Tags to
@Rhindeer -----------
The strain of the war, although not entirely new, but still that- a strain. It was pulling at the resources more than the Grand Duke had liked, and when he desired more
Hunters there was only one man he'd dare trust for the job.
He was like a hound, his right hand man and sole protector, trained and groomed for generations. And although the recruitment and search was done discretely, it wouldn't be hard to speculate on the Grand Duke's plans. When his 'hound' was sent to Allar, and would not be back for some time, the urgency could be deduced and the rumors started.
Attempts on the Grand Duke's life were not taken lightly, and with the political strain among the people (even though the majority was still in his support), Calent knew of but one solution his family sought after on a generational level that was their failsafe.
So quick and quiet whispers through the church had begun, starting in the deeper corners of Allar, and spreading throughout the duchy like a wildfire. Allegiances were strongest here, the Allar family having connections at every reach. And when suitable replies were made, the teaching would then begin- a strong bunch, but through the initial training, Zannrick could not help but feel something was
lacking.Perhaps it was his own disposition, or the fact the war was too real for how less passioned he felt these recruits were. It was less than ten days and he'd rejected over half of them- not for their skill, but for their passion. It was not something he would go easy on, and knew the next phase of training would prove a challenge. But those that remained, he believed could be trustworthy, and he was doing a diligent background check even as they continued to train. It wasn't just about speed and skill and strength- but about the soul purpose of training to protect, above all else, the single idea and unity that made this nation the glory that it was.
It was after a long day of training that he felt he had to get away- he was, after all, not used to being so far away form the Grand Duke that he felt- almost out of place. If he did not agree that this was the best course of action to take, he would not have agreed to come. He was the best to judge the lot, the best to train- the most devoted, the most pure. He had gone for a stiff drink, a thing he rarely relished in, especially when on duty. But the days had been long, and he found some comfort in it- though brief it may have been. It seemed he had chosen the wrong night, the wrong tavern and had wound up with some inconvenient vomit all over himself. He wasn't even sure how it happened, but were it any other day, any other place, he might have considered retaliation- but as it were, he simply dismissed himself to a bath, paying the barmaid coin as he moved towards the back of the house with tired, yet still predatory steps.
He moved like that of a lion, powerful and with grace, pride; and he was a man that when he entered the room, one was drawn to- but only in the way a deer might when a predator enters their field. But now he just felt tired, and wanted nothing else but to finish off the night by washing up. He would have preferred his own private baths, but even his pride would not allow for him to travel in such a state. The vile vomit was in his hair, and had he not been offered a towel- would have been all over his face, as well. It sunk deep into his clothing, and the smell was so god awful he was thankful for the scents of faint perfumes from the bath. He wasn't sure a place like this would have had a scented bath, and he began to peel off his armor, and cloak, then begun to unbutton his shirt, discarding it in a rumpled heap as he began to loosen his belt when....
The entire ceiling collapsed from above.
It was a risky thing, abandoning her post.
But it was exactly what Emery had done just weeks before, back in Bellkrath.
It was impulsive, it was foolish, but fuck it she was tired. And so in the early morning hours while her company was still sleeping, she packed up her sword, clothes, some hardtack, and her letter, and slipped away on her horse to take control of her life.
Desertion was a death sentence, but she wouldn't be allowed to leave if she asked and she would die if she stayed there another day doing absolutely fuck all, watching from afar as others actually took steps to make a difference. She had been born with this fucking ability, gifted it by Ansgar some would say, and yet it was being wasted. For what? What was the point of it all--of everything she had been through, everything she had seen and lost--if it was never used? Years of service, and she had nothing to show for it in this backwater hellhole. She felt like she was surrounded by pacifists, all too content to keep to themselves in a situation that required decisiveness.
This was her chance. She had heard the rumors whispered when people thought others weren't listening, rumors of something brewing in Allar. She had followed those rumors and gotten more information from the church: Zannrick Austengarde, right hand of the Grand Duke, had gone on a recruitment drive.
Hunters, they called themselves. She had heard of them before; who hadn't? A group that actually did more than just run their mouths. A group devoted to rooting out evil where it began, instead of simply responding when the damage was already done and lives were lost. She had heard the rumors, of course, but they had always been so out of reach, so untouchable, so many duchies away. But now they were in Allar--she could make it there. All she had to do was be brave.
And not get caught.
She had sent her letter. She had gotten her response. Now she just had to get there.
--
Emery didn't exactly have a plan. She was making it up as she went. What was the worst that could happen? Well, rejection, in which case she'd be fairly fucked, but...she would cross that bridge when she got there and definitely not think about that possibility in the meantime.
It had been an exhausting trip. She had pushed herself, and her horse Hilda, hard, sleeping outdoors most nights to save some coin. But eventually she crossed over into Allar. She was running late; unexpected storms had slowed her trip, not to mention it was her first time making such a long journey alone. She only hoped she was not too late.
First impressions are everything, she told herself. Make a good one. That's all you have to do.
No pressure or anything.
It was late when she reached the town listed in the letter. Too late to seek out any recruiters, she imagined, not to mention she was too exhausted for it to be a good idea. She was a smelly wreck, stinking of horse, sweat, and the outdoors, her red hair plastered greasily to her head, her clothes dirty. She stabled Hilda at the first tavern she found and paid for a room and a bath. Food would come next--she wasn't about to inflict her stench on the other patrons and she was ready to feel human again. Everything hurt from long hours riding and sleeping on hard ground, and she was halfway tempted to skip eating altogether and just crash in bed afterwards.
So she hauled her sweaty ass to the small bathhouse in the back, and was rather surprised with the setup. Huh. It was smaller and less elaborate than the communal one at the barracks back home, but she had been expecting tubs with cold water and soap, not a small, perfumed pool in a room brimming with steam. She supposed it made sense, if this place also doubled as a brothel, and she wasn't about to complain about fancier amenities. Maybe that was one of this place's main attractions.
She set her spare clothes aside, quickly stripped, and sank into the water with a groan. The water was warm from the hot stones plopped into it, and her muscles ached all the more, but in a good way. She quickly washed her hair and body, and then just took the time to soak away her pain. Leaning her head back against the wall and breathing in steam, she was dozing lightly when the sound of the door opening, followed by footsteps, had her snapping back to alertness with a start.
Goddammit.
He probably didn't see her through the steam; she could barely make out his features herself. But that was whatever. She didn't care about company if he wasn't weird about it. She might not be in the mood for socializing that night, but she was the last person to pearl clutch over nakedness, and it was just a bath--wait.
That was true for Mordecai.
Right...a random civilian might not take it the same way. Shit. With a grimace, Emery slicked her short hair back and out of her face and cleared her throat, ready to announce her presence so as not to spook the guy, but the universe decided to ruin any hope she had of a relaxing night.
There was sharp creaking, cracking sound from above that had her blood go cold.
Shit.
Her constant hyper-vigilance, while usually a curse, did have its moments, and this was thankfully one of them. The ceiling collapsed, but Emery had already bolted up and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, yanking him into the water--and, thankfully, clear of the brunt of the collapse. Wood and debris rained down on them all the same, hitting her in the back as she covered his body as best as she could, and all in all...
This fucking sucked.
One moment he was undressing, about ready to discard his pants and the next he was being yanked down into the tub as the ceiling collapsed, shielded beneath another body as the ceiling rained down upon them, dust sticking to them like ash.
He coughed, trying to get his barrings as to what the hell just happened when the sound of a frantic cat hissing and leaping and yowling in the room seemed to have answered the question as to why the thatch roof caved in but...
Still too jarred from all of this, Zannrick coughed as he tried to speak- then stopped, very abruptly so as eyes took in the fact the wet body that had been laying over his protectively during the roof collapse was a woman's. A hard fact to ignore when her breasts where clean in his face.
It would be Emery's luck that she'd somehow get filthier while trying to get clean. Now covered in dust and bits of wood and thatch, Emery blinked her eyes open when she was certain the worst was over and she wouldn't get debris in them.
Perhaps she had...overreacted a little. There was little actual danger in a thatch roof caving in, aside from the inconvenience and the messiness and maybe the threat of splinters, but she had a tendency to react before her mind had caught up to her body. Hey, at least she knew her reflexes still worked even exhausted and half asleep?
Which just left...the current situation she was now in. Basically straddling a half naked man who's nose was pressed against her chest. Not that there was much there to boast of, much to her eternal dismay.
Fuck my life.
She glanced down and gave a discrete cough as she pushed herself back so she was sitting up, fighting against the heat she felt creeping up her neck. Shit. Shit! Why her? But rather than shrink away and try to cover herself, because what was the point now, she just shrugged and played at nonchalance. You know, like this just happened everyday, as things do.
"Er, you're welcome," she said, wiping her hair back out of her eyes and trying very hard not to outright die. She sniffled, waving away the dust tickling her nose. "For the rescue." She paused. "And the show, I suppose. I—"
Whatever she had been about to say, it got cut off when she sneezed in his face.
The pair must have looked like a veritable form of dust bunnies, or some mutant pair of scare crows; for when other help showed up, the first thing the pair would hear as the door was flung open, was the old portly maid on duty screaming Ansgar's name.
Zannrick hadn't the chance to reply to his bathing companion when the woman arrived, but his expression was hard to read. Blue eyes were kept like stones, except his held a polish of obvious irritation, even if he had thus far said nothing.
The woman was frantic once she realized the pair were okay and she began to fuss over the lot of them, offering fresh towels and promising to get them cleaned up proper, barking an order to another nearby and much shyer maid to prepare a set of copper baths in the communal room upstairs. Though she apologized it wouldn't be much for privacy, she did order her maid to construct a privacy screen out of spare bedding.
Even through it all, Zannrick spoke little, keeping comments short and curt but when the pair had a brief moment to themselves once as the maids rushed off in a fury to prepare new accomodations.. he finally turned towards the woman and frowned.
"Do rooves fall in often here?" He asked, words stiff. It seemed he presumed she was from around here, after all- who would be so casual after such a circumstance ?
What a day.
The women bursting in and fussing over the two of them gave Emery a chance to make as smooth of a getaway as she could hope for, which wasn't much, but she would take it. She quickly rolled off of the man, rose from the tub, and snatched up a towel to cover herself, trying not to cringe at the feeling of so much grit and dust and wood particles stuck to her skin and in her hair. It was everywhere, and it felt fucking disgusting.
Towel tied around her to cover her from her chest to just above their knees, she was picking who-knows-what out of her hair when the man finally spoke. She snorted at the question. "Oh yeah, all the time," she said, and brushed futilely at the crap all plastered to her skin. "I hear all this shit is quite exfoliating."
Zannrick blinked.
"Ex..foliating?" He questioned, wondering where her sanity might be and not considering a moment over the idea of sarcasm. After all, who jokes at a time like this?. He shook his head and began to wipe off the caked on mess best he could .
"You from around here?" He asked, tone somehow commanding, posture of a soldier despite their situation.
"Yeah, you know, exfoliating. It's good for your—" He did not look amused, his posture and tone all too familiar—it was what she would have expected from one of her superiors. Emery cut off short and cleared her throat, feeling strangely dressed down, no pun intended. He may not have said much, but his body language spoke volumes.
"Never mind. No, I'm from Bellkrath. Where roofs are a bit more stable and people know the words 'thank you,'" she said as she flicked a chunk of thatch from her hair.
Oops. But she couldn't help the bit of snark.
Zannrick gave her a look, then it registered why the woman was being so haughty. But before he could rectify that, the pair were ushered off to a more proper place to clean off.
Before they would strip off, women moved with scrub brushes and helped remove what dirt they could, the clean floor of the room gathering a pile of dust and dirt at their feet. Zannrick frowned all the while, especially as another maid worked ar cleaning up the floor. Once they were done, the pair were handed a fresh bar of soap to share and Scented oils to add to their baths, before fresh towels were set aside and the maids exited.
Once alone, Zannrick turned to the woman, handing her the soap.
"I.. apologize for earlier. Through the chaos of the collapse I hadn't considered your efforts to aid a stranger."
He turned away, stepping behind the make shift privacy screen, his body a silhouette dancing by lamp light. He began to remove the remainder of his clothing.
Had he known the bathing house had been occupied he would have waited his turn. But it seems circumstances proved the pair were to suffer together.
Alright, so maybe this wasn't so bad.
Emery was exhausted and annoyed by the entire situation, but one of the maids scrubbing her off was pretty damned cute, so she couldn't really stay mad. She might be far too tired to flirt, but she could silently enjoy the experience, even if it was too brief.
Alone with the man again, and feeling a little less disgusting, she took the offered soap with an arched brow and blinked at his apology. She was tired enough that she had already forgotten about that. "Hm? Oh. Right. Don't worry about it," she said, and slipped behind her screen, quickly dropping the towel. "I was just giving you a hard time. It's been a long fucking day."
With a sigh, she slid into the water, sore muscles aching pleasantly in the heat. The water turned cloudy from the dirt the maids couldn't reach (they were NOT going to dig into her nooks and crannies, screw that), not to mention her hair, but she would deal. She quickly worked up a lather and started with her hair, wanting to take her sweet time but knowing she had to share. "Probably not everyday a naked woman throws herself at you, huh? You have to admit, that was pretty smooth."
Clothing discarded, Zannrick slipped into the hot waters with a soft moan. It felt like heaven. He closed his eyes, just enjoying the soak when she reminded him how they met.
He smirked.
Considering her words, he had to think back to when he last bedded a woman. How long had it been? Too long by the way his body was reacting to the idea of it. He stretched out in the bath, submerging for a time to thoroughly soak his long hair.
When he resurfaced, he brushed the waters from his face and peered towards the 'screen'.
"The name's Zannrick," he told her. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to tell her , but it felt appropriate.
Zannrick. Nice name. Sounded oddly nostalgic, like she had heard it before, but with the warm water relaxing her she couldn't quite place it. "No comment, eh? You're no fun," she teased, and finger combed the last of the gunk out of her hair. "Well met, Zannrick, I'm—"
...oh my God.
Zannrick.
Zannrick.
Emery froze, her body going rigid and heart sinking into the pit of her stomach. That wasn't exactly a common name. In fact, she had only heard it the once. No way. No fucking way she had said all that shit to him and fucking shoved her nothing-tits into his goddamn face.
The blood drained from her face.
"...Silly question, grain of salt and all that, but you wouldn't happen to be a Mordecai, would you?" she managed to choke out, desperately hoping there was another Zannrick out there that she hadn't just been a total idiot in front of.
Zannrick had almost relaxed in the bath, finally calming down after all of the ruckus. But then at her question, he stiffened and his hairs stood on end.
His next actions would not only confirm what she might suspect, but might very well have her pissing in her bath waters as he grabbed his discarded blade in a flurry of motion, sliced down the mere clothe hung between them and pointed the blade clean at her soapy throat as he stood there, waters rushing down his nude form.
"What a fool you are, mage, to reveal yourself so openly. I'm obliged to make this quick"
"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!"
The man burst through the screen like a deranged psychopath from a horror story and before Emery could even register what the fuck was even happening, his blade was at her throat. Heart in her throat, she threw her hands up where he could see them, pressing back against the tub in a vain effort at putting a little more distance between her skin and his blade as she tried to figure out what the hell had gone wrong and how not to die.
And then he spoke.
"Wh-what?" He thought she was a—oh hell! Her eyes widened in horror and she shook her head frantically. "No! No, no, no! I'm not a fucking mage, you ass! I'm a fucking Mordecai! I got your letter! For the thing!" Ah, fuck, her mind was sort of blanking out under the pressure and dumbass things had a tendency to fly out of her mouth under stress. Please don't let this be how she died, mistaken for a goddamn mage.
"I'm Emery, Emery Ramaker! Not that you'd, uh, remember but—shit! Zannrick! You're THE Zannrick, right?"
Zannrick tensed at her words. He paused a moment, mentally going over the list he had carefully crafted. The name stuck and after a moment of hesitation, he asked, "The letter. Where is it?"
"In my room," Emery got out quickly, chest rising and falling with panicked breaths. "With my stuff. I can show you?"
He eyed her. The look he held was nothing short of contempt.
"Have the maids fetch it." He wasn't about to let her simply go. He pulled a nearby bell to alert the maids and when one appeared; almost she could do was gawk at the scene
Zannrick pressed his sword.
"Tell her where to look," he commanded.
Shit, shit, shit.
"Alright, alright. Easy," Emery breathed, wincing as the blade pressed to her skin. Shooting an almost sheepish look at the maid, because this was not only terrifying but also embarrassing as hell, she spoke quickly.
"Second room from the end of the hall. There's a bag in there, the letter's at the bottom. You'll have to dig. Uh, be quick about it?"
The maid scurried off, and Emery looked back to Zannrick with a cringe. "You're going to owe me a new bath after this," she said. "I think I peed a little. Fuck, man, you seriously think a mage would be this stupid?"
Zannrick's disposition did not change, sword held firm.
"We can start a tab," he replied, tartly. "If you've worked for the Grand Duke under this branch for as many years as I have... you learn to accept many forms of insolence."
"Er..." Emery cleared her throat, still nervously eyeing his blade. Oh God. They were definitely not getting off on the right foot here. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The maid returned then, holding up a piece of parchment and holding it out to Zannrick, eyes wide and anxious. "Is this it, sir?"
Zannrick's eyes did not leave the woman's at first but after a time, he with drew the blade and turned to take the paper.
It had the official seal. And he noted the name.
His ice blue eyes returned to her.
"I apologize. These are unsafe times we live in." He gestured towards the women. "Fetch us another bath with clean waters. Be sure they're steaming hot for her."
Thr woman nodded, still stunned before bowing and rushing off.
Zannrick moved to return his blade to its sheath before resting it upon the table. He then moved to fix the make shift curtain that had once been a poorly constructed privacy screen- now it faired no better with its large cut down the middle. The man began to work on pinning the cut closed.
"You're late," he began after a time, finishing the repair. "If you were answering this letter... You're late."
Holy God. As soon as he withdrew his blade, Emery let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and sank to her nose into the water, blowing bubbles on her exhale. For a moment she had been paranoid enough to think the maid had somehow grabbed the wrong paper, even though it was the only paper in her bag.
It would be her luck.
She rubbed at her throat, checking for damage. "Unsafe. Right," she muttered under her breath when she straightened up again, unable to keep the twinge of irony from her voice—and then biting her tongue as soon as the words slipped out. But now that she was no longer in imminent danger, the real shakiness settled in, and she was glad to be submerged under cloudy water where it wasn't so obvious that she was trembling.
To her surprise he ordered a new bath (what? She hadn't actually been serious!) and started to repair the cloth he'd ripped through like a brute. Emery stayed where she was, knees hugged to her chin, because the bath right then was safe and she wasn't sure she could stand yet without her legs buckling. And she had made enough of a fool of herself to last...well, the rest of her life, probably, because she might very well die tonight of shame.
Zannrick. This was Zannrick. She'd nearly been killed by him. She'd seen his fucking dick. And the things she had said to him...
Maybe he should have killed her after all.
Especially when he said that.
She scrubbed her hands over her scarred face and took a deep breath. "I know," she said at last, and chewed her lip to bite back the excuses. Excuses were like assholes, right? "I know, I...look. Can we maybe start over? Maybe back before the part where you almost killed me, but after the part where I saved you? I feel like we were in a pretty good place then."
God fucking hell she needed to learn when to shut up.
Zannrick paused to eye her at her words, saying nothing- his expression hard to read. But there wasn't a hardness in his eyes.
Then he picked up the discarded bar of soap.. and broke it in half. He wasn't going to wait for his turn with it. He tossed her half before disappearing behind the veil and sunk back into the waters.
"Why are you late?" He asked, after lathering in some soap down one arm.
Emery flinched and caught the soap reflexively, but it slipped out of her wet hands and splashed into the water. That at least forced her to uncurl herself from the ball she'd folded herself into as she fished around in the tub for it.
Why was she late?
She paused on hands and knees, shooting a glance toward the curtain. He didn't sound...pissed. So that was a good sign, maybe? That he was willing to hear her out?
Soap in hand, she sat back up. "Bad weather," she said lamely, grimacing. "Creek flooded, had to wait it out. Then, uh, well..." She scratched the back of her neck. "I'll be honest, this is the farthest I've traveled alone. I had no idea where the fuck I was going and may have taken a couple accidental detours."
Zannrick was quiet as she explained herself. It was an excuse, and with how disappointed he'd been with recruitment, this didn't help his situation.. nor hers.
Ansgar's name, maybe he would need more drink.
However, as he considered her plight as he scrubbed his hair down thoroughly, he recalled his own travels across the country. Considering the desire for quick and prompt replies.. and with the unpredictability of the mage resistance...
He supposed he could afford this woman the benefit of the doubt. Besides, her day was fairing no better than his. And after all... she had technically put her life on the line to help him. And he has been a stranger then.
"Let's clean up and discuss this tomorrow. We're moving onto the second part of training but.." he hesitated before adding. "I .. suppose I could make an exception and add you onto the training roster. "
Emery did not know if she should include the whole truth, so she didn't: the part where she went against her captain's wishes. Bellkrath might be in support of the Grand Duke, but that did not mean opinions were unanimous. Her particular cell was...a bit all over the place. Most of the Mordecai in her group disagreed; they followed the old ways, the ways deemed righteous by Ansgar and saw no reason to change. It was monstrous, what was happening.
They didn't know what monsters looked like. Emery had seen it, had it carved into her flesh so she could never forget, watched them walk among them, and no one seemed to want to do a fucking thing about it.
Except Zannrick.
Her captain had crumpled the letter and tossed it away, but Emery had fished it out of the rubbish and sent her reply in secret.
She was done. She was ready for a change.
They would likely have her head if she went back, deserting as she did. It was a risk she had been willing to take—the only problem was she didn't have a backup plan.
So she nearly sank back into the water when Zannrick gave his answer after a silence that stretched too long. Sucking in a deep breath, she scrubbed her hands over her face as a tension left her that she hadn't realized she was carrying, and after collecting herself quickly, she looked to the curtain.
It felt so awkward talking through a screen.
"Thank you! Sincerely. Work me twice as hard if you need to, I'll catch up, I promise. Holy shit, you have no idea how much this means to me, I could fucking suck your dick I'm so—"
She clamped her mouth shut abruptly, remembering in wide-eyed horror just who she was speaking to. Her superior. Second hand man to the goddamn GRAND DUKE. A man that had just about murdered her as a mage and still had a sword within reach. Not some equal she could be casually vulgar and jokesy around, but HIM. She pressed a hand to her mouth to bite back a strangled sound and seriously considered sinking under the water and not coming back up.
"...I mean. Thank you. Sir. For your consideration."
Zannrick said nothing as she continued on with her rambling. Truthfully, he should have denied hee. But... part of him felt it were wrong. She was fortunate they met under unique circumstances.
And then she talked about sucking his dick.
Zannrick froze, and tensed- a knee jerk reaction to her elation. And even though she tried do back peddle over it....
Zannrick had to wonder if he made a mistake.
Even still.. perhaps he wore just the faintest of smiles.
"We could begin your training tonight, if you're so insistently eager," he finally said, breaking the silence.
Was that...a joke? Or was he serious? He didn't seem like the joking sort thus far, and Emery didn't know him nearly well enough to spot his sense of humor, if he even had one. Not to mention he was nigh impossible to read even when she could see his face.
She bit back a groan. Goddammit. After their awkward yet casual meeting, before she knew who he was, her brain was tired enough that it was still struggling to register that he wasn't just some guy. Never mind the Almost Murder part.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, making a face. "That's...right. No, no, morning is good." She kicked herself, feeling like quite the dumbass. "If I'm being honest, sir, I'm tired enough I'm not so sure I could even lift a sword right now—of any variety," she added dryly.
Emery had jumped into bed with her share of casual flings, but never with a superior. And the thought of that was, frankly, borderline horrifying. She might have a reputation among her peers as being a bit wild, but she also had standards.
"The morning then," Zannrick said with a curt nod. "Since you'll be somewhat behind, I'll expedite your training based on one condition. "
That brought Emery's racing thoughts to a standstill. Calming a little since he was merciful enough to let her slip-ups slide, she looked at the screen curiously. "What condition is that, sir?"
"You'll need to prove to me why you're here. Prove to my why I ought to bring you on; take the time to train you.. mold you."
He thought back to the events from the last few hours. She was already trouble...
Would he live to regret this? He supposed they would see.
"This faction..we're not just about the ability to fight. It's why we fight that drives us and our successes."
Could someone.. so.. strange and crass truly understand?
Emery was quiet for a moment as he spoke, outlining conditions that were, well...more than fair. He didn't have to do any of this. She was late, he had every right to reject her, and she was more than ready to work all the harder to make up for it and show how much she appreciated this chance.
But this? This would be the easy part, she felt.
"I understand," she said, rubbing her thumb along her scar where it ended at her jaw. "And I promise you, I will. I already know how to fight. If that was all this was about, I wouldn't have come."
Maybe she did.
Each person had their own story, their own dreams..their own nightmares. Somehow.. even after only meeting the woman for this short while, he felt she knew all too well.
But...
Like everyone else.
They had to prove it.
Zannrick stood suddenly, waters gushing down his form. He'd bathed long enough. There was work to be done.
He towered off with a leisure purpose, back towards the woman as his mind drifted off into thought...
Remembering a time that didn't seem so very long ago... until well.. it was.
"What duchy did you say you come from?" He asked, hanging a towel over his shoulders and beginning to dress.
The water was starting to cool; the maids may have forgotten to bring a new bath in all the chaos—understandably, she supposed. It was fine, though. Emery hadn't really been serious, just afraid and talking much tougher than she felt. Besides, her fingers and toes were staring to get gross and pruney, so it was about time.
She was so ready to collapse into a warm bed--though realistically, it would be hours before she could fall asleep after she'd come so close to getting herself killed in the most idiot way possible. Not to mention everything else. Proving herself. Fuck. She'd spoken confidently because she couldn't show weakness here, and she wasn't lying--she had her reasons. But fuck. What if in the end it wasn't enough for him?
Deep breaths. That was a problem for Future Emery.
She heard the water slosh around over on Zannrick's side, so clearly he had the same idea. She rose from the water and grabbed a towel, furiously rubbing her short red hair until it was no longer dripping and had instead gone a bit annoyingly floofy, then went about drying off the rest of the way and dressing. Thankfully, the change of clothes she'd brought with her had been out of the way of the collapse and escaped the brunt of the dust and debris, though she still had to shake them out a bit.
Fastening her breeches, she turned toward the screen at his question, head cocked curiously. "Bellkrath, sir," she said. "Why do you ask?"
Bellkrath. Well, atleast it wasn't one of the furthest duchys from Allar.
"Making small talk," he said, continuing to towel himself off. "You from the mountains?"
It would explain her talk.. then again, one could say that if she were from certain parts of the cities there. Women from the rougher areas....
They had a much different way about them.
And would explain the scar.
"The mountains?" Emery blurted, a surprised laugh in her voice. She shot a look at the curtain, an eyebrow raised, then snorted and pulled her shirt on over her head. "No, what makes you think that? I'm from a town west of Einhall."
...Which, to be fair, was a small, nothing town close to the small, developing city of Einhall, which was in the foothills. But that hardly counted, right?
Zhannrick arched an eye brow. And was that.. if it were it was a very subtle smile. He simply eyed her.
"I make a note of studying my soldiers. You.. reminded me of a man who hailed from the North."
Or a bear.
"A man, huh?" Emery rolled her eyes skyward. "Listen, I know my tits are small but come on."
The smile (not smile) lingered as he turned away, fully dressed and heading for the door. And if he were to embellish more on that thought, he made no notion.
"Rest well tonight. Tomorrow begins another day."
And he closed the door behind him.
"Good night," Emery said as Zannrick left, and once the door closed behind him, she let out a loud sigh and slumped over with her hands braced against her knees.
Well. That was something else.
With Zannrick gone, Emery quickly finished dressing and then just...stood there, foot tapping and arms folded. A few minutes passed, then a few more just to be safe, before she cracked the door open and glanced down the hallway just to make sure she wasn't going to run into the man on the way to her room. Because, you know.
Awkward.
She felt she had done an admirable job keeping it together...sort of.
But also she kind of wanted to D I E.
Slipping out of the room, she speed-walked to the room she'd bought, shut the door behind her, and threw herself face-down onto the bed with a strangled groan into her arms.
This was a FUCKING DISASTER. She was a total fucking moron! He must think her an absolute lunatic dumbass, and hell, she probably was. God above, this was a horrible idea, but what were the bloody odds that she'd run into him like that?! Be stupidly casual and vulgar in front of him? And then nearly get killed by the man?! He must think her the most brainless, incompetent, silly--
Stop. Calm down. Curling her fingers into the blankets, she made a concentrated effort to slow her breathing. It was fine. This was fine. Everything was fucking fine. Just no more mistakes. She had to be on point. Professional. She was qualified for this, she had experience under her belt. She just had to show it. Right. Easy enough. She rolled onto her back with the pillow over her face, breathing into it to calm down (or lazily smother herself) before she hugged it to her chest. Morning would be the do-over. Fresh start, clean slate, they could both forget her boss had his face all up in her tits.
It took a while--sleep was not her friend--but eventually she was able to fret herself to sleep. It was a shitty sleep (not unusual), but that at least meant that she didn't oversleep, and she woke just before sunrise. Which was great, because she hadn't thought to ask where exactly they were meeting, or when.
She quickly dressed for the day, gathered her gear, and trudged down into the mess hall for a bowl of pottage. She wasn't really awake enough to feel hungry (she was exhausted, but had learned to function on even less), but she forced spoonfuls into her mouth as she tried to be subtle about glancing upstairs for signs of Zannrick. Not in a stalkery way, not at all! Just, you know. Because she had no fucking clue what the schedule exactly was and needed to intercept him.
She would be looking the wrong way for his return, because as she was seeking upstairs for signs of Zannrick, he came walking through the front door.
Sweat slicked slicked pale hair into an unruly mess about his face. And he was flushed and fully armored
It was more than evident he had awakened befire sunrise to practice- and he nodded to Emery befire he moved to get himself something to eat.
"Have you eaten already?" He asked.
Somehow he managed to make the sweaty after workout look be sexy- if even in a cold and dangerous way . There always seemed to be that cold air about him that made him seem almost like a wild animal. Perhaps it was the eyes.
The door opened and Emery glanced toward the sound—and when Zannrick strode through, looking all wild and ruggedly handsome in a way that reminded her she'd seen him naked. Swallowing down a bite of food, she shoved the thought away, reminded herself he'd also almost murdered her, and nodded back at him with a tired smile. Ah, good timing! She could find out where she was supposed to—
Her eyes moved over his armored form with dawning realization, taking in his sweaty face, all red from exertion.
Armor. Sweat.
Oh SHIT.
Emery felt her blood go cold, her spoon dropping with a soft clang into her bowl. He'd been training. TRAINING. Oh fuck, had she slept through it?! He'd let the first incident slide by the grace of God but there was no fucking way he'd excuse this level of brainless, irresponsible—fuck! Had she fucked up the one extra chance he'd given her? Served her right for not thinking the night before to ask specifics, but to be fair she was pretty damned shaken!
Despite her rising blood pressure, Emery managed to keep the smile on her face, though if he was the observant type he might see the wild panic in her eyes. At his question she jolted, remembered her meal, and picked her spoon back up with a slightly shaky hand.
"Yeah! I mean, I am. Eating, that is. In the process of it," she said, motioning with the spoon to her pottage. There was still half left, but her appetite was suddenly gone. "Just finishing up. Come to join me?"
Don't freak out, don't freak out, act natural...
"Stuff's not half bad. Not too heavy, not too light...you know, good pre-training meal..."
He nodded, seeming unphased by the other's bumbling. So once he got his own food, he ate militaristicly.
"We can begin practice before we leave. But it's best you eat only one bowl before we spar."
He'd hate for her to lose her breakfast and travel without it. Being as prepared as possible was the best warrior philosophy he knew- so you had to be constantly aware of everything and anything.
He hadn't had much sleep that night. But then again.. he wasn't sleeping much these days.
He finished his food and got a fresh cup of water, and as much as he wanted more, this was all he could spare before their quick match before they'd leave.
He rose as soon as his water was emptied.
"I'll meet you out back in half an hour. Be sure you'll be ready to leave soon after."
They had a long ways of travel ahead of them.
"Have you got a horse?"
...Before we spar?
As in the two of them?
The sudden relief Emery felt at the words "begin practice" came crashing down with the following line, because she had anticipated sparring against her peers but was completely sidelined by the reality of sparring her superior. And not just anyone, but the Zannrick, right hand man to the Grand Duke. Right now, first thing in the morning.
Her stomach sank. The man was a fucking legend. Of course he was going to kick her ass. Surely it was another test to prove her mettle—which meant there was still time to fail before she ever reached the training grounds. Though, she supposed she was doing pretty good so far considering he hadn't told her to get lost after the mage scare, tackling him naked, and being generally a total dolt.
That would haunt her for life.
Emery shoveled the rest of her meal in her mouth even though she wasn't hungry, knowing she would need the energy. As if she could go for another bowl after that news! Zannrick rose and gave his instructions, and she pushed her bowl away and stood.
"Half an hour, got it," she said, starting for the stairs, but pausing at his question. "And yes! Her name's Hilda. She's been with me through all my training."
Thank God for that. She could not imagine having to ride with him or something. She would die.
He nodded. He should have asked the other day about the horse.. but.. well..
They had distractions.
"Very well. We shall meet up soon."
He gave a curt nod before disappearing- and exactly as he promised - half an hour later- he was outside, practicing his fighting stances and going through an array of sword swings.
The type of stances he took up for this were graceful, like a dance. One step moved fluidly into another- one sweep of the sword naturally flowing into the next.
As soon as Zannrick dismissed her, Emery flew upstairs and packed, which was easy since she had brought little and had left most of it packed anyway. After that, all that was left was visiting the stable to fetch Hilda (who had quite enjoyed a restful night eating good hay in a warm enclosure) and load up her saddlebags.
She arrived on time, almost to the minute, leading Hilda along by the reins. There Zannrick was, as promised, flowing effortlessly through his stances.
For a few moments Emery said nothing. She simply watched, not wanting to be rude and interrupt his flow—but also, admittedly, rather enjoying the show. But then she thought maybe he wouldn't notice her and might think her late again if she didn't say something? So after a moment she cleared her throat, just loud enough to be heard but hopefully not enough to be obnoxious, and fussed at the buckles of her baldric.
He remained poised from his last thrust, turning with a slow nod towards Emery. He reached for a rag to dab off the sweat from his brow before gesturing for her to join him.
"So.. what level of skill am I looking at with you?" He asked, running the towel now through his hair. He'd likely need another bath when all was said and done- if he could even spare the time.
Emery blinked at the question, pausing as she tied Hilda's reins to a branch. "Huh...I've never been asked to classify it before."
Emery tapped her chin in thought, frowning, then shrugged and headed over to join Zannrick. How to answer this while sounding competent but not cocky... "I'm decent enough, I'd say. I can hold my own. I'm not the best shot with a pistol but I know my way around a sword and I'm not afraid to get...unconventional, if need be."
She flashed a smile, motioning at her scarred face. "You should see the other guy."
He eyed her, taking in the scar before looking her over again.
"And how many years of experience did you say you had in the army?" He asked- all business and no room for anything else.
Tough crowd. That one usually at least got an eye-roll or something. Emery cleared her throat, rolling her shoulders back.
"Almost six years, sir. I joined—" More like got snatched up, "—the Mordecai a little after sixteen. Just turned twenty-two."
He nodded, although by his demeanor, it was hard to tell if he actually was listening to her.
"Alright.." he moved to mark an area out of the dirt with a boot.
"Let's see how you do then. See the marks? Try and get me to step outside them." He gave her a nod.
A 'Let's go' gesture.
Was he even lis—? Oh, it didn't matter. He was just making small talk leading up to this, probably. Or was he even capable of small talk?
Whatever the case, as Emery watched him draw a circle in the dirt, she felt her stomach do a little nervous flip. This was fine. Nothing she hadn't done before. Standard exercise, really.
The only very important difference being she was facing Zannrick-fucking-Austengarde.
Emery drew her sword and took up a ready stance. Just imagine him in his underclothes. Har har. Or naked.
Not. Helpful.
"Understood, sir."
At his signal, she went for him with a quick upward feint before thrusting low.
It looked so casual, how he moved to bat her strike away. Yet there was a commanding force behind it.
He side stepped, swiping towards her to keep her at a distance and forcing her to quickly react.
Emery was testing him, feeling him out to get an idea of how to adapt, and of course his reflexes were perfect. Effortless, as though he read her intent before she even acted. God, she was no green leaf but...
This was going to be interesting.
She swung her sword to block with the flat of her blade and took a step back, absorbing the blow, before she aimed to smack his blade to the side and thrust to close some of that distance.