Spirits of the Earth

The night sky had a curious star that did not belong. It trespassed and warped the constellation it danced in. The star was faint, at first. And it moved, increasing in size as the planet ensnared it. Perhaps an eager astronomer would hastily reach for their instruments to gaze upon the curious speck of light sailing through the inky night. Mages might even take this opportunity as a sign for strengthened spellcraft. Lovers in the sleepy fields might even wish upon it. Dogs howled. Children gaped. Others could only look at the phenomenon with wonder: was this a sign from the gods?

Uncertainty gripped the spectators as they watched the star come hurling towards them at alarming speed. The colors it emitted were not natural. It effused a burst of blue and white, too peculiar to be a genuine meteor, but for the more simple-minded, that is all it was. They gasped as it ignited their sky with blinding light, the world momentarily resembling midday. It barely struck the mountain like a flash of lightning, then disappeared over the horizon, and was gone. Night returned to its tranquil state.

Early morning had come when some of the denizens of the local town excitedly made preparations to brave the valleys in an attempt to search for the meteorite. Merchants bragged of how much of the mysterious rock they would mine for themselves to sell. One fellow wondered how he would let the local blacksmith fashion a falchion from the stone. Some even dreamed of jewels. The suspicious wondered if it was a meteorite at all, and not something... else. The astute, though rare, did not have to wonder. They knew.

Of that which was found thus far were deep troughs that gouged the earth, smoldering still from where the rock had struck. The intelligent ones deduced that it fell at an angle, and bounced like a river stone far into the densely wooded trees. Several trees looked bent and cracked. Too curious. Is this how meteors behave? Many decided they weren't brave enough to trek the wilderness, even as the sun peeked over the valley. Too dangerous, they would say. Yet still, for all the rest, the hunt for the meteorite had begun.

Only to the first person to find the meteorite, would not see bits of space rock flung about to pieces. In the center of a cleared wood, surrounded by broken, smoldering trees, was a still-smoking crater, and in its center, was an unconscious man.

Emery Ramaker was supposed to be taking a break.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn't on a hunt. She had no bounty, no goals, no trail to follow. She had simply returned to Bellkrath to do the most normal thing she had done in a year: visit her family, give them some of the money she had earned, get information, and leave.

She had at least two days' worth of travel before she reached the small backwater village she'd grown up in, and it had been a day since her last night in a bed--well, kind of a bed, more like pokey hay in a kind farmer's barn. There wasn't another village now until she reached home, so she had to rough it until then, but she'd done that plenty before.

It was good weather for it: clear skies and not too windy for a change, chilly but not unbearable. Just before sunset, she settled down for the evening, watering her horse at a stream before tying her reins off on a branch near the small campfire she had made. It was a quiet night with lots of visibility all around the small copse she'd settled near, and this area wasn't really known for its predators, but it was still difficult for Emery to shift from a constant state of alert to relaxation. She shrugged off her baldric and set her sword beside her, chewed on some of the rations she'd packed, and rested with her back against a tree as day faded to night. She tried and failed to shut up her brain; going home was always rough. It hadn't been her home in years.

The sky darkened and hours passed, and eventually the exhaustion of the day caught up to Emery until not even her racing thoughts were strong enough to fight it. She began to drift, curled up beneath the blankets she'd packed, the campfire long reduced to smoldering embers.

And then the sky exploded.

Light and color flashed beneath her eyelids and her horse, Hilda, let out a whinnying scream that had her scrambling out from under her blankets in panic. The sky was ablaze, bright as day, and then it was night again but loud, a sound ripping through the valley like cannon fire. Hands shaking, Emery grabbed up her baldric and slung it over her shoulder, for one moment worried the war had finally made it this far--but then it was quiet again.

There was no smell of gunpowder, the sound was different, and the color had been all wrong. They hadn't been like any colors she'd ever seen in the sky, at least not at night. No, this was something else.

Heart hammering in her chest, Emery went to calm Hilda as the horse danced nervously and made unhappy sounds, the whites of her eyes flashing. She stroked her and whispered to her until she had settled, and then she packed her things back up and swung up into the saddle. No, no...this was nothing natural. This was something different. Something wrong. She had seen unnatural lightshows before, very rarely, but enough to suspect.

This had to be magic.

And it was big.

And close.

---

It was a surprisingly short ride. She turned Hilda in the direction she heard the crash and rode, figuring that with the scale of that light and that sound, surely she would see some evidence of it eventually. She smelled it first, the smell of smoke and burnt wood--and then through the dark she saw it, dying sparks of flame illuminating gouges in the earth, like something had slid along it for a while, ending in a large broken pit.

Emery drew Hilda up to the edge and dismounted, her hands sticky in their gloves. Was this an attack of some sort? She had never seen anything like it. This wasn't created by cannons or anything she had ever seen the likes of--

She froze, her eyes widening and fixing on a single point at the center.

What the fuck.

There was a person in the center of the crater, pale and strange, and Emery drew her sword in alarm before she realized he wasn't moving. Not that it mattered; that could change in the space of a breath, because who knew what she was dealing with here? Something unnatural, that was certain. Was he what had caused the light show, or had he burst from the thing that had? It didn't matter. What did matter was that unnatural things like that couldn't just roam free, and she had a duty now to ensure he didn't. With the amount of damage he had already caused, all those smoldering trees and broken earth...

God. If this had been a town and not an empty valley...

She shuddered and swallowed hard, wetting her dry throat. This felt beyond her, bigger than her. She had never seen a display of power that had caused damage of this scale.

There was no time to waste.

She had a duty here.

Working fast, she retrieved the tools of her trade from a saddlebag--a pair of iron manacles she had used on many a mage. Carefully sliding down the crater's slope, she took a deep breath to steel herself before she bent and rolled him onto his belly, grunting with the effort. Dead weight was always a bitch to move, but she managed, and then she yanked his arms behind him and clasped the a shackle around both wrists. There. If he was Serenian or some manner of fae, he might find them extra uncomfortable, and that was the point; the iron was meant to burn fae types.

That done, Emery felt a little better already. His magic would be off limits with her around him, but now he would have to work if he wanted to fight her. Tugging them to ensure they were properly locked, she clicked her tongue in satisfaction and rose, dusting off her hands.

Now to get him out of the damned crater. If he was conscious, he wouldn't like this part.

"This'll hurt like a bitch," she said, talking out loud just to hear another voice. She climbed back up the crater and drew a rope from her packs, and tied one end to the saddle's pommel. Then she slid back down into the crater and began to tie that end around the chain linking his manacles together.

So many questions.

And she planned on extracting the answers from him.

The man looked dead. Upon closer inspection, there was only shallow breathing. He looked rough and filthy, with scratches and a gash on his arm that tore the leather of his black armor. A longsword was strapped to his belt, whole and untouched by the fall. But miraculously—somehow—this man beat the odds and survived.

Alkereth woke with a soft flutter of eyes, aching from the light of the rising sun. He could barely lift his hands to shield his face; in fact, he could hardly move. Pain shot up his spine, which gave him a horrendous headache. Too weak, unfocused, and brain-hazed to understand what was happening, he simply lay sprawled on the rubble he created.

It wasn't until a female's voice jostled his mind. It was something to focus on, something to tether him on the side of the living. He almost smiled. The voice! It was her's, was it not? Oh, how he longed to reach up, and perhaps he did, shakily lifting his shackled hands towards Emery's horse, unable to register that he had been captured for nefarious purposes. The horse was only a blur, but he was able to make out the contours which suggested the type of animal it was to him.

"Lun...rath..." He murmured through a mouthful of blood and soil. "You... made it..."

The accent was not comparable to that of anyone in Emery's world. But he spoke her language. Curious.

Alkereth grunted painfully from being hoisted and manhandled, and fell unconscious several times. His fate was in Emery's hands.

Emery about jumped out of her skin when the creature spoke.

She whirled, snapping a look at his face. It was a strange voice, an accent she didn't recognize--though that could have been because his face was pressed into the dirt and he clearly wasn't all there yet. Good. Letting out the breath she'd sucked in in her surprise, she gave the rope a sharp jerk to make sure it was secure.

With him flipped over, she noticed the sword at his hip and made short work of it, unbuckling it and tossing it up the crater's slope. Then she pat him up and down his legs and arms and torso, roughly and without ceremony, checking for any extra weapons he might have stowed on him and cursing herself for not being more careful and thorough before. Had her break been so long that she had gotten this sloppy already?

...Because it definitely couldn't be the sleep deprivation that had come with travel. Certainly not.

The man had fallen quiet again, and Emery held her fingers under his nose briefly to check if he was still breathing. Not that it really mattered; this was a bizarre enough case that she would deliver him living or as a corpse to be studied. Hm. Passed out again, it seemed, which was good news for him. It meant he would only feel the aftereffects of this next part, unless he was unfortunate enough to wake up during it.

She climbed back up the crater, secured his sword with her belongings, and then took Hilda's reins in hand and lead her slowly away from the crater to drag the man out. There was no way she was carrying him out on her own, so this would have to suffice. It wouldn't matter if he was a little banged up. If he had survived whatever the hell had happened tonight, then this couldn't be much worse.

It seems Alkereth carried little else. Aside from the longsword, there was a small leather waist satchel containing an old holy book hand-written in foreign words. His apparel, though form fitting over wiry muscle, sported  adornments befitting perhaps a priest (if there was even a recognizable likeness), but nothing he could possibly be hiding beneath the leather and light armor.

A touch to the face, even just to check if life lingered in him still, revealed flesh alarmingly cold as though the man had been previously dunked in an icy lake.

Painstakingly dragged off, Alkereth had no choice but to suffer every scrape and bump. Not that he could discern anything at the moment. He could not even comprehend he situation he was in.

It wasn't until a little after his head hit a rock did he blink several times. It hurt, and he wasn't sure why he was on the ground... being dragged, no less. The stink of horse had him look up. He blinked some more.

The horse was not his.

Not that he made a habit to stare at equine rears or anything, but Lunrath carried a different scent than what this beast gave off.

Trepidation sank in. Seemingly alert enough to lift his head, Alkereth peered blearily around him. He saw a woman. He clumsily spat dirty blood from his mouth.

"My horse," he rasped weakly. Every movement was agony, made more so with every hoof fall. "Go back... my horse... need her..." He groaned, shifting, attempting to piece together his predicament. He was mostly rendered limp and tethered to the woman's horse, perhaps looking more or less like live hunted meat to any attention they might have garnered from strangers.

"Please," he added desperately. The effort to communicate forced a cough. Blood splattered on the ground. Was it too much hope that the woman spoke the same language?

"What?"

Hilda had just pulled the man clear of the crater when Emery realized he was speaking. Again. She hadn't noticed at first, thinking he was just making noise in his "sleep" as he was jostled and dragged, but then she registered some of the rasping sounds as words and she snapped around to stare.

He was awake. Alert enough to at least lift his head, but perhaps not all home yet. He was saying some nonsense about going back for his horse and needing her, something like that. Emery raised an eyebrow, looked at him, and then swept her eyes over the crater and past it. If there was a horse other than hers anywhere, it would have been hard to miss. Would have been nice, too, netting a mage and a horse as a bonus. She would never say no to extra coin.

She drew Hilda to a stop several yards from the crater's edge; she didn't want to drag him too far and get him all damaged, not when she would need his health and cooperation to make this go as smoothly and easily as it could. He was already fucked up enough; she needed him somewhat functional.

"What horse? There's no horse around here save for mine," she said. She untied the rope from Hilda's pommel and looped the excess around her hand, to keep the rope taut as she walked to him and knelt down by his head.

"Maybe there was at some point, but I haven't seen one. Are you seeing things? Hit your head a little too roughly? How many fingers am I holding up?" She held three up in front of his face. The sooner she got him on his own two feet, the sooner she could get him on Hilda, and the sooner they could leave.

There was a modicum of relief and comfort to hear that the woman spoke the same tongue. It was always exhausting navigating foreign speak, and he was never particularly fond of learning new languages. This chance meeting gave Alkereth a surge of energy from whatever reserves he had—that did not mean he was at full strength, but only roused with the incentive that he was alive at all, and actually had someone he could talk to.

They had blessedly stopped just long enough for him to get his bearings, and lift himself up into an awkward sitting position. He tried to look up, but he realized that one of his eyes was swollen and nearly closed shut. He could, at least, see better than he had.

"She is an extraordinary horse that shines like starlight," he explained with a labored breath. "And my... very important friend. It is imperative that I find her." He paused, feeling the weight of his hands behind his back. It occurred to him a little too late that he had been shackled. There could be several reasons why, but he decided to give the woman the benefit of a doubt before he jumped to conclusions.

"What is this?" It was a lazy inquiry, but he could hardly be blamed all things considering. He lifted his arms and showed her his shackles to emphasize his short question, just as she held up her own in an attempt to get him to focus.

"...three," the Harbinger prompted warily, impatiently. "I want to go back and see for myself. It is the only way I can know for sure... but I must ask why I am shackled."

Alkereth swallowed. He tried not to think of his beautiful horse lying, lifeless, somewhere in the trees. But he needed answers, and it was with a prayer that he hoped his companion was not going to be difficult about it.

Emery waited for him to get everything out of his system with the patience of someone who had done this many times before. She had to give him credit, he was handling waking up shackled far better than most people would--though perhaps that was just because he was crazy.

Horse that shines like starlight? His important friend? Clearly his brains had been rattled a bit in his...fall? That had to be it, right? He was the star that had fallen? This whole thing was crazy, but she had seen her share of crazy mages. All the more reason something like him couldn't walk free, ever.

Crouched beside him, she rested her elbow on one knee and propped her chin in her hand, watching him with the same sort of fascination a child would watch some alien and disgusting insect with far too many legs. When he was done, she simply said, "You're shackled because you're my prisoner." Blunt, to the point. No sense in playing coy, she always liked cutting to the chase. The sooner he understood and accepted that fact and got any whining out of his system, the better.

"And you will not be going to look. Your horse is dead or run off or entirely imaginary, I haven't figured out which, but it doesn't matter. It's the least of your concerns now. My turn. What are you?"

Well, there goes that. Disappointment washed over him like the shock after a tsunami, but that was his own fault for putting too much stock in appealing to some stranger.

He fell into a seething silence, tempering his rebellion. It would do him no good to lash out now; he knew he was beaten before the war had even begun. He would have asked where his sword had gone, but he knew before it even fled his lips, so he turned his head away, and closed his eyes, as if falling into silent prayer.

"For what crime?" he asked calmly, his composure more or less the same: in pain, and weak. Even with a broken face, he never seemed to show any real emotion.

The woman asked him a question, but he declined to answer. Perhaps out of spite, or simply unwillingness to comply. He braced for the consequences. It was par for the course. After all, this was not his first song and dance.

So this was how it was going to be. He was one of those types, the quiet and broody type that played tough and stubborn and hadn't quite understood how this was going to work. It seemed he still believed he had some control in this situation. She should have expected as much based solely off of how he dressed. The craftsmanship of his sword and armor was too fine for him to be some farmboy, but the style and his accent were both far too strange for her to place him. He was no Connlaothian. Didn't sound like any Serenian or Adelan she'd met, though she could have easily mistaken him for Serenian. That was all part of the puzzle she was trying to solve, but she thought it was safe to say she had one small piece, at least, and that he'd come from privilege.

The rich ones always thought they were above everything. And they wouldn't be wrong; they could probably buy themselves out of most situations.

Emery cocked her head, letting out an amused snort.

"Oh, my apologies. Was I unclear when I said it was my turn? I'm asking the questions now and you're going to answer. That's how this works." She reached out abruptly and tangled a gloved fist in that white hair, jerking his head around to face her. "What are you? Demon? Witch? Fae?"

"It is a pity." Alkereth spoke softly, despite the longing to hold his side, positive his rib cracked. Even the slightest movement made him wince. Too bad he could not move his hands. "It was not my wish to be your enemy."

The woman continued to subjugate her prey with verbal whiplash. Alkereth could only sit and attempt to ignore the hurt, all the while thinking: Oh, what have I gotten myself into?

He gasped when he felt his scalp smart, realizing he was being forced back. He looked at her with an unreadable scarlet stare.

The words she said had been heard, but it was not at all to his taste. "The audacity that you think I am willing to give an answer after the way I've been harshly handled. What makes you think you deserve my cooperation?" The effort strained his voice. He coughed, blood dripping down his lips.

"Are you so desperate to fill your heart with hatred despite knowing nothing about me?" He swallowed, aware his pale neck was exposed, like a hare to a wolf. "I did nothing to you."

Hmm. Perhaps a different approach was in order.

"Oh, this isn't about me or what you've done. This is about you and what you are," Emery said, still holding him firmly in place so she could meet those strange eyes of his. "It's not your fault, I know. It really isn't. We can't help how we're born, and believe me when I say I'm truly sorry that you drew the short straw. But blame or no blame, I still can't have you walking around freely when you can do that."

She released him then so she could motion back to the crater and all the destruction around it, the trees still smoldering and smoking. Casually, she reached out and wiped some blood from the corner of his mouth, shaking her head. "Can you imagine if that had been a village?"

"You don't know who or what I am," Alkereth scoffed, trembling after forced to sit upright for so long. It was with some grace that the woman held him, even if it was painful in the way she grasped his hair.

Then woman released him, trying to show him the damage he caused. The sunlight was too harsh, so his eyes watered, but he still looked. He swallowed again, weighing his words carefully.

"And I will answer to that," he said softly. "It is regrettable that I am the reason for the wreckage." At least he meant it, casting his gaze downward. He had to admit, the woman had a strong point that he could not ignore. Any other realm would surely hold him responsible, even if the forest was a casualty. "You must understand that I did not mean for this to happen. It was not all my doing."

Alkereth turned to the woman again, ever unreadable in his face, and stared right up at her. She did not need to force his head back to do so. He only flinched from her attempt to clean his lip, but he was not ungrateful. Untrusting and in immense pain, but never one to disregard obvious assistance, even if it was small and hardly worthy of praise. But he had been alone for a long, long time. The sigh that came from him was one of a man starved for contact of any kind, and just now, he was content to take it from a potential enemy. Pitiful.

Even so, he was no fool; perhaps the woman had done it to appeal to him in her own way. Get him to talk. She showed a sliver of compassion, but it did not change the fact that he was still shackled with the threat of something dire, and perhaps political, in his near future.

While lost in thought, he could not help but to prolong his look upon her. Despite the busted face, it did not take a genius to realize that he was scrutinizing her.

"This... isn't about what I've done... like you said... right?" He croaked. "Is the world so intolerant of people like me? Are you?"

"Would you call it intolerance to isolate a leper?" Emery asked, wiping the blood from her glove onto the grass. "Or do you let them remain in society and spread disease? Oh, sure, maybe the leper will try very hard to conceal themselves, maybe they'll be very very careful, but when accidents happen it'll be the innocent who suffer--and so the disease spreads. Not that the leper isn't innocent as well; maybe they were a victim themselves, and I am so sympathetic to their suffering. But you see where I'm going with this, don't you?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "You didn't mean this. I know. But it still happened. What if it happens again? What if something worse happens? You understand, right? I have a moral obligation here. You're my leper, but I can only guess at your disease."

With a soft grunt, as she'd been crouching for a bit then, she rose to her feet and took him by one elbow. "Get up, now. You seem awake enough, we can chat on the road."

"That is possibly the worst example I've ever heard of. You should hear how ridiculous you sound." He would have given her a scathing response, but he had no energy, so his inflection fell flat. He expended them faster than he could muster.

The woman looked ready to move on, but Alkereth worried that his knees would give her a hard disagree. "Is this how you really feel?" Alkereth asked tiredly. "Or are you following instructions?"

The Harbinger would have gone on and on about how the woman's 'moral obligation' was skewed and corrupted. Priesthood and honed piety did that to a person.

"It is not like I aimed myself like a ballista. Something was behind me... I was hurled... I only..." Alkereth fell silent, realizing he had gone dangerously close to revealing more than he desired. Grimly, he ascertained that he may have no choice if it meant clearing any misunderstandings. "It was a poor first impression."

With some difficulty, he attempted to stand, but only because he was given little choice in the matter. This had become far more problematic than he realized, for it was not just his knees that wanted to buckle: it was his whole body. He wanted to reach out to grasp something, but because his hands were indisposed, there was nothing he could do to help himself but rely reluctantly on the woman's strength... if she was willing to hold up a whole six-foot-two male that perhaps weighed almost as twice as her.

"I can't," he gasped, feeling wretched in his inability to walk pragmatically. He fell to his knees. "Let me heal myself." He said this suddenly, gritting his teeth. "I cannot do it with my hands like this. Allow me this one compassion, and I swear to you that I will follow you, to whatever end this journey brings me."

Emery couldn't help it. She burst into laughter. "Let you heal yourself? Free your hands and you'll be a good boy, pinkie promise? Let you use magic? Hah, that's a good one!" Then she paused, realizing he wasn't laughing along, and let out a soft snort. "Oh. You're serious."

With a sigh and a shake of her head, she bent down with her hands on her knees, bringing herself more onto his level. "That's a bold strategy, calling your captor stupid without calling them stupid. Has that worked out for you before?"

This was going to be a problem, though, and there was no getting around that. She certainly didn't have the strength to lift a tall guy like him on her own, especially if he made himself a dead weight. If he couldn't even stand, then they were at a bit of a stalemate.

Another impatient sigh. "Listen, you wouldn't be able to heal even if I wanted you to. Hands free, hands tied, it doesn't matter. Nothing I can do about it." She paused, head cocked. "You know what a Mordecai is, right?"

Alkereth was serious. His scarlet stare never wavered, even in this pitiful position of never ending pain.

"I swear to you," he said firmly. "I am many things, but a liar I am not." He spat this, emphasizing his convictions with a lift of his chin.

"I do not think you are stupid, but I do ask you to have faith. It's all I have, even if now it wavers. My horse could be dead... my dearest friend, my entire world is gone," His voice nearly broke as he said this, his normally calm tone steadily gaining volume. "I am in a place I did not mean to be! You took possession of my sword! Even if I heal myself, I would still be little less than broken! I have NOTHING else to live for, or to keep for myself, except my dignity! If I am to walk into a prison where I believe you are taking me, then LET ME DO IT WITH MY HEAD HELD HIGH!"

He shouted, and then bent over, breathing labored. The woman's words made him grit his teeth. "Cannot heal?" He grumbled darkly, his tone calm, and evermore tired. What kind of world was he in if he could not practice magic? The idea sickened him. He felt as though a piece of his identity was forcefully stripped from him. "Then take me to a doctor, any healer, whatever this wretched place of yours has that can patch me up. I beg of you. I cannot hold myself up for much longer. My body hurts."

Indeed—he was a pale man by nature, but he had grown paler still, close to looking Death in the face at this rate.

"I don't know who that is," he muttered in quiet exasperation, referring to a 'mordecai'. "Another silly label..."

Blah, blah, blah. Emery was used to this song and dance. The bargaining, the begging, the insisting that they were different than the others, no really, they were! More honest, more kind, more whatever. But that alone made them all the same. It got boring, really, having to patiently wait out the cycle of excuses. She had learned to let them have that moment, let it burn out of their system, because once she let them list all the reasons she should be merciful and she could let them know she did not care, there was a chance they would be demoralized enough to shut up about it. At least for a few minutes.

So she let him have the stage, and he put on a rather stellar performance, especially in his broken state. She straightened up and examined her gloves as he spoke, plucking at some of the cracks (they were well worn and could bear replacing soon) and shook her head wryly, because it seemed he hadn't heard her at all, or at least hadn't grasped the entire meaning of what she had said.

Finally, when he had worked himself up into a gasping lather and seemed to be quite spent of his shouting, she looked down at him and arched a brow. "You done?" 

She didn't wait for his response. "Look, boy, as I said before, there is no way for you to heal. Not in my presence. That label you scoff at is what I am. A Mordecai. A person blessed by Ansgar or whatever. I could take off your manacles and the only thing you'd be able to do is strangle me with them. We can test it later if you like, but I assure you, even if I was dying and desperately wanted to be healed—which I wouldn't, I would rather die than be touched by that shit—your magic is unreachable right now, and I can't turn it on or off. It just is."

She shrugged, making a face. "But I will concede your condition is inconvenient, and I'm not getting paid hauling in a corpse. Get up. Come on. Use those legs." She hooked her arms under his armpits. "We're not going anywhere unless you get on that horse. You like horses, right?"

Alkereth was done. He gave it all in an attempt to appeal to the woman, but she was not budging for him. She gave her reasons, of course, but trying to rationalize it all only served to make Alkereth angry. Not that there was anything he could do about it. It was not like he had much left in him to try and argue his captor's questionable and infuriating rationale.

In one last ditch effort, he weakly rose his gloved hand and attempted to grasp at Emery's clothing, nudging, wanting to look her in the eye. There was hurt there, and despite not knowing her for long—betrayal. He wanted her to see this, to see if she was brave enough to peer her prey in the eye, and if he must die, he hoped his gaze would haunt her until the end of her days.

The light-headed feeling returned with full force. Whatever words Emery spared for him was like trying to listen to her while under water. Even the single most important word to him—'horse'—did not do so much as turn his head.

He full out fainted again. It was not that he did it to be a dick. Although it might appear that way while Emery was talking to him; he was, at least, telling the truth about his condition. Not that he needed help to prove anything—he was, in every sense of the word, beaten, and mere steps away from death.

At least Emery got her wish, and her captive was in for the long quiet. It was all up to her if she decided to make it permanent.

To say this was inconvenient was an understatement.

If he wasn't so fucked up already, Emery would have guessed he'd gone unconscious out of sheer spite. The look he'd given her was...well...kind of chilling. Hurt, almost. Nothing she hadn't seen before, and nothing she hadn't expected. After all, if she were in his position, she would have wanted to punch her in the face, too.

But she wasn't in his position, so instead she was just annoyed. Goddammit. She had been hoping he could wait to do that after they'd rode themselves into town—as if he had any control of that. Seemed he was truly going to make her work for this.

"Don't die on me, yet," she muttered as she pressed fingers to his neck, "I haven't been paid." Damn. His pulse was weak. How was he even still alive, come to think of it, creating a bloody crater like that? That vile magic of his, clearly; his body should have been shattered. Maybe it was shattered on the inside...coughing up blood like that usually spoke to something internal, and those bruises...

It seemed she had underestimated how badly he was hurt. She had assumed he was roughed up but that his...whatever magic he had...had kept him in one piece. But as she examined him more closely, really took the time to look him over and check the extent of his damage, she saw that about the only thing it did was keep him whole. But as for holes, there were a lot of deep gashes leaking blood, smearing red onto her gloves--and she had missed it all this time because of course he had to be wearing black.

Shit. Think. Think. The nearest town. She had passed at least one tiny village a few miles back.

Hopefully they had a doctor.

But none of that would matter if she couldn't get him conscious and onto Hilda. And getting him onto Hilda wouldn't matter if he couldn't stay conscious enough to keep on her. She felt if Hilda knelt and she worked at it, she could get him slung onto his belly over the saddle--but it was hard to breathe like that when you were healthy, much less struggling for air and spitting up blood. No, he wouldn't make it to town if she did that; he'd likely just suffocate.

"You're gonna be a pain in my ass, aren't you?" she sighed, chewing her lip in thought.

Emery was many things, but she was definitely no doctor. She had some basic knowledge of how to treat minor wounds, and she'd helped wrap a friend's arm until he could see a proper doctor, but that was about it. Guess it was time to wing it.

The first thing she did was the thing she said she wouldn't: she knelt beside him and, after a moment's hesitation, she unlocked his manacles. Whatever. If he had the strength to wrestle her into submission in this state then fuck it, he'd earned it. The next thing she did was dig around in her saddle bags for her spare clothes and a blanket.

The least she could do was stop him from bleeding out quite so fast.

She worked surgically, unbuttoning his clothes and cutting them with a knife when she struggled. She only removed as much as was necessary to get at his wounds, and then she set to cutting up her spare clothes and using them as a wrap to bind the gashes. When she had done about as much as her medical knowledge allowed, she covered him with the blanket, rolled another blanket under his head, and then set about digging a fire pit and sparking a fire.

With the blood loss, he would be cold, so that was another risk. Keep him warm, keep him from bleeding to death, get some water in him. Maybe he would come to again, and they could go from there.

Once she got a fire crackling nearby, she fetched her waterskin and took a swig, feeling sweaty and tired herself, and then settled down beside him. Sliding a hand under his head--a bare hand now, as she'd ditched the gloves after they got too hot--she lifted his head and tilted some water into his mouth.

"It's a valiant effort," a familiar voice said, "but I'm afraid it's only just that."

The voice belonged to none other than the man Emery held captive. It was crystal clear compared to the painful strain Alkereth suffered, but it did not come out of the mouth of his resting form. About a foot away from behind Emery, there was a transparent body hovering eerily over the ground, seemingly not bound by mortal coils, or, for that matter... clothes. Granted, his lower half was too transparent to see the goods.

"Ah—right. Be not afraid, and all that."

The ghostly apparition smirked haughtily at Emery, but there was also that look of contempt. The white hair flowed as if underwater, and the scarlet eyes seemed to shine. He expected some level of shock, but it was not enough to restrain himself—he was pissed off. Who was to say that the man Emery attempted to save had gone and died on her, that wasn't too far fetched to think of the possibility that the crazy magic man had come back to literally haunt her.

Emery jerked, and in doing so sloshed water down the man's neck and chest. That was his voice, but his mouth wasn't moving--she would know, considering she was trying to funnel water into it. A spike of alarm cut through the exhaustion of the day--that's what this had to be, right? She was just tired--but she forced her breathing to remain calm and even as she twisted to look.

"What the fu...?"

She cut of with a strangled sound when she saw he was standing right there, right behind her, and a dozen unlikely explanations fumbled through her mind in a panicked rush, like did he have a goddamned twin (what?), was he using magic (how?), was he actually dead (he had a pulse just a second ago!), or was she just out of her bloody mind? She startled, dropping the water skin and letting his head drop back onto the blanket, freeing up her hands so she could fumble her knife from her belt. It was only as she stared at him that she realized he wasn't solid, that half of him was faded into nothing, and that his hair was defying gravity.

Was he dead? Was this a ghost? Oh shit. Seriously?

"How are you--what are--?" She couldn't decide what she wanted to say long enough to spit it out, her tongue tripping on the words. She looked from him to the body laying before her and darted a hand out to feel for his pulse. Sure enough, it was still there. But maybe not for long? She'd never seen a spirit before. She didn't know how that shit worked. Was he pissed enough to start haunting her early?

Finally, she managed to choke out, "How?"

Alkereth sighed, watching Emery with his arms folded in front of him, waiting for the shock to be over.

"Now, listen carefully you absolute imbecile of a human. Mordecai. Whatever in god's name you are. There is little time, so I am going to explain quickly and in a way your primate brain can understand. I don't often make a habit of splitting my spirit from my body, but it was necessary to keep a close eye on you. I wasn't even sure if I could, since you are a living magic blocker. But here we are." He studied Emery with the same air of bitter disappointment he gave her earlier in his corporeal body.

"To some, this is called an... ah... out-of-body experience, but seeing that you're an uneducated, closed-minded excuse of a woman, I don't expect you to understand. Anyway, I used up the last stores of my magical energy to appear like this to instruct you, but your stubborn streak as of late leaves me a little skeptical that you're willing to listen at all. ...are you even listening?"

The Harbinger scoffed. "Look, you vile creature. I am dying. And unless something is done beyond your ridiculous attempt to revive me, you are definitely going to lose out on your..." There was a slight sneer on his face. "...self-interests. Now, since I am bound to our agreement, I have no choice but to follow your pathetic hide once my body is able to function, but I absolutely refuse to go anywhere with you in the state I am in. If anything, my plan will accelerate my recovery. That is something we both have in common, at least. You want me up and about, and I want to live."

His ghostly form hovered inches from Emery like the goddamn Ghost of Christmas Past. "Is this any way clear, or do I have to spell it out for you? Go get my sword."

He was insulting her.

He was insulting her quite thoroughly.

His words weren't lost on Emery, but they were also both in a very unique position here: he was dying and disembodied, and she was (though she would never admit it out loud) terrified. She had a goddamn specter haunting her, which shouldn't be possible because he wasn't dead and also just...how?! Until this moment, she had never really examined her beliefs as far as spirits and ghosts went. Of course she knew about the undead, vile constructs of magic created by necromancers, but those were just meat puppets. This was something else entirely, and the shock of it was enough to keep her from getting pissed off over being called stupid in so many different ways.

This was a miracle, was it not?

Divine intervention of some sort?

For a moment she almost believed it, until he explained that he had used magic to accomplish this. But magic how? She was a Mordecai! This shouldn't be possible!

It sent a chill down her spine, the idea that magic could get past her somehow, that magic could mimic a miracle, and her mouth went dry. What in God's name was he?

When he had finished, and demanded his sword, Emery stiffened. She shouldn't do it. Give him his weapon? If he could get past her defenses like this, there was no telling what he could do once he had a weapon near him. Right? Maybe she should just let him die. Someone that could get past Mordecaism, someone who could create a hole in the earth...she should kill him now...

"Fine."

Instead she stood and went to Hilda wordlessly, fetching his sword and taking a deep breath as she stared down at the blade, so gorgeously crafted. No, it would be wrong to kill him--not morally, but logically. If he could everything she had seen, then it was all the more reason to get him somewhere he could be studied, because if one person could do what he could then there had to be others, and that was a problem.

He had to live.

With another deep breath, she laid the sword near his hand. "One wrong move and I will kill you."

This was stupid. This was foolish. But what could he really do, right? His body was a wreck. She needed him alive. But she couldn't help the fresh anxiety that gnawed at her, because this could also be the stupidest mistake she ever made.

Alkereth's spirit snorted, waving a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, and you'll filet my body like a fish and string what's left of me up on a tree to serve as a warning to other magical bastards like me. I get it, get a move on you redheaded simpleton. We don't have all day. Place the sword on my body. Allow my physical hands to grasp it. You do it, you bloody oaf, I cannot move objects in this form. And now, we wait."

The sword and the body began to emit a soft glow. The spirit watched carefully. "Good, that is supposed to happen. My sword is imbued with my power. I am currently transferring my power into my body to begin the healing process. Think of it as... a kind of failsafe in case something happens to me. At any rate, this will be good for my body while I am resting."

The spirit crossed his arms and leaned back, folding one transparent leg over the other, as if lying on an invisible hammock. After moments of lingering in stillness, his lower legs seemed to disappear again. Alkereth did not speak for a while, but every now and then he flickered a look towards Emery in case she decided to change her mind.

"This may take some time, so get comfortable. Read a book. Cry in a corner. Do whatever it is a Mordecai does in their spare time."

Alkereth let the silence stew for a while. In the meantime, he was thinking: how should he get out of this? The Mordecai was not a foolish woman, and would be ready if he decided to go against is word.

But then the guilt took hold, and he knew that whatever may happen, he could never go back on his promise. That just wasn't his way. He was committed to his promises to a fault, but look where it landed him: potential jail time, or whatever it was the woman had cooked up for him. He knew that whatever waited for him at the end of this journey would bode badly for him. At least it couldn't be worse than facing off a many-eyed tentacled monster from beyond the cosmos whose soul purpose was to feed on mortal nightmares. Actually, Alkereth decided that between facing monsters and jail time, he very much preferred the former, because then, at least, he had a fighting chance. Now, he was in a bind he could not escape.

"So... Mordecai. Maybe now is a good time to explain what will happen to me. What will it be? Labor camp? Confinement in a cold, dark cell?"

Redheaded simpleton?! Oh, he was really pushing his luck here, and was fortunate he was too fucked up for her to safely smack him. Emery scowled, but she did as instructed--

And then she waited and watched.

His sword and body began to glow, and Emery could feel her heart hammering away in her chest. Maybe it was supposed to happen, but she didn't like it, every nerve on edge and every muscle tensed and ready to spring into action should he do something unexpected. This was bad, this was stupid, this was utterly insane, letting him do some sort of supernatural witchcraft right before her eyes. It was the sort of thing that got a person hanged on the spot or burned, whichever was most convenient. It was a complete and total death sentence, and she was just letting him do it, 100% complicit, because he was currently more valuable alive than dead.

Was she going to hell for this, for aiding a mage? No. She had to trust that the ends justified the means. It would all pay off and make sense later.

This was for the greater good.

When she felt certain that he wasn't going to spring anything on her and was just going to...uh...glow for the time, she crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him with a shudder. She couldn't watch this, so instead she paced, the exhaustion of the day replaced by a burst of nervous energy.

"I hope you're having fun," she muttered to his quip, rolling her eyes. Cry in a corner? Really? "Get it out of your system while you can."

His next question, however, gave her pause--enough that she even stopped her pacing long enough to face him, though her foot still tapped as though she'd rather be walking.

Good question.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she answered, not too keen to lay all her cards on the table just yet. But the truth was...she wasn't quite sure.

She had never been part of the experiments and studies. She was just a soldier, not a scholar. But even more than that...should she take him to the Mordecai? She had defected in a fit of anger and frustration and she knew damned well she wasn't welcome back, so taking him there was risky. Morally speaking, however, that was the correct choice--if this man could get around Mordecaism and was dangerous enough to cause mass destruction, she was kind of obligated to do the right thing and take him to the proper source regardless of the stakes. If he was a lesser mage, she could have just taken him to the Hunters where they would do whatever it was they did with mages, but...this was a special case.

"I can at least tell you it won't be a labor camp. A waif like you? No." She shook her head. "To be honest, the answer largely depends on you. What the fuck are you?"

Alkereth was, sincerely, having the time of his life right now. Let's be honest: he enjoyed watching his captor squirm for once, after all the shit she's given him. And she absolutely deserved it. Perhaps it was not in good character, and he was sure he would have to spend the rest of his days cleansing his soul. He thought with private glee that if he was going to the dark realm for his sins for this, then it was so worth it.

He glided down to smirk at Emery.

"What is wrong? You look like you have seen a ghost."

And he laughed.

But then Emery gave him an answer. Well... the next best thing to an answer, anyway. While he namecalled Emery to death, he knew better than to underestimate her.

"Ugh. Tell me you're ignorant without telling me you're ignorant. I take it you don't have many magically inclined acquaintances, except for those on the end of your knife. How predictable."

The Harbinger rolled a little in the air, more so to give himself something to do. He was patient, but not with Emery.

"You said I am to be sold, yes?" Alkereth laughed again, but it was a dark, low laugh. "I am worth far more than any gold or silver they can give you, girl. Remember that."

There was a pause in which Alkereth quietly considered Emery's words. He had to be careful, but he knew that he had to give some explanation. "I'm surprised you did not ask how I ended up in the crater. Your prejudiced brain cannot get beyond the fact that you think there is something wrong with me, so you want me to validate your prejudices by giving you some obtuse, off-the-wall explanation about my apparent villainy. Am I not wrong?" He glared at Emery.

"Whatever. I suppose it hurts nothing to give you an answer. But I expect you to listen, Mordecai, because I will not repeat myself. I've been called many things—wizard, sorcerer, rider, priest. I travel the world with the sole task of offering divine protection in the name of my god against the dark and evil forces in this world. You caught me in the aftermath of a great battle... that I lost. But no, no, I am the bad guy, clearly. Go on, say it. You're about to go off on some lecture about why I am wrong, and how I'm a tree-killer, and some other nonsense. Go on, then, I'm waiting."

It was not the entire truth, but it was one he hoped would satisfy Emery. He could not tell her of his life as a Harbinger, or he would run the risk of breaking the contract he made with his fabulous cosmic horse. It was easier to come up with a believable story about how he was attempting to save this world... and potentially belonged to it, too.

The fact that he was enjoying himself was not lost on Emery. If she was the sort to lose her temper easily, it would have had her seriously reconsidering the value of keeping him alive. As it was, she just scowled at him as he made his ghost joke, but couldn't help but take a wary step backwards when he got too close for comfort. Whatever he was--ghost, specter--he had confirmed it was a construct of magic, which was a horrifying reminder that he had somehow gotten past her barriers.

That meant he could do it again, no doubt. What would the next time bring?

The thought was enough to keep her sober through his little tirade of insults, but her patience also paid off, because finally he decided to give her answers.

Sort of.

She swallowed when he was done, realizing her mouth was embarrassingly dry. The last thing she wanted was to let on that he had her worried--and that he had gotten under her skin.

"Fine. You're a bad guy tree-killer. Since you so desperately wanted me to say it," she said with a dispassionate shrug. "But really, you...you have to know how all that sounds, right? That you're some great hero against the evil forces of the world and I found you after you so tragically lost some battle. That sounds lovely. Really, it does. It also sounds like bullshit."

She pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. "They say magic makes you go mad after a time but you're beyond delusional. Thinking yourself the witch version of Ansgar, some holy magic-wielding savior? Not the worst I've seen, no, but definitely unhinged. But by all means," she said, spreading her hands in offering and quirking an amused smile, "do tell me some of your great feats of heroism. Stories of such a well-traveled hero like you surely would have been sung far and wide."

And she sure as hell hadn't heard a single one.

This woman...!

"I didn't say I would try to convince you," he growled harshly. "Only that I would tell you the truth. You want to hear more, then you will earn it."

Emery was lucky that Alkereth was still down and out. He had never been provoked to hit a woman his entire life. He scowled at her.

"A man surviving the fall from the sky sounds unbelievable," he pointed out. "But here I stand, with you as my unwitting witness. But if you want to talk about evil, girl, then let's talk about evil." He moved to glare at her closely, the frown darkening his translucent face.

"A person, on the brink of death. The only friend he could have made in the entire world turned out to be a selfish, self-serving, callous wretch who only desires coin. Now tell me, Mordecai. Do you know how you sound?"

Alkereth floated away, and turned to face his body. "You attempted to nurse me back to health, but we both know that it was not out of charity." He turned again, but only to face her coldly. "I have never met anyone so pitiless and jaded over another life. I do wonder why you are so unkind, and what made you who you are today. Because I do not believe people are born evil. I do not believe you were."

Emery rolled her eyes skyward with a long sigh. She had a feeling she wouldn't be getting much, if any, sleep since his specter form sure liked to gab. Did he even feel fatigue at all in that form? Wait. Did he even need to breathe? Oh God, he probably didn't, which meant he could talk even more. Endlessly, without needing to take a breath in between if he chose and without needing to stop to sleep...

She was really starting to miss the part before he did his ghost shenanigans, because now he was starting to poke at things she really, really didn't want poked. Her shoulders stiffened and twitched up toward her ears as he dressed her down, her jaw tensing in annoyance, but she closed her eyes, let her breath out slowly through her nose, and forced herself to relax. No, no. It was bait and she was above rising to that. He was trying to get a reaction out of her.

She would not give him the satisfaction.

He wasn't the one who was in control here.

"I'm not here to discuss philosophy," Emery grumbled at last, and with another sigh she gave up and took a seat near the fire. God, she was tired, and now that the initial shock had worn off and she'd paced off some of the anxiety, she could feel the fatigue deep in her muscles again. She stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her hands, rolling her head to each side to pop her neck.

"I know what it must look like from your perspective. And to perfectly transparent here, I don't actually believe you're evil. I believe you're dangerous. There's a difference." She cocked her head and peered up at him, trying to keep her expression bored. "A wolf that attacks a shepherd's flock isn't evil, but it also can't be allowed to run rampant, can it? You believe you're protecting the world from evil, and I believe I'm protecting the world from you."

Goddammit, she said she wasn't here to talk philosophy and yet here she was. 

"Well, not you specifically, but people like you. You can't help it, I know, you're just doing what's in your nature. But between your delusions, capacity for destruction, and being able to do that--" She motioned to his form. "--which shouldn't even be possible--things are incredibly problematic. Anyway, you're welcome for saving your life and not slitting your throat when I had the chance. It certainly would have saved me the headache of your lecture."

"Can't help what, exactly?" Alkereth shot back savagely. "Having magic?"

He was a candle burning on both ends at this point. There was no one whom was ever so infuriating as she, and Alkereth seriously wanted to pick her up and drop her in the nearest river.

"What kind of nonsense do they teach you?" In his anger, he began to dance around Emery, raising his voice an octave to mimic her. "Ohhh, magic people are bad, but they can't help it, but they're still bad! Not that you're bad, but I'm still going to call you bad! I'm going to do the world a favor and round them up like cattle because they don't deserve to breathe the same air space as meeee! Which is fine because I'm about to get paid, teehee! Money, money, moneeeeeey! I'm a silly girl with a silly face and silly hair! TEEHEE!"

He stopped, hovering above Emery now. He noted her exhausted, but he did not care, or explain that he was technically already sleeping himself.

"You know what I think? I think you're jealous. I think you're stark raving mad that you cannot do what I do. You should listen to yourself! My god, you're talking about me as if you know me, as if I wake up one Tuesday morning and say, 'I think I'll go cause havoc in the next village because I'm absolutely INSANE, la dee da!' Just... what? Is that what they teach you, woman? To be frank, my dear, I've never been called insane my whole life. You're the first! You want my honest opinion? YOU. YOU ARE DRIVING ME INSANE." He shouted this, his spirit voice echoing off the trees.

"Never have I met someone so fixated in their ways! You're as stubborn as a tree." He crossed his arms. "Mark me. One day you are going to meet someone like me. And they are going to shake the whole foundations of your world. Figuratively speaking, idiot." He paused, hesitating. "Do you not care at all? About what you're doing, here?"

This was not happening.

How had she stumbled upon the one mage in all of hell and earth who was so utterly irreverent about this situation? Any other mage she'd ever dealt with turned into a nervous wreck at the mere mention of Mordecai, and those who weren't cowed by terror fought tooth and nail because they knew what they were in for. However they dealt with it, there was a level of respect there. Fear and anger, yes, but the healthy kind that showed they respected what you were capable of.

Certainly none of them acted like...like...whatever the hell this was!

Emery stared at him, dumbfounded as he danced around her like some possessed monkey, his voice pitched high in mockery, and she could feel a vein begin to throb in her temple. It seemed he had really found himself here, taking quite a hard left turn from begging and pleading and promising to be a good boy to...this. She had no words for this. Was she going to have to listen to this all bloody night?

Don't react, don't react. She had a long fuse and she loved using it on anyone trying to get a rise out of her. She was notorious for being stone cold, and nothing drove annoying people more batty than a lack of a reaction. Never break first was her rule, and she wore it like armor.

The only problem was that no armor was without its chinks.

For her, it was sleep deprivation.

She weathered the storm of his mockery and dancing as best as she could, her bored expression darkening into a scowl and eyes narrowing. Don't react, don't do it, keep calm. But he was so fucking annoying, like a mosquito buzzing shrilly in her ear, and it was not helping the headache blossoming behind her tired eyes. Her hands curled into fists, clutching at the grass so she didn't wrap them around his neck. Calm breaths, in and out, though she couldn't help the twitch as he once again called her girl, made fun of her face and hair like a child, and then had the absolute gall to claim she was jealous of him! Jealous! As if!

By the time he was wrapping up his tirade, she was so tense she was shaking with the effort it took not to explode and she was quite proud she hadn't cracked a tooth from clenching her jaw. She could win this. She could. She was better than this. She was—

Absolutely going to strangle him.

No, no. Patience. Calm.

"Is it really wise to antagonize someone within arm's reach of several sharp and pointy objects?" she said, pointedly avoiding his final question.  Her words were slow and level in a way she intended to convey careless laziness, but instead came out as more of a growl. She was absolutely seething, just one straw short of a broken back, her shoulders rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths. She would not break. She wouldn't.

"God. I liked you far more when you were begging me on your knees—where you belong. That look suits you so much better."

"You know what? Go ahead. Stab me. End my life, injure me, maim me. You couldn't do any worse than the bloody mountains. I am not scared of you. I have been on the brink of death before. You are no different than all the monsters I've ever fought. Only this time, the coward girl will stab a man in his sleep. How typical!"

Alkereth did not like being ignored, and it only served to poke and prod his ire. He was not sure why this girl made him so angry—well, that wasn't entirely true, he could tick off several reasons on both hands, but he just could not, for the life of him, understand her. He wanted to know what put her in this position, and she refused to budge about anything that might hint as a weakness. And he thought he was a closed book!

"Let me say it again," he growled. "Do you care what you're doing at all here? Answer me, Mordecai. I gave you my story, and now you owe me. I want to hear it. Was your past filled with abuse? Did someone like me kill your parents? What tragedy led you here? Or was it merely propaganda in this place that poisoned your mind against people like me? Give me an answer... and I will leave you alone for the rest of the night. And I don't mean some smart remark either, girl."

Alkereth was playing a dangerous game, gambling his life for an answer. He knew this, but he knew he had not much left to lose if he died here tonight, despite his efforts to cling to life.

Emery was stubborn... but so was he.

"Of course I fucking care!" Emery yelled, springing to her feet. He had done it. He had actually done it. He had driven her to the edge of her patience and shoved her over into the abyss. Congratulations!

"Do you think I enjoy this? That I get sick pleasure out of this? Holy fucking shit, you are so goddamn irritating!"

Filled with furious energy, she paced back and forth by the fire, running her hands through her messy hair so she could yank at the strands in frustration—and because it pulled her scalp enough to ease some of the tension headache. She'd lost the battle, she realized, and she rallied hard to rein her temper back in. But once the cat was out of the bag, it was difficult to wrestle that ball of teeth and claws back in. She hated it, losing control like this. She hated it so much.

"No wonder you were cast into a glorified ditch! You never fucking shut up! You—!" She cut herself off, hands curled in a strangling motion, but with an effort she brought one to her face and pinched the bridge of her nose.  Letting out an exasperated huff, she came to a sharp stop with her back to him and front toward the fire. God help her, she wanted to toss him into it. But no. No, she had to chill out. Deep breaths. Focus. Calm down. But he had jabbed at bruised and sensitive areas and she was tired, and exhaustion and hunger tended to make her more emotional and less guarded. A night's sleep and she would be over it. Hopefully.

"Let us set the record straight here and now, you pasty-faced blight," she said at last, turning to face him. She closed the distance between she and his spectral form and jabbed a finger at his chest, though it went right through him. "I. Owe. You. Nothing. You owe me everything. You are alive right now because I chose mercy. I am being paid for that mercy, that's true—fuck me for needing to eat. But I still made that choice. Do you understand?"

She folded her arms across her chest, shoulders tight, and didn't wait for his response before she added, "Here's what I'll give you: you can have my name—it's Emery. My story isn't important in the grand scheme of things. Make up whatever you want to fill in the blanks. Pick whatever truth fits your image of me. I don't really care. There. Are you satisfied? Can you shut up now for five. Fucking. Minutes?"

Alkereth was victorious. While he felt a surge of pleasure after her defeat, it quickly disappeared, and now all he could feel was grief. Perhaps it was the priest side of him, but as he watched the Mordecai explode and yell at him, he found that he could not be entirely angry. At the situation, maybe, but not her. She did care, even if it was a bit backwards. It was something he decided to deal with later.

"I hear you. As promised," he said softly, "Good night... Emery."

His spectral form faded into the night.

The body, meanwhile, pulsed gently with its healing glow. Alkereth looked no different than moonlight as he slept there, chest rising and falling.

As time went on, he looked healthier (assuming he had not been stabbed by a certain redhead by now). When daylight sent it's first rays through the trees, Alkereth woke, and slowly lifted himself into a sitting position. His body hurt, but not as bad as it did. He was also undressed. Importantly, his bones healed. Mostly. He checked his arms, covered in filth. His healing never dealt in scouring away dirt and grime, but it did close his deep wounds. He looked over to see if Emery had gone to sleep. Whether she had or not, he rose up, and scoffed at his near naked form.

He heard a babbling creek. He took his sword, his torn and worn clothes, and walked silently towards it. If Emery was awake at this point, he would mutter at her to avert her gaze, the pervert!, and explain he wanted to wash himself. She could try and stop him, or come watch, he'd add cheekily. If she was still asleep, then it would make for a more peaceful and quick task ahead.

The creek was deep in the middle, and it was surrounded by trees. He sighed, and buried his sword into the ground for safekeeping. Then he took a quick swim, pleased by the cool water. When he had finished, he left the creek and looked at the state of his clothes.

He took up his clothes, held out his right hand, and muttered foreign words. The clothes began to mend themselves beneath the soft glow of his palm. Next, he had cast a spell to scour away the filth. When he had done, his clothes looked good as new.

"I should reserve some of my energy... I don't have much..." His stomach growled. Loudly. "Oh, right."

Alkereth vaguely wondered if there was game in the woods as he clothed himself, sheathing his sword. He was not sure of what kind of animals lived here. Rabbits? Deer? Or better yet, were they close enough to a village to maybe scrounge for some food? He was not the type to steal, but if neither of them had money... okay, hunting it is.

Luckily, there was a fat hare munching on some grass. So! This world had hares. He inched his way and studied it for a moment. He raised up his hand, and sent out a zap of electricity at it. At first, he missed. He poked out his tongue in concentration as he sent more zaps at the confused fat hare, who started bumbling about. Finally, when a zap hit it, it fell over, paralyzed.

Alkereth stepped up to it with a frown. "I am sorry, little friend. Lazamar will soon take you. Be at peace." He cradled the fat hare, before breaking its neck. A swift kill. The hare, he noticed, was getting on in years anyway. It was the ideal prey.

He brought the hare back to their little camp.

He actually came back.

...What.

WHAT?

Just like that, he was gone—and right when Emery was all worked up and ready for a fight. She didn't know what she wanted out of the interaction, but him suddenly conceding after all that was so...so...

Unsatisfying.

He kept his word.

Why was he so infuriating?

She pressed her fingers against her eyelids and let her shoulders slump. "God help me," she breathed, because she was going to need every bit of strength He could spare her. She couldn't lose it again like that. She wouldn't lose it again. How fucking embarrassing.

The mage had given her what she wanted. She was alone, it was quiet, she could finally rest--but now she couldn't turn her brain off. Of course. So instead she did what she usually did when that happened: she tried to wear herself out. She did odd chores around the makeshift camp, cleaning, sharpening, and polishing her blades and examining her gear, making a brief trek to the creek she heard babbling in the distance to fill her water skins, checking on the mage between tasks to make sure he was still down. He was glowing so oddly, and he looked less sickly pale, and his breathing seemed more natural and less death rattle. When she briefly touched his brow, he felt warmer, too. Still asleep, though, which was good. Who knew how long they were going to be stuck here.

The moon was low in the sky by the time her menial tasks caught up with her and she couldn't physically keep her eyes open. What a stupid irony, that when she finally got her wish it would take hours before she could actually redeem it. It was probably for the best, though; she shouldn't sleep deeply with him around, anyway. Not that there was much he could do; it would likely be days before he was functional, with wounds like those.

The mage had one blanket, and she unrolled the second from her saddlebags and curled up in the grass not far from the him. All the better to keep an eye on him. She tucked an arm under her head, praying she wasn't sleeping atop ants, and finally shut her eyes. She wouldn't sleep deeply. Just enough. Just a little. If he did anything, she would hear him.

Within minutes, she was lightly snoring, and she certainly heard nothing when he rose.

It was only the sun's light and warmth on her eyelids that finally roused her, and she didn't spring into alertness--she woke slowly and groggily, fighting awakeness every step of the way. It was too fucking early for the sun to be out. She threw her arm over her eyes and laid there, sore from sleeping on the ground and sore from not sleeping enough. Just a little longer and she'd--

There was a rustle of grass, the subtle sound of footsteps cutting through the quiet. A chill went through her that took her from groggy to alert in a heartbeat, and she sat up quickly and first saw that the mage was gone from his bed--and then that no, he wasn't gone at all, he was up and walking with sword in hand. Fully dressed, fully healed, and fully armed. With a curse and a jolt of panic--she had dropped her guard, and had she slept any longer she'd no doubt be dead--she grabbed her sword from where it was laying beside her and pulled it free of its sheath.

"Sword down!" she snapped, climbing to her feet. "Drop it right now or--!"

Wait.

Her eyes dropped to the hare he was carrying, the pieces slowly connecting. He had been up...a while.

She had slept with her sword and hunting blade beside her.

He had been awake and well long enough to clean himself, fix his clothes, hunt a rabbit. That was more than enough time to also kill her with every weapon laying about.

Or just...leave.

But he had a rabbit in hand. He had left. And he was...

Back??

She stared at him, then at the rabbit, then at his sword, pulse thundering in her ears from the shock, her expression of fear and anger fading into one of complete and total bewilderment.

"You...what..." She had no fucking words, but she had so many questions. "You hunted? You fucking hunted?"

Despite the last several hours, Alkereth looked relatively calm, even as demands were made of him. No, he would not disarm himself, and left his sword sheathed in its scabbard. After having moments to himself, he seemed to have re-centered his deportment. He stepped up to the dying fire where, holding up the hare carcass by the ears. He held himself tall, healthy and nearly whole. It seemed his expressions internalized, for he showed nothing more than a little nod.

"Yes," the Harbinger said simply, offering no explanation as to how he managed to snatch a hare almost bigger and fatter than he was with nothing but his scrawny self and a magic sword. "I am hungry. This would make a fine breakfast and not take long at all."

Alkereth offered it to Emery as a silent way of saying, 'You can help prepare this.' He had a sneaking suspicion that she might be hungry, too, and this way, he could postpone the inevitable end. Besides... they had gotten somewhere last night. Perhaps a night's rest and a full belly might improve the Mordecai's behavior?

Well, it was a long shot, but worth it all the same.

"I had spices in the saddlebags with my horse. If only she were here, I could make something divine with this."

Thoughts of his horse cast his gaze downward, but he punched the feeling threatening to well up in him. There was no use in mourning a lost horse right now. He will find Lunrath, but it would be if he survived his situation at all. Besides, he was sure that she was still alive. Mountains could not kill a Starmount. He didn't remember falling with her...

Alkereth pulled himself back to the present, and tossed wood into the fire.

"I choose mercy," he muttered suddenly. He chanced a glance at Emery, wondering what he would see. He expected more of the same, and waited for it, especially since he stole her words. Oh, yes, he heard her last night. He remembered every single word she said. Did she think he was going to let it go?

There was some weight to that simple statement. It was up to Emery to decide how she would interpret it, given the obstinate tone.

It was kind of surreal talking to the solid version of the man rather than the specter. It was extra surreal realizing that he was healthy, that he had left, that he had come back on his own, and that she was still breathing after all of it. It didn't make sense. At all. And it made her demands to disarm himself feel a little...silly, since he had already had his chance and hadn't taken it.

Still feeling a bit like this was some bizarre dream, she slowly sheathed her own sword and numbly took the hare he he held out to her.

What...the...?

He said something about spices, but she was not following. She was still trying to figure out what was going on and what the catch or joke was. Like, was she maybe actually dead? Was this her body's last frantic flood of imagery before things went dark as she bled out? She watched him feed the fire, then glanced back at the hare in her hands, and slowly lowered it to the grass.

Never in her life had she met someone so baffling. Someone who just...just defied all logic and instinct! Was he insane? Like, literally insane? She had been taught magic did that eventually, that all magic-users succumbed eventually, and she had met some monsters in her time. She had never been around a mage as long as she had been with him, though, but she could safely say his reaction was unnatural.

It was hearing her own words mirrored back at her that snapped her out of her daze.

She stiffened, cutting a glare at him. "You chose insanity," she said, grabbed her hunting knife--but only so she could work on the hare to give her hands something to do. "You came back. Why didn't you leave? Why in God's name would you come back?"

Her hands shook a little as she sliced through the hare's flesh and began the process of skinning it. This was a problem. Of course she didn't want her bounty to up and leave, but this also created new issues. She had only subdued him because she could take advantage of his injuries. Now he was healthy. He was thin, but he still had height and weight on her and if he had a sword, she assumed he could use it. She was confident in her skills; she had been trained since youth. But in a match between two equally skilled players, the stronger one tended to win. Thus, the targets she chose were strategic--targets who relied on raw magic more than weaponry. People she felt confident she could beat. People she had watched for some time to suss out their capabilities.

She had been completely opportunistic here, and had assumed his healing would take actual time. She had made a gamble, but it seemed her opponent's dice were loaded.

"Insanity?" As the Harbinger spoke, he stoked the fires with another stick. If Emery had no provisions appropriate for setting up a meal, he would devise one by sterilizing the stick he held which would serve as a spit.

"You seem to like that word so much, I'm starting to wonder if you're projecting. Let me explain, then. I am bound to a promise, if you'll recall." He straightened. "The opportunity to run was there, yes. But I told you I would see the journey's end. I told you that if I must pay for the mistakes of destroying part of the forest, then I will answer to that."

He stretched out a hand. It looked perhaps like he had meant to take Emery's, but he was only reaching for the hare when she had finished.

"I'm not saying that I agree with these asinine methods. I don't want to go. I have more important matters to attend to than to be studied, or imprisoned, or whatever. But with that said... albeit begrudgingly... with my heart filled with resentment towards you... I am committed. You'll get your silly money, Emery. But now I can do it with my head held high, like I wanted. There's no need for force."

Alkereth, ever so impassive, looked into the fire. It was dying again, but that was fine. He meant to make it smoke. Good heat and smoke would give the hare a little flavor.

"When this is over, I do have one favor to ask."

This man...!

He was going to make her head explode.

Nothing he did made sense. He could have run and he didn't. He could have killed her and he didn't. He claimed he was bound to a promise, a promise she barely remembered because she had assumed it was just the usual meaningless begging and pleading. But apparently he was serious?

And he said she was projecting! Did he not realize how insane he sounded? Then again, the truly mad never did.

Finished with the hare, she jerked a little when he stretched his hand out to her, eyed it like a snake, and then passed the hare over. Goddammit. She felt jumpy around him now in a way few made her feel because she just could not, for the life of her, read him. She didn't know what his angle was. There had to be a catch. A motive she wasn't seeing. There was absolutely no way he was just going to passively walk with her to his doom, like some lamb to the slaughter.

Whatever. She needed to get a hold of herself. Whatever happened, she could not lose it again like she did last night. That wasn't like her, and it was frankly embarrassing knowing he'd seen that.

"You're ridiculous," she muttered, rising to her feet to fetch her water skin. She rinsed her hands off with it then tossed it beside the mage. "As if you're in any position to beg favors. Do you just...not have any self-preservation instincts at all? No, don't answer that. I shouldn't complain. I should be thanking you for making my job easier, so...thank you for that."

She watched him work, arms crossed, shaking her head slightly. What a nut. "If you're trying to butter me up or something, I'm telling you now it's not going to work. Whatever you're doing, this whole..." She waved her hand at him. "Cooking a meal, playing at domestic bliss or whatever the fuck...save your energy if that's your angle, honestly. You'll need it."

That's what it was. That's what was irritating. She was used to the ones that fought back.

Alkereth closed his eyes and steepled his fingers together. "I need you," he interrupted calmly, "to promise me... that this will be your last bounty."

That was it, that was the favor. He took the hare without looking at Emery, and poked the stick through it with some difficulty. Luckily, he was able to efficiently begin the roasting process.

"I am saving my energy. This meal will provide us the nutrients we need for the coming trek. And..." He bent his head down, ruminating. "It may be my last. Anyway... the only buttering I want to do is this meat, but I don't think you carry it around, do you?" He sighed, almost dejectedly. He was trying to keep higher spirits, but there was little reason for it, and frankly, he didn't expect Emery to help. "If you want ridiculous, look in the mirror. I've never known a woman to wear breeches like that."

Alkereth quieted as he turned the hare. Emery did a fine job skinning it. After a while, the flesh started to brown. Once he was sure it was done, he let Emery take over. He did not have the tools to butcher the meat, but he assumed that she might.

He what now?

Emery stared at him, not for the first and definitely not the last time, for a moment too thrown off to respond. He wanted her to promise what?

Then he was prattling on about his last meal, and butter, and back to insulting her appearance. Right on schedule. Of course. It was almost like he didn't want to hear the answer, but surely he had to know. He couldn't be that stupid.

"What's wrong with my breeches?" she said, and grimaced when she realized she had taken the bait. Fuck. "They're practical. What else am I going to wear, a gown like some rich maiden?" She brushed some grass off her thighs, unable to help glancing down at them. She didn't see the issue. They were just...breeches. A bit worn from use, dirty from travel, and utilitarian more than stylish, but nothing special.

"Whatever. At least it's just my clothes, I can change those. You look like death. Literally, you're pallid as a corpse—" As if a ginger like her had room to criticize someone's paleness. "—and dressed like three fops smashed together in some gaudy orgy and died. What even is that? The shoulder thing?"

With a roll of her eyes, she took over with the hare, fetching a wooden bowl from her bags to put some of the meat into. She only had a few basics, as she didn't really intend to hunt much, if at all, so that came in handy. She cleaned her hunting knife and then, careful of the heat, she sliced up the hare straight off the spit.

"Anyway, don't be so dramatic. We have some distance to go--regrettably--so you'll eat again."

Once again, she was pointedly talking about anything other than what was important. He wanted a promise--and it was too ridiculous a request to even entertain.

Ah, silence. Interesting. Alkereth seemed to have rendered Emery speechless. Perhaps he should have expected that. Objectively, it was a pretty off-the-wall request. But he had his reasons. She did not ask, so he did not tell. So, it was safer to just leave it be... for now.

Alkereth scowled. He didn't want to admit that he was actually feeling a little better; Emery was doing a fine job distracting him from his death sentence.

"At least your image would improve with a gown," he shot back, also falling into a trap he didn't see until it was too late. "When you get your dues at the end of this, that should be your first priority. A complete make-over."

Oh, hell. He fought to keep a straight face. For some reason, her insult almost made him laugh. What was wrong with him?! Perhaps it was giddiness before his doom. That had to be it.

"Have you been waiting all this time to say that?" He shook his head, peering hungrily at the bowl. His stomach made another loud and embarrassing growl.

"My people simply are," he explained, holding his stomach. "And these two are Divine Protectors." He pointed at the two figurines on his shoulder. "Aronael and Akilael. It is believed they will protect the wearer." Literal shoulder angels? Ha, ha. Knee slapping hilarious.

Emery made the promise that they will have a chance for another meal. Alkereth gave a noncommittal nod. "If you say so. You look like you've never missed three square meals and snacks in between." Oh he did not just go there. And why was he staring at her breeches?! Checking for pudge?

"So." He extended a hand, eagerly waiting to receive his bowl. "Do you have a family back home?"

Alkereth went straight from bantering to asking that? Maybe... maybe he was distracting himself, too.

A make over?! A dress? Her? Emery's lips twitched, caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement at his absurdity—and when she looked at him, she thought she almost saw his own expression crack.

She quickly looked away, smoothing her face. What...what was this? This childish banter? And why was she indulging it? Boredom, perhaps? She was no stranger to trading insults like this, there was a lot of such play amongst her old order. She should shut it down. She should—

His stomach's growl cut off that thought, startling her enough that she couldn't help but snort. She quickly cleared her throat, fighting back a smile.

"Well, your 'protectors' are ugly as sin. Can you even turn your head without smacking your chin? Retire them, it's not like they did you any good," she said, dropping more meat into the bowl.

"And maybe you should snack more," she added, bristling, because he so did not go there! "You're supposed to have a little meat on your bones, you twiggy wraith. Just because I can't cut glass with my hipbones—!" Finished portioning out the meat for him, she huffed and shoved the bowl at him. She gave him more than she gave herself; the dandy needed it more than she did.

Then, cutting through all the humor came a question.

Emery looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and cut a slice of meat off the skewer, using her knife like a spear to hold it.

 "I was on my way to visit them before I found you," she said with a shrug. "I'm adopted. We're not close, we just—"

She paused, expression darkening, and narrowed her eyes at him. "I see what you're doing," she said, and tore a chunk of meat off with her teeth. "Not gonna work."

"So you've run out of clever insults about my appearance and turn to the Divine Protectors instead? That is blasphemy; I would ask you not to insult my faith. Let's talk more about me and my... how did you put it? 'Pale as death' appearance, and something about fops." He gave her a smug look. "On the contrary, I believe their protection is invaluable. Do you want to know how I survived the fall? I prayed. And... well... I suppose a shield spell helped, too. My survival has been a miracle... and I've gotten this far."

Emery eventually continued to gobsmack the Harbinger with more insults. It was a good thing he hadn't started eating yet. He was sure he would choke, and there goes Emery's paycheck if he died. He inhaled sharply; she definitely knew how to dig under his skin.

"Hey! I'm stronger than I look! Look at this..." He prompted with a lift of his arms, and proceeded to flex right in front of her! His biceps bulged through the dark leather and flexible armor. "Look at that, ginger. No fat. Pure muscle. Years and years of training! I'll bet your fat bottom wouldn't stand a chance against me in combat." Ohoho, was that a challenge?

His portion had not gone unnoticed. He blinked down at it, and then at her's, and when she wasn't looking, added meat to her bowl so that their's was even. He turned away quickly and started poking meat into his mouth. It was tough and gamey, but he was not one to complain in the midst of survival.

"Adopted?" Oh, no, Emery ceased talking about it! His interest was piqued. He wanted to know more. "Well, then, I am sorry I inconvenienced you with my arrival." Did he smirk? Oh yes, he did. "Maybe there will be time after, yes?" It was sarcasm.

"What?" Genuine confusion. Alkereth put a sliver of meat in his mouth, chewing and giving Emery a curious look. He sighed. "I have only my mother for family, but she is often busy. No one else but her. Perhaps I have grandparents... but I don't know them."

Blah blah blah, faith, blah blah blasphemy. Emery sighed and made a talking motion with her hand as he went off about it, not too keen to hear how magic was involved there—which was, of course, blasphemy to her faith. "Right, right. Sure. Magic and prayers. Mhmm." Of course his survival had been unnatural; she could guess as much. But it was not the work of a god that spared him; it was the work of evil. It was better to die pure than survive through magic with a tainted soul—but she wasn't going to debate him on that. If he was a religious sort, that would be pointless—and his faith would be put to test soon enough, anyway.

...How long would he last?

For a moment, the thought chased away the humor and irritation and she absently poked at the meat in her bowl with her knife. It was a short-lived moment, though, because then he was flexing at her, actually flexing at her, and it startled her so much she laughed. She stiffened, eyes widening, and clapped a hand to her mouth, glad she had already swallowed her bite. Shit, oh God, what the actual hell?! For a moment he reminded her of Aidan, one of her goofy old friends in the order, and she cleared her throat loudly to try to cover the sound of her laugh and regain her composure even as she felt her chest squeeze.

Careful, now. That was neither here nor there.

"Years of training and you still skipped leg day?" she said as he showed off, though she had to admit his legs were rather decent. She reached out to poke at his bicep, frowning as though appraising it, and shrugged. "It's alright, I suppose. I honestly don't think you'd be much competition, though. I'm so fat I could probably just sit on you and end you, if I wasn't afraid of spearing myself on your ribs."

He spoke of his family, and something in Emery's gut twisted. She didn't want to hear this, this reality that he was someone's child the same as anyone, the same as her. She preferred the part where they were tearing at each other's throats. It didn't matter, anyway. Of course he had a mother—he was human. He was also still a problem.

"Hmm. You take after your mother, I assume?" she said, eying him up and down pointedly. "What with your willowy figure and all?"

She realized she had stopped eating after her first bite. She was still just poking at her food, oblivious even that her portion had grown larger. Her stomach felt hollow, and she was hungry, but...

Fuck.

Alkereth watched her reaction. He couldn't help it; he emitted a low chuckle.

"I have no doubt that you gave my legs a thorough look to make a fair assessment about whether I skipped 'leg day'... when you undressed me." Oh, was that a shit-eating grin? "Do not deny it. I walked out of here practically naked."

There will be so many words of repentance when all this was over.

"Ah, ah, you may not touch. But you may look." He smirked, shrugging off his mantle with the loose flowing amice to show off the form-fitting leather. Was he enjoying this? He took great pride in his physical form.

"Or I could just push you with my boot, and you'd end up rolling away. Victory will be mine. I wouldn't even have to lift a finger, if I'm honest."

Calling his figure willowy earned another scowl. Seething, he roughly pulled his mantle back on. "No. I wish I did look more like her, then..." His voice trailed away. "Just... just eat your meal."

He seemed keen to finish every bite, compared to Emery.

Wheeze.

Emery made a mistake by not eating. If she had been eating, she could have blamed the sound she made on choking, and choking on food like an idiot would have been less embarrassing than this. Oh, yes, she had undressed him. Even cut his clothes in some places to make the job easier. There was no denying that she had seen nearly everything. In the moment, it had been purely clinical and detached, and she honestly wasn't all that fussed with nudity—for the most part. Barracks life didn't afford much privacy, and she was far from some blushing virgin.

And yet she blushed, and good GOD she hated blushing because with her complexion, she lit up like a flame. He made it sound like such an accusation!

"There's nothing to deny. I was assessing your injuries," she grit out, and bent her head in the hope that her messy bangs would hide some of her face. "Why are you saying it like that?! I couldn't exactly tend to you with everything in the way. It's not like I was leering! A mage like you? Don't be daft, that's disgusting." She needed to stop. Now. After a certain point, protests sounded like confirmation.

She rubbed a hand over her face, thumb tracing along her scar as he continued to peacock. "Hell's bells, you're insufferable. No, no, keep your clothes on. I don't want to look now—you went and made it weird. You ruined it."

She wasn't even trying to pretend like she was eating, now. Her food lay untouched, her stomach was empty, and she was beginning to feel nauseated from hunger—and something else. Her hands settled onto her knees, the fingers of her right hand tapping restlessly. What...was she doing? Why was she entertaining this nonsense? It was the memory of her friend that rang "danger" like a gong in her head, sobering her, because when had their insults gone from mean to...teasing?

She had taken the fucking bait and been carried farther than she wanted. 

Worse, she didn't really want it to stop. The diversion was...nice.

It shouldn't be nice.

He told her to eat. She pushed her bowl away and rose to her feet. "You eat it," she said, running a hand through her hair. She didn't want to know about his mother, or his life. She didn't want him to be playful at her. She didn't want to see him flexing all silly at her, and she hated that she had actually laughed. There would be no strength competition between them, because he was a mage, she was a Mordecai, and she would be taking him to be destroyed. Slowly, bit by bit, but that was the ultimate result.

She sucked in a breath. "I need to take a piss. Just...stay."

And she didn't wait for his response before she turned and headed off for the creek, not to pee, but to take a seat at the water's edge and pray.

Ruin it? But he was actually having fun. If anyone was being a buzzkill, Alkereth thought it was definitely all her! It was her fault he felt gloomy. Her fault he got caught up in this situation. Her fault that he was going to probably die within the next few days—or maybe, that was considered too much of a relief in a place like this, so who was to say torture was not on the top of his itinerary.

When Emery refused to eat, Alkereth made a noise in protest, but she was already up and leaving. After a few minutes, he grit his teeth and threw the rest of his hare into the fire. Emery was not the only one to lose her appetite.

Alkereth watched the meat char in the dying flame. Every instinct told him that now would be the best opportunity to leave. Emery would probably expect it at this point. Maybe this was her way of saying to get out of her hair. He rose up, giving in to the inclination. He was going to do it. Walk away and forget about all of this. He was...

He unfurled his fists, and stood still before his feet could take off.

"I can't," he muttered, running his hands over his face. "All this hard work... I cannot let it go to waste. Perhaps Emery is right... I've gone mad..."

Alkereth emitted a sigh, and felt regret for throwing his food away. He looked at Emery's, but he could not bring himself to eat what did not belong to him. He picked up her bowl, and set it next to the heat to stay warm for when she comes back. Speaking of...

He looked out into the woods, and wondered why the Mordecai was taking ages to get back. It was silly, feeling this weird conundrum bubbling inside of him, but he knew that the right thing to do was to probably check in.

"No... that would be too... well. Who in their right mind checks on someone trying to evacuate their bowels?" For all he knew, the girl was having trouble with indigestion. It was reasonable to say that the hare did not agree with her.

But what if Emery is in trouble? his big dumb brain screamed at him.

"The worst she could do is throw something at me for behaving uncouthly if she is relieving herself," he grunted at himself, grimacing behind his hand. "Either way, I cannot stand around without knowing for sure." Making up his mind, he left their small camp in search of Emery. He did not hear a scream, but from experience, people had ways of capturing or killing without startling them. Was he not living proof of that?

There was hardly any trouble in finding her. Alkereth heard a soft voice. No mistaking it, it was the Mordecai's. His footfalls were soft on the leafy loam as he crept up behind a wide tree, peeking out from behind it. What he saw gave him a shock.

Emery was praying.

He never took her for a religious person. It shocked him so much that he could only linger, transfixed, unable to resist watching this. Somehow, this felt far worse than walking in on her trying to use the bathroom near a babbling creek. He knew that praying was an extremely personal affair. He swallowed, wondering what he should do.

The answer seemed simple. He was a priest, was he not? He stepped out from behind the tree, and walked quietly up to the Mordecai, and knelt down to pray alongside her.

Emery didn't know how much time had passed. A while, probably, and that was fine. The longer she was alone and away from him, the better. She needed to recenter herself, reclaim objectivity, focus on what was important. Something had happened back there, and she needed to ensure it did not happen again.

And so she murmured a prayer to Ansgar, the first Mordecai and her God, and Adhara, the virgin saint who gave her life for her people with unwavering faith and bravery, begging for their guidance, their strength, and their wisdom, because God help her, she needed it. For the first time in years, she needed it. She was trying, she really was. She was trying to do the right thing; she had been loyal all her years. She had even turned her back on her friends, her fellow Mordecai, when they wouldn't do enough.

But she felt...she felt she was being tested here in a way she had never been tested before. It wasn't the first time she had struggled; when she was young and new, it had been hard--even despite knowing the truths she did, personal truths carved into her very skin. But the right thing wasn't always easy.

Sometimes, the right thing was fucking devastating.

She had seen it before in a little girl that burned down her family home and her sleeping parents within. She had survived unscathed. She hadn't meant to do it. But Emery had ferried her to one of the camps to be...to be dealt with.

That had been hard. But it had been just. The right thing wasn't always easy.

Often, it was very lonely, too.

It was easiest when they were cruel. When their magic died around them and they saw her for what she was, and they attacked first in a panic, it was easy, and she let her anger carry her. When they were creating fake miracles and calling it Ansgar's blessing, it was easy to punish the blasphemy. When someone was clearly diseased with the effects of Fell, it was easy to put them down and not feel too much. It was a mercy at that point. It was the ones who hadn't really done anything that bothered her--but she had also seen what they could do, if they were allowed.

She had seen what this mage could do. What had she said before? What if it had been a village instead?

Eyes clenched shut, hands clasped together, she came to the end of her prayer and looped it, repeating it, breath shuddering. "O Lord and Anointed Saint, I come before You both and ask for Your strength within me..."

She hated this. She fucking hated this part. This was why the people in her group rarely ever worked alone. Not just for the safety of it, but because they could keep each other in check. Whatever they thought, whatever they knew, they were still working with people. With a partner, the job could get done faster and healthy distance could be maintained between them and the target. She had never had to spend so much time long alone with a bounty. She had never talked to one more than was absolutely necessary. Her walls were tall and fortified with ice and hurt and anger and she swore never to lower them.

"...to quell anger and and rest in self-control..."

She thought she could handle this. She thought it would be easy.

"...to turn from power and embrace service..."

She thought--

A soft voice beside her made her breath catch, made her fumble her words, and she froze like a deer.

Slowly, very slowly, she tilted her head just a little and cracked her eyes open just enough so that she could peer at him through her lashes, hoping he wouldn't notice her watching him. Was he...was he seriously...

What...what...?

She squeezed her eyes shut again with a sharp inhalation, swallowed, and continued her prayer where she left off even as mortification began to swell within her chest. She would have rather he caught her doing anything but this--but she had to complete the prayer once it was started. Her voice quieted, as though afraid he would listen to the words, her heart pounding as she sped up the verse. Oh God help her.

"...to push through fear and walk forward in grace..."

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

"...and allow your eternal strength to abidewithinmeamen!" she finished in a breathless rush, before snapping her eyes open and twisting to look at him.

"I told you to stay," she growled.

Alkereth murmured "amen" in time with Emery. Perhaps feeling like it might be a little too dangerous to peer at the Mordecai, he kept his eyes lowered with his hands clasped in prayer a little longer, but in silence. When the girl spoke, his eyes flickered open, and he slowly turned to chance a glance upon her.

His expression remained void of any kind of emotion. Emery's was understandably fraught with anger, even though she did a world class job of keeping it together despite herself.

To her, the Harbinger said quietly, "I sincerely hope you're given the strength to do what you want to do."

Leaving Emery with those cryptic words to chew on, Alkereth rose, and strode back to camp. The sun was gaining height at this point. He was sure their time here would very soon come to an end.

Alkereth ruminated as he started to help pack away Emery's possessions, and load them up on her horse. The longer he waited, the faster he was sure to lose his nerve. In the meantime, he thought about how Emery tended to his wounds. He thought about how he essentially spooked her with his favorite party trick of becoming a ghost, as it were. He thought about the moments of fun they had bullying each other, even when it didn't feel like bullying so much as volleying hilarious insults.

He was not sure how he felt about it all. It was a culmination of things that he had little time to pick apart and analyze. Trepidation, gloom, resentment... attachment. Perhaps, even for just a sliver of time... joy.

The bickering, the bantering, the teasing—it was enough. Alkereth got to peer a little over Emery's wall, and it was sufficient to deduce that she was a troubled soul. He climbed that wall with difficulty, damnit. He worked his rear to the grindstone to get the intel he needed, however scant (or confusing) amount of it he collected.

It was not enough to have any clear hope that he somehow changed the tides of his fate. But even still—he was bound to a promise that not even he could escape due to some bizarre morale call. Many would call him an idiot for this (lord knows Emery never skipped a beat to remind him of that) but Alkereth never hindered in his convictions. Not once.

He felt that he did, at least, give Emery something to think about. If there's one thing he was certain of... he knew that Emery's prayer was an act of desperation.

Emery didn't head back to camp right away.

She couldn't.

She could only watch his back as he retreated, his words echoing in her head.

The strength to do what she wanted to do, he said.

Not the strength to do what she needed to do.

Emery stared into the water, looking but not really seeing, and with a huff of frustration splashed cold water on her face as though that would help with the sudden, crushing fatigue that filled her. What an idiot. What a stupid, stupid fool. Wanting and needing in this case were the exact same thing.

...Weren't they?

When she finally came back to camp, she found it was packed away and Hilda was loaded up and ready to go. All that really remained was the dying fire and her dish beside it. Emery cast a look at the fire, then raised her eyes blearily to the mage who was (she assumed) wrapping up the last few odds and ends. Once again, he hadn't run. Once again, he had completely stumped her with his choices. Would he sharpen the ax that would be used on his own neck, too?

Emery sighed, a hand pressed to her temple as she watched for a moment.

"Well, aren't you useful," she said, but her words lacked bite. They lacked much of anything at all. She trudged over to Hilda and stroked the mare's velvety nose, pressing her forehead briefly against it.

God, she was exhausted.

"It's a day's ride to the next town," she mumbled, straightening up finally and nudging gently at Hilda's nose when the mare snuffled into her hair. "Small backwater place. Nothing much there. But we can probably get a room and a meal, provided you don't draw attention." She pushed away from Hilda to fetch her bowl from beside the fire, the meat still warm. "Waste not," she said, thrusting the bowl into the mage's chest, before continuing.

"After that, I'd say we have...one, two days maybe? Before we reach Ashamar. That's where we'll part."

She looked at him to gauge his reaction, but focused more on his nose than his eyes. Distance, keep distance.

It was only fair to give the Mordecai all the time she needed. The fact that she decided to linger behind was... interesting. Alkereth waited patiently, sitting on a boulder near Hilda.

When Emery traipsed back, Alkereth snapped his eyes up. When she spoke, he noted that her tone was off. She looked... listless. There was none of that ginger sass, only a little more languid than he was used to.

Interesting. Was she going for the aloof approach?

He continued to stare owlishly, taking the bowl shoved onto him. He didn't eat it. He was too distracted.

"Do you have the means to pay for a room and food?" Admittedly, he had several questions, but he was not sure the girl pinching the bridge of her nose and nursing another headache was not interested in playing Fifty Questions.

But this one question felt safe. He had to be sure. It would also answer a very important question: how much coin did she generally keep at a time? Yes—Alkereth was deeply eager to know about her work, and how often she got paid. He... had his reasons, but he did not expect to figure it out.

"I suppose we will find out. How do people there feel about a man with white hair and red eyes?" It was almost playful. Almost. If he didn't have so much to worry about, his tone would absolutely take on a light tone.

"Magicless albino is a persona I've taken before. Ready when you are... Emery."

Staring at her and her horse surged jealousy he had not expected. Oh, how he missed his horse.

He ate the contents of the bowl. If anything, to keep things between them agreeable.

She was definitely ready.

The biggest (yet unavoidable) mistake she had made during this whole affair was spending too much time with the mage, and it didn't look like that was going to be changing. There wouldn't be much opportunity to get physically far from him, so she would just have to stay emotionally distant. If she had been smart, she would have kept the manacles on him and stuffed a gag in his mouth for good measure, but so far, for reasons beyond her, he was coming along without a fight.

...That was also a problem.

His passivity, his utter submission while walking into death was fucking...just...the worst part of this all. It was so completely aggravating—but she tamped down against the emotion.

"If I didn't have the means, I wouldn't have raised it as an option," Emery said as she went around Hilda to mount her, swinging up into the saddle and shifting her weight. She was so not ready for the trip, between the lack of eating and lack of sleeping, but she would deal. "The money was supposed to go to my parents, but I'll just have to cut into it a bit. As for you..."

She swept a look over him. "You could easily pass for a faerie—ah, Serenian. You've got the look. They've all got weird eyes and hair, most of them witches. Not really liked too much in these parts, obviously. Apart from the giant-ass crater, it would have been the first thing that raised my suspicions, if your accent wasn't so wrong...so my good friend the albino it is, I suppose."

Tapping her lips in thought, she frowned. "Where is that from, anyway? Your accent? I've never heard it. Anyway, get up here."

"I see. You must make enough to live comfortably." It was not a question, but an innocent observation. "My whole existence is just one giant inconvenience in your life; I understand." The words were laced with sarcasm.

"My people are a small, humble village from the far north. You would not have heard of them." It was a line Alkereth practiced for many long years. Saying it often enough sounded believable.

"If we were lucky in any other life, perhaps." He could not say this without feeling heavy of heart.  "But I suppose it would not hurt to pretend to be your friend."

Alkereth packed away the bowl, and looked up sharply at Emery. What was he expecting? To walk, maybe, but horses had fast-paced strides, and while his long legs overtook most people in a walk, he could not hope to keep up with the beast. It looked as if his brain had shut down for a brief moment as he attempted to comprehend what was just said to him.

"Right. Fine. Okay," he eventually said.

He clasped his hand on Emery's leg on accident, too distracted as he attempted to find his way up. "Ah—sorry, sorry..." He managed to boost himself up and over the horse's rear, sitting up behind Emery. He kept his eyes firmly ahead with his jaw locked together. His expression looked comically contorted as if he saw something his priestly little heart wasn't supposed to. He firmly folded his arms and leaned back to avoid touching Emery, clearly uncomfortable.

The answer about the village satisfied Emery well enough. The North was large and vast and there were many settlements up there even beyond Hyoite, or so she'd heard. 

His comment about them being friends in another life, on the other hand? That was far less...satisfactory. Once again, she felt that uncomfortable squeeze in her chest, the one she had prayed so hard to purge, but she steeled her spine because that didn't matter here and now. Maybe in the next life things would be different. Maybe. But right now, she only had this one.

Just a couple more days of this shit...

It was the mage's waffling that dragged her away from those unpleasant thoughts. She watched him, one eyebrow raised, as he seemed to be having some sort of inner crisis. Were those latent self-preservation instincts finally kicking in? She tensed a little, preparing herself in case he bolted—but as she should have expected by now, that didn't seem in his nature.

He climbed up, grabbing her leg in the process. Emery rolled her eyes at his clumsiness, at his sudden awkwardness, and was far less bothered about the whole thing than he seemed to be. Riding double meant getting a bit physical, after all.

And yet he seemed to be trying not to touch her at all.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"What are you doing? You're going to fall," Emery said, tossing a look over her shoulder at him. He was sitting as far back from her as was physically possible, looking quite frankly constipated—don't tell her he was one of those types. The type that was terrified of touching a woman as though that was enough to proclaim them married.

With a long-suffering sigh and a spike of irritation (despite her best attempts to remain unfeeling), she reached behind her to pull at his arms. "Grab on, princess. Don't be shy. Your chastity is safe with me."

"I had enough falling, thank you," Alkereth snapped, misliking the circumstances very much and showing every visible sign of reluctance to so much as touch her even a little bit.

"What are you doing? Stop it. No, I don't want to." He argued and fussed, but eventually, he relented with an exasperated sigh. He stiffly held on to her shoulders like a small boy might as though Emery was deeply contagious with cooties, but thought better of it and moved his hands down to her waist. That was even worse. His normally cool body ran hot.

"What is this nonsense? Like I have any interest in bedding you. Be silent, woman. What are you waiting for? Let's get a move on." Was he going to be a backseat rider? You better damn well believe it.

Alkereth grumbled, glowered, and glared at the back of her stupid red hair for as long as it pleased him. Suddenly, he let out an explosive fart. If he was hot before, now he is boiling. His complexion beat the odds and seemed to have achieved a nice rosy blush in a matter of seconds.

"That was the horse," he mumbled, wishing the horse would kick him in the head and kill him now.

He was a literal child!

"If you don't want to fall again, then you'll hold on," Emery shot back with the barely-there patience of a sleep-deprived mother dealing with a fussy toddler. Eventually, though, he held onto her shoulders—which was an improvement, but it was also going to get annoying fast. It made her feel like he was trying to steer with her, or strangle her, or give her a massage, and she was about to snap at him that he'd better be thinking of the latter if he was to keep them there because she wasn't too fond of hands that close to her neck.

God's balls, he had every reason to hate her, but he didn't have to act like she was plagued. It was a relief when he put his arms around her waist like a normal person, though, and she let a breath out through her nose and tried to recenter herself.

This was going to be...challenging.

"I've no interest in bedding you, either. You wouldn't know what to do with a woman if she came with instructions. Now please, for the love of God, shut up for five minutes."

They were going somewhere now, at least. She got Hilda going at a steady trot, but knew she would not be able to maintain the pace the whole way. With the extra weight on her back, she would need to rest her, but for now they could cover a bit of ground—

He did not shut up.

The sound that came out of him was so unexpected, so off the cuff, and so very much unlike the oh so prim image she had of the mage that for a moment she thought it might be Hilda—until he outed himself.

And Emery died.

Right there, she died.

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Maybe it was because she had grown up amongst a bunch of boys and men and had never outgrown that stupid sense of humor. Either way, it hit just right, and she curled forward, shaking with the sheer effort it took to stay silent.

And failing. Hard.

Her stomach hurt, tears burned at the corners of her eyes, and she laughed until she was sore. It was quiet, breathy laughter, because goddammit she was trying! And then, when her shoulders stopped spasming and she felt she could speak again, her voice carried back to him—quiet, but loud enough for him to catch.

"Weak." He couldn't see her, but she was grinning, reaching up quickly to wipe at her eyes. "Seven out of ten. I've done better."

---

"Excuse me?" Alkereth scoffed. "How would you know that? If I ever had the opportunity—which I refuse by choice, by the way—I'll wager that I'd make an excellent lover."

Was he being serious? A man of a god he may be, but when it came to certain shortcomings (like his blatant virginity), he took it personally!

"Don't tell me to be quiet, YOU be quiet. Why are you laughing?" Alkereth groaned out loud, knowing very well why Emery was wheezing like a dying hyena. "I could have crashed literally anywhere else in the world... but no, no... had to be here..."

Alkereth's expression looked a little pained as he took one hand off the Mordecai's waist to pat his gurgling stomach. "Now you're rating flatulence? How uncouth. You are terrible." He paused, rubbing his tummy. "Something in that hare, I suppose..."

If Emery thought that was the last time she'd hear (or smell) anything, she was wrong. Her riding companion continued to break wind for a while until he declared urgently, "I really need to go!" Without waiting for a reply, he slid off Hilda and started hopping bow-leggedly into the nearest and thickest bush.

"D-don't come 'round here, it's... it's really... well, just don't. It's so embarrassing. AAAAHHHHhhhhhhh..."

Sounds like he just relieved himself. Eww.

...Guess it was a good thing she hadn't eaten, after all.

Because the mage was having one hell of a time, and so was she by extension, considering she had to smell it.

"Good God, man, okay, that one was more of a nine," Emery said, just to mortify the shit out of him. Maybe literally. She tucked her face against her arm with a grimace, trying to protect her nose. "You need to change your britches? That one sounded kind of juicy—"

Aaaaand there he went!

He practically flew off of Hilda, warning her not to follow as though she had any desire to be involved in that. Bringing her horse to a stop, Emery deflated forward against Hilda's neck, pressing her face into her mane because she couldn't. She just couldn't. Of course this would be her luck, and she'd told him to eat her share, too! She was practically complicit in the poisoning, and she kind of needed him not to die. Feeling a little giddy from exhaustion and the sheer, compounded absurdity of her life right now, she was once again taken by a fit of helpless laughter that was not at all helped by the memory of his hobble of shame nor the unholy sounds currently coming from that bush.

This was so. Goddamn. Stupid.

"Why me?" she mused out loud between gasps of breath. "I knew it. I just knew it. God take the reins, I am being tested. Are you still alive over there? Holy shit."

It was embarrassing as all get out. In the meantime, Alkereth was desperate to keep his dignity, but it was only an uphill battle. Amazing that Emery did not straight up abandon him right there in the bushes.

"I think so," he groaned. "By god... its really horrible... is this what it's like to die?" There was momentary quiet, and then more disgusting sounds, and more groaning. "Do you have something to... oh, wait, right. I am a powerful sorcerer; I don't need the help of a ginger harlot. One moment."

What followed was extended silence, a little bit of rustling, and then—a brief flash of light. Moments later, the Harbinger emerged again, looking much better as he adjusted his gloves and trousers. When he looked up to around at Emery, he suddenly gripped the pommel of his sword.

He moved swiftly as if on the attack, drawing his weapon at Emery—

"MOVE!" Alkereth shouted at her, raising his palm.

A dark cloaked figure descended upon Emery from the treetops, and fast.

"Pardon me? 'Ginger harlot'?" Emery parroted, sitting back up. There was offense in her voice, but her tired grin didn't match it as she watched him emerge from his shame-bush. She had seen the flash of light, and decided she fucking gave up. How he managed to touch his power around her was a mystery far above her pay grade—a problem for people smarter than her to figure out and solve.

"Listen, bitch, harlots get—"

She didn't get a chance to say what harlots got. The mage drew his sword and charged at her, and suddenly she was wide awake and pulling her sword free of its sheath at her hip, but the fatigue made her sluggish, just a bit too slow. He was shouting at her, and the word registered a second too late.

...move?

Something slammed into her from above, punching the wind from her lungs and tumbling her off of Hilda with a crunch. Startled, the horse reared with a frightened whinny and bolted off through the trees, but Emery had no time to see the issue as she was currently seeing stars and wheezing for air, her left shoulder screaming agony in a familiar way—ah, that's what the crunch had been. A boot kicked her sword away, a knife pressed to her throat, and she was yanked to her feet by her hair and held between the attacker and the mage as a human shield.

"Not a step closer or she gets a new smile!" the stranger snarled, as another figure dropped down behind the mage, brandishing a sword. "We don't want no trouble. Just give us what we want and ya walk away."

"Fuck me," Emery laughed, chest rising and falling fast with pained breaths and left arm hanging limp. "You picked the wrong hostage. You should've picked the horse—" The stranger yanked her head back sharply for speaking and pressed the blade in tighter, making her suck in a wincing breath.

"Give us what we want and ya walk away," the stranger repeated to the mage. "The star. Where is it? We know ya have it. We saw ya leave the site." And then, with a vicious smile and a hard look at the mage, the stranger added, "Witch."

"The hell you talking about—nngh!" Another hard yank had her gasping, and she felt a thin trickle of blood run down to her collar.

Things just had a funny way of going from bad to worse. She had zero expectation that the mage would help her—because why should he? This was her fault anyway, for letting her guard down enough for some common thugs to get the drop on them. Figured it would be petty thieves that did her in and not something more epic.

If she was the sort to sit back and wait to be rescued, that is.

Because while the stranger gabbed, she stretched her right hand down for the hunting blade strapped to her thigh, thanking God the idiot hadn't bothered to check her over. Her hand covered the handle and she waited, heart pounding, for the right moment.

Alkereth nearly swore. They had gone this far, and already he let his guard down. How could he not expect to be jumped by others searching for the object that made impact? The only benefit that served him now was that the secret of what came out of the crater was between him and the Mordecai.

With his sword gripped tightly, Alkereth quickly thought of ways to get out of this mess. At least they had one idiot to deal with—

—make that two. Alkereth stood rigid, listening to the demands made by the figure behind him. He clenched his jaw. He wondered how years of tempering his charisma and people skills would work on these men, so he decided to change tactics and go from defensive to relaxed.

He gave them a hearty chortle to start, lowering his sword to give himself the look of a man who was careless. Despite the act, he was most definitely on his guard, and was absolutely willing to demonstrate how fast he could swing his sword down on the neck of the man behind him. However, he needed to be careful.

He just needed to be sure that these men would be agreeable enough to talk first.

"Hold on a moment, gentlemen, let's be reasonable. There is no need for bloodshed. You saw her leave the crater... so that alone is proof? That she has, what... a star? Well, do you even know what this star looks like? Yes? No?" Alkereth gave a thoughtful shrug. "Neither do I. We only left with disappointment. Rest assured we wouldn't have been walking this well worn path carrying something so precious. We wouldn't want bandits to steal it. I was there—I saw several people walk out of that crater. Any one of them could have it."

It was a long shot. Alkereth was never in the habit to deceive others unless it was a life or death situation; he figured this was one of those times his god would forgive such blatant fabrication.

"The girl is a nasty piece of work, yes; I've worked with her for a long time to know this irrefutable fact, but she is no witch. Continue to pierce her skin with your blade, my dear fellow, I will be forced to feed the ground with your entrails. So let's lay down our weapons, yes? Let her go. And you; yes, the smelly fellow behind me. Did you... You stepped into something foul, didn't you? Oh, that is MOST unfortunate."

Alkereth should not have felt so much glee by this, especially when they were in the midst of very real danger. But he hoped some lighthearted fun would change their dire situation.

Oh dear God.

The mage was trying to talk his way out of this.

Emery was fighting for her life, and he thought he could have a reasonable conversation with these people?! Then again, after he'd fought for his own life in that bush over there, maybe he didn't feel well enough to fight. As funny as it had been in the moment, a sickness like that could drain and dehydrate you in minutes.

With another slow pat to ensure her knife was there, as though reassuring herself, Emery let out a pained whimper and raised her hands, fingers spread, shoulder shooting pain clear down to her fingertips. No, no, this was good for her, though. The men were paying attention to the tall man trying to bargain, not to the helpless little woman at the end of a blade. That was good. That was very good.

Keep talking...

"He's right," Emery breathed, and though the man's grip on her tightened at first when she lifted her hands, he saw they were empty and seemed not to think her a threat. Good, good. She shuddered, putting a little hiccup in her voice, letting her words tremble. "Please, sir. Swear to God he's telling the truth. Please stop, please..."

The thug holding her ignored her though, instead glaring daggers at the mage, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You're lyin'," he growled. "Only saw two sets of tracks at the site, plus the horse. Don't fuck with me!"

More blood beaded out around the blade, and Emery's whimper was real that time. She rested her hands on the man's arm, hands shaking, and for too many panicked seconds she thought he might really be done with her. "Oh shit, oh fuck..."

"Lie again. Do it. See what happens," the thug challenged, seeming unfazed by the pale man's threat. His partner, the swordsman, sidled in closer to the mage, seemingly the more impatient of the two. "I'm gonna ask nicely one more time: where. Is. The star?"

"Let's just cut them and search their bodies," the swordsman said, peering the mage up and down with a scowl at being called smelly. "I've had enough of this. We could use their horse, too."

"No, no, please," Emery begged, grasping at the man's wrist in desperation, tears shining in her eyes. "Please God, don't! I'll do anything!"

"I already laid out the terms," the thug said, both to his partner and the mage. "You get one more chance. One more. Then she dies, and we start chopping off parts until you squeal."

"Just tell him!" Emery pleaded, and couldn't help the rush of amazement that...that the mage had defended her. Threatened to kill for her. What? "Just tell him the truth, please, I don't want to die!"

"Oh, would you just shut—"

Emery thrust her shoulder up and pitched herself forward, yanking his knife hand down and away with both hands. Her shoulder was a bright blaze of agony and she cried out as he fought her, but if she wavered she died so she pushed through the pain. She clutched his knife hand tight to her chest as he swore and tried to wrestle it back, but he'd lost his balance when she bent down—and it was that slight fumble that let her jerk his hand down enough to thrust his own blade into his side.

He screamed as she staggered away from him, drawing her own dagger free, and she wasted no time sinking it into his throat.

His partner let out a roar of rage and charged at the sorcerer, swinging his sword at his back full force.

"Watch out!" Emery yelled, yanking her dagger free in a shower of blood.

Alkereth was getting pissed. Not only did his lie not work, but watching humans do this to other humans was the fastest way to stoke the fires in his heart.

And he could not stomach hearing Emery plead for her life like this.

Not wanting to waste another breath on thieves, the Harbinger squeezed Heartrender's pommel with determination.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

The figure behind Alkereth began to charge in fury. By the sounds of it, the Mordecai received wounds, but so did the asshole trying to subdue her.

Metal clashed against metal. Sparks flew. The thief combatting the sorcerer was strong, and pushed fiercely against the guard, but his target pushed back. Using this opportunity to keep up his defense, Alkereth lifted his right palm and grabbed the face inside of his assailant's hood.

Alkereth's scarlet eyes burned as a wicked sneer twisted his features. Oh, yeah. He was angry.

"I'm the star," he growled softly, and proceeded to electrocute the thief. The thief's screams filled the forest until he could scream no more. The dead thief began to fall, clothes and face fried into unrecognition.

Without waiting for the body of his enemy to hit the ground, Alkereth turned and bolted to Emery.

"Oh god, are you alright? Etia Lazamar..." He sank to his knees, grasping her shoulders to inspect her wounds. "Be still, Emery. Let me heal your wounds." He looked into her eyes. There was only concern from his own.

Emery sank to her knees beside the body of her attacker, right hand pressed to the cut on her throat, left arm cradled in her lap, and bloody knife on the ground before her. The mage had reacted, meeting steel with steel, and for a moment she worried that the thief might subdue him. He was a brute of a man compared to the svelte mage—

But brute strength wasn't everything.

And goddamn could that twig fight.

She watched it happen, watched the mage suddenly draw in close and grab the man's face. What the—?

Screaming filled the woods, along with a smell like cooking pork. She had smelled that scent before, when she and her band dealt with the child that had burned her parents. Cooking meat. Human meat.

Holy shit...

Emery swallowed hard, for a moment feeling ill, but thankfully her stomach was empty. So that's what the mage could do? And right before her eyes in a way no other mage had managed, because it shouldn't be possible...

She swayed a little, dizzy, but then the mage was before her and grasping her shoulders, and she startled like she'd been zapped, breath hissing through her teeth.

"I'm fine. It was an act, you fool," Emery said, averting her eyes quickly. "Damsel in distress, always a classic. They never expect the disarm. Ah, I'm really fine." She was pale and breathing heavily, shivering a little despite the sweat on her brow. That always happened, that burst of nervous energy and trembling and racing heart that always seemed to come after the crisis was over, despite being strangely calm in the midst of it.

And though she didn't want to admit it, she had truly been afraid. It was one thing to walk into danger knowing what you were facing, and quite another to be reminded that you were still just human. Still vulnerable despite her best efforts not to be.

She fucking hated it.

She shrugged her good shoulder, trying to dislodge him. "Touch me with your...your magic and I will end you," she added sharply. "Don't you dare fucking do it. Here, just...my shoulder's out. It's happened before. Pop it back in."

But even as she barked orders at him, they lacked true spice.

Not just because she was shaken, but because he hadn't left her.

Not a single thought or care was given about what the Mordecai would think about magic. The way Alkereth saw it, a job needed to be done, and it was done. But the fact that he had to kill another person did not sit well with him at all, and that is what kept him stewing in anger.

"No, you won't." It was a challenge filled with impatience. "Be still. Healing would be faster. The noise we made will attract attention, and we need to find your horse."

Impatience did not suit Alkereth. He thought he might get used to it around Emery, but now she was truly testing him. He took a deep breath.

"Emery—stop. Please let me do this, just this one time. Anyone with eyes can see that it's not just a dislocated shoulder. I need you to just... trust me on this. The sooner we get a move on, the better, and right now I have zero interest in playing games with you, or your prejudices."

That was one helluva loaded statement. But he had not walked out on Emery just yet.

"Well, it was a good act and fooled me," he said roughly. "Better than mine. I was con..." Alkereth's mouth hung open, then he closed it, looking away. "Never mind."

"Yes, I WILL," Emery shot back petulantly, for she was in no state to do any ending. "Don't do it. Don't. I swear to God. I get it, it's inconvenient, I'm a bit fucked, so if it's a burden then fucking leave. You have your chance now—again. You know what I'm walking you into. That hasn't changed. You owe me nothing."

She pulled her hand back to check her neck's bleeding, then put it back. It was a shallow wound, but it still hurt.

"Let me make myself clear: I'd rather die clean than go to hell a heretic. So don't. It's fine." Despite the anger in her words, her voice was edging toward fresh panic. He seemed to really want to do this, looking angry in a way that was new to her. Oh, she'd seen him pissed before, but not like this.

She chewed her lip anxiously. He was right that there would be others, though. These types usually worked in larger groups, and his crash would have attracted eyes from all over. 

She shuddered, raising her eyes to him briefly. "You were what?"

Alkereth was gritting his teeth, keeping his eyes and ears sharp around them. And yet Emery continued to be the most stubborn bitch he had ever met.

"You're right." Sharp, to the point. "I don't." He had no interest in arguing with her. Consent was extremely important to him, but Emery was not dying or bleeding out profusely enough for him to make that decision, so why should he care at this point? She said no. And that was that. He dropped it.

With one problem checked off of his list, he shifted his priority and rose up, picking up his sword to sheath. He'll clean it from dirt later.

"Forget it, Emery," he said heatedly. "Get up and call your horse. I am tired of waiting around to see if more of them will come. We're going to load up and put as much distance behind us as we can."

He said 'us'. Even still, he would not abandon Emery, even if his anger reached its damn near explosive point.

Us. He said us. Despite everything, despite acknowledging that he owed nothing, he was not leaving her. For reasons beyond her, he was still sticking this out.

This man...

Emery squeezed her eyes shut and took a moment, much of the tension leaving her when he let the subject go. She couldn't say it wasn't tempting, the idea that he could just...take away her pain just like that, move her bones back where they were supposed to be. But wasn't that the issue? Wasn't that the danger? Just how easy it could be to slide, to give into just one harmless but selfishly beneficial temptation which would only lead to more and more down the line.

That's how the corruption began: just a little taste.

With a sore grunt, she pushed herself to her feet, holding her damaged arm with her good one. Her cut had finally clotted, leaving behind a smeared mess of dried blood on her skin that looked far worse than it actually was. And as she glanced down at herself to assess, there was more blood splattered on her, but it didn't belong to her.

It was with a strange quietness that she collected her sword and sheathed it, then picked up her knife, wiped it on her breeches, and sheathed that too. She pointedly avoided looking at the mage as she worked, bringing her fingers to her lips to give a shrill whistle for Hilda.

Before long, the sound of hoof beats filled the air, and she walked to meet her horse, checking her over to make sure everything was still in place. She went through the motions automatically, but her mind was elsewhere.

She was tired.

She hurt.

And for some strange reason, she felt ashamed.

If needed, Alkereth helped Emery up Hilda. It was clear that he had abandoned the concept of doing these gestures out of kindness. He behaved as if they were already being pursued. In his experience, he was probably right.

"Come on. If you cannot steer your mare, then let me. Just tell me where to go."

He gave Hilda a swift pat on the neck before hoisting himself up more cleanly than before.

As if on cue, voices rang out in the distance. Alkereth felt his blood run cold.

"Some times, I really hate being right," he growled darkly. "We need to go off the path. Emery...?" He did not think he needed to finish his sentence.

Emery did need help getting up, and she accepted it without complaint. For once. She held the reins while trying to keep her bad shoulder as still as possible, biting the inside of her cheek and trying hard to ignore the persistent, throbbing pain shooting all the way down her arm. She could do this. It was fine.

The mage slid up behind her and then—fuck. Of course. Of course things had to keep on escalating.

"You're a walking curse," Emery muttered under her breath, and nudged Hilda into motion, turning her off the road and gritting her teeth as the mare's gallop jostled her arm horrifically, making each step excruciating. They crashed through the undergrowth, not going the direction they needed to go, but going the direction that would hide them best—deeper into the woods, far away from the road, and into a shallow stream she hoped would cover their tracks for a bit.

But it was fucking hard. She could still hear the voices, searching for them. And she was losing steam fast. Her pride insisted she could do this, that she was stronger than this, that she didn't need help.

But her body was louder.

"Holy fuck, hold on," she said, bringing Hilda to a sudden stop. She slid down off the mare, almost falling off in the process without both arms to help her, and sucked in shallow breaths. 

"Take the front, mage," she said. "You'll steer." And she waited for him to adjust, and held her good hand out to him so she could mount behind him this time.

"Just think of all that money you're going to roll in," he snapped sarcastically, trying to keep her steady. "Really hit the jackpot with me, didn't you."

Thankfully the trees provided adequate cover and did not hinder their gallop through. Their was a path wide enough, but Alkereth worried that this natural trail would taper into dense brush and branches. Horses were never meant to navigate woodlands; he knew this only too well, so he kept his eyes firmly forward. That is, until Emery slipped off.

Alkereth understood before she could say anything else. "Right. Let's go." He helped her up again, but this time, he took the front.

"Go on, girl. Come on. Go, go, GO!" He took up the reigns, gave it some slack for Hilda to have full control of her head, then dug his boots into the her flanks.

It was a good thing Alkereth followed his instincts. Some of the braver bounty hunters picked up their trail and rode their horses in hot pursuit. They did little to hide their voices; they were communicating to one another far behind them.

Alkereth focused. Just as he feared, the path became denser. He had no choice but to slow Hilda a bit to avoid crashing, but at least they were still at a gallop.

His mind raced. "I'm going to perform more magic to distract them. Get ready."

Lifting his palm, he muttered words in a strange language. The world around them had briefly darkened. Somewhere, through the trees, a pack of wolves howled an ear-splitting, unearthly call. They darted swiftly through the trees, snarling. The darkness lifted.

"Shadow beasts," he said. "They will keep our pursuers busy. But we still need to go. The things that come from shadows are fearsome indeed."

He was sure Emery would be alarmed by this, but Alkereth was far beyond caring about her feelings. Right now, his priority was to keep them safe. Unfortunately, casting magic also meant exhaustion was settling in. He had to be careful. Summoning shadowbeasts was especially draining.

"I better get paid well for this," Emery shot back, covering the slight twinge his words provoked. "After all the trouble you've caused?"

Settling behind him, Emery was far less squeamish about contact than he was—partly because they needed to GO, but also because she just didn't share his delicate sensibilities. There was no hesitation as she hugged her good arm around his waist, laid her bad arm in her lap, and pressed herself against his back, practically clinging to him.

He would just have to deal.

Their pursuers were tenacious, she had to give them credit. They really wanted the "star"—and if they found out that the star was a man, would that change things?

Guess they would find out, because it sounded like they were gaining, and Hilda was made for the open roads and plains, not for the woods. For a moment she thought they were in trouble, and this time they would be down a person, but the mage spoke, and ice shot down her spine.

"Oh, I am so not ready—!" she managed to choke out, but then the space went dark, and things...snarling things, skulking howling things, went running through the trees.

Shadow beasts, he said.

Behind them, she could hear the voices, excitement in them as they seemed to have found their trail, but then that excitement took a sharp turn to terror. Hoots and calls became screams and shouts, human and horse alike.

Emery shuddered violently and pressed her cheek against the mage's back, clenching her eyes shut. Her arm tightened around him, practically squeezing the life out of him. "Will they turn on us?" she said, and then, "How the fuck are you doing this? You shouldn't be able."

"Are you seriously asking me that right now?!" He pulled out his sword to cut away at the branches. He hated treating his blade disrespectfully like this, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"For the hundredth time, I don't know how I'm doing this! Lazamar's sake...! Do you want to die? Is that it? Then I wouldn't be complaining! Loosen your grip on me, woman! I can barely breathe!"

Cutting away at the branches made their journey a little more bearable, but the trail soon became uneven and started to slope downward. As Alkereth began to wonder if they were trekking down a valley, he heard the ethereal howls disappear. It meant that their pursuers either died, or gave up to save their skins. He sincerely hoped it was the latter. He was not fond of taking any more human lives.

"I hope you know where we are," Alkereth grumbled as he pulled Hilda back a little. "Steady, girl. Steady. Hey—hear that?"

There was the sound of a rushing creek nearby. Alkereth wondered if it was the same creek he bathed in that fed to this one.

"We could try walking in it. It would help keep others off our trail. The real question is, where would it lead? Thoughts?"

He actually wanted to hear Emery's input. If anyone knew this land well, it was her—at least, that is what he assumed.

He was not sure how much bad news he could take today.

"Of course I know where we are. We're in the duchy of Bellkrath," Emery answered dully, quite aware of how unhelpful that was.

"But no, really. We're...somewhere between my hometown and where we need to be. Hell if I know where the creek goes. I always follow the road like a sane person, I've not gone traipsing about in the woods. You know what lives in the woods? Bears. You don't fuck with bears."

Now that they were no longer in immediate danger, her grip had loosened on the mage, at least, so she was no longer trying to crush his ribs. She still leaned heavily against him, though, too goddamn done to care. It was taking everything in her power not to throw up from the constant jostling of her arm as she desperately wished the path was smoother and Hilda's gait less jerky.

"We should follow it for a bit, just to be cautious, but we really want to be heading Northwest as soon as we can. We've lost enough daylight as it is."

She sucked in a deep breath, clutching the mage harder for balance as Hilda skidded for a step down the incline, cursing under her breath. Then she paused, blinked, and sniffed again.

"...You smell odd."

Feeling a little better now that he and the Mordecai are on the same page, he breathed out a content sigh and steered Hilda to the creek. It would do no good to tear down his defenses now; he stayed alert. Smart hunters would eventually check the creek, too, if they lost Hilda's trail near it. Maybe he was giving them too much credit... but it never hurt to stay careful.

"Bears, eh? Ooh—I think I heard a bear over there! Oh, dear." He rolled his eyes. "I know bears. If we see one, I will make sure we keep our distance. They will not attack us if we show them some respect."

Alkereth realized that the day had waned a bit since they had last parted from their camp. It did not concern him terribly. Despite popular belief, he was in no hurry to experience the end.

The creek was shallow enough that it would not hinder their progress. It sloped downward, but it was not steep.

"Right. We'll try this, then go northwest." He calculated the direction with a glance at the sun. He chuckled softly out of nowhere. Most earths like this one followed the same general cardinal direction. In fact, it shared a lot of similarities to places he has gone.

In his early days as Harbinger, as he was first discovering that other realms existed, he remembered asking Lunrath about the similarities the worlds have shared and how that could be. Not everything is a variable, he was told. Just like the earths he has known, there were humans, and horses, and eagles, and bears... but they also possessed their own  idiosyncrasies. Unicorns, and dragons, and other fantastic beasts that could only overwhelmed the imagination.

Alkereth would have enjoyed explaining this to Emery, and watch her mind explode from the wild information he kept secret. But that was just it. He had to keep it secret. It was as Lunrath once said: Not everyone takes such concepts well. Emery definitely would not.

He kept a lonely existence by choice. He never made friends. They asked too many questions. It is what it is.

Hilda splashed into the creek, breaking the Harbinger from his thoughts.

"How is your arm?" he asked Emery, turning briefly to check on her. "We need to splint it... or something... soon. It would just be easier if you let me heal it..."

Did she just... SMELL him?

Taken aback by that, he turned himself swiftly to avoid the shock of red filling his face. He cleared his throat. "You do not exactly smell like a basket of roses yourself."

"I mean, it hurts like a bloody bitch, how do you think my arm is?" Emery muttered, once again stiffening at his offer of magic. "It's the shoulder, though. The pain comes from there. I've dislocated it before—oops, right? Like I said, it just needs popping and I'll be right as rain"

But even she could tell it was a little more than that. Fractured as well, maybe? It would be her luck that she could take worse tumbles and come out with barely a bruise, but one wrong landing and everything went to shit.

At least she had a victim she could use as a distraction, now that she no longer had the distraction of immediate danger. The mage wasn't subtle in the way he'd quickly looked away.

"Right, yeah, I smell like fucking garbage. Big surprise. I haven't bathed in days," Emery said with a one-armed shrug, because it was just the facts—the last time she'd had a chance to wash was in Ashamar. 

"But you..." She did an exaggerated sniff. "You do smell like roses. Kind of. Like a dusty old lady's bedroom."

Well, it was better than that, but she wasn't about to say so. She just found it strange, in a way. A little detail that seemed out of place after roughing it for a time and washing with creek water.

But, more than that, she'd found he was kind of fun to fuck with, and after the stress of earlier, and the current agony of now, she needed a diversion. "That definitely explains the white hair."

"You know what would help with the pain? ...Did you guess popping your shoulder back in? Because you're wrong." Alkereth snorted, watching ahead of them. Hilda seemed to have some trouble finding her footing. Hesitating, Alkereth stopped her for a moment, and slid of, his boots splashing into the water.

"I will guide her through," he explained. "It's a little slippery through here." He gave Hilda a reassuring pat. "Come on, girl, I got you. Let's go." A rush a pain flooded his mind as he thought of Lunrath. No matter how hard he tried to ignore her, she was persistent to burst in his thoughts without warning. They kept intruding at the worst of times. Hilda reminded him so much of her. He needed to focus.

Emery's stubbornness never failed to aggravate, but it was the one thing that kept Alkereth from spiraling. He supposed he should thank her. Maybe later.

"We'll have to stop soon and do something about it," he sighed. "Guess I have no choice but to pop your shoulder back in, you masochist."

The commentary about his smell made him uncomfortable. It felt too personal to talk about, but he saw no other way to evade it. "I've never heard anyone compare me to an old lady's bedroom." He was so embarrassed by it, that his impossibly pale face turned impossibly red.

"Wh-what about my white hair?" he asked, subconsciously scratching the back of his head. "If you're worried about your own smell, I could always throw you in the creek."

Ugh, she didn't say it, but she really wasn't looking forward to the popping part. But she was also no doctor and knew of no alternatives. The last time it had happened in training, way back when, she just knew that's what they did to solve the issue. Only then there had been a good deal of booze beforehand, a strap to bite down on, and a lot of rest, recovery, and a sling after until the damaged tissue healed.

Of course she knew it wasn't going to stop the pain. Not immediately, anyway. Unfortunately.

She adjusted herself in the saddle when he vacated it, now having to focus on keeping herself upright on her own. It had been nice to use him as a pillow for a moment, as much as she hated to admit it. But beggars couldn't be choosers and it seemed, for now, they were at a strange sort of stalemate, forced to work together so they both got out of this in one piece.

...so he got out in one piece so he could be torn into pieces later.

That sick feeling returned, but she chalked it up to hunger. Just don't think about it. Just focus on the moment.

Like how much care he took with Hilda, and the obvious affection he expressed toward her. Or the kindness he had shown Emery when she had avoided the same.

Nope. Nope nope.

She was glad when he spoke, giving her something else to focus on. She could do teasing. Teasing was low stakes, and it was a way she often chose to cope with stressful—and in this case, also painful—situations. It was just another shield, just another wall. Easier to focus on this than her injury, or his witchcraft, or the danger they might still be in.

"Masochist, huh? Damn, you caught me. I'll be sure to moan ecstatically just for you, flower boy," she said dryly.

She swayed a little in the saddle, but shifted her weight to compensate. "Anyway, I'd advise skipping any creek tossing," she said with a snort. "You'd have to touch me to toss me, and horror of horrors, you might brush my leg and taint your virtue! The scandal! There goes your all your priestly vows, sinner. Wait. Are you blushing? Really?"

He'd gotten all weird ever since she brought up his scent. Then again, she supposed sniffing someone was weird, too.

"Uhhhh... right."

Alkereth tried not to listen, but the way Emery said those things got him pretty warm under the collar. He was a priest, for god's sake, he shouldn't let words like that affect him.

Lonely existence. He could not remember the last time he was touched affectionately from a friend or companion.

Alkereth was silent again, trapped inside his own thoughts. He gave Hilda her head again so that she could dip her muzzle into the water to drink. In the meantime, he looked for a clear bank to have a quick rest and perhaps smack Emery's stupid arm back in place. Then, she had to go and point out his blush. He had forgotten how obvious it was for him. Curse his pale skin.

"What are you talking about? I'm not, you are obviously seeing things. Be quiet, I'm trying to—be quiet!"

Spoken with more urgency, Alkereth stood rigid and brought a finger to his lips, straining his ears. The creek drowned out some of the other natural sounds, like rustling trees, but there was no mistaking it. Too much experience gave Alkereth a clue that something was amiss. He leaned in an spoke loud enough for Emery to hear, as a precaution.

"The birds have all gone quiet. Emery..."

There was every reason for his skin to erupt in goosebumps. He was not the kind of man to fear; he had faced inexplicable horrors in his life that would drive most people mad. But this time... he sensed danger he could not see, and it was this reason he felt worry.

"I think they're here. Trying to cut us off. Or lay traps. We need to get off the creek and make a break for it."

Alkereth was taking off his amice. "Come here, I'm going to tie this around your arm and neck to avoid jostling it." He was growing frustrated that he had not been able to heal it, but it was the best he could do. If Emery allowed it—-even if she argued and snarled—-Alkereth would insist that there is nothing remotely magical about his attire, it's just light armor and priestly vestments.

"Are you ready?"

Cat got his tongue? So it seemed.

Emery snickered, because it was just too easy. If she spoke this way to one of her own religion's priests, surely she would go straight to hell, but he wasn't of her faith so he got to deal with her. It had been quite a while since she had met someone this repressed and easily scandalized—no, that's a lie, she had dealt with her share of Adhara.

Thank GOD she had not been born Adhara. She would not have lasted.

"No? That's not a blush? Hmm, a nasty rash, perhaps? Damn, you should really get that looked at, does it go all the way to your ba—"

She cut off with a jerk, his first demand to be silent ignored but not the second. The shift in his voice made her tense, made her sit straighter. And, indeed, she could hear what he did—or rather, what he didn't. The forest was quiet but for the faint rustle of wind through leaves.

Quiet forests meant scarier predators were about.

Emery met the mage's eyes and didn't like the worry she saw there. Because he didn't seem the sort that really expressed worry at all.

Shit...

"I hate dealing with people as stubborn as I am..." she said quietly, trying hard to keep the anxiety out of her voice. But this was...bad. The mage was just one person, and she was in no condition to fight. If they were caught... "The hell-beasts weren't deterrent enough? Fuck."

Surprisingly, she did not fight him when he fashioned the sling from his amice, and her snarling was only because it hurt to move. She leaned down to make it easier though, cooperative and uncomplaining for once in her life. She was trying hard to hide her weakness like a wounded animal tried to act fine, but her mind was racing, trying to decide just how screwed they were.

She was leaning toward "massively screwed with zero foreplay."

When he was done, she gently tested her new sling, then nodded. "Ready," she said, and drew a shaky breath. "We're running a bit low on options, I'm afraid. The next town is still half a day away, at least. At some point, we may have no choice but to stand our ground. I hope you're ready for that possibility, too."

Alkereth knew he had the strength to cast at least one more spell. He was stretching it already with the Shadowbeasts. Just as he was wondering if he should cast another to buy them some time, he tilted his head a little and gave Emery a wry smile as he gestured for her to take the back seat again. His smile was subtle, but it was there nonetheless.

"Really? Used to getting your way all the time, Princess?"

He grasped the saddle and mounted Hilda again. He guided the horse back to dry land, keeping his eyes and ears peeled to any out of the ordinary sounds. Hilda's instincts was also given attention—animals tend to sense danger faster than humans.

"I'm afraid my little tricks are running thin..." He sighed impatiently. "They helped. But they don't stay in this world for long. Summoning them takes a lot out of me. And they're not hell-beasts. They're... they're hard to explain. I doubt your tiny baby brain could handle it if I explained it all to you, even with the simplest words."

Alkereth wanted to keep the conversation at minimum, but he could not help but take (playful?) jabs. But if they already knew he and Emery were out here, there was not much he could do to control the damage already done.

"I am certain we're not through with bounty hunters. The birds had sung even with us traveling through... but now..." There was little time to make a thorough thought-out decision. Both he and Emery weren't in the best of shape; he noticed now more than ever how sore his body was, and how tired. Adrenaline had kept him going so far, and allowed him to ignore the pain. Now he was starting to feel it. Muscle cramps was a real bitch to deal with.

A few day's rest would likely bring him back to complete and full recovery, but he was not sure when he would ever receive that luxury again.

"We should find somewhere safe to camp. I can stand guard so that you and your horse can rest. Ugh... it's not ideal; we've barley moved."

Wait a moment. Why was he complaining? This was a good thing, right? Postpone the inevitable...

An arrow flew past their heads. Alkereth dug his heels into Hilda.

Suddenly, a steed and rider tore out of the trees. The rider wore moss and leaves, and so did his animal, and he rode down upon them fast, flying through obstacles like they were nothing.

The animal looked like a deer, but not like a deer Alkereth ever laid eyes upon.

Princess? Princess? He did not just throw her own quip back at her! Emery scowled, muttering, "Don't call me princess, princess," at him—but she also didn't bother to deny it. Because, uh, the truth was: yes. Yes, she kind of was used to getting her way. Being a Mordecai had come with certain privileges, with respect. Things usually did go her way, and when they didn't, she could make them.

She wasn't used to not having control of a situation, and this situation had spiraled faster than she could have predicted—and she had not missed the mage's smile. Yeah, he had read her like a bloody book, but that didn't mean she was going to admit it.

She scooted back to allow the mage into the saddle, wincing, but was secretly grateful to have him there. Once again, he acted as a pillar to support her, and once again she was not shy about wrapping her arm around his middle. She was fully aware of how...strange this situation was, but she didn't have the energy, mental or physical, to confront it. She didn't really want to. If she thought about how he was helping her, how he had defended her against their attackers, hunted for her, made a sling for her, and was now guiding them through this whole mess when he could have easily given her up or let her die...

No. Don't even go there. Right now, they just had to do what they needed to do to get through this.

And it seemed she wasn't the only one who was low on resources. He couldn't summon more?

Good. As much as it may have helped, she wished to never see those beasts again.

"Don't be pretentious. A student is only as good as their teacher," Emery said, leaning her cheek against his back. Tiny baby brain? Really? She wouldn't understand? Really? Cue giant eye-roll. For some reason, that especially annoyed her, and she let it stew beneath the surface as he spoke of their hunters, and the possibility of rest, and...oddly complained about their lack of progress? Odd.

"Hm, good idea. Hey, maybe while we camp, the big smart mage man can explain the real hard magics to my itty bitty baby brain. Because clearly I, a person who has devoted a lifetime to dealing with magic, who has up close and personal experience with that shit, who has been trained extensively in all things related to that topic—clearly I could not possibly understand the very thing I have spent my life pursuing. Ooh, magic, so mysterious and profound! Ooh, magic, so deep! So—!"

She cut off with a startled squeak when an arrow whooshed past their heads, ducking reflexively. Before she could even fully process that they had almost been shot, the culprit revealed themselves.

All green and leaves and moss and speed, he did not look like he belonged to the same ragtag group of hunters.

And that was certainly no horse.

With the speed he was traveling, there was also no way Hilda could outrun him.

What the fuck?

Did they stand their ground? She had mentioned that before, but she had really been hoping not to do it so soon. Or ever, really.

Clutching the mage tighter, she twisted a little so she could shout to the rider, "Oh, fuck off, already! We don't have the stupid goddamned star!"

Alkereth did not answer. It was not that he did not want to, but they were being barreled down upon by a fierce and unflinching warrior. This one might be difficult to shake off.

"HOLD ON!"

Poor Hilda was likely terrified and exhausted, but Alkereth pushed her through the wild. Branches clawed at their faces and hair, and still he pushed her until her sides heaved. She was no Starmount.

The deer and rider kept at their heels, but did not advance any farther than they closed in. When Alkereth chanced a glance back, he saw the hunter mount another arrow on a handsome bow. There was no face that could be seen; this mystery man was hooded with a painted mask.

Alkereth saw an opportunity: he steered Hilda into a path he thought may work, but suddenly an arrow flew by them again, forcing a whinnying Hilda back on the path ahead. Glancing back again, he saw the rider take position to his right, as if intending to... flank? No, no, this was all wrong. What was the hunter doing?

Then, it occurred to him. Each arrow missed, and the hunter was moving in such a way that disabled them from steering off the intended path.

"HE'S DRIVING US!"

Alkereth grit his teeth, angry. For once in his life, he thought about setting this world on fire and be the villain everyone seemed so keen to make him out to be, but that was just the side of him that had grown tired of this bullshit and was ready to retire in braindead stasis somewhere, undisturbed, for the rest of time. Seriously, just fuck everybody right now.

The hunter did not answer. There was such a tight focus about him as he leaped over and around every single tree, moving like water. Every time his quarry moved one way, he barred their path to keep them on track.

Alkereth concerned over what spell to use. There was a chance for more bodily damage, so he wanted to keep enough of his energy to heal later. But if they didn't shake off their pursuer now... they'd both be dead. This was their last chance.

Drawing his sword and lifting it to the sky, Alkereth muttered words. The heavens rumbled and formed a cluster of black clouds which suddenly cast a bolt of lightning down upon the steel. Imbued with a powerful lightning, Alkereth trained his sword on the hunter and cast massive bolts at him.

The hunter evaded every single one with leaps and bounds.

How?

HOW?

Alkereth leaned over, fuzzy and clutching his chest. He pushed it too far, and his most impressive spell missed. That was it, that was all he had in him, and yet the hunter continued to tail them, driving them. But to where?

Summoning the last of his strength, Alkereth tried to veer off the path.

"Leave us ALONE!" he shouted.

He thought he was successful once or twice, but there was the hunter again, appearing at their flank and driving them back. Alkereth kept his sword out, and attempted to swing every time the hunter drew near, but he was never close enough for melee to matter.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted to Emery. "I'm so tired..."

This wasn't looking good.

The rider countered the mage's every maneuver, as if they knew his actions before he knew them himself. At first, she thought they had gotten lucky not to be struck, but those missed shots soon became too obvious. Too directed. He wasn't attacking them, not really...

Then the mage made his observation, and it clicked. The rider was acting much like she had seen a sheepdog act toward a flock. Pushing, driving, but not harming—yet.

And she could feel that Hilda was at her limit, sides heaving against her legs.

Shit. Shit shit. Emery's mind raced, poring over their options and hating every single one. One was beginning to stand out among them, though—probably the worst one, but maybe the only one.

The mage even attempted a spell in a last desperate effort, and though Emery shut her eyes and flinched at the noise of it, heart in her throat as she realized she truly had no idea the full extent of what he was capable of—she did not complain or try to stop him.

Color her a fucking hypocrite. She would pray on it later if she could. Well, at least now everyone within earshot knew which one of them was the mage.

Unfortunately, even that was not enough. Was the rider even human? Some demon? She felt Hilda slowing, heard the defeat and fatigue in the mage's voice, felt his tension. Fuck. Okay. Alright...

Emery gave him a tight squeeze around the ribs, more to get his attention than anything, and forced the words out. "Mage, stop. Just stop. We can't go where he's taking us," she said, just loud enough for him to hear. "We need to turn and face him. We need to make our stand here."

Was that crazy? No doubt. The two of them, bedraggled and exhausted and hurting, were no match for a skilled rider who was all fresh and peppy—with a long-ranged weapon to boot. But as the mage had said, he was driving them. If he had wanted to hit them, he could have, so the only reason he'd missed was because he wanted to.

Emery shivered, but not from the cold. "Never go with someone who wants to take you elsewhere," she said, and immediately felt the sting of irony in that statement, a sting that made her stomach twist uncomfortably. But she soldiered on, because now was not the time nor place to deal with, well, feelings. Not that any time was a good time for that. "The second location is always worse. We'll stand our ground. Now."

And then, a dry laugh. "They want you, Star, so you at least have a chance. Maybe it'll be better with them? Or maybe worse. But let's be optimistic here, hm? We can at least make this difficult for him."

Her voice was detached, flat, just laying out their options as she saw them running thin. She buried her fear deep down even though it wanted to claw her guts out—deep breaths, straight back, keep the mind focused on what needed to be done and not what could happen. They would have no use for her. Maybe they would kill her, maybe not. She had been told once once before that with her scars, she wouldn't be worth much even as a slave. Good.

Either way, if this was the end, then she wanted to meet it on her terms.

"Hold on a moment... you want us to what now? I think I have something in my ears, because I thought I heard a load of nonsense just now."

Massive sarcasm aside, Alkereth heard, but it was clearly none to his taste. His magical energy was completely gone now, and Emery thought it best to give Death another high five... so to speak.

There was no other option. Hilda's sides began to grow slick with sweat as they heaved in a loyal effort to keep going at the behest of her riders. Feeling terrible for pushing the good horse so hard, Alkereth gave in, and slowed her to a stop.

It seemed the hunter did not expect this change. Once the quarry stopped, so did he. He sat on his deer, both alert, still, and observing. It was difficult to make out any discerning features while being chased, but now that the deer was stationary, Alkereth saw that it was a seemingly ordinary stag wearing layers of camouflage with an impossibly white coat, and a head full of ivory antlers decorated with drops of moss. He was a big fellow with strong legs, but somehow, he gave Alkereth an eerie, almost familiar feeling.

Nostrils flared, the stag breathed out a cool mist, pale eyes staring. There was an intelligence about the creature that reminded Alkereth so dearly of...

Wait—

Impossibly white coat. An intelligence that reminded him of Lunrath. The eerie feeling.

"Is that a Starmount?" Alkereth asked, doing nothing to hide the excitement in his voice.

The hunter suddenly nocked back a pair of arrows that shifted between  Alkereth and Emery.

"That is a Starmount, isn't it?"

Er...

The hell was a Starmount? And also just, what?

They were both staring death in the face, Emery stoic and resigned while the mage's mood had taken a 180 from anger and despair to excitement about a goddamned deer. She blinked rapidly, feeling very much out of the loop—it was a pretty deer, yes, so exciting—but she also wasn't sure it actually mattered, since the mage's excitement so clearly wasn't mutual.

The rider nocked his arrows, and Emery pinched the mage's side. "Maybe not right now?" she hissed in his ear. Why would he pick now to try to discuss animal breeds?! With an inward sigh, she awkwardly and wincingly slid down off of Hilda and held her good arm up over her head, fingers spread.

"Hey, so, dickface," she called, "At least, I assume that's why you'd wear a mask. You need something? You want to talk or something? Come on, spill it. You were riding so far up our asses I could taste you, so it's gotta be something important, right? Let's get on with it, then. You have our attention."

She was so getting shot. She just knew it. But once her damned mouth got going, it was difficult to stop. As she had told the mage before, when she had begged for her life at the end of that thug's knife, it had been an act. Her true fear response was this. Talk big, bluff, and curse. Fluff yourself up like a small animal trying to look bigger, and most importantly, try to convince yourself that you weren't actually afraid.

Alkereth tried to shrug off Emery and the words she spoke to him. The hunter and his white stag made him feel electric with raw excitement; it was difficult to focus on much else.

"HEY!" He grumbled, flinching from Emery's pinch. "Stop that! Just wait a second, Emery, seriously, you do not understand—"

"Leave."

Alkereth balked at the hunter's commanding voice slightly muffled behind the painted mask. The hunter was not a man, but a woman, low and matured with age.

"Y-you're not going to hurt us?" Alkereth inquired stupidly.

The hunter continued to hold her bow drawn. "I should for the damage you've caused us, 'Star'... Harbinger. I could spare the girl, but I am not kind to accomplices."

Alkereth's mind reeled. "You... you know me?"

"Leave this forest immediately. The next time we meet, I will kill you."

"Wait—but—you're—are you a Harbinger, too? Look—I'm stuck here, I don't have my mount, could you possibly help—"

The hunter answered by firing an arrow that lanced the flesh of his shoulder. Thankfully it was only a deep nick, but nothing else.

Alkereth yelped, and grasped his shoulder firmly. When he pulled his hand away, he saw blood soaking the glove. Despite having two arrows loaded, the hunter never fired her second arrow.

"Your final warning," she said. "I will be watching." The stag lowered his crowned head and stamped a hoof before turning away and disappearing into the woods with his rider.

The instant the stag and rider were out of eyesight, Emery felt her knees buckle and her spine turn to jelly. She staggered, caught herself against Hilda's side, and let out the breath she had been holding in a loud whoosh. She felt like she could puke if she had anything in her stomach to give, but thankfully the mage didn't get to witness that indignity, but she didn't think she could be blamed if she did. It wasn't often (read: ever) that she got to live through two near-death experiences in one day.

Ohholyfuck. They were both alive, somehow. And whole.

...Mostly whole.

She had shot the mage.

Emery collected herself as quickly as she could, smoothed her expression, and straightened. She was just tired, that was all. She definitely had not been afraid. She twisted around to face the mage, peering up at him.

"How bad is it?" she asked calmly, too calmly, and then added, "I will be happy to help you with it while you explain what the fuck that was all about. You know her? Or she knows you? What the FUCK?! What is a Starmount? What is a Harbinger? How the hell am I your accomplice?! I'm not your bloody accomplice! You're my prisoner!"

Okay. So maybe she wasn't so composed after all. Between the exhaustion, the panic, and the sheer confusion of what she had just witnessed, she was reeling.

Alkereth had long since sat against the trunk of a tree, holding his wounded shoulder. Without the amice that doubled as armor, that arrow bit into him good. He applied pressure with his hand to stem the flow.

He was in shock. And sharing Emery's sentiments that it was sheer dumb LUCK that they had come out of this alive at all. His mind hurled itself into all sorts of places, jumped and scrambled like a bowl of spaghetti and bowtie pasta, impossible to separate any of them to straighten out and think for five whole seconds.

For now, all he could feel was numb. He was so sure the hunter was a Harbinger. And after imploring and grasping for help... she denied him...

Emery's words jostled him back to reality. He could only look at her with mixed feelings.

"Please stop yelling at me," he sighed after a few painful moments of listening to her shrill voice. Exhausted, he let his head fall back on the bark.

"A Starmount is... a special kind of beast that... shapeshifts... ugh... they're... difficult to explain, because... they don't really shapeshift all that much... only to become... what we need... if that makes sense... but they're special, and... that's what my horse is... and that hunter's mount. You can... always tell by their coats... the way they shine, like starlight... and they give off this... this aura... it's never bad, but... it's like seeing the spring sun for the first time after months of winter. A warm, dazzling feeling. It was familiar. It's what I feel with my horse."

He fell silent, contemplating. There was no real harm explaining Starmounts, not now that there was one... here. Of all places.

Alkereth grimaced. The adrenaline rush was over, and the pain started creeping in. Hell, he really thought he'd get used to this by now.

"I'm a Harbinger. One of many. And no, I don't... I don't know her. I think that hunter is a Harbinger, too. What is she doing here..."

There could be several reasons. His mood went from numb, to dread. If a Harbinger was here... did that mean something was coming?

"I need to find out why she's here... it could be important. Maybe... maybe you should... you know... because I am still your prisoner... someone should figure out what's happening... you know where to find her."

He did not think he needed to finish. There was no point in trying to fight it any more. But, Alkereth realized that it was better to have a temporary ally than to get dragged along as an enemy and get killed for it. Maybe Alkereth's mind was too boggled to think right anymore. Nothing made sense. He was close to getting killed more times than he could count on his fingers around Emery.

"So...special shiny magic horses?" Emery concluded, and quickly added, "Or deer. Beasts. So they can just be...whatever? Okay, makes sense I guess, I get that. Special mounts. Right..."

She paced a little in front of him, restless. Starmount. Okay. That sounded...not too crazy, aside from the magical bits, but whatever. She had dealt with shifters before. It wasn't too unheard of.

The other word, however, sounded far more ominous. Harbinger. Something that foreshadowed a coming...something. Like a prophecy, or an event, or a disaster, or a person. A robin was a harbinger of spring, a locust was a harbinger of plague. It could be good or bad, but she had really only heard it used before the word "doom".

"Okay, great, so what the fuck is a Harbinger?" she repeated, because he had told her that he was one, and the Hunter might be one too, and she had already guessed as much from their conversation! He wasn't telling her anything about that that she hadn't figured out from listening in, which was also a lot of nothing. Did he not want to say? He was certainly being far more indirect about this topic in comparison to his poetic waxing about horses.

"What do you mean find out why she's here? Like hell! She was pretty damned transparent about her feelings toward us—which, right, we should probably fuck off now. C'mon. Get up. Up, up. We can ride and talk, I'm not getting shot like idiot over here and I am going to literally lose my mind if something else goes wrong. Move it."

She held her good hand out to him impatiently, anxious to get going. She did not like his change in behavior. He seemed shaken, and deeply so, and that couldn't be a good sign.

Alkereth hadn't forgotten—but he was in such a state of shock, it only felt like seconds had gone by before his companion told him in the most Emery way possible that it was time to go.

"Yes... essentially... that is what a Starmount is. I... got separated from mine before you found me, if you recall. To lose her... it would be devastating."

He allowed himself to be helped up. Something glinted on the ground, which made him remember that he had dropped his sword after receiving the arrow. He picked it up and sheathed it.

His arm stopped bleeding, at least. He offered to take front again since, of the two, his arm was actually still in working condition. In retrospect, he could not help but admire Emery's tenacity through all this... including her injured shoulder.

At Emery's question, the Harbinger could only swallow and shake his head. "I cannot... disclose that information," he murmured to her. "Believe me... if I could, I would. But I would be in breach of a contract forged between my Starmount and I. I cannot risk it, even if she is..." He could not utter the word 'gone'.

"Look... when a Harbinger is around... it is never a good sign. There's a saying about us that goes... Harbingers are bearers of omen. It's... imperative to discover why she is here. If there is impending disaster, perhaps she could help..."

If that is so... why did he not feel the disaster coming? Or was that why...

Ugh. Thinking too deep hurt his brain.

Emery couldn't help it. When the mage stated that it was never a good thing when a Harbinger was around, Emery barked a laugh so suddenly it made her shoulder scream from the sudden jerk. She yelped an "owwwfuck!" right after, hissing through her teeth, but couldn't stop the laughter entirely.

"Oh, REALLY? When a Harbinger is around it's a bad thing? You don't say!" she said, giddy from exhaustion and just...the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "You have been an absolute fucking harbinger of DISASTER. I have run out of the fingers needed to list everything that has gone wrong since I've met you—I'll be working on my toes soon! Wait, I think I have it!"

She grinned viciously, poking the mage in the side. "Clearly she was a harbinger for you! You are the doom! There, mystery solved. Let's find a fucking place to camp already, the day is lost."

She let her forehead thump against his back, utterly exhausted, starving, slowly crashing from adrenaline, and hurting. She could not take anymore surprises. 

You know? Emery's thought process was about damn near identical to Alkereth's. The idea pounded intrusively into his skull until it became a headache.

Was that Harbinger there because of me?

"Emery... shut up. Stop laughing. Emery... Mordecai... Em... harlot... whore..."

The groan was so audible from his personal misery and discontent, that he did little to stem his own noise.

"By all means, you STUPID hyena, try opening your mouth WIDER, perhaps something more INTELLIGENT will fly in there and take over your brain, or lack thereof."

Pretty sure this was said already, but this sure was going to be one helluva long journey.

They had lost a lot of daylight with little ground covered. At least they had reached the edge of the forest. Without the protection of trees, they were exposed. The closest road was a few miles away.

Alkereth saw a wide sea of rocky hills and valleys. A ways off, the yawning mouth of a cave looked inviting.

"Unless there's any nasty wolves or bears," he snorted, "we should think about camping there. Here, why don't I go and have a glimpse, Your Hyena-ness?"

He was already dismounting Hilda and marching over the tall grass to the potential shelter.

Oh God HELP HER.

The mage's insults only made her laugh harder, which of course hurt, which made her laugh even more, because she was so gone. Her soul had left her body. And since when did ordering someone not to laugh ever make them stop laughing?!

She alternated between helpless giggles and gasps of pain, unable to even feel insulted. God, what was wrong with her?

"Harlots get paid, prude! Or are you jealous? You sound jealous!" she snickered out, her tears wetting his back. "And if you call me 'Em' again, so help me, I'm coming for your fingernails. Oh fuck, ow, ow!"

By the time they arrived at the cave, she had mostly gotten herself under control. Mostly. For which her shoulder, abs, and head were very much grateful for, since everything had decided to start aching. Until, of course, he went and ruined it.

Her HYENA-NESS!

"Stooooop!" she wheezed. "Fucking ass! I sound nothing like a hyena! You sound like—like a duck though, squawking all the time about everything!" Oh, that didn't even make much sense. She truly was tired. "Let's just go already. I'm sure it's fine. If a bear wants to eat me at this point, honestly, it's fine."

Gritting her teeth, she slid down off of Hilda and marched off after him, soon catching up. She even went so far as to go ahead of him so she could peek briefly into the cave and give a one-shouldered shrug.

"Looks fine, yep, alright, grab our shit and let's go the fuck to sleep."

"Jealous? Why would I be jealous?" Alkereth replied nastily. "I do not hear you denying it, so you're proving my point." For whatever reason, the topic succeeded in making him extremely grumpy. "Maybe you should pray more."

His words were drowned out by Emery's laughter. Hissing through his nose, he turned heel to investigate the cave.

The cave was not very deep. When Alkereth walked inside, he had to bend down a little to avoid his skull hitting the stone roof, mildly cracked with roots breaking through. He saw that it contained old supplies from previous travelers, long since covered in dust. Frying pans, chopped firewood, thick rolled animal pelts to rest on. There was a chest with a lock that piqued Alkereth's interest, but not enough to try digging in there... yet.

Nobody had come in through here for ages. Supplies remained scant, but at least the cave was comfortable. Whatever else they needed was packed away on Hilda, he was sure.

"Perhaps... hunter's stay in here some times...?" he murmured, giving out a big yawn. At this point, he did not care about the previous occupants, but suffice to say, bears and wolves avoided this place. There was a small trickling stream nearby. A stream, however small, could mean fish.

Alkereth had already rolled out the furs. "I'll take tonight's watch," he reminded her. He was tired, but even if he could just sit down for a while, maybe even meditate beneath the light of the moon, he could regain a little strength.

"Quack. Alright Your Hyena-ness... first thing's first. Let's take a look at your shoulder." He was already sitting with legs crossed, patting the fur in front of him. "Don't worry, I couldn't heal it even if I wanted to. Magic's clean gone."

Through the midst of all of this, Alkereth was certain that Emery's horse quickly found the softest patch of grass to lie on. The poor girl needed rest, too.

"Deny what? That I've had sex? Consensual, passionate, sloppy dirty sex? That I—gasp!—didn't save myself for a marriage I'm never going to have? Oh, I am just the worst! Forgive me, Father, I have sinned and will sin again! Probably a lot!" Emery snorted with another roll of her eyes. She had been doing a lot of that lately.

She had followed him into the cave, taking note blearily that bears and wolves were likely the least of their concerns, considering all the human evidence strewn about. She still couldn't be assed to care—if hunters did decide to stop here and found them, oh well, at least she got some bloody sleep first. At that moment, the only thing she cared about were those furs and getting her ass on them.

Oh, and her shoulder. That, too.

The mage rolled out the furs, and her urge to flop down on them was tempered only by the knowledge that sudden movements hurt. So she settled down carefully in front of him, cross-legged as well, and had to fight back another loopy fit of giggles when he quacked. Oh, this was so stupid! But at least she didn't have to fight it too hard, because she was also about to get her arm fussed with and that was a bit of a mood-killer.

"Okay, Princess," she said once she had gotten comfortable. She fiddled with the amice with her good hand, doing her best to untie it. "Just be quick about this. You ever done this before? I know mages like you rely on magic for just about everything—practically helpless without it, some of you. So, uh. I'm no doctor, but I've had this done once before. I could probably guide you."

Not ideal. But whatever.

She managed to pick the knot loose and slid the amice off, holding her arm after to brace it. Her coat came after, painful but also fairly easy to get out of. "You're not going to like this part, but help me take off my shirt," she said, and quickly gave him a dry look.

"Don't worry, your virgin eyes will remain unblinded. I bind. There's nothing to see. Not much even without it, if I'm being honest."

She was already struggling to get her good arm out of the sleeve, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from whining too much. She knew what her shoulder must look like beneath her shirt—bruised and swollen and a bit lopsided. At least this time, it didn't feel like a complete dislocation. Maybe partial, since she could still move her arm if she wanted to, which she didn't because it was excruciating.

Alkereth grew tired of Emery's nonsense, and stuffed his fingers into his ears while yelling:

"LA LA LA LA LA NOT LISTENIIIIING."

When that didn't work (he could still pick up a few things that made him blush), he dropped his hands and scowled at her like a cat that had its tail trod on. Unclasping the old holy book bound in chain at his hip, he held it aloft, muttering an incomprehensible prayer, before attempting to give the top of Emery's head a light smack.

"I said... be quiet, you shameless slut."

He put his holy book away, helped untie his amice, and put that aside for now.

"No." He looked grumpier than ever. "Look, I'm not going to confirm nor deny whatever your assumptions are... but even if I am that... that word you just said... doesn't make me an idiot. I've seen women... unclothed before. Plenty of times." He failed to mention that these women were ancient sacred statues at his Temple. "Why bind if there's not much there, then?"

Trying to swallow back anything that threatened to reveal his insecurities (too late, to be honest), he also helped Emery out of her top. His hands trembled as he did this.

The bruise distracted from anything else, thankfully. He stared at it with a grimace. If only could heal the damn thing. "Alright," he said, heaving a huge exasperated sigh. "Tell me how to do this."

Was he seriously doing this? He was seriously doing this. Plugging his ears and babbling like a toddler. And now he was praying? Pulling out a book? Really?

"You have got to be kidding me. What are you--? Are you praying? Oh my GOD you are so childish--ack!" He smacked the top of her head before she saw it coming, and she swatted reflexively at his hand and missed. Wait a second!

"Did you just--did you try to exorcise me or something?" She was genuinely baffled. She couldn't even be mad about the slut comment--not that it was the first time she had heard it. Men could sow their wild oats to their heart's content and no one said a word, but if a woman dared do anything remotely similar, suddenly it was news.

And it just kept getting better.

Emery burst into laughter when he confirmed with a lot of denial that he was, indeed, pure as his snowy hair. He'd seen lots of naked women, he claimed. He wasn't an idiot, he claimed. She snickered, helping him with her shirt as much as she was able, practically feeling his nerves. Were his hands shaking? Oh my God. This was too rich. Did he not see how denial only made his situation worse?

"Boy, you're trembling like a maiden on her wedding night and we're not even getting naked," she said, grinning like a shark that smelled blood. Free of her shirt, she tossed it with her coat and shivered without her layers, goosebumps rising along her freckled skin. Beneath her clothes she had the slender build of a swordsman--not much bulk but a lot of lean, wiry muscle, with old scars lacing her arms. "But sure. Of course. You are oh so worldly, I'm sure, and definitely not undone by a little shoulder and clavicle."

His question about why she bound her chest made her twitch--and she could feel her cheeks warm, much to her dismay. "Because there's not nothing there!" she said, a sharpness to her voice that she hadn't intended. Struck a nerve, had he? It was one thing if she made the self-deprecating joke, and quite another if someone else commented! "Also it keeps my nipples from chaffing," she added with a sidelong look his way, reining in the insecurity as best as she could. "I could always just take it off if you feel it's unnecessary."

And she was not the sort to make empty bluffs.

She turned until her injured shoulder was facing him. "Alright. You'll like this part, I think, because you get to hurt me," she said with a wry smile. "Basically, uh..." She grimaced. She was so not ready, however necessary it was. This part hurt more than the initial injury--because the injury had had time to tense and swell and get all angry. She was already sweating despite the cold, because while they had joked about her being a masochist, she really wasn't. "I need you to...basically push it back in. When I had it done last time, he sort of...held my wrist and my upper arm and just pushed--slowly, but firmly. You'll feel it click. You'll see it, too. See how the bone isn't right and my collarbone's crooked? Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's it. Like I said, I'm not a doctor, I just vaguely remember it and how it was the fucking worst so...have fun!"

She took deep breaths. "Booze would be nice."

Oh, yes. Really. Alkereth, like Emery, had gone far off the deep end at this point; he merely had a different way of showing it. While he considered himself a professional when it came to serenity and calm, Emery had single-handedly managed to make all that disappear in one whole day. Why, she practically made him an entirely different person! Or... perhaps this side of Alkereth never actually went away. Until today, he had become alarmingly good at suppressing his inner self.

"Look at the pot calling the kettle black," the priest observed harshly. "I'm not the one laughing like a complete moron. Stop it."

He continued to attempt to shut Emery down, but it was useless.

"It's because I am not thrilled to do this, alright? I don't want to touch you. I don't want to h-he—" He paused and stumbled over his words as he let it fade into oblivion, knowing that whatever was going to come out of his mouth would be a lie. "You're going to send me away to be murdured or worse, for god's sake," he finished weakly. It wasn't what he was going to say, but at least it was the truth.

Well, that was sobering. He fell quiet as he gave in to a little bit of brooding, wondering for the upteenth time why he allowed himself to adhere so firmly to his convictions.

Deciding it best to change course, he quickly tackled the topic of Emery's breasts. His mood had taken a steep nosedive, so he was able to pragmatically talk about it without his face reddening—for once! In fact, as he spoke, he did so with a bit of impatience.

"I'm not sure what you mean. Big or small, I'm sure it's fine."

He surprised even himself that he was able to say this without choking.

"I don't know why you're offended or yelling at me still. It's just your anatomy. Nothing to be ashamed of." Why did HE sound offended when he said this?

He sighed exasperatedly again as he had a new obstacle to overcome: helping Emery's arm with absolutely no medical knowledge whatsoever.

"I was beginning to think you cut up your chest or something to make them small, but you apparently have nipples, so that theory is gone. Be still, I don't want your bindings off unless they're in the way for the task at hand."

He gave a noncommittal sound. "Yay, I get to hurt you," he said sarcastically. "Be quiet, woman. I need to focus."

Alkereth took a deep breath, took off his gloves, and descended his pale hands over her shoulder. His brows knitted together as he focused, feeling the bones and getting an idea of their location as Emery spoke to him. His hands are ice cold. Given that he wore gloves practically around the clock, his hands should feel warm.

"Bite down on this if you must." He handed Emery his amice. "I've seen other people do it. Anyway, it's just leather."

He waited for Emery to get her bearings first. "Alright. Are you ready?" Saying this, he held her arm in one hand, his other behind her shoulder. Admittedly, he was nervous, but he decided against telling her that.

It wasn't just the mage's mood that took a dive the moment he uttered the truth: what the end of this little journey entailed.

Emery fell quiet, and for a few moments it was a little hard to breathe. How stupid was it that she was so exhausted, with so little left to give, that even that had slipped from the front of her mind? The day had been so filled with one crisis after the other, and having to work together to get through it, that there hadn't been much thought there at all.

It had just...felt natural. For a few hours, he hadn't been just a mage but a partner. A partner she bickered with and teased like a friend—and she was doing it even still. She couldn't even blame being baited anymore, not when she had been an instigator herself.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

Her body went cold in a way unrelated to the weather, and even when he remarked on her anatomy, she couldn't find it in herself to bark back with much bite. What the fuck was she doing. How had she let her guard down this badly? She had never fucked up like this before—

But she had also never done a job alone, or bothered to talk to the mage. 

It was discouraged for a reason.

"Why would I cut them off? Who does that? Good God, you're so bloody weird," Emery sighed, sinking her face into her hand. He had reassured her. He had actually pulled a "all sizes are good sizes" with her. Why was that so mortifying coming from him?

"Look, just...enough about my brea—AH! Holy SHIT!" She yelped when he touched her with hands like glaciers, body jerking in a way that had her yelping again in pain, and then it was an all out valiant effort to hold still as he felt her injury. She was unsuccessful; she squirmed, both from the tenderness and the cold, gritting her teeth. "Goddammit, a little warning? Don't just dive on in, icicle hands. How do you even manage that?"

She snatched the amice from him and sucked in a shuddering breath. This was...the worst. Guilt gnawed at her belly, along with nerves—probably because of the nerves. And she always had been most honest when inebriated, whether from drinking or exhaustion. 

"I still don't understand why you're doing this," she said, breathing a little heavier. "But I won't blame you if you decide to just break my arm and take my horse. It would be well-earned. That said—do your worst." She shoved the amice between her teeth.

"I'm weird?" Alkereth scoffed. "You are the one that made it sound like they weren't there, so I assumed perhaps that you cut them off. You boast about practicality what with your chosen... attire. Anyway, I have heard about tribes of women cutting their breasts for the purpose of using a bow, so." He shrugged. "It's not unheard of, and frankly, I do not care. Didn't I say to be quiet?"

Emery's reaction to his cold hands earned a smirk and a roll of his eyes. "Oh, don't be such a baby. That is just the symptom of my... race. Do not worry, after this you do not have to suffer my cold hands again."

The drama of it all made Alkereth roll his eyes again, but he did it because... frankly, he was not sure, either. Helping his captive was stupid beyond a reasonable doubt. Even his own mother would have something to say about this. So would Lunrath. Oh, Lunrath especially.

"Perhaps it's because I'm going insane, being a mage and all," he quipped savagely. "And you're right, it would be well earned. You're the most despicable human I've ever met. But..." He offered a little smile. "You're... you're a good fighter. Back there... when the bounty hunters ambushed us... I was thankful at the time that I was not the one at the end of your knife."

And giving this as something nice for Emery to think about for once (a compliment, wowee gosh golly gee!), Alkereth found a spot he considered and shoved her arm inward. He was not exactly gentle about it, either, but he knew this was not the time to be. If he was too gentle, he was sure he would only hurt Emery more, and he would have to try again.

Despite everything, he did not want to hurt her.

"I'm not being a baby, you ass. You're frostbite personified! No wonder you've never been laid!"

Most despicable human ever, huh? Maybe so. In that moment, she felt whatever he did to her, she had it coming. What she did was necessary—and that never meant she had to enjoy it. She didn't enjoy butchering chickens, either, but when they stopped laying and there was no other food about, it had to be done. Killing in self-defense didn't feel nice, but when it was her or the other person, of course she had to choose herself. It wasn't supposed to feel good. Sometimes, the right choice was fucking awful.

...Right?

But laced amongst the insult was a smile and a twist. Emery blinked, genuinely surprised, because amongst all their quips and jabs there had never been a compliment. And why should there be? Kindness. Helping her. Complimenting her. Standing by her and defending her instead of leaving her to die when he had a chance. Never once taking any of the many opportunities he had to run. Why was he like this? Why wasn't he fighting her? She wanted him to! Why did he have to—

Then the pain hit.

Emery screamed around the amice, biting down until her jaw ached, and though she knew, logically, not to fight this, she also physically could not sit still. Her eyes watered and she squirmed, and she grabbed onto her own thigh with her free hand and squeezed until it hurt so she didn't wind up punching the mage in the face instead.

Kill her. It would have been cleaner if he just finished her off here and now! Because then she wouldn't have to endure an already painful procedure—only this time done by a total amateur.

He had no idea what he was doing and she was a terrible instructor, fuck them both for not having medical knowledge! Maybe this was a bad idea! Panting, trying hard not to sob and failing, and trying to wriggle away from him, she spit the amice out and smacked at his shoulder. "Is it IN YET?! Holy fuck, ah, stop, stop!"

Alarmed, Alkereth immediately stopped at Emery's behest. He held still, holding on to her, resisting the temptation to keep going.  He was so close!

Meanwhile, not far off, a pair of hunters carrying a deer carcass between them stopped.

"You hear that, Bobby?"

"Hear what, Billy?"

"Shh!"

They both fell quiet, and listened.

"It's not my fault you made it super hard," Alkereth snapped. "If you'd stop squirming so much, I'd be able to get it in!"

Billy's jaw dropped. Bob had a wide grin on his face, snickering like a twelve year old. They couldn't help it; they crept a little closer.

"It's not supposed to feel good, but once I get it in, it'll feel so much better, I promise! Besides, it was made to fit, right? Just a little more, come on, come on... I'm so close!"

There was some silence, but not for long.

"I don't understand how it's suddenly so tight. Hmm... here's a better idea, put this in your mouth again..." Alkereth offered the amice.

He stopped, and Emery took a moment to just breathe and try to get herself back together. And then the mage was snapping at her and blaming her for this, and she stiffened.

"I told you to go slow!" she snapped back, wiping quickly at her eyes. "You're not supposed to just ram it in like a beast! Maybe I wouldn't squirm so much if you'd be gentler!"

Then he was giving it another go, and Emery cried out, a whimper in her voice, "Oh, fuck me! That fucking hurts! Slow down, you jackass! Don't go so hard! Ah! Hold up! Stop!"

Once again, she snatched the amice from his hand and took deep, shuddering breaths. She was going to crack a tooth or bite off her tongue, but all the same she hated having it in the way when she really wanted to yell at him. "Alright. Alright, fuck, this isn't working. Let's try a different position," she said, adjusting herself. "Maybe you have a point. Maybe just...maybe you just have to just get it over with. Just...shove it in, and don't stop until it's in. Even if I scream. Alright?"

And she bit down on the amice again and held her breath.

Billy and Bobby shamelessly shared a glance, then quickly looked away, looking like a pair of helium balloons fit to burst. They had to shove their knuckles into their mouths to stifle their giggles.

"For god's sake, woman, if you want gentle, then go find yourself another man!"

Billy and Bobby heard brief shuffling.

"Yes, good, a different position would make things easier for me by miles," Alkereth agreed feverishly, poking his tongue out as he leveraged Emery's arm on his knee. "What, are you saying you're not enjoying this?" He gave Emery a shit-eating grin, just to mess with her. "At least one of us is having fun... joking, joking!"

Billy and Bobby doubled over, wheezing.

"I'm not going that fast! I don't think slowing down will help, though. Okay, I need you to back up a little... would this be easier if you were on your back? Or—what if you lie flat on your belly? It's a little difficult at this angle... and you're still not helping! Okay, to heck with it, I'm giving us way too much time to think about it."

Alkereth grimaced as he attempted again to get Emery's arm back in position, and did not stop even if she screamed bloody murder.

"You motherfucker," Emery growled around the amice when he asked if she was enjoying this, and gave her that shit-eating grin. She scowled at him through her tears, but there was danger in that look. Fine. Fine. Calmly, she took the amice back out. He had asked for it, and she was delirious enough, and near-hysterical enough with pain, to give it to him.

"Oh God YES! Yes, fuck, it hurts so fucking good! Oh GOD, yes, give it to me! Hurt me! Harder!" she moaned, quite ecstatically as she had promised, before she paused and shot him a dark glare. "Did you like that, hmm? Is that what you want? Then shut the fuck up and just get on with it!"

Get on with it he did.

He said he was going for it, and Emery had time only to shove the amice back in her mouth before he was wrenching at her arm. Once again, she screamed and tried to buck away from him. She cried and begged for him to stop, grabbing at his shoulder for support and then at his hair, never one to be a good patient because when it came right down to it, she was a bit of a wuss. It wasn't so much about the pain but the lack of control she had in the situation.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she felt something pop. The relief was instant. The pain was still there, sore and grating and tender, but the actual pain decreased several notches to a bearable amount. She gasped out, spitting the amice out. "There! It's in! Fucking finally!"

She slumped against him, panting and sweaty and spent. "Oh God, holy shit, that's so good, you have no idea."

Billy and Bobby gaped at the mouth of the cave. Let's face it, they heard Emery loud and clear.

Meanwhile, Alkereth flushed as Emery exhibited the most carnal sound he had ever heard from a human being. He was rather speechless as he grunted with the effort of working her arm. He did not trust himself to open his mouth, so he kept his eyes down.

After a few more attempts (and grunts, as it were), he heard a satisfying pop. Alkereth gave a gasp of relief, chest heaving. He was actually sweating!

"See? I told you it wasn't so bad. Move it up and down a bit to get a feel for it. Perhaps go in circular motions, then go counter-clockwise. Mix it up a bit, but don't overdo it. It's important to move at your own pace. Does it feel good?"

Admittedly, Alkereth felt satisfied for a job well-done.

Billy decided right then and there to shout: "OY, FELLA, MAKE SURE YOUR PULL-OUT GAME IS STRONG!"

Bobby chimed in: "AYE, STUD, GO EASY ON THE LASS!"

Both men started that gut-busting laugh that was loud and obnoxious. By the time Alkereth poked his head out of the cave, both disappeared over a hill with their deer in tow.

"What was that all about?" Alkereth scowled, misliking potential strangers nosing into their business. "Well, at any rate, I suppose I'm just glad that they're not bounty hunters."

"It's still a bit sore," Emery said as she sat up and rotated her arm gingerly, sighing with relief. "But it'll get better with time. Goddamn, it's so much better than—"

And that was the moment two male voices called out, and Emery froze, her eyes going wide, her first thought being the hunters that had stalked them until...oh.

Oh.

Pull-out game.

Go easy on the lass.

No fucking way.

Emery burst into laughter, sinking her face into her hand, and when the mage returned from checking things out and expressed confusion, she let out a little wheeze. Was he that naive?! Really! Not a virgin, indeed!

Straightening up, she flashed him a feral smile. "Perverts, is what that's about. Goddamn voyeurs. They thought we were fucking, mage," she said, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Congratulations, you've been deflowered in the hearts of two nasty men while I have had the single worst sexual experience of my life. What a day—oh."

His shoulder felt sticky under her hand, and slightly crusty. She grimaced, sharply reminded of his wound, and pulled her hand back. "Sor—er, that is...never mind. Do you, uh...want me to do something about that? Now that I can move my arm again?"

"Wait—what?"

Alkereth tensed, looking around at the Mordecai with a strange intensity. Is that what those nosy idiots thought? The audacity. The nerve! The gall and the gumption!

Fraught by worry, he proceeded to fidget with his gloves as he slipped them back on, desperately trying to keep his hands from trembling.

"Is that really what they thought? I imagined... not that I actually imagined it, mind, just... as filthy as it is, I thought that perhaps it would be... more... I don't know... romantic. You know. Candlelights, poetry, songs of blistering love! But all the garbage we just said... that should never be likened t-to... making... love. It didn't even sound remotely romantic! How could this be?!"

Alkereth looked terribly lost. With hands on either side of his head, he looked truly distressed about this.

"Anyway, it... it doesn't matter! You've got your arm in, yes? I suppose it's bed time for you, now. Good-night."

Pointedly looking away out of sheer embarrassment, he hastily brought out his holy book, settled on his own roll of fur, and took this time to get lost in the old pages that he practically memorized. Since he had told Emery that he would take the night's watch, and planned on staying awake anyway, he could think of no better use of his time.

Emery had since asked about his shoulder. "Oh... right. To be honest, the day's... excitement made me forget all about it." The wound stung, even more so now that he had given it notice. "If I take a bit to relax, I should be able to heal it... don't... don't worry. Just... go to sleep."

The reminder distracted Alkereth from his book as his thoughts drifted back to the Harbinger and her Starmount.

Was he serious?

The man looked legitimately distressed in a way that made her want to pat him on the head and say, "there, there."

At least he was no longer trying to awkwardly pretend to be something he wasn't.

He tried to dismiss the subject and send her to bed as soon as he brought it up, but of course Emery wouldn't let it go that easily.

Rubbing her shoulder, she snorted. "Look, Princess, there's a difference between fucking and love-making," she said, lips quirked in a crooked smile. Why was this so bloody amusing? Well, amusing, and also slightly...sad. Legitimately sad, not pathetic sad.

"Fucking is, you know, carnal, passionate, raw, 'filthy', maybe rough if you're into that. Just purely physical. You don't have to love someone to fuck them, it doesn't have to mean anything. Love-making is--" She waved her hand. "--all that other shit you said. You can fuck someone you love, of course, and even switch over to love-making, but--ah, fuck, why am I even telling you all this, what the actual hell? Anyway, we probably sounded like two dumbass teens fumbling around trying to find the hole."

She stretched a little, testing her arm's range of motion, flexing her fingers and rotating her wrist. "Why are you so bothered, anyway? Celibate by choice, isn't that what you said? You don't have to worry about any of that."

Not that he would need to worry about it even if he wasn't. Not where he was going.

That strange sick feeling returned. She tried to swallow it back down.

After all the agony and the fresh adrenaline rush that had brought, Emery was a bit wired. It would be a bit before she could come back down, as much as she wanted to sleep--and needed to. She pat the furs, coughing at the cloud of dust that rose from them, and waved it away as best as she could. "Suit yourself. Just thought I'd offer," she said. "Let me know if you change your mind, preferably before it gets infected."

She stared down at the furs, as though something was eating at her mind. Grabbing for her shirt and coat, she began to put them back on, wincing as she moved her arm. At least she could dress and undress on her own, now.

"Listen, mage. I, uh..." She chewed her lip, trying to gather her thoughts. Fuck. She didn't owe him anything, as she had said before. She didn't ask for his help. She didn't ask him to protect her, fight for her, make her a meal, fix her arm. She didn't want any of that--not really. She didn't want to be indebted to him. Why couldn't he just...fight her? Try to hurt her? Be an asshole or something? Anything. Why did he have to be so...so...

Emery drew a deep breath.

"Thank you," she finally said without looking at him.

'Thank you.'

Gratitude. That is what Alkereth heard. It shocked him to his very core, rendering him speechless once more. What should he say? How should he respond? What madness is this?

Finding his voice, Alkereth replied in a far more tender tone than he had ever given her: "Rest well."

The book was all but forgotten at this point; he had now his thoughts to consume his time.

Aside from the absolute insanity the last two days brought him, his reflection of their time together made him realize something:

He was beginning to grow fond of Emery.

Which was a terrible and dangerous thing. Her treatment of him was not exactly what he'd call kind. Alas, time has a way of molding friendships out of the most unlikely of places. Would he—should he—consider her a friend?

His circumstances will have a bleak ending, so his first thought was a fat and resounding no. They had come so far, but that did not mean that Emery still did not desire her coin to help her adoptive family, and Alkereth did not desire his freedom to resume his duties as a Harbinger.

No—in the end, their selfish natures would take over despite everything, and that is all there was to it. There was still that awful chink in the armor of his plan: the fact that he made a fucking promise to Emery that he would follow her. He could not escape. If only he had been right in his mind, and keep his mouth shut so that no promise was ever given.

But...

They did have quite an undertaking that many people never saw once in their lifetime, and Alkereth had been watching Emery closely. All his hard work... he chose mercy, had he not?

He chose mercy.

Even now, he chose not to strangle the Mordecai in her sleep. He chose to uphold his promise, to show her that even one with extraordinary powers was not as bad as she thinks he is. Alkereth never felt 'mad' as Emery described before—at least not in the extreme sense; he had seen things that made him question his sanity, but he was always so good at keeping himself grounded before getting lost in the mist, so to speak. And for that matter, he always used his powers responsibly. He tried to show Emery this, too.

Show, don't tell.

He believed that perhaps, after hearing Emery's shocking gratitude, that he had successfully changed something about the Mordecai as he'd hoped. The only question now, was... will it have a permanent mark? Would she show compassion to other mages like himself?

Alkereth sighed. This, and the Harbinger in the woods, had begun to give him a tension headache. He rubbed his neck and his temples, ignoring the dull ache in his shoulder. The wound had long stopped bleeding, and started to heal on its own. It was honest-to-goodness a nick from the arrow, however deep and painful, but it could have been worse. The other Harbinger shot him, but chose to miss his head, or his heart. Why? There was definitely more to this story, and it pained Alkereth not to have any answers.

The night wore on with hardly any incidents. The sky twinkled with stars Alkereth did not recognize. Unfamiliar patterns and constellations that made him wonder, but only briefly. A half moon peeked from behind a cloud, shining upon his pale face. He could feel it's energy grow inside of him. It was small, but he felt it.

For once, it was easy to stay awake. He did not feel tired, but he could feel some of his strength and energy returning after bathing beneath the light of the moon. It was enough for him to finally heal the wound on his shoulder, so he did so in silence. Unfortunately said energy had gone, but more time in the moonlight should give some of it back. The Aetherian moon would have given him his full prowess in a matter of only a few short hours.

Early morning arrived. Alkereth had started a couple of fish on a spit. He emitted a wide yawn.

It was a long time before Emery could sleep.

She curled up among the furs with her eyes shut, laying on her good side, and though she was exhausted her mind wouldn't let her settle.

What the fuck was she doing?

The day had been an exhausting, stressful blur—and that hadn't really stopped. She had been hoping that sleep would come quickly so she wouldn't be left to think, but that was a mercy she wasn't afforded. Since she couldn't sleep, she could only think—and she hated being left alone with her thoughts.

Because all that was left now was crushing guilt. 

Ever since she had met him, she had been nothing but cruel and he had been nothing but kind. He didn't run. He didn't fight. He could have killed her if he wanted to—a mage who could use magic in her presence? God, she had seen what he could do, and hell, he wouldn't even need magic to do it. But he had only harmed for her sake. For her protection.

Why?

And why was he going along with this? For God's sake, he knew what was coming. She hadn't told him everything, but she had told him enough.

He knew he was likely going to die.

Shivering a little, Emery curled in tighter on herself as though that would relieve the tightness in her chest. He was going to die. Oh fuck. But...no. Why should she care? He wasn't the first mage she had sent away. He wouldn't be the last. And yet...every fucking time she thought of it, of their journey's goal, some other stupid intrusive thought burrowed into her brain.

Their teasing, which had somehow gone from mean to...almost friendly banter?

How stupid he looked waddling to the Shame Bush.

The genuine concern she saw when she was held at knifepoint.

How fucking awkward—even innocent—he was.

He wouldn't last. He wouldn't last a day. He would get eaten alive. He—

If he runs, I won't follow.

The thought came unbidden, and yet once it did, it was hard to shake, crazy as it was. He had the opportunity. Consider it repayment. 

If he didn't take it, it wasn't her fault. If he took it, it wasn't her fault, either, since she was still in no shape to stop him. No one had to know. Except...fuck...no, God knew her heart—she could not fool Him. Besides, she had seen what the mage was capable of. And hadn't he called himself a Harbinger? That something was to happen because of him or something? If she let him go, and some tragedy came of it down the line, she would have to live with the consequences of her cowardice. Once a mage touched magic, madness came for them all in time...right?

It was what she had always been told, and she had no reason not to believe it. She had been taught the history of their nation; she had seen the ruins in Fell and dealt with mages who were plague-ridden from it. She had long felt not enough was being done, and supported the moves for aggressive action—lost friends over it, even. She'd had encounters with mages who were genuinely awful, horrific people—but had dealt with others who just seemed...normal.

That was the problem, wasn't it? Even the normal ones would succumb in time. It had been a "normal" one that had—

No. Emery sucked in a breath, tried to calm her racing heart. No, she was not doing this. She was not going down that path before sleeping, for she had done it too many times before. Cheek pillowed on her hand, she had been rubbing along the raised scar running across her face, and she curled her hand against her chest to stop it. Fuck this. She knew the truth. Right?

So why had things suddenly gotten so complicated?

God help her, despite everything, had she come to...not...hate this mage?

She had made a mistake. She didn't know the exact moment it happened, but somewhere along the line, she had fucked up in a big way and let her guard down just a little—and that was all it took, wasn't it? That was why she had always been so damned careful. For a few moments, a few pockets here and there, she had treated him as a friend. And those pockets had grown. Dangerously.

Fuck everything. Especially her own goddamned stupidity. 

Clenching her eyes shut, she did her best to sleep. 

If he ran, he ran.

If he killed her in her sleep after all, well, guess she died.

And if he did neither...God help her, it wasn't her fault.

Somehow, she finally passed out, and it was a blessedly deep sleep free of dreams. When she woke, she didn't feel exactly rested, but she did feel better. Physically. Still sore, but it would be weeks before her arm was right. But better. 

Mentally...

A quick look around the cave found the mage still there, roasting fish on a spit now.

Fuck.

Emery rubbed the crust from her eyes, sat up slowly and stretched, and cast him a tired look. "Oh. You're still here."

Another little stretch, rotating her arm in its socket, and she gave the fish a skeptical look. "Maybe you should have left that to me," she said, frowning. "You know. Explosive shits and all. I'm not sure how much I trust your cooking skills."

Alkereth was wearing his amice, his Divine Protectors gleaming on his shoulder, forever judging the actions of their bearer. Some bite marks made their indentation on the leather bits that he seemed to have forgotten about. When Emery woke up, and gave commentary on his presence, the Harbinger grunted and lifted his hands in an exasperated gesture.

"I'm just as surprised as you are, if I'm honest. Fish?"

Emery was not wrong about his cooking skills. He frowned at the fish on a stick that he offered his captor.

"You're never going to let that one go, are you? I'm not used to eating wild game. That could be why I had indigestion. What do you think? Is it safe? All I did was catch them upstream; they were really stupid fish. They're skinny little things... worthy of a snack than a complete breakfast. Here."

He let Emery take over this time around. She was perhaps more experienced at this sort of thing, anyway.

"I suppose we should eat quickly and be on our way, yes? We don't want to waste daylight like we did yesterday. Not that... the obstacles we ran into was our fault."

Now that he thought about it, he realized that those 'obstacles' were mostly, if not all his fault. Oops. But it's not like he asked to be chased around!

"I packed up Hilda. I think she picked up a stone and seemed to worry over it, but it's gone now; her hooves are clean. She seems rested and ready to go. Did you sleep well?"

Emery inspected the fish closely, eyes narrowed critically, but it was more for show. He had done a decent job of it, and when she tore one open (and hissed when it burned, of course, dummy), it was cooked through and steaming. Good. The last thing either of them needed was to pick up some parasite.

"Doesn't look like poison," she said, sucking her burned finger. "And of course I'm not going to let that go. It's fucking hilarious. You looked so stupid, almost shitting your pants like that. Posh little princess can't handle a little rabbit, goddamn, what did you grow up eating? Expensive wines and fattened up duck?"

All the same, she gladly took over and let the fish cook a little longer to give it some crisp. The char would give it some flavor, and they would need that since it looked like Trash Fish—some sort of bottom feeder that people ate only out of necessity.

Oh well. Waste not.

When she was satisfied, she offered him a stick and took one for herself, settling down cross-legged near him. She cast him a sidelong look, one eyebrow raised as she chewed the tough meat. Alright, perhaps she had overcooked it a tad...

"Why are you in such a hurry? Eugh." She spit out a bone, making a face, but took another bite. "I mean, I know why I'm in a hurry. I'm filthy, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm fairly keen on taking your advice and finding another man. I'm even keener on getting this over with. But you?"

She picked out another bone. "You are so...frustrating."

"Oh, good, I did something right for once." Alkereth, though straight-faced, threw up his hands in mock celebration. "Hooray."

At least it would be enough, right? The fish looked pathetic, but the char made it tasty. It was honestly better than the stupid hare. "If I wanted to poison you, I'd have done it a long time ago."

'Why are you in such a hurry?'

"I... I don't know."

'You are so frustrating.'

"So are you."

Alkereth nibbled the fish, and tossed the stick aside when he had finished. Speaking of frustrated, he realized that the fish wasn't enough after all.

"We can take our time, then, geez."

But he had the same sentiments. "I'd give anything for a proper bath. And a decent bed. Good service. Delicious food. And a maintained fireplace. Think about it, Emery." He waved his hands dreamily in the distance, as if he was trying to conjure his imagination into reality. "A nice turkey leg dripping in sauce... carrots and peas swimming in a tender roast... spiced sausages and ham, fresh baked bread, strawberry cakes..." His stomach made an obnoxious sound that agreed with him. His cheeks warmed. "Anyway, my hair feels gross. How can I look presentable to the Mage-Hating Brigade with greasy hair and—is that a bite mark?" Alkereth frowned at one of the long sleeves. "Look at this, Mordecai! I can't possibly go anywhere looking like this. Ugh, I feel disgusting. And you smell, too. So, so bad. Like the rear end of a cow."

He pulled his knees up to his chin, holding his legs to his chest. It was probably not the best time to be wishing for such luxuries, but he was allowed to dwell in it for just a moment.

"Well, I'm as good as it's going to get, so you're stuck with me until..." He paused awkwardly. "You're stuck with me," he repeated sarcastically.

Damn. He really didn't know what else to say.

The fish was gone too soon, but it took the edge off—just barely—but did nothing to ease the persistent nausea. Emery had thought that was just hunger, but was beginning to realize it was just...

...Stress?

She tossed the stick aside with a sigh, feeling moody and tired in a way that had little to do with the amount of sleep she had gotten, because she had gotten quite enough to be functional. They could take their time, he said, as if he was the one setting the pace here. Did she want that, to take their time? Was she stalling? No. Definitely not. 

She just needed a bloody break. 

Just a few minutes before they were back in the saddle.

The mage was not helping matters, though.

He painted a glorious picture with his words, of a warm establishment with rich foods that she only really got to enjoy on holidays. "How fucking dare you," she said with a groan, unable to hide her smirk when his stomach growled. "Why would you torment me so? Ughhh. Well. I do know a place at the next town that has...a few of those amenities, if scaled down. Perhaps we can splurge. I guess. You'll have to deal with your oh so shabby clothes, though. How horrific." She rolled her eyes, because his clothes were fancier than anything she'd ever worn. "I'm not buying you a new wardrobe."

But getting cleaned up, a nice bed, and a full belly? She could afford that.

And the money she got from him would more than make up for the cost.

Again, that sick feeling returned in a rush, a little stronger this time, and she cleared her throat. Whatever. It didn't matter.

"Anyway, I'd rather smell like a cow's ass than literal shit. Did you mess yourself back at the bush?" She ran a hand through her hair, frowning, for it was sticking up every which way and felt absolutely foul from old sweat and who knows what else. Oh, she knew she reeked, and she had another man's dried blood on her, too. And her own blood, crusted at her neck. She had been trying very hard to ignore it.

"So," she said after a pause, rubbing at her arm, more of a fidgeting action than anything. "Since we're stuck together for the time, why don't you humor me. Tell me about your...horse." Unaware that she was mirroring the mage, nor what that gave away about her thoughts, she drew her knees to her chest and hugged them, because the pressure made her belly ache a little less. 

"How do you go about losing an entire star horse or whatever that is? And what did you say before? A battle you lost or whatever?"

Why was she even asking. She didn't actually care. But her brain was buzzing uncomfortably, like she was looking for something, but she wasn't quite sure what. 

Just a few more moments and they would go. Just a few more minutes of rest, that was all.

Alkereth was surely going to pass out from all the times he sighed loud and heavy in front of Emery. "Yes, Emery, it was a thing of horrors. I've beaten the biological odds and gave birth to a massive poo that gained sentience and oozed away to terrorize the next town in all its smelly glory. There, the plot to your next nightmares tonight, enjoy."

This was followed up with the smirkiest smirk that ever smirked on his face. "Still have an appetite after that image? I could still use a nice turkey leg..." Okay, so maybe he was actually hoping Emery would take the initiative and treat them both to a roof over their heads and a decent meal. "A little tired of hunting for your fat butt."

Alkereth pouted. "I've no doubt the fashion sense in this place is next to nonexistent, anyway." He was pursing his lips over at Emery's clothes.

The furs provided by the occupants before them was given a fond pat before he rolled them up. It was only right to tidy up the place for the next visitors. More of the Mage-Hating Brigade, he thought wryly.

Emery's question caught him off guard. Was she really that curious about his horse? He dusted himself off, thinking. There was a glint of sadness in his eyes.

"Oh, she's... beyond anything you've ever seen before. A true marvel. And my best friend. We've been through so much together... Lunrath and I. That's her name... Lunrath... yes..."

The next question was a little unexpected... and unsurprisingly, painful. He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Yes, it was... it was a monster that I fought. Chasing after us." Alkereth scratched the back of his head. "I'm sorry... I don't remember much. It happened too fast. One moment we were traveling, and the next, this... thing... it descended upon us. Not long after, we... we got separated. I think perhaps she was trying to save me at the... the expense of her own life, but... I don't want to believe that she's..."

He inhaled.

"Sorry," he murmured again, gazing despondently out of the cave. "It is extremely difficult to talk about."

He looked terribly hurt, and turned his head back to Emery, opening his mouth as if he was about to say something, but he held himself back. He continued to look at Emery this way, however.

Thoroughly disgusted (but also secretly amused and impressed by his sheer creativity, bravo, that might indeed haunt her later), Emery endured his nightmare fuel shit story with a wrinkled nose--and then kicked his boot when he had to tack on the "fat butt" comment after it all. "Fat, my ass! It's all muscle! I've worked very hard on it. God didn't give me tits so He had to give me something," she huffed, raising her chin haughtily. "A nun like you couldn't possibly appreciate such a masterpiece."

And then he was going off about fashion, of all things, and she just stared blankly at him. Really? The man with literal angels tacked to his shoulder was going on about fashion? Emery's eyes were going to get stuck from all the times she'd rolled them into her skull.

She let him pack up, but didn't contribute except to move off of the one she was sitting on, because she was happy right where she was. He was the one in a hurry, for whatever reason. She was enjoying the first slow moment she had had in days.

When she asked about his horse, she figured she had about a fifty percent chance of getting a real answer or getting some vague handwavey shit. He had been dodgy around other questions, and she hadn't pushed too hard to be fair, but his horse had seemed...safe. Like something he liked talking about. It was the first thing he had asked about when he had been dying in that crater, his eyes had lit up like stars when he saw the Deer Lady's mount, and he had described the creatures--the Star Beasts or whatever--in far more detail when she asked than he had anything else. She told herself she didn't care, but in truth she was...curious. As much as she tried to keep her distance, something kept drawing her back in.

And he did answer.

Lunrath. Ah. He had said that word--name--in the crater. And then he went on, describing how he lost her. A monster attack, a sacrifice. The way he talked about her, was she...intelligent? Intelligence beyond a normal horse? She sounded magical, of course, since he had spoken of shifting, and somehow the way he called her his "best friend" sounded a bit more literal than the way in which some referred to their dogs as their best friends. She loved Hilda, of course, but she couldn't see herself describing her the way he described this Lunrath.

And she would be sad if she lost Hilda of course, but...he looked devastated.

His story sounded plausible. There were lost of beasts and "monsters" about. Manticores, dragons, kelpies, all manner of dangerous creature. And he had said he got hurled, hadn't he? Thus, the crater, that he somehow survived by praying...

"You have the worst fucking luck, don't you?" she said after a pause, now having new context to the events that lead to her finding him. And that was about all she could say. She couldn't offer him some shallow comfort like "well I'm sure you'll find your horse eventually" because no, he wouldn't. She couldn't show sympathy at all, because she had put him in this position in the first place. So why had she bothered to ask? Hell if she knew. And yet, it somehow felt important to know.

Because...he had demonstrated that he was no monster.

Loud and clear, with every moment he stuck around, helped her, spared her life, laughed with or at her.

Emery swallowed, picking at the cuticles of her thumb. "So...Lunrath. The special shiny pony. Is she like...I don't know, can she talk or--?"

She cut off, because he was staring at her like a kicked puppy, his mouth partially open. She froze, stared back, glanced briefly behind herself, and then cocked her head with an eyebrow raised, "What? Do I have something in my teeth or something?"

Emery only knew the half of it. Luck to Alkereth was never something he put much stock in. As of late, he had a number of reasons why such a detestable word was kicked from his vocabulary outright.

For the time being, Alkereth could only listen and vaguely nod in answer, virtually spiritless. The topic of Lunrath was always rough, something he avoided—or sometimes hooked his fingers into—because he simply did not know how to handle the loss. Eventually, he was going to break.

That time was now.

"Give me... a moment..." Alkereth swallowed, the muscles in his face and neck tensing as he worked up the strength to give Emery words. In a pragmatic sense, to say anything about Lunrath should not have been so hard, but only few ever shared a special bond as a Harbinger and his Starmount.

It was with extraordinary grace in Alkereth's eyes that Emery was taking this with a modicum of gravitas. She did not smirk, or laugh. The cracks in her own humanity was starting to show. The wall crumbling, divulging a sliver of compassion. It may be small, but it is what Alkereth sensed.

He had longed for it his whole life.

It was strange, for in that moment, his watery scarlet eyes rose to meet Emery's own, and for once he found that he could not look away. It was too late, he revealed too much of himself in only seconds, and he felt something inside snowball at an alarming speed, spiraling into a place he would rather avoid and punch deep into a dark pit, never to rise again. He heaved in a breath after feeling his eyes burn with something alien. When he lifted a hand to rub his eyes, and drew it away, he found that his gloved hand had become damp. As cold as his flesh had always been, he could feel warmth pool with a deep pink hue within his face.

Shit. He never meant to become this vulnerable around his captor, for god's sake. But who else in the world did he have? No one. No one, but this confusing, irritating, awful woman. How bizarre, these feelings.

"Y-you... m-might be... the only p-person in the world who knows about my d-dearest friend," he began, blinking rapidly. He had to clasp his hands together to stop his body from trembling. "If it's not t-too much trouble—if you see her... b-believe me, you will know... if she is a-alive... p-perhaps you c-could... let... let her know... that I am okay. But t-tell her... it will be time to find a n-new Harbinger."

Oh.

Oh fuck no.

Oh no, no, no.

He wasn't. He wasn't going to...to...

Shit...

He was crying.

Emery was no stranger to tears. He was not the first mage who had broken down, or begged. It happened. It came with the territory. But she had always been able to keep a wall up between them, and had always had support through it all, fellow Mordecai and hunters who could shoulder the burden and offer validation and understanding--yes, it's hard, but it's the right thing to do.

It never felt like too much, even when it got rough.

And above all else, she never spoke to the mage. None of them did, at least not more than was necessary.

All the usual barriers were gone here, though, and she had already broken too many rules.

She had gotten to know him. Only a little, but too much.

She thought she could handle it.

Emery stared at him, her green eyes wide and lips slightly parted in a breath she forgot to take. When he looked at her with those scarlet eyes, all red and swollen with tears, panic shot through her like a jolt--but she could not look away. Her mind raced, her body tensed, and she felt fully paralyzed in a primal, uncomfortable way. At the best of times she was not the best when it came to...to this. And now she felt like she was seeing something she shouldn't--this raw vulnerability, this deep pain dragged up to the surface and put on display.

Then he spoke.

Fuck me.

She wished he hadn't.

Something inside her broke. And in that moment as she met his eyes--because it felt wrong to look away, no matter how unsettling--it was not the cold, callous, irreverent Mordecai that met his gaze. Instead it was her, the woman behind the wall: a person whose friends called her "Em", who loved dogs almost as much as life itself, whose family was taken far too soon, who wanted to be liked more than she let on and kept others at arm's length because she just could not bear to let others in--could not survive another loss. For an unbearable moment that felt like forever, she felt utterly stripped bare.

It was a rare moment when she didn't know what to do.

She had taken charge her entire life--she had been forced to grow up young. She would never call herself a leader, because she wasn't, but she could lead. Split-second decisions came naturally to her, and her confidence was entirely self-taught, and often performed more than felt, until she felt it for real. Doing always mattered more than feeling, though. Fake it until you make it, right? And she did. She made it. She even tricked herself into feeling brave when she wasn't. She never had an issue with that, and prided herself on her adaptability. Because what mattered most, above all else, was having a modicum of control, for better or for worse.

Yet she felt none of that bravado here. She couldn't even fake it. The mage was crumbling before her, his heart raw and bloody and beating for all to see, and she felt powerless to look away, to snap at him, to demand he pull himself together. She just stared as he made his request, breathless, her chest so tight it hurt.

Let her know he was okay.

He wouldn't be.

Tell her it will be time to find a new Harbinger.

FUCK this.

She slammed the wall back down, but it still cracked a little.

"Grab your things," she said abruptly, voice strangely hoarse and unusually quiet, but there was a sharpness there, too. Her shoulders were tight, her back rigid, and there was a hard set to her jaw, an intensity to her gaze. She was scarcely breathing, her chest only rising and falling the barest amount. She was doing everything in her power not to let on that her throat wanted to close up and her eyes wanted to burn. "Get to Hilda. Go. I'll be right behind you."

She rose sharply to her feet and walked--more like stormed--out of the cave and toward the creek, and it was only once the mage was behind her and in the distance that she let go of some of the painful tension she'd been maintaining. That tension was the only thing that had kept her from shaking, the only thing that had kept her breaths steady instead of the heaving, trembling bursts that came out of her then.

It was only once she had gotten to the sheltering safety of a thick-trunked tree and ducked behind it that she let herself crash.

She dropped to her knees and vomited until she had nothing left to give, until she could do nothing but dry heave between shuddering, strangled sobs. Sobs? What the fuck? When had that happened? But once the floodgates had opened, there was no shutting them again until it was through, and she could only wrap her arms around herself and rock, trying hard to rein herself in, get a hold of herself, and figure out where the fuck this had come from. Was she sick? Was it her turn this time? That had to be it. She hadn't felt well, but she hadn't been sleeping. Hadn't really been eating. Still had nothing in her belly after all this.

She wiped aggressively at her eyes and nose as both leaked--it was not a pretty cry; she was a mess of snot and tears. Leave it to her to never do anything halfway. Shivering, she sucked in air and tried to calm down, but it was difficult. She never cried, but when she did, it was always hard to stop.

What was wrong with her?

What the FUCK was wrong with her?

Emery said her bit, and that was that—she left him. This time, Alkereth did not follow. He wanted to call out—'Don't leave me'—-but the words could hardly even take off, strangled instead somewhere in the back of his throat.

He had no friend in the world, no one to give him words of comfort. The cavern walls seemed to close in on him, it's maw too distant to discern. He was suffocating. It was not until he was on the ground gasping did he realize that he was experiencing a full-blown panic attack.

It was all too much. He never meant to crumble like this, not when his foundations had been tempered into indomitable sturdiness. Now, more than ever, he felt like a child, and for once he longed for his mother's embrace, and her gentle words that everything was going to be alright.

It wasn't until Emery's horse peeked into the cave and snorted did Alkereth become more aware of self and surroundings. The visual snow dissipated, and his heart regulated enough for him to sit up and immediately reach for Hilda's nose. He hugged her face like a child finding his favorite lovey after a fit of night terrors.

"You are a good horse," he croaked into her soft nose. "Bless you, good horse. Good horse..."

Perhaps Hilda had no inkling of what went on in this strange human's head. For all Alkereth knew, she peered inside because his noise startled her, or perhaps her equine curiosity drove her to look. Whatever the case, he was never more thankful to have something to hold than right in that moment.

Better now to organize and straighten his disordered thoughts, he steered his mind into a direction that enabled him to look at his situation from a firmly objective perspective. He was good at this; it often made him appear insufferably stoic to strangers. He can do it again. Easy.

He could blame the Mordecai for a lot of things, but he could hardly blame her for walking away. It was stupid to lose his cool and get emotional. But could she blame him? He was exhausted, he kept them alive thus far, and he was growing terribly fond of...

No. There was no chance Emery could see past her deep-rooted hatred for mages. Alkereth could try—did try—but to change a person...

It is not impossible, but the task was like attempting to uproot a tree. It was hard to change someone with roots learned and grounded in its soil of bias for years and years...

Try as he might, his steady train of thought quickly began to derail.

Profoundly tired, the doomed Harbinger waited obediently by Hilda's side, uncertain of anything any more.

It was several long, agonizing minutes before Emery calmed, her wrenching sobs slowly fading into hiccuping gasps, and then, finally, shuddering sniffles. Still she stayed there, hugging herself until her shoulder ached, not trusting herself to move and not yet ready to face the mage. She couldn't bear to look him in the eye again—and worse, she had no idea what she would be returning to. The absolute devastation he had shown...that wasn't something that got neatly wrapped up and tied off with a bow.

Worse, she had the distinct feeling that she had reacted to it all in the worst possible way, with all the tact and finesse of an ogre. He had made himself vulnerable. Opened himself up and exposed all the soft, squishy bits inside.

He had wanted her reassurance.

And she had rejected him.

Coldly and clinically.

Emery laughed bitterly, scrubbing her hands over her face in an attempt to staunch the fresh tears welling up. Oh, that was a new low even for her, to snatch comfort straight from the hands of a man doomed to die. Even executioners humored final words and requests.

But no, she had to take the coward's way out. She had to go and panic—as if it was her neck on the chopping block!

Get it together, she told herself. Why should she care, after all? Why should this be different than all the other times? And yet, somehow, that thought only made her feel worse.

When she could finally breathe without it hitching, and when she had wiped her face dry on her shirt and hidden the evidence by clasping her coat shut, she rose slowly back to her feet. She felt weak and shaky, likely from puking her fish right back up, and she stood for a moment to get her bearings.

Surely the mage had recovered by now.

Surely he was fine now, and they could pretend this had never happened.

She felt her face, grimacing at how puffy her eyes felt, but it would have to do. She couldn't hide forever, and if she stayed too long he might come looking.

When she found the mage again, he was standing obediently by Hilda. Emery shuffled over to the two, mounted Hilda without help (if painfully, her shoulder was not ready for that!) and without looking at the mage, and then stared straight ahead. She was in the front this time, reins in hand, which meant the mage got the bitch seat again.

"Let's go," she said, voice rough—because her throat was sore from bile and raw from crying. Hopefully the flush in her face had gone down a bit, though she had strategically shaken her hair into her red-rimmed eyes to hide them. "You ready?"

Emery would see that Alkereth had adopted a chilly expression. His steely eyes fell on her.

That singular question afforded a furrow of his brows. Yes, he had glimpsed the blemishes on her face that could only originate from a private sob. How could he not notice from the intense way he looked at her?

He had nothing to say to her.

Rather, he strode up, and stared her dead in the eyes. If she could not be bothered to look at him, he would continue this behavior until Emery mounted Hilda.

The climb was easier. He silently stared ahead over Emery's red hair. His hands rested without complaint around her. The only sound was his steady breathing.

Fuck. Fuck.

Emery couldn't meet his eyes. When he stared at her dead-on, she flinched and looked away, her heart beating staccato. She thought she was ready to deal with...this. Whatever this was. Oh, who was she fooling, she knew what this was—this was the consequences of her own actions.

She most definitely was not ready.

She could take a knife to the throat and talk and logic and fight her way through it.

She could challenge a mysterious pursuer head on, stare them down even when she was convinced she was about to get shot.

She could not face this mage, this stupid, stupid, pure-hearted mage. And so she didn't. She sat her horse, stared ahead at the road as she guided Hilda onto it, and tried to ignore the sensation of his chest against her back and his hands around her waist, for it all felt strangely heavy then, squeezing like a vice even though she knew, logically, she could breathe just fine. Her eyes burned, dangerously, but she blinked hard and straightened her spine.

The silence stretched. The minutes ticked by. Aside from the sound of his breathing, the clip-clop of Hilda's hooves, and the pounding of her own pulse in her ears, it was quiet. Too quiet.

She hadn't realized until then how much she enjoyed their banter.

Time stretched on a bit longer. Excruciatingly slow.

And Emery broke before he did.

"So," she said at last, voice still rough, eyes still watching the road but not really seeing it. "Let's hear it. Come on. I'll start us off: I'm a toxic, disgusting, despicable bitch. There, it's your turn. Go."

"No."

The word came out of his mouth like a whip, a fierce crack in the short air space between them.

"Earn it."

And so the Harbinger fell quiet again, frighteningly expressionless and hollow. There was nothing visible anywhere on his person to betray him; only that he meant what he said, and paid no regard to Emery's feelings.

The countryside looked incredible. The hills looked like fixed ocean waves, roiling one after another with only the grass rippling to give the effect of emerald water. Somewhere above them, a flock of geese called. The clouds gathered in the east. They soon grew heavy and grey. A bolt of lightning licked the hills before a sheet of rain followed. The smell was lovely—a perfume of petrichor, earthy loam, and wildflowers could bring peace of mind to anyone paying attention, except Alkereth.

It did not look like the storm was heading their way. Which was good—for once, they had a break, even if it was a silent one. It suited Alkereth well enough; he did not seem up to talking much.

Emery clamped her teeth together, sucking a sharp breath in through her nose as though she'd been slapped. Alright. Okay. Fine. It was fine. She didn't actually care, anyway. He was just cargo. Human livestock, really. 

Right...

She did not care about him.

More silence stretched out. Emery watched the rain in the distance, hunched her shoulders a little as the thunder made her twitch. She loved the rain, but she hated the thunder, but she wasn't about to let on to that. Her belly hurt, anxiety sloshing around with the acid, but she turned her eyes back to the road and tried to block out the sound.

This would usually be the part where she sought out a distraction. Her old friends would talk over the booms for her, and blessedly never made fun of her for it. They knew why she hated it.

It was definitely not helping.

Another long stretch, another crackle, another repressed flinch. She bit her lip, stroked Hilda's mane with one hand absently. It didn't matter. None of it did. This stop ahead, and then Ashamar, and it would all be over.

It would be over.

"Do you want me to apologize?" The words came out before she realized she was speaking. She swallowed, a lump growing in her throat, and she clutched the reins until her knuckles whitened and the leather creaked. 

"Is that what you want? You know I can't do that. I mean...you realize that's crazy, right? How could I when I'm the one who put you here?"

And still, the Harbinger did not speak. He stared straight ahead, unflinching, infuriatingly unemotional, and somehow... calm, despite everything. It was almost as if he had not heard Emery speak.

Streaks of lightning flashed from far away. Somewhere between them and the storm, a shepherd can be seen leading his flock of baaing sheep. Several crows fluttered into a nearby tree, cawing at one another, giving the rider and her captive a wary eye as they passed. Scattered farms ahead signaled the promise of civilization.

There was a sound coming somewhere off their fresh trail. It certainly caught Alkereth's attention, who snapped his eyes to the right at the thinning trees and shrubbery. Was that the wail of a baby goat?

The sound was too peculiar not to investigate. Alkereth did not wait for Emery; but he did not stop her if she followed. He slid off and dashed into the bushes, coming out a moment later, holding a boy no older than a whole year, clutching, frightened, to the funny priest man's chest.

Alkereth looked at Emery, alarmed, mouth open as if to speak—but he was at a loss for words. Not because of his sudden desire to pursue this journey in stubborn mutism, but because he did not expect to find a filthy little boy in tattered clothes, covered in scratches and a tear-streaked snotty face.

The mage left.

Emery felt him pull away, felt the sudden emptiness where his body had once shielded her back, but she kept looking ahead.

Maybe he was having another bad bout of indigestion.

Maybe he was actually running this time.

If he ran, she wouldn't follow.

She had chosen mercy once before, right? She had even entertained that thought while she fell asleep. She could choose to look the other way here, too. Emery gripped the reins until it stung, mind racing as she contemplated whether she was the one who was actually going mad for exploring such thoughts, but before she could make a decision—holy hells, where was her decisiveness now?—she heard a childlike cry.

The mage returned.

Holding an actual child.

"What the...?"

Their expressions were likely a matched set as she flicked back and forth between the mage's face and the snotty face of the child, her eyebrows climbing in a combination of confusion and alarm. "Where the fuck did you find that?"

How did he do that, sidle off into a bush and come back with child? Hah. Thunder cracked in the distance, just close enough she could feel it shudder through her, and Emery's breath hitched. She pushed through it, even as goosebumps rose along her arms and prickled her neck, and reached for the kid.

"Here," she said, twitching her fingers in a "give" motion. "I'll take it—for a second. Get up here." She let out a sigh, because this was...an unexpected twist. Not unheard of, though, for children to be abandoned, especially in times of war as now.

Especially mage children.

"Shit. This is about the last thing we needed," she grumbled, scowling. "Just...just what are we supposed to do with it?"

"Sitting on a patch of dirt between some bushes," he replied coldly. "You didn't hear him cry?" His feelings about what happened between him and Emery was still raw. It made him angry that he was forced to talk to her, but what choice did he have? There was a small creature that needed attention, so he had to put his personal resentment tentatively on hold.

The child continued to sob, clinging only because that was all he knew how to do. The person that held him felt cold and uncomfortable.

Alkereth looked annoyed at Emery, raising his voice over the crying. "It's a puppy. No, idiot, HE is a baby, what else does he look like to you? And stop with the swearing for goodness' sakes."

The boy stopped crying when he heard a woman's voice. He looked around. The boy had a mess of thick dark hair and bright baby-blue eyes. When he saw hands reach out for him, he quickly reciprocated and stretched his hands out to the woman, smiling.

Alkereth looked reluctant, pulling the baby closer to him. That didn't sit well with the boy, who proceeded to cry again. "What are you going to do if I give him to you? Don't you dare hurt him, he's just a baby!" He scolded preemptively, suddenly apprehensive about the Mordecai taking the child.

As much as this new development annoyed and baffled Emery, she was also...relieved. The mage was talking. Reluctantly, and with resentment lacing every pore, but anything was better than the silent treatment.

And holy shit, was that an asshole thing to think. As though she could blame him for not wanting to look at her after what she had done. What she continued to do, and would do. No doubt it wasn't over; she knew how deeply she'd fucked up, and she knew there was nothing that could fix that.

And she knew it was probably better that way, too. She shouldn't want to fix it. She should be burning every bridge between them. 

For now, though, a distraction had come to the rescue.

The mage went straight to scolding her, and Emery rolled her eyes so hard they about fell out.

"Fuck, shit, dick, ass, cunt," she said, exasperated. "Oh no, your virgin ears! Because that's what it's really about, isn't it? It's not like the kid knows what the fuck that I'm saying. And excuse me, how am I supposed to know it's a 'he'?! They all look the same at that age unless you check."

But the child was reaching for her, his crying stopped, and though Emery wasn't exactly thrilled to hold the snotty, sticky, smelly creature, there was no real disdain there. More just the disgust of an older sister forced to handle a kid brother and not entirely knowing what to make of him. And alright. He was kind of cute, smiling like that.

But before she could take him, the mage pulled him back. 

Was he serious?

"I'm going to eat him." Emery stared at the mage, dead-eyed and unsmiling. Finally, she snorted. "I'm going to hold him so you can get on the damned horse. The hell do you think I'm going to do?! Do you seriously think I'd hurt a child?"

"Ffffffuck!" The boy shouted back, smiling innocently.

Alkereth yelped and covered the boy's precious little ears.

"YOU WERE SAYING?!" he shouted at Emery, which prompted a little cry again that made the Harbinger feel bad, but that quickly got shoved aside for a heated look he reserved for a certain redhead.

"Yes. In fact, I believe you're capable of doing your worst, because you have not once shown me your best." It was not... entirely true, but in the heat of the moment, he did not care. "If you hurt this child, I will not hesitate to draw my sword." Oh. He was being serious.

Reluctantly, he gave the child to Emery while he climbed back on the horse. He was privately glad to relieve himself of the kid. Never would he leave a child lost and alone, but he still had no clue how to take care of one. Besides, if Emery meant to harm, she was literally sitting in front of a proficient swordsman.

"Farm houses up ahead. Perhaps we could see if someone is missing their baby."

Meanwhile, the little boy was pacified once this strange, smelly woman held him. She was warm compared to the man. He was staring at her with wide, innocent eyes. He had chunky rosy cheeks and a curious disposition, and looked human.

"Shit!" He said in a little baby voice, laying a sweet little hand on Emery's face.

Alkereth groaned, facepalming.

"I said he doesn't UNDERSTAND," Emery shot back, but she was grinning brightly, desperately needing this moment of levity. "I never said he couldn't make the sounds. Hah, I like this kid."

Even as the mage went off on her and went so far as to threaten her, Emery still smirked. She even managed to ignore his dig—well, not entirely, but it stung less than it would have another time. God, he sounded like a worried mother hen passing her child off to the fun aunt with questionable judgment, and he wouldn't be wrong there. "Right, yeah, one hair askew and you'll run me through. I hear you. Just pass him over, it'll be fine."

Taking the child from him carefully, she held him to her chest and lightly bounced him in her arms. She even took a corner of her coat and wiped at his messy face, because at this point, that coat was covered in so much filth a little extra couldn't hurt.

The mage pointed out the farm houses, and Emery's smile slowly dwindled. Now that he mentioned it—trying to find the baby's family—the strangeness of it all began to settle in.

"Mage...people don't just lose babies," she said slowly, glancing down at the child. "It's not impossible, of course, but..." She tilted her head, looking the child over. There were no obvious marks on him that she could see. No embroidered mark naming him a mage. No strange burns on his hands that might point at some affinity for fire.

Then the child spoke, and she made an undignified sound, something like, "Pfffffft!"

"God, I think I want one," she said with a laugh. "Well, not really—maybe just to borrow. Who's a cute baby? You are! Can you say 'asshole'? Ass-hole? We're going to send you home with a nice, expanded vocabulary for our trouble! If your parents are going to be irresponsible then so am I."

She had nudged Hilda into motion, and had made no move to hand the child back.

The baby gleefully gurgled and gave Emery a toothy grin. Alkereth looked on with a jealous scowl. As much as he was wary around small kids, he felt dejected that the kid had a preference for this stupid ginger woman.

"I'm the one who found him," he grumbled, just as the boy tried to copy Emery's 'pfffft', followed up with an emphatic "ashow".

"You're a terrible influence, give him back," Alkereth demanded. "I can read him a story." He held up his holy book, possibly the single-most boring read to a one year old in the entire universe. The boy noticed the chains holding the book, and made a grab for the shiny gold. Alkereth gasped as tiny little hands managed to grasp his gold chains, and yank hard.

"No no no, no no, stop it, these aren't for you," he said, losing his calm. After he pried the chains out of the boy's hands, he started to wail. Alkereth sighed and unhooked the chain and gave it to the little boy. "Right... I'm not ever getting that back, am I?" The boy proceeded to teeth on the chain happily.

They had passed by a few farmers toiling in their fields and tending their cattle. Alkereth had already asked them from Hilda if hey knew anybody missing a child, but so far, none of them seemed to recognize the child, but said it might be best to try the little village where a lord and lady presided. The farmers, of course, gave Alkereth a leery glimpse.

"Are humans... the dominant race here?" grimaced the Harbinger, feeling that familiarity that he simply did not belong—like a square peg in a round hole.

"No way, he's mine now," Emery said, shifting the boy more to her right arm as her injured shoulder ached in a way she could no longer ignore. It was amazing how heavy a little kid got after a while. She smiled down at the boy, finding herself warming to him after the initial shock, and brushed his hair out of his eyes as he happily slobbered on the chain. If the mage hadn't given it to him when he did, she had been prepared to yank it straight from his hands.

"You just make him cry and I'm actually fun. Isn't that right, sweetling? Don't worry, Auntie Emery's got you. I won't let the mean, scary man take you. Now can you say 'bitch'? That's what we call the mean, scary man, yes it is! Biiiiitch."

She taught him a few more colorful words along the way as they passed the fields and had zero luck. Try the village, huh? Emery recognized the village, but she had never been there herself. It was the small one she had passed not long ago, shortly before she had found the mage--the same village she had hoped to find a doctor in, if the mage hadn't managed to heal himself. Frowning thoughtfully, she steered Hilda there, another spark of unease settling in.

What happened if no one claimed the child?

As much as she had warmed to the kid (give him red hair and he looked like her brother had at that age), she was not prepared to take care of him long term. She would, of course. What was the alternative? But she couldn't deny the thought made her nervous, the fun aunt slowly realizing the parents had decided to take a much, much longer holiday than planned, and that she might actually be responsible for keeping the kid alive.

The mage spoke, interrupting her thoughts, and she nodded. "Ah, for the most part, yes. You'll find more fae and elves and shit down South, but here? Connlaoth?" She shrugged. "Don't see them much outside the camps."

Another thunder boom rumbled, taking her off guard after the stretch of quiet, which was good because her gasp and flinch hid her very real wince when she mentioned the camps. She quickly turned to soothe the child if it had scared him, stroking his hair and back to give her shaking hands something to do.

The village opened up before them, and Emery guided Hilda onto the worn path leading in.

Alkereth looked around. The village had a smattering of houses that looked freshly built. Some were still under construction.

"This village looks... new," he commented. "I suppose we better start asking around, then." And so he did. And yet, many villagers, looking troubled by Alkereth's appearance, did not know where the boy had come from.

Of course humans dominated this place. Why wouldn't they? Alkereth's kept his opinions to himself, occupying his mind by observing the boy amusing himself with the chain.

"He's not yours; he belongs to someone. I mean—he's not exactly a skinny fellow. Someone is feeding him."

True enough, the boy had a nice round belly that was a telltale sign of hardly ever missing a decent meal. He still had his baby fat in his arms and legs, too. As healthy as any child should be. That was a relief in Alkereth's mind.

"Perhaps it wasn't long that he had been out there."

Affronted by Emery's unkind words, Alkereth crossed his arms. "Hey, I don't make him cry! He does that himself!"

The boy said "bish" with a toothy grin, and that silenced the 'big, scary man'. "I see how it is. Team up with the badmouthed lady. See where that gets you when you're a man. No woman will ever want a badmouthed jerk, remember that." He lowered his voice so that only Emery could hear. "No man wants Emery unless they're paid, I'm sure. Or a woman. You look the type that isn't picky."

Alkereth sat up straight, putting on a cool visage. No doubt he would garner looks from the different people. It was time to adopt that persona he talked about.

"If anyone asks, I will go by the name 'Arron'. I'll be your nonmagical human albino husband."

THAT was the story he came up with? He said this with the smarmiest smirk.

"It is the most believable tale since neither of us can stand each other. It makes sense!"

Oh no he didn't!

Emery's shoulders twitched at the mage's surprisingly savage comment—and though it stung, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of  begrudging admiration. God-fucking-damn! How had he managed to find so many of her sore spots in such a short period? Clearly he was paying attention, and clearly she had revealed more than she'd intended.

"It's not about desire, it's about effort, you asshole," she growled back, and unlike him she made no effort to lower her voice. Like she said, the kid couldn't understand, so what? "Doesn't mean I don't have standards. You couldn't bribe someone into bed with you! You'd be an insufferable pillow princess! I bet you'd cry."

Still stiff and smarting from the verbal blow, she lead Hilda to a building that, while still undergoing work, seemed to be a tavern or...something. It was difficult to make out what, since the sign was half painted, but it had posts to hitch horses to and a trough for them to drink from.

That was when the mage announced his genius idea, and Emery choked.

HUSBAND?

"Uh, what?"

THAT was the cover he chose? Not business partners, battle buddies, lone waif lost out in the woods and needing to be rescued by the strong maiden, or...fuck, anything else? That was where his creativity lead him—into a marriage with her?

Emery's eyebrows climbed clear to her hairline as she shot a look at him from over her shoulder, as though checking that he hadn't been replaced by someone else. But then a slow smirk and narrowed eyes replaced the shock as she regarded him like a cat regards a mouse. "As you wish, my love."

She twisted and handed the child off to "Arron" so she could swing down from Hilda, and she quickly went about securing the horse to a post.

It would likely be easier going door to door on foot.

That finished, she came around to assist him if he needed it, holding her good hand out to him like a knight to a lady. "Come along, my angel. Let's not tarry too long! We still have far to go, and I'm not sure how much longer I can wait—" She lowered her voice to a sultry stage whisper and leaned in closer, looking up at "Arron" with a salacious smile.

"—before I have you beneath me again."

She didn't really know why she was like this, to be honest. But whenever he pushed, she wanted to push harder. He'd started it, and she was going to finish it. The lines had blurred far too much already—the lines between foe and friend. But she acted before she saw the danger in it.

"Cry with laughter to have to see your ridiculous face up close, perhaps. Turn around, harlot."

They stopped. Thank goodness he was used to riding horses, or he'd feel saddle sores for days. Meanwhile, the boy took interest in the horse and attempted to reach for Hilda's ears.

Alkereth expected Emery to squirm! Better yet, act defiant and threaten to bury him in the ground for making such nonsense suggestions! But this! The AUDACITY!

Completely cowed, he could only look at her like one looked at an angry hippo in the face: with fear and trepidation. Oh, god, what had he gotten himself into? Why did he make such an asinine suggestion? Why did he think this was a good idea? Curse his unending need to make Emery squirm. His scheme had the opposite effect!

That, and he felt she owed him a great debt for the way she behaved. He had not forgotten—but he had little time to focus on it due to his own dumb plot crashing before it had a chance to lift off.

"I—I wasn't actually serious!" he hissed at her, jabbing a finger in her direction. The boy babbled in baby speak with the occasional "fuck" and "bish" thrown in.

"No one here will believe that we're 'newlyweds on our honeymoon', anyway—"

Unfortunately, a fellow donning a straw hat overheard them.

"Did I hear right?"

"What—no—" Alkereth began, but the man in the straw hat was loud and boisterous, clapping the couple on the back.

"Well! In these parts, there's this old tradition for newlyweds that goes like this: if you hear a bell, then you have to kiss. Everyone hear that? Newlyweds!"

The surrounding crowds, though meager, all rose up and clapped for Alkereth and Emery. The priest choked on the spot, burning so hot he was at the risk of melting his leathers.

Someone, somewhere, started ringing a bell like mad. The boy clapped happily at the sound of the bell. Startled, Alkereth looked around. What he saw made his jaw drop.

"Oi, Bobby! It's that lad n' lass from the cave!"

"Aye, Billy, sure as me mum's beard, it is! Ring that bell harder!"

Alkereth decided that everyone was going to die today, starting with those two fucking hunters.

Even Emery's smugness had its limits.

Oh, she had planned to absolutely mortify the priest at every chance she got. She had planned to ham it up and embarrass him and flirt, sure! Maybe get a little touchy, just enough to make him squirm.

But not even she had accounted for a twist like this.

Her smile dropped, the color drained from her face, and she flashed the mage a look that was bordering on panic as that bell rang. Maybe he would enjoy that a little, this pure moment of horror as the rug was pulled out from under and her mind screamed, ABORT! ABORT! And also a lot of choice obscenities. 

And of COURSE those perverts from the cave had to be here! OF FUCKING COURSE.

The mage's plan and her trolling had spiraled out of control fast.

Fortunately and unfortunately, if Emery was anything, it was adaptable, and the sight of the mage burning up was enough to bring her back. For some reason, the sight of him squirming fueled her—perhaps because of her damned impulse to never be outdone. 

Besides, they couldn't exactly back out now. This was his fucking fault, anyway! Let him deal with the consequences! It wasn't like she hadn't done worse on a bloody dare. Never kissed a mage, obviously. Never planned on it, never wanted it. But here she fucking was.

At least he was easy on the eyes.

Looking up at him, she gave a little smirk and shrugged, but her audible gulp betrayed her. "The people have spoken, my dear," she said. 

And before she could chicken out, she reached up, tangled a hand in his hair, and pulled him down while she rose onto her toes. She didn't give either of them a moment to think before she squeezed her eyes shut and smashed their mouths together. It was fortunate for the both of them that there was a baby in the way, otherwise she might have tried to dip him, and to her credit, she did refrain from using tongue. But she also figured she might as well sell it, so it wasn't a chaste kiss, either.

Inwardly, she screamed.

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck.

Alkereth made a private vow never to make plans ever again. Nope. It always ended put him in a far worse situation than he started in.

Before he could react to anything—move away, sidestep, or make up some kind of excuse, Emery had already taken up the initiative and prove to everyone witnessing that they were bonded in holy matrimony.

She kissed him.

The applause, the whooping and hollering from the pair of hunters, and the gushing sounds the man in the straw hat made was drowned out by the pounding in Alkereth's ears. For a moment he was numb from shock, but then something happened.

First, Emery will feel that to kiss the Harbinger was as cold as ice, but the chill ebbed quickly as his blood panicked and rushed in every direction, heating up his flesh in ways he never thought possible. His heart made an admirable attempt to somersault out of his ribcage, and it probably succeeded, because he felt it land in his feet, before leaping back up again and climbing its way somewhere in his throat, making him involuntarily moan into that kiss.

Hands found her face—and he held her there—because all he wanted to do now was to deepen their kiss.

The little boy raspberried, which broke Alkereth from this strange spell.

His mind, regaining consciousness, yelled... but only because his mouth was occupied.

Was that a moan?

Oh my God, was he moaning?

In the beginning, she had been calm and in control—because she had everything riding on him freaking out first. Stubborn as ever, she was determined to never be the one to break first, and she was confident this would be an easy win. No contest. He'd lose his mind, she'd give him a hard time, laughs all around, hardee-fucking-har.

But he didn't freak out.

His cold hands found her face and the bastard actually deepened the kiss, making her breath catch and her stomach do a strange, lurching flutter in a way similar to when she looked down from a very tall height. Her brain screamed, her skin flushed hot, and her heart hammered away in her chest half from the primal thrill and half from sheer panic as two sides of her warred with each other. First, the physical side that craved intimacy, that saw an attractive man and thought why not, that didn't hate the mage nearly as much as she should, and second the side that knew she was kissing a fucking mage, and not just any mage, but THIS GUY! There were several BIG AND OBVIOUS ISSUES with this!

What the fuck was wrong with her?!

The child made a noise, thank God, because it brought her back to her senses. Kind of. Not quite in time to stop her from making a rather embarrassing sound of enjoyment, and not enough to stop her from impulsively nibbling his bottom lip as she pulled away, not about to be outdone.

She released his hair and let her hand rest on his shoulder instead, her breath coming a little quicker and face flushed quite brightly. "I hope," she said when she found her voice again, glancing toward the despicable man in the straw hat, "that was satisfactory."

Kill her now.

Mr. Straw Hat looked thrilled. "You might as well take this one somewhere private, young woman!"

Alkereth was going to kill Straws next. He thanked god Emery pulled away, because right before then, he felt like he was on a goddamn trapeze with zero knowledge of how to walk it, stuck with the fear that he was going to fall—

And he did. Not quite in the figurative sense, mind. Emery had just pulled away, taking charge of this delicate social gathering they seemed to have accumulated like bees to nectar. In the meantime, Alkereth's knees buckled, and his entire six-foot-two stumbled, caught only by Emery's hand that held his shoulder.

Good thing, if he was honest. He was so embarrassed and beyond the simple definition of confusion that even a little fall couldn't have been any worse than what he had just done.

The way she tasted, mixed with the heady char of fish and the scent of fire, it wasn't actually terrible, in fact it was delightful—

Alkereth was reeling, cast into a pit of something new and weird and dangerous, and he wasn't sure how to navigate around this—

There was a facet to this, one he thought he had buried forever: the side that craved affection. And when he came to this conclusion that he had wanted this, he panicked and bit down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming. Now there was his own blood mixing with the taste of her. He continued to bite down until he drowned every essence of her. He realized, with a swallow, that she lingered like a ghost on his tongue, and missing it, wanted to...

Try it again.

Get it together.

Standing upright was the hardest thing he's ever done, but he managed. Any concerned onlookers asked if he was okay, and he waved them off. Others guffawed, saying something about 'young love' and whatever other nonsense.

"Little short of breath," he murmured, which wasn't entirely untruthful. He felt his jaw tighten after hearing Billy and Bobby pointing and snickering like the buffoons they are.

That was when he was aware that he was still holding Emery, and he immediately let go, clearing his throat.

"Um—this child." He gestured at the boy. "We're attempting to find his parents, do you know if—"

The man in the straw hat seemed to have taken notice of the young tyke for the first time. "Oh, my goodness! Forgive me, I've been distracted! Yes—in fact—there was a horse-drawn cart that just passed this way with a distraught man asking about a little boy! I thought perhaps this one might be yours... if you leave now, you just might catch them up the road!"

Alkereth's eyes widened. He quickly glanced at Emery.

The world had slowed down, the voices of the crowd an indistinct buzz. Emery felt dazed and strangely giddy, like she had just suffered one hell of an adrenaline rush after doing something both exciting and scary, such that she almost didn't notice the mage buckle. She felt it, though. With a start, she grabbed his shoulder tighter to brace him and felt a nervous laugh bubble up in her throat.

Maybe she had broken him after all.

Maybe she had broken herself.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck...

This was not how she saw this playing out.

She had done worse things than this. More daring and scandalous things, even. Why was THIS the thing that had her all...shaken? Because he was a mage? Even that didn't quite ring true, like it was only part of the puzzle, and yet it was the part that filled her with shame and dread. Not enough to dampen the feeling, though—which it should. And yet even knowing that, she felt like she was vibrating, a drawstring pulled too tight, her skin still tingling from the cool touch of his hands—and oh, she had noticed the way he had warmed when he drew her in closer.

She swallowed hard, licking her lips unconsciously where she still tasted him, heart thundering in her ears.

He smelled of flowers, sweet and almost honey-like.

And she liked it.

Was intrigued by it.

Repulsed by it.

Once again she asked: what the fuck was wrong with her?

She pulled away from the mage when he let go of her, folding her arms across her chest and sliding her hands into the opposite coat sleeves. A second later, she thought better of it—she was supposed to be hamming up the newlyweds shit—and looped her arm with his instead. Right. Breathe. Calm. Of all people here, she couldn't let the mage see that this had thrown her off balance. She had to play it normal. And playing it normal meant trying to mortify him, as she had promised.

"So glad you enjoyed the encore, gentlemen," she said, flashing Bobby and Billy a knowing look. She would recognize those stupid belly laughs anywhere, fuckers.  "There'll be more of that tonight—and something extra." She winked at the mage, then slid her arm down his so she could take his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together before pulling him along.

They had gotten their lead, and she was more than thrilled to get gone before some other idiot rang a bell.

Walking briskly back toward Hilda, she cast a sidelong look his way.

"So, dearest husband," she said, and smiled a shit-eating smile. "On a scale of one to ten—one being 'like kissing a dead slug' and ten being 'oh daddy I think I'm pregnant', how would you rate our kiss?"

He might be a virgin, but she assumed he'd at least done a little necking. At least enough to have some frame of reference.

No. No, no, no, don't dredge it up—

But it was too late, Emery was keen to keep at it. And honestly, he ragdolled after her. Wherever she went, he was too weak to resist. When her hands laced into his, he felt his mind turn to butter. To everyone else, he looked like a lovesick puppy only too happy to be toted around by someone who obviously wore the pants better in the relationship.

He had trouble getting back on Hilda again after Emery untied her. There was a reason for this, and then he felt a rather, ah... big problem down there. He quickly hid his shame with his holy book, and prayed no one else had seen.

It was humbling and humiliating. There was little room to think of much else besides what had transpired, and it shook him to his core, ripping him up by the foundations and turning his entire world upside down.

When Emery spoke to him, he dazedly looked around back at her like a drunkard. "What?" he replied stupidly, for all the blood had rushed somewhere else instead of his brain.

"I—um—it was..."

He struggled to even string words together. He couldn't even remember why he was so angry a few hours ago.

"It was awful," he lied. Luckily no one heard this; they were satisfied enough and left to do their morning routine. "Do not ever do that again. You shame yourself, harlot. And... and in front of the boy!"

"Oh please, the kid's not going to remember any of this. Can you remember anything from that age?" Emery said as she settled herself into the saddle and got them back onto the road, glad her back was to the mage. Because it meant she could quietly freak out, and that she wouldn't have to face whatever was playing out in his expressions, too.

"Anyway, you kissed a harlot so what's that make you? Don't lie, I heard you. It was at least a five. Not my best, not my worst, but I wasn't exactly trying. I just knew if we didn't pacify the masses and their stupid fucking bell, it would be a bigger issue than not. Which, I'll remind you, that was your fucking fault in the first place." 

Why was she still talking? Why was her pulse still racing? And why was she so ridiculously hyperaware of his chest against her back?

"Probably the most action you've gotten in a while though, eh? You're welcome."

She needed to shut up. 

Once clear of the village, she set a faster pace. Hilda could easily catch up to some rickety cart, and she felt she could see something up in the distance, dust rising in a cloud and growing nearer. That was likely them—hopefully. If it wasn't, fuck, guess they got to babysit even longer, God help that poor child and his poor parents. She could hear him babbling in the mage's arms, repeating some of the choice words she had taught him.

She was going to miss that kid.

She was going to miss him, because after he was gone, it would be just her and the mage again. Alone. This had been a needed distraction, and without it...

No, she hadn't forgotten her fuck up. Fuck ups, plural. This whole journey had been one continuous string of them.

She had kissed him.

And not long before that, she had utterly broken him.

She didn't have to kiss him.

'Can you remember anything from that age?'

Alkereth cast his gaze down, frowning. All the confusing serotonin coursing through his veins started to fade, now, overcome by something else. Another horrible reminder, another disappointment.

"Yes," he murmured. "I do." His tone of voice made it clear that the door to that discussion was firmly closed indefinitely.

This journey was starting to get to him, but he knew that for a while. That... that kiss was... a lot. But now that he was able to look back on it with some rationale, he knew he could turn it into a necessity. Yes, it was his own stupid fault, but even so, if neither of them did as the villagers bade, then they would absolutely call them out on their bullshit—and it could very well raise their suspicions, especially with the 'Star' lingering on everyone's minds.

"I am sorry. It was a joke that got out of hand. For what it's worth, thank you for playing along. Unfortunately we will likely need to keep up the ploy a little longer."

Why the formality? They had just shared a kiss, and all of sudden Alkereth resumed his cold demeanor like before. He had no intention to fall deeper into this whirlwind of insanity. Besides, he had begun to remember the past few days.

"Need I remind you, you ran off when I asked you a favor."

There it is. Brought up like an icy cold splash of water on what was supposed to be a lighthearted situation.

"I'm tired, Emery. Let's just focus on returning the child..."

"Tucker!" A hoarse male voice shouted. A woman echoed the name soon after. The tone was fraught in absolute pain—the kind of pain a parent could experience when distressed over their own flesh and blood.

Alkereth held the boy close, who perked up the moment he heard the voices.

"Excuse us!" Alkereth shouted.

The cart slowed. A man with the same hair as the boy's looked hurriedly around what was assumed to be his wife as Hilda drew up to them. Before Alkereth could say anything else, both the man and woman gave a cry and reached over to the child.

The child gave a happy cry as he was reunited with his parents. It was a joyful little scene as mother and father wrapped their arms around their little boy. Briefly, Alkereth could see crates in the back of the cart that smelled like fish.

"Thank you," the mother said in the midst of sobs.

"Tucker, our sweet boy! We searched everywhere for him! Oh, how could we ever repay you both?"

Alkereth shook his head, smiling. "No payment necessary," he murmured. He was relieved for the happy ending, but he suddenly wanted to be as far away from the scene as possible. To see them together like this brought personal pain.

"We insist," the woman said. "You see—we are fish merchants... but there are strange people about, saying something about a Star. They tried to ransack our goods..."

"And our little boy likely fell out in our attempt to escape those ruffians. We tried retracing our steps, but we couldn't find him anywhere," the father finished, wiping his wet face. "Here—take this as a token of our gratitude." He produced a small leather purse tied up by a drawstring, and handed it to Emery. "For your trouble. I don't know what we'd do if we lost our boy for good."

The purse was heavy, the contents laden with coin.

He remembered? That young? Curiosity sparked within her, piqued even more by his tone, but she wisely let it go.

They had other shit to work though.

And ah. There it was. Emery knew it was coming, eventually—she had run, but there was no avoiding it forever. She just wasn't ready quite yet.

His words stung, and she closed her eyes and focused for a moment on breathing out her nose, trying to keep calm. The formality returned, and they were right back at the beginning.

It all came rushing back: his tearful pleading, asking her to do one last favor when he was gone, one simple task, like a dying man asking for a sip of water. His devastation, his deep pain out on display, asking for just one comfort.

Her unexpected grief that welled up so quickly and explosively that she had to run rather than face him—because she was the cause of his pain. Wasn't she? No, fuck, it wasn't her fault. It wasn't either of their fault. He was a mage. That was just how things went.

But she had fucked up. Hard.

And she just kept fucking up.

That grief was still boiling under the surface, the grief that saw the mage not as a mage, but as...him. The part of her that had grown dangerously large that kept forgetting what he was because she had seen who he was.

It was getting out of hand. She couldn't keep doing this. She was many things, but she tried not to be crueler than she had to be to get the job done. Joking with him, kissing him...fuck, she was so fucked up...it wasn't fair to do that to him. He was not her friend; he was her prisoner. And she was taking him to...to...

She said nothing. There was nothing she could say, and she didn't trust herself to open her mouth as her throat constricted. She focused on the road and on the cart ahead, the singular goal pushing all others from her head.

Another distraction. Another happy scene. Relief washed over Emery, because for a while there, she had feared the worst. Feared that the child was abandoned for some reason—a mage child, an unwanted child, too many mouths to feed, whatever justifications people gave to discard their own flesh and blood. But the boy was very much wanted and clearly loved, and she smiled sadly as she watched the reunion—

With a touch of envy and more than a little longing.

The mage wasn't the only one eager to get away.

She was quiet, glad to have the mage handle it—he seemed good at this sort of thing, more approachable despite his strange look—but blinked when the man pushed a leather purse into her hand.

She held it for a moment, flicking a glance to the mage. He had denied payment, and perhaps that was the morally correct and priestly thing to do...but if they were going to insist twice, fuck it. She was no priest. And after all, the only reason they had kissed was because of the child! If not for that, none of that whole messy situation would have ever happened.

Emery slid the coin into her coat. "Thank you," she said, and added sharply, "And watch your kid better, yeah? I don't know what went on out there before we found him, or what your home is like, but his language is..." She gave a low whistle. "Unsavory."

As if on cue, the boy giggled cutely, "Ashow!"

Emery raised her arms in a "you seeing this shit?" gesture, but she grinned warmly at the child before she swiftly turned Hilda back onto the road.

"Cute family," she murmured. "I'm glad it worked out."

The parents had no idea what Emery meant until little Tucker started uttering a string of terrible words. "Oh, my," said the mother, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, my little boy, what happened to you?"

Alkereth glared at Emery. "What, you're not going to own up to the fact that it's your fault he talks like that?"

"Err... thank you. Good day to you both." The father snapped the reigns. The pair of horses snorted and clip-clopped away. The little boy waved his hands at Emery and Alkereth with a huge grin. "BYE BYE, BISH!" he shouted sweetly.

Alkereth cringed as he watched them leave, muttering a prayer for their safety.

Refusing the purse was not only a 'priestly' thing to do, but for Alkereth, he understood that he possessed little reason to keep any. He already formulated a plan as to how he would safely stow his belongings before all this was over.

It was easy to sober up with the threat of the end looming over their heads. They could do this weird back and forth, share a kiss, help each other out with this and that. It changed nothing; Alkereth knew that. Even if he could sense something had gone off kilter within Emery... he would be a fool to hang on to any kind of hope that she would change for him. Or for all mages, for that matter.

But still, he was here. He hung on... if not hope, then to something. And then something had stirred (in ways more than one, as it were), something he blatantly chose to ignore. It was not worth a single thought; he refused to explore the new maze that the kiss had forced on him. He was a priest. A Harbinger. He expected to stumble upon many obstacles, even the kind that brought temptation. It was not his first time facing an eager seductress, but it was easier to shun them when he legitimately felt nothing.

But it was not so easy with this... silly, idiot woman. But then again, he never got to experience a kiss before. She was his first.

Oh, who was he kidding? His fondness for Emery was a mixture of confusing and stupid things. Ugh. There just wasn't any way to ignore it. He could try, but the more he tried to bury it...

The more he desired to explore it.

That's what happened when a person tried to suppress their most basic human instincts for so long.

"Me too," he said distractedly. "It's been a... strange day. So... shall we?"

And they had a long time before it was over.

"Of course not," Emery said when he asked if she was going to take accountability. "Oh, relax. He's a baby. They're like little sponges. The damage isn't irreversible."

Why did she feel a slight pang of guilt at his words, though?

Ah. Well. She knew why. Because his words stirred something that wasn't really about the baby. Of course she wasn't going to take accountability here, because when did she ever?

Deep breaths. She had to steel herself. The wall had cracked, which meant she had to work harder to maintain it or risk it crumbling. The mage wasn't the only one who was tired, and they were on the home stretch to the next town. They had once again lost a few hours, but she was certain they could make it before nightfall.

At his mention that it had been a strange day, Emery only sighed.

That was putting it fucking lightly.

Emery was quiet for the remaining journey into town. The mage didn't seem to want to talk, and for once that was fine by her. She felt...heavy, a deep melancholy settling around her and weighing her down as her mind kept replaying the last few days. The mage's begging. Him defending her. Their stupid kiss. Their teasing. The way his eyes lit up over the Starmount. Perhaps it was because she hadn't kept a meal down in days, but she felt increasingly sick, and that feeling only grew the closer they got to town.

This town wasn't their final stop, but it was one step closer to it.

Ahead of them stretched a bustling town, street lamps lit and flickering brightly as dusk fell, the sky a blaze of fading colors. Emery rode them in, Hilda's hooves clicking along the cobblestone. She visited this town often along the way to visit her adoptive family, though she was generally frugal and paid for barn space and a bed of hay. Every now and then when she had a little extra coin, though, she indulged.

Tonight was one of those nights.

She was filthy, she was hungry, she was tired, and she needed nothing more than to get drunk off her ass and fucked until she couldn't think.

The last thing she wanted was a thought in her brain, and this was how she self-medicated. She shunned attachments, because attachments came with loss, but that didn't mean she didn't still crave the contact. The skin to skin intimacy. It wasn't a cure for loneliness, but it was a salve.

And it was a bandage for thinking, too—there had been too much of that these past few days, and it had grown more painful than she was willing to deal with.

The tavern she rode to was brightly lit and lively. Music could be heard even through the closed doors, and patrons filtered in and out, boisterous and laughing. Emery dismounted Hilda and paid a stableboy to take care of her, and the kid stood to the side and waited patiently for the mage to dismount as well before he took her.

"Since we have a little extra, we'll be staying here," she told the mage, motioning him to follow her inside. "My treat. That little visual picture you painted was...inspiring. I for one will be happy to stop smelling like horse and garbage. Come on, then. Oh, and uh..." She paused, her hand on the door. "Don't freak out."

Because behind that door was a den of iniquity filled with alcohol and drugs—and plenty of half-naked women and even a handful of men.

Of course not. At least she was honest. Alkereth heaved a grumpy sigh.

The silence was a welcome one. It left him to his thoughts, even if it was an absolute mess, that which he could barely clean up and categorize while he was tremendously tired.

And that is when Emery had some grand ol' plan. Admittedly, the Harbinger looked mildly interested at all the hustle and bustle. It was the first city they've come across that was not some dainty little afterthought of a village; no, this one was well established. That... and there was the unmistakeable smell of food. Oh, god. Yes, someone was cooking a pot of delicious beef roast just for him.

The scent distracted him. "What?" He wasn't listening, he was walking after her with wide eyes and flared nostrils.

Then it hit him: a new smell. Sweaty bodies and perfume-laden females with scraps of silk draping over their curves made him nearly snap his neck from the whiplash the sight gave him.

"Hey—hey... Emery... where are we?"

He looked like a rabbit ready to bolt.

The men were no better. Lean and cut, bare-chested and entertaining guests with sweet promises. There were different flavors of both sexes advertising themselves unabashedly like a whole meal that left hardly anything to the imagination.

Emery grabbed his wrist before he could think about fleeing and pulled him inside. "Come on," she said. "Close your eyes if you have to, Princess. I'll be your guide, don't worry that pretty white head." She could smell that roast, her belly loudly making its opinion known, and she had no patience now for his hesitation.

Food. Beer. Bath. Whore. Bed. In that order. That was the only thing on her mind and she would be damned if he slowed her in reaching those goals!

She dragged him through the building, past a group of patrons and whores making out on an old settee that had seen better days, and practically pushed him into a seat at the bar. There were other patrons sitting there, and various "entertainers" as well, but she grabbed a stool, put it next to the mage's seat, and muscled her way between them so she could sit beside him.

"We'll have two of whatever that is--that amazing smell. Two pints of whatever's on tap." Clearly, she wasn't picky.

The barkeep brought over the beer while their meal was prepared, and Emery slid one of the pints over to the mage. "Cheers," she said, tapping her pint to his, whether he'd picked it up or not. She wasted no time in in chugging it down.

"Emery! Is that you?"

A sweet and almost musical voice rang out behind them, a voice she recognized all too well. Turning in her seat, she was greeted with a familiar face--a young, curvy woman in her late 20s, wearing a sheer robe that left nothing to the imagination; she may as well have been nude for all it hid. Shiny black curls spilled over her pale shoulders and misty gray eyes peered curiously at the two of them through thick lashes.

Emery smiled, nodding in greeting. "Hey, Angel."

"Hey baby. It's been a while, where--" She paused, nodded her head at the mage. "Oh! Who's your friend? I haven't seen him before."

"That's..." Well, he sure wasn't her husband in this scenario, she supposed. Besides, everyone here knew she wasn't the marrying sort. "That's my partner. He's...new. New to the job, I mean. Still learning the ropes." Deciding to leave the mage to fend for himself momentarily, she turned to order another pint.

Angel smiled, leaning in a little closer to the mage and bending to do it--a very intentional maneuver to draw attention to her lovely breasts. She cocked her head, looking him over, appraising him. "Well aren't you handsome? Fair as snow, aren't you? It's not a look I've seen before."

"He's albino," Emery supplied helpfully.

"Ohhhh," Angel said, not quite sure what all that was but intrigued nonetheless. "How interesting! What's your name, sugar?"

This was overwhelming. Completely out of his element, he reluctantly let himself be steered into the inner belly of the tavern where he could almost feel sin closing in all around him, like a dense fog.

"Emery, I cannot do this, I am not the least bit comfortable," he groaned, but he was almost certain his complaints fell on deaf ears. Why did she bring him here? She knew he could not endure this! No, not even after she kissed him, his mind was still firmly fixated on the fact that this was a cesspool of sin and debauchery!

Warm hands glided up his back in what was supposed to be a flirtatious and welcoming gesture from an eager waitress, but it only made Alkereth yelp and jump out of the stool after he sat on it.

"Do not touch me."

He shivered, hugging himself. He was hungry, he was tired, and CLEARLY grouchy, raring to stab someone. Unbeknownst to him, the pale stranger looked exotic in the eyes of these prostitutes who looked ready to sample this shy creampuff decked with the religious symbols. Oh, yes, he was ripe for torment and corruption. Alkereth saw them as walking diseases; they saw him as a challenge.

It took a moment to catch up with Emery. He was greeted by a beauty, objectively speaking of course, but then something clicked.

"I knew it," he hissed at Emery. He balked when the woman named Angel gave him her undivided attention. He swallowed, because dear god, she was stunning. "Um—it is... I..." Oh, hell. He forgot his fake name. He looked to Emery for help. "It's—Alan. Alan. Yes." He was sweating.

"Emery's partner. Yes. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Excuse me." He turned when he caught sight of food being delivered. That's all he cared about, or at least that is what he told himself. He slapped someone's hand that reached for his decorated shoulder, and tucked into his food in earnest.

"Knew what?" Emery asked innocently between sips of her second pint, deciding to go easier on round two so she didn't puke it all up before she got something substantial into her. "God, calm down. You're as jumpy as a field mouse in a den of snakes. My apologies, Angel. He's...ah..."

He was about to have an aneurysm, is what. "Excuse us a moment."

She scooted in closer to him—Alan now, eh?—and leaned in so she could speak into his ear. "Relax. Eat your food, drink your beer. No one's going to bother you if you act like you belong and if they do—you are a curiosity—then 'no' is a complete sentence. No need to flip out. We're here because I want to get absolutely fucked up, alright? And the amenities are nice. You don't have to partake."

She pushed the pint closer to him. "I'm renting us a room, paying for our baths. Just...try to enjoy yourself a little? Look, there's music!"

With food in front of them now, she shoveled bread into her mouth to help with the beer she'd downed, then turned back to Angel. "Hey, doll, you free tonight?"

"You know it," Angel said with a sweet smile, and took a seat on Emery's other side when the patron sitting there left. She slid a hand boldly up Emery's thigh and squeezed, and Emery nearly choked on a bite of roast, in no small part because she was ticklish and the bitch knew it.

"Naughty girl."

"You'll have to punish me later," Angel giggled.

Meanwhile, as Emery dedicated herself to getting tipsy at record speed—and thankfully had the sense to ask Angel to set them up with a room before she was too far gone—the mage had definitely caught the eye of others. He was a curiosity—a new face, with exotic features and foreign dress—and since Angel had struck out, that left opportunity for others. One of them was a man who looked just a bit older than the mage, with brown skin and features that pointed at Adelan ancestry, perhaps. His hair was a deep brown with a red sheen in the light with eyes the color of honey.

He was shirtless, with a few old, black tattoos on his wrists, geometric patterns that might have had some meaning known only to him.

He took a seat beside the mage, and for a moment looked hesitant, like he wasn't sure how to approach him. Finally, he leaned in, lightly touching his arm to get his attention. "Sorry to bother ya," he said, "but...are you okay?"

Alkereth made a low grunt as he worked his mouth on a huge chunk of beef, eyeing Emery with resentment.

"Go. Do whatever he want," he said between mouthfuls.

He averted his eyes from the disgusting display that Angel and Emery put on. He wasn't sure why, but watching them made him the angriest. First she kissed him, and now she openly whores herself out in front of him?

It wasn't supposed to, but it touched a nerve in the worst possible way.

The pint looked frothy and inviting to any normal person. Alkereth stared at it, on the verge of panic. He did not like alcohol, even in the best of times. The sight and smell of it made him sick, so he pushed it away as he continued to chew a particularly tough bit of meat.

Alkereth felt danger all around him. And it was not just the sins people openly committed, it was the fact that Emery was willing to get completely sloshed. Alkereth was the 'Star' that hunters actively looked for, and here was Emery acting a damn fool. He couldn't tell her this in front of curious and watchful eyes.

He was going to be the responsible one if they got jumped.

When a new voice spoke to him and touched his arm, Alkereth twitched from sheer nerves. When he looked around at the one who touched him, the Harbinger choked on his beef. He turned away and coughed, and needing something to wash it down, took up the pint, but only because it was the only drink available.

The alcohol tasted disgusting, but he downed it quickly. So much for responsibility.

Making a pained expression, the sweating Harbinger swiveled around to direct his attention to the tattooed man.

"Just peachy, thank you," he said curtly, avoiding letting his eyes stray anywhere near the man's chest, because for some reason, the sight of it made him feel threatened. He spooned a soft carrot into his mouth. "Just watching my 'partner' abandon me for some cheap thrills; oh, yes. It's been a great time."

Yes. That is what he felt. Abandoned and betrayed for a quick one night stand. It was a stupid thought, but at least he was able to pinpoint the problem.

God—he wasn't falling for her, was he?

The revelation made him ask for a second pint.

No, no, no. Bury it.

Partner? The tattooed man glanced to the seat next to Alan, where Emery currently had Angel in her lap, and his eyes widened an increment before he smoothed his expression again. Well, then! He had planned on saying hi, but perhaps, for now, it was best not to let on that he also knew Emery—deeply and intimately, in fact, as she had taken him to bed several times before. He could practically feel the resentment radiating off of her partner.

Yikes. Big oof. That explained some things. It wasn't the first time he had been an unwitting participant in some couple's drama and it would not be the last. It always amazed him how little people communicated with each other.

"Oh," he said, frowning sympathetically. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." Both for the situation, and for nearly making the guy choke to death. He was clearly out of his element, a zebra in the Arctic, but it was nothing he couldn't work with. "That has to be awkward."

He held out his hand. "I'm Caleb, by the way," he said. "Do you—?"  

Angel burst into giggles, letting out a playful squeal as Emery nibbled along her neck. "Oh, stop, you stink! You smell like a barn!"

"It's not that bad!"

"Like a musty old barn that's not been mucked," Angel said with a nod, tapping Emery's nose. "In years."

"Years? Fucking ouch. Remind me why I pick you again?"

"Because I'm so gosh darned adorable," Angel beamed, while Emery muttered a "Fuck, you got me."

There was no animosity or hurt there, just a sense of comfortable familiarity—and then they were kissing. And not a five like Emery had rated the mage's kiss, but something more desperate and heady, Emery's hand cupping the woman's chin and drawing her in, because this time she didn't need to hold back.

Caleb cleared his throat, and tried again with a smile. "Would you like to go somewhere quieter, maybe?" he asked. "Get away from the rabble, so to speak? I'll buy you a drink."

Alkereth clapped his hands over his ears as he leaned over the table, doing his best to drown out the lovey dovey noises. He heard the man called Caleb just fine, however.

"No, no, no." Alkereth waved his hand aggressively, as if trying to rid himself from flies. "It's not like that, we're not together or anything," he said sharply. He groaned. His head was already swimming. Oh, what had he done?! "I just... disapprove of this behavior." Only the partial truth. He did not want to admit that he was jealous of some scarred harlot sending him off to the chopping block. Anyone who heard that story would know that he was completely out of his mind. Maybe he was. Maybe Emery was right this whole time. He had gone mad.

He could almost hear his Order's disapproval all around him.

There was the tiniest voice among them that said, "Well, why not? You've been through hell, let loose for just this once.' Somehow it sounded like Emery's voice, even though her lips were currently locked with Angel's. He didn't mean to see that; he only looked to see if she had said anything.

Now he possessed a conscience that sounded like her. That's just great. They say when you spend enough time with someone, you pick up their habits. That and there was this niggling feeling that cropped up, something he was quick to kick back into its deep, dark hole.

"Alk—Alan." Alkereth extended a gloved hand to shake Caleb's. Aw, hell. The seemingly innocent offer was tempting. Why was Alkereth so quick to trust people he shouldn't? At least Caleb didn't inappropriately try and touch him.

"Yes. Another drink. Let's go." What did he have to lose? For once in his life, losing his mind to drink was probably not the worst he's done so far.

Nobody would have to know.

Not together or anything. Caleb smiled, a little amused at the man's vehement insistence that they weren't together, because he had never once suspected they were. He'd spent time with the man's partner, bedded her, and she had issues for days—the details of which he'd never gotten and never asked, but he'd been with enough people to pick up on those things. It didn't take a genius to see it.

People visited brothels for all sorts of reasons. Dissatisfied with their spouses, bored, lonely, disfigured, too insecure to seek a real attachment—or just horny, of course. No small number of them had some sort of trauma.

"Alan," Caleb said, as though tasting the name. If he noticed the man's slip, he didn't let on. With a smile, he met Alan's eyes and released his hand, letting his fingers caress lightly over his gloved palm as he retreated, almost as though by accident. "It's a pleasure."

Turning to the bar, he motioned the barkeep over to order, and was soon presented with a glass of red wine. He had said he was buying Alan a drink, but the truth was that Emery would be paying. Everything was ending up on her tab; the act was just role-play.

He offered the glass to Alan with one hand, and offered his free hand for Alan to take. "Shall we?"

But before he could lead Alan away, something tugged at the waist of his pants. Caleb held up a finger for Alan to wait, then turned to find Emery had hooked a finger in his breeches to grab his attention quite literally. "Hey," she said, and motioned him to lend an ear. "A word, yeah? Alright, listen. C'mere." Now she smelled like barn and booze, and from the slur in her words, she was on her way to being wasted. Considering the lineup of empty pints, he was not shocked.

He leaned to listen, and Emery slipped a fat handful of coin into his hand and gripped it tightly. "He's sweet," she whispered thickly. "And you're sweet. Make it special, okay? Like, you don't understand. He's really, really sweet and pretty and he's a virgin." Angel made an 'awww' sound and Emery drew a deep breath. "You treat him like a fuckin' princess, Cal, you hear? He deserves the fuckin' world."

"Loud and clear, boss," Caleb said with a grin, both baffled and amused. He pocketed the coin, then returned to Alan, offered his hand. Whether he took it or not, he guided him up a staircase and to the room he used to privately entertain guests.

Around the same time, Angel helped Emery up, as well—the scarred taller woman had to lean on her, and both nearly took a spill several times, but Angel was nothing if not experienced. Both managed to get upstairs and to her room without either of them breaking a bone.

Alkereth was too tipsy to catch his own mistake, so he continued to run with it, still thinking Caleb knew more than he let on.

"I hate her, and she hates me, and later when we part ways, we'll forget all about each other. We'll be nothing more than a memory, quick to fade." Alkereth swiveled dizzily around at Caleb, a gloved hand slapping faintly over his bare chest for support, breathing hot alcoholic breath over him. "But she didn't have to do what she did, even if it was fake, you know? It just wouldn't work out. For Lazamar's sake, I barely know the woman. She's not even my type. Did you even see that scar on her face? I wonder how it happened—no, no I don't! I don't even care!"

Dramatically twirling away, he caught himself before hitting a low beam, muttering 'woah'.

"Yes. Pleasure," the Harbinger echoed hollowly, looking slightly green. The drink was... for lack of better word... nasty, and he had already begun to regret letting it slide down his gullet. He could feel his stomach churn in protest.

It was a good thing he had eaten. Had he not, his empty stomach would surely hurl everything up. Either way, that didn't stop the alcohol from taking hold of his lightweight beanpole body, and his abdomen raising a fit, but it was easy enough to overcome since his mind started to figuratively slip and slide. The whole point was to forget about the kiss, and Emery, but so far it didn't work. Perhaps he needed more.

The name he gave Caleb, whom repeated it back to him, would—or should—have given anyone the shivers, but Alkereth was a tad too dense to really let it sink in that his companion might have something more in mind than to remain mere acquaintances for much longer.

Alkereth took the glass and unceremoniously gave his hand up to the male courtesan, more so to remain steady than to be a proper gentleman being led to god knows where. He had not seen Emery swoop in; Alkereth squinted at a band playing music with the most exotic looking instruments he's ever seen, and then he was whisked away by Caleb, but not before he had seen Emery and Angel getting friendlier and friendlier. If he caught Emery's eye during any of this, Alkereth felt a petty urge and gave her the 'cold shoulder'—that is, the shoulder with the Divine Protectors facing her, a silent way of saying, 'Hey, dumb bitch, god is watching you sin.'

...Oh dear.

Caleb was slowly sliding pieces of the puzzle together, for Alan gave away more than he perhaps intended. Then again, booze did tend to make people honest and foolish in equal measure--and it seemed he perhaps was at the center of some sort of...strange...couple's spat? That couldn't be right. One-sided, at least? No, that seemed off, too--Emery seemed strangely protective of him to tell him what she did, or maybe that was guilt? Huh.

The part of him that loved gossip and dirty laundry more than life itself wanted to ask, What DID she do? but he wisely refrained. He could see about finding out all the juicy details later. Maybe. Angel was a pretty closed book when it came to discussing details about her clients, unfortunately, but he was fairly good at reading between the lines.

Hopefully it wouldn't make things too awkward. His job was sex; he was the wrong person to ask for relationship advice.

For now, he was more than happy to be paid for bedding a gorgeous and exotic man after several unlucky days with men so fat they crushed him and women who had no teeth. He wasn't the sort to judge, and still enjoyed giving them a good experience, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't genuinely excited about this.

"Oh, agreed, she's positively hideous," Caleb said with an amused grin as he lead Alan along, going slowly so as not to throw off his obviously shaky balance. "But why don't we put that away for now? You're here now among friends, you can just...be. Forget the nastiness of the day and just enjoy the night. I'll help you."

Caleb guided Alan into his room and closed the door behind him. It was a simple room, incense burning on a table by the door--sandlewood and vanilla. There was a cushioned chair, a simple wardrobe, and a large bed with far too many pillows.

Gently turning Alan toward him, he took the wine glass from his hand and set it on the table. "Why don't we slow down on that for a moment," he said; too much and he would neither be able to think or perform; Caleb could spot a lightweight when he saw one. And wasn't this supposed to be special? He then guided him to the bed. "Let's sit you down, there you go. You seem a little wobbly. Now, would you like to start with a bath? I understand you were traveling, right? Now, I don't think you smell, but I know there's no better feeling, you know?"

He had settled down next to Alan, and he reached out and casually brushed some of that white hair off his brow, fingers grazing his ear as he withdrew. The man seemed jumpy earlier, so he started slow, gauging his reaction to the light touch. "I can have them set one up for you while we talk."

Alkereth was puckering his lips to the glass, just about to drink, when Caleb initiated full responsibility and took it away. Alkereth followed it with his lips, at first unaware how far the glass had gone, until he leaned over too far and smacked his face full into Caleb's chest. The fool jolted back so fast that he nearly gave himself whiplash, sobering him up enough to spill out a hasty apology.

"Sorry... please give it back, I need it—" but it was only a weak plea. Caleb was kind and gentle and treated his client as little more than royalty so far. It melted Alkereth's defenses faster than he should have allowed.

"I can be... me?"

The simple words meant so much more to him than his companion could ever imagine. He sank into the bed, and was suddenly aware that he might soil the sheets with his earthy armor.

"I—I don't smell?"

The touch made Alkereth wince at first, but his absolute need for human contact was nearly bursting at the seam. After so long of suppressing his basic needs and instincts, he was almost ready to dive head-first into something he knew Lunrath would never approve of.

It was this sobering thought of her that made him reach for Caleb's wrist to stop him, not out of spite, but apprehension as to what the courtesan might think. Even in his stupor, he was well aware of how his flesh made people react. He remembered Emery's words and felt his heart hurt. He remembered how Lunrath warned him that people are naturally curious creatures, and will ask questions. Such difficult thoughts to process now, and it gave him a headache.

"I'm... not the most comfortable to... to touch..."

Despite this, he was touch-starved for so long, the priest heaved a huge sigh and gave in, melting into the hands touching him if Caleb still desired to, thinking it was only an innocent act. Yes, he had forgotten where he was, and he was tired, full of food, and suddenly a bath was offered. Little known fact: Alkereth so adored baths. He prided in his ability to keep himself neat and clean, and not just because he was disciplined as a priest. It was just the way he is.

"Oh... oh, of course, a bath. that would be..." He let his voice trail away.

His face was cold when Caleb's fingers brushed against his skin, it was true--like he had come indoors from a blizzard. But Alan seemed more bothered about it than Caleb, who just assumed he was sensitive to temperature. He startled a little when Alan caught his wrist, for a moment concerned he had gone too far too quickly--but then the man explained.

Ah...insecurity. There it was. It was only natural.

With a soft smile, Caleb cupped Alan's cheek with his much warmer hand to show how little it bothered him, and turned Alan's face toward him. "I don't care," he said, and rested their foreheads together so he could peer into those crimson eyes. "And you shouldn't, either. You're lovely, Alan. No one will care if your toes are icy, I can guarantee that. Besides, that's what you have me for--to warm you up."

With a quick little nuzzle of his nose against Alan's, he pulled away but only so he could reach for a cord dangling by the head of the bed. He tugged it three times; it would ring a bell hanging just outside the door.

Caleb wasn't about to tell him, but Alan did smell. He could be candid with some of his clients, those he already had that sort of familiarity with, but a timid virgin? No, there were gentler ways of steering him in the right direction while also easing in, and starting off with a bath was had never failed him yet.

"There, your water will be here shortly. Let's get you out of that armor now, shall we? I can help you, if you like, and I've been told I give good massages, too. Why don't you tell me what you like? Or what you desire?" Idly, he played with the hair at the base of Alan's collar, running his fingers up and down through it. "Don't feel pressured, of course. We have the whole night to explore."

As he spoke, a small group of workers walked in, two carrying a wooden tub between them while others carried buckets of steaming water. Once the tub was full, they left the two to their privacy once more.

"You really don't mind that my skin is cold?"

Alkereth could cry.

"You are the first person to ever say so."

Perhaps Caleb said it because he was paid to say such nice things, but it didn't matter. Alkereth thought it was genuine. It was kind of sad.

This had to be a dream. He gaped at a bath tub that was brought in by servants. Wildly, he thought of Aetheria. The luxury reminded him so much of the bath houses and crystalline pleasure gardens filled with the serene light of his people... it sent a pang searing through his chest.

He never belonged.

"It is like I am back home," he confided dreamily, feeling an alien sense of the warm fuzzies he was never accustomed to.

And here was this stranger treating him with kind words and gentle promises of a night that belonged to him. In his haze-filled brain, he could not comprehend what any of this meant, only that a basic part of him longed for this in this moment above all things.

"Oh—no, it's fine, let me..."

Shyly, he had begun to peel away his armor. First the amice, which he hung carefully on the bedpost. He was suddenly aware that Caleb might be watching, but an observer might think he was in for a struggle. He had layers of leather, after all.

"If you... don't mind..." He meant for Caleb to turn away, but he did not articulate this well. It was hard to speak when he had Big Dumb Dumb Energy from drinking only a glass and a half. He had just taken his sword off, and rest it respectfully against a wall.

"What I... desire?" That alone made Alkereth a little nervous. I hat he desired? What did that mean? "Well... perhaps I could... read a passage..." He had unhooked the chains holding his holy book, holding it up for Caleb to see. Perhaps he thought he was making a new friend? "About how the great god Lazamar created all that is, and all that will be... it is... something we could explore... it ends in a burst of light... poof... it is pretty incredible, and poetic..."

Was Alkereth being funny, or was this his way of flirting?

Alan's longing, and that soft undercurrent of sadness, was not difficult to see. It was perhaps no surprise that visiting a brothel sometimes dragged up big feelings in some patrons—it wasn't just about the sex for everyone, but about the connection.

But that was what he was here for.

The man started to strip from his armor, and seemed to indicate he wanted the help—and Caleb was keen to provide it! He eyed Alan's clothes for a moment, trying to figure out how everything pieced together; it was like nothing he had seen any mere Connlaothian soldier wear, but from his dress and strange accent he just assumed he was some sort of rich, privileged guy.

Guess it was time to learn!

Scooting up onto the bed, he shuffled to kneel behind Alan and draped his arms over his shoulders. "Goodness, how do you even get into this?" he asked, tapping at the leather there curiously. "Or...out, for that matter?"

It looked like there were buttons down the front. As Alan went on about reading from some holy book, Caleb trailed his hands down his chest, slowly and caressingly, and started at the top, plucking the button free with practiced ease before moving to the next. A burst of light and poof, huh? Was that innuendo? Some people were into bringing religion into the bedroom; he had met a man once who wanted to be flogged as part of the experience. Caleb had refused out of genuine concern for his safety—hopefully this didn't go that direction, either.

"That sounds delightful," he said, and pressed an exploratory kiss to the side of his neck just below his ear, lips lingering. He had created a big enough gap that he could slip a hand beneath his armor to touch his cool chest—huh. He was really cold. "It sounds like there's much you could teach me. Why don't you do that while I handle your clothing. I would love to hear more about this...bursting you speak of."

——

Emery was naked and thoroughly enjoying a soak in the tub, Angel's soapy hands massaging her scalp, when a thought that had been slowly worming its way through the haze of booze took hold in a way she could no longer ignore.

"Aw, fuckin' hell!" Water sloshed over the sides as she bolted upright, and Angel about jumped out of her skin.

Startled, hand pressed to her chest, Angel stared at Emery with wide eyes. "Everything okay—?"

"Yes! No. I'm a fuckin' goddamned idiot!" Emery slurred, soap streaming down the sides of her head. "Like, what if he JUST likes girls? And I just went ahead and...shit." She smacked a hand to her forehead with a wet sound, then cursed when she pushed soap into her eye. "Ow, fuck—I'm so fuckin' stupid! I just assumed! I mean, he kind of seems the type, you know what I mean? He looked into it. But what if he was just being his stupid nice self or...?"

"I'm...not sure I follow."

"Angel, listen, he's the sort that'd follow a fuckin' lunatic down a dark alley if they said they had free puppies or ponies or what the fuck ever." She furiously wiped at the soap dripping into her face and bent down to splash water into her eyes. Why was she was so stressed about this?

Utterly perplexed, Angel shuffled around so she could put her hands on Emery's shoulders and push her back down into the water with a splash. "I think he's an adult who can handle himself, Em—"

Emery barked a dry laugh. "You'd think! And you'd think wrong!"

"—And that you should focus on yourself, and the wickedly attractive woman with you."

There was a distracted pause, some strange feeling writhing around in Emery's gut that had nothing to do with Angel's hands traveling sensuously down her front. It was, however, making it a little difficult to think, and that was difficult enough already with the alcohol in her blood.

She caught Angel's wrist, pausing her. "Hold up. Alright, this is probably nuts, but can you get him a girl?" she said. "Summer's pretty cute, got that 'farm girl next door' charm...I think he needs someone like that, y'know? Like, you were too much. No offense."

"Oh, I know I'm a lot."

"Is she free?"

Angel let out a baffled laugh, quite confused about the whole situation. "Er...I could check."

"Yeah! Check. Here." She reached over the side of the tub and pulled more coin from her coat, and handed it to Angel. "Thanks, doll, you know you're the best, right?"

"I know you're very drunk," Angel said with a smile, leaning down to kiss her before slipping out the door.

"Yes," Alkereth replied meekly. For a moment he was content to sit and read a passage or two, unaware that Caleb was expertly helping him undress with those deft fingers of his. The priest opened his book.

"It started with a—a um—"

He was aware of how close Caleb was. Not just close. VERY close. Feeling his flesh erupt in goosebumps, he inched away slowly while trying to read the first page.

"A l-light," he choked out. "A brilliant light that spanned until it was very nearly swallowed by darkness—and so came... came... ahhhhhhhhHHHH—"

Alkereth squirmed. He was being subtle; perhaps it was easy to mistake his shyness for being playfully coy, but in truth, he was left to his own devices and had no idea what to do. It was not like Caleb was forcing himself on him; in fact he did so well to ease him into this that Alkereth felt his body warm in response. While his skin was naturally cold, it could become lukewarm. Caleb was a gorgeous man, and he swooped in to press his lips on his neck—

"CAME THE GOD OF LIGHT WHO WAGED WAR ON THE GOD OF DARKNESS AND WON VALIANTLY—"

He was struggling to put his book between himself and Caleb, as if this was all the defense he needed.

"AND SPREAD HIS LIGHT ENDLESSLY... AHHH—"

The hand on his chest made him flop on the bed, like a frigid fish caught out of water in front of a lucky and hungry cat. He held his book in front of his face, hiding the betrayal in his eyes, trembling warmly.

"AND SO IS THE STORY OF LAZAMAR, GOD OF LIGHT..."

His breathing labored, aware that something stirred down below. Oh god, forgive the stupid man for his stupid stimulated body. 

"No no no wait hold on, we haven't gotten to the good part yet," he pleaded, poking and prodding a page further in. "It talks about the annihilation of Roska and his dark disciples; it really is quite gruesome!" And because he needed something awful to think about. He was lightheaded and his blood was rushing to the one place he hoped wouldn't betray him.

This wasn't the strangest thing Caleb had ever done. It didn't even make the list. However, that didn't mean it wasn't bizarre, though Caleb was not going to disturb the man's process. If he needed to read the religious texts of some strange faith he'd never heard of in order to get all hot and bothered, hey! He wasn't here to judge. He could work with it. Did he have some sort of religious guilt to work through, perhaps? Caleb had met plenty of those; when you lived in a nation whose society condemned sex before marriage, that society tended to be rife with those sorts.

So he let the man read as he worked on getting him naked, only half listening, and found that despite everything, it was strangely...adorable? The way he squirmed and blushed, the cute noises he made while trying so hard to focus on his book. It was like a game and Caleb was happy to play it.

He was curious to see how long he could go before his concentration failed him.

"Oof!"

Alan flopped over at his touch, and it was so unexpected that Caleb—who had been leaning most of his weight on the man—lost his balance and toppled atop him with a laugh. But Alan had a quick recovery, it seemed, for he was still reading! That was dedication.

With some quick maneuvering, Caleb rolled to lightly straddle Alan's hips. He trailed his fingers up his sides before grasping at the leather he wore, and guided one of Alan's hands away from the book so he could shimmy that arm out of its sleeve. Then he went for the other arm.

"Oh, you're right, we haven't gotten to the best part," he agreed, and tossed the piece over the side of the bed. He leaned over Alan, hands on either side of his head, and might have tried to kiss him if there wasn't a book between them. So instead, he reached and gently pushed it to the side so he could see his face.  "Don't stop now; let's hear about Roska. Can you tell me from memory?"

And he leaned in, lips mere inches from Alan's—when the door creaked open. Caleb froze, brow furrowing, and looked up.

"Oop! Sorry! Sorry! Hope I'm not interruptin' too much!" a feminine voice said. Standing just inside the room was a woman with sun-browned skin and dirty blond hair pulled into two long braids. She looked younger than Caleb by a few years, wearing a silky gown that, while not sheer, also suctioned to her curves. She bounced on her toes, looking a little awkward, and gave a little wave.

"Um, hi! Don't look like y'all got too far, huh?"

Caleb stared, the disappointment he felt immeasurable though he was keeping it tightly contained. "Summer...what are you doing here...?"

"Oh, right! Yeah, so that one gal sent me. Your friend, yeah? Em." She smiled, swaying back and forth a little. "She thought you'd maybe like a girl, too!"

And there it went, his only defense. He watched his book go flying with a hand stretched out dramatically.

"Nooo," he moaned, and then that moan got more pronounced as Caleb went for the straddle. The pressure would certainly be felt; he wasn't exactly hiding his shame. And then Caleb went for the kiss. Alkereth's throat went dry, his heart was racing, and suddenly he was very thirsty.

Alarm bells went off in his head, but he couldn't move, he was transfixed like prey to a predator—

And then they were interrupted, which gave Alkereth the opportunity to scramble out from beneath Caleb. Now he was sitting up on the bed, flailing his arms.

"NOTHING HAPPENED!" he yelped, reaching for the glass sitting on the bedside table that Caleb took from him, and giving it an earnest gulp before it was all gone. He did this before his bed companion could intervene, even going so far as to stretch himself out of reach. He sloshed some of the alcohol on himself.

That is when he got a good look at the girl named Summer and felt himself do odd things down south. She was painfully beautiful, and his body shamelessly reacted to all the beauty that his inner demons chomped at the bit with want. Somehow he knew this was all Emery's fault. How else did he get in this mess? It was that kiss. And even still, he was thinking about it.

"ROSKA THE VILE!" He rose his voice emphatically for dramatic effect, sweeping his arms in wide arcs. Having once been a High Priest, there was clear passion in his speech that made even this story sound insanely poetic, likened to a Shakespearean play. "Brought forth the forces of evil from the darkest corners of the universe and slaughtered countless people, and he used their blood for nefarious purposes!"

He pulled up his leathers in an effort to keep himself modest, and rolled clear off the bed. He crashed on the floor with a resounding "OOF" before army crawling desperately to the tub. No, he had no idea what he was doing; he was clearly panicking in the face of his sexuality.

"And all the dark beasts of the world were drawn by such violence and reveled and joined together in their... their orgies of flesh devouring!"

A hand reached for the tub.

Uhhhhhh.

Well, there was Caleb's answer. Alan could recite from memory! But...er...what was he doing...?

The man scrambled away from him, downed the wine. 'Nothing happened'? Caleb arched an eyebrow at that because yes, nothing had happened yet, but he said it like a naughty child trying to convince his mother his hand totally wasn't in the cookie jar. Except this was the one place where his hand was supposed to be deep in the jar.

The wine vanished down his throat, he started to recite once more, and Caleb slid a baffled look Summer's way while she smiled and gave a helpless shrug, having zero context for what on earth she had just walked into. Somehow, he kind of blamed her for this. He had been making progress until she had spooked him! Maybe! Sure the guy was eccentric, but he had seemed into it, in that coy, helpless, 'oh no, there's a hot man kissing me, help me don't help me' sort of way. Caleb expected him to be nervous—it was only natural for a shy virgin with clear religious baggage—but this...

And now he was escaping across the floor like a dehydrated man crawling across a desert toward an oasis.

...Perhaps he was a bit too inebriated, and after gulping down the wine it would only get worse. Not inebriated enough that he hadn't noticed the way his body reacted to his touch and Summer's presence, of course; tight leather only hid so much. But perhaps that was the only brain that was functioning much right now. He needed to make sure the upstairs one was functioning cleanly, too, before they went any further.

"Ah..." Caleb slid off the bed to join Alan, and put an arm around his shoulders to help him toward the tub. "Hi, there. You doing okay? Here, let's take a little break now, get you all warm and squeaky clean. You might want to take your pants off first, though—need help? Let's pause on Roska for a moment too, alright?"

Reaching for Alan's chin, he turned his face toward him, but only so he could peer into his eyes. "You...do know where you are and what's happening, right?" he asked softly, a little concern in his voice.

Summer, meanwhile, let out a giggling snort when Alan mentioned orgies and flesh-devouring in the same sentence, and clapped a hand over her mouth quickly at the unsexy sound.

"So, um, we doin' some sorta role play here?" she asked as she hopped onto the bed and sat there watching, feet swinging idly. She had no idea what was happening, but really, she was just happy to be there.

"Like, he's got the priest thing goin', right? Ooh! I can be a nun!"

"Summer..."

"I always wanted to be a nun," she said, tapping her lips. "Weren't very good at it."

Alkereth had dealt with many drunk people in his life. Happy drunks, depressed drunks, and let's not forget the important ones: idiot drunks. He was not sure which category he fell into yet, because he was positive he had felt all of these in one sitting, but then again it was hard to categorize himself after two full glasses of wine. It hit him like a ton of bricks, and he was already swaying, his stomach full but hating him just a little; it certainly did not need the help of this foreign poison. At any rate, 'idiot drunk' was fast approaching first place.

Doing all he could to perform escape tactics while maneuvering around drunkenly to avoid Caleb, little could be done against the forces of the handsome courtesan's quick and calming hands. Alkereth vaguely wondered if these hands ever dealt with nervous horses before; perhaps he could pacify a whole barn. It was a silly thought, but anyone good with horses was good in the priest's book.

"B-but... it is perhaps the most interesting—it is poignant and nuanced—"

He swiveled his head up at Caleb. The first sign of compassion had him screw up his face in what could only be described as a person doing their absolute damndest to keep their emotions in check. But he was failing, epicly. The dam was about to burst.

"I do! I see so clearly what is happening!" Did he, though? "Oh, oh, Caleb, I can't deal with it, but you simply must know how I feel!" Wh... what? "It's just been—so hard," he wailed, leaning into Caleb. "All my life I've dealt with scorn and loathing! Told that I must cut myself off from the world and succumb to a life of suppression... But I can't help who I am, or why my life has led me down a dark path! It's just... so... hard... all the time!" Ummmm. Surely he wasn't talking about...?

His ears twitched over to Summer, and he twirled dramatically to her next, stumbling over his feet to get to her. Oh, he was barefoot. How did that happen? He delicately swept his bare hands around Summer's face, breathing hot alcohol over her. It was supposed to be a kindly gesture.

"Oh! Oh, my poor, poor dear! You had beautiful aspirations, but fell into the clutches of sin and debauchery! It may be hard, sweet lady, but perhaps you can help me, help you. Both of you can! Together, we can turn the hardness of life into a soft and sweet conclusion, filled with eternal bliss and love. Oh, sweet Summer! If it is your desire to be a nun, then let it be so! Let me fill you to the brim with my god's warm light! Caleb, oh Caleb, I desire to shower you with such devotions as well!"

To be honest, even Alkereth had no clue what spewed out of his mouth, or the double entendre he might have unintentionally given them (not to mention that his passion could also be mistaken for seduction, oops). What was important now is that he help these two. Why not? He was a priest first, and a man... well, he possessed a lot of titles that shoved 'man' somewhere at the bottom ten.

"But first," he said, clutching his pants, "I must bathe and wash the stench of the world from my body. Hold... hold on." He was haphazardly fiddling with the awkward placement of the buttons at his waist, but it seems Caleb had snuck in most of the work before.

Errrr...

It wasn't often that Caleb was thrown for a loop, and yet here he was! Alan's expression was so full of emotion, so full of passion, and...and he was pretty sure he didn't actually know what was happening.

Or...did he?

He blinked rapidly. Was...was that a confession incoming? He had to tell him how he felt? Oh no. He had received his share of confessions--sometimes, a client got too attached and hoped for an actual relationship, but that usually took a few sessions! He breathed in relief when it didn't go that direction, though, and swerved down a new and confusing alleyway that he didn't even know was there. Oh no. Oh dear. So it was going this way, was it? The confessions, the counseling, the self-loathing! He was so not cut out for things getting deep like this, but years of experience kept him calm in the face of danger.

...Wait a minute. Life of suppression? Hard? Was he...?

He slid a look over to Summer, who was watching it all go down with wide and owlish eyes. Was the man leaning into a role here? The double entendres couldn't be accidental, could they?

Then he twirled--TWIRLED--over to Summer, who squeaked and jumped when his unexpectedly cold hands touched her face--and then she actually blushed as she stared wide-eyed into his own. The girl looked downright starstruck as he spoke so poetically of her beautiful aspirations and descent into debauchery, her lips parted in a silent gasp. If her eyes could sparkle, they would have, for his words appealed to that part of her that had wanted to be a nun once upon a time, because it had seemed so noble and beautiful and pure and sweet. At least, until she realized that being a nun meant living as a pauper and relinquishing earthly pleasures. Some of the priests had been awfully cute, and the memorizing was really hard, but she still liked God and stuff and the stories were really neat!

She looked on the verge of swooning, and let out a breathless, "Oh please, yes!" when he spoke of sweet conclusions and filling her to the brim with his God's warm light. In that moment, she felt seen. And it certainly didn't help that this priest was really cute, too.

Caleb stared, eyebrows raised. He...he had to be doing that on purpose, right? That...that couldn't be accidental, right? Summer had to be onto something. He was playing a role here. Right?

...Because he couldn't help but feel like he was kind of the one being seduced right now? But in a really confusing and theatrical way? Why was he sort of into this? Maybe because his sense of normalcy was quite skewed after some of the clients he had had!

And also, perhaps, because it was different.

He could work with this. He could play along.

Summer practically went limp when Alan pulled away to tend to his breeches, and Caleb saw an opportunity he could seize. Alan seemed to be struggling, so he slid in behind him, body pressed flush against his back, and slid his hands down until they covered Alan's. "Allow me," he said, since  the man seemed to be fumbling, and gently nudged his hands aside so he could work the buttons himself, his chin resting on his shoulder.

"Perhaps," Caleb said into his ear as he worked, letting his lips tickle against his skin, "once you're clean, you could lead us in worship. I've never been the religious sort, but...I am open to being converted."

"Yeah! Same!" Summer said, perking back up again, sliding off the bed and putting herself up against Alan's front, her arms looping around his neck. "I've been an awfully bad nun. Couldja teach me, Father? And hear my sins? I've got sooo much to confess!"

----

Down the hall from those three, Emery stepped out of the bath, dripping wet, and scooped Angel into her arms like a bride--an act only possible because Angel was shorter and lighter than she was, and the bed was right there so she didn't have to go far. Still she regretted it almost immediately, because her shoulder fucking hurt and she was way too wobbly, but she was committed and the booze numbed her a bit too much.

"EMERY RAMAKER. Don't you dare!" Angel yelped, wrapping her arms around her neck as they swayed and staggered precariously. "Don't you dare drop me! You put me down right--wait, no! No, don't! You dry off first, don't you dare get my bed all wet--!"

Too late. She had plopped her onto the mattress (well, more like fell, because Emery fell with her) before playfully pinning her with a kiss and getting her nicely soaked. Angel smacked her gently--and was kind enough to choose her good shoulder. She had already scolded her about being beat up whenever she saw her, and her shoulder was its own disgusting rainbow of purples and blues and greens right then.

"That's not the only thing gettin' wet, doll," Emery said with an eyebrow wiggle that made Angel groan--though it soon turned into a little gasping whimper when Emery nibbled down her neck in the way she knew she loved.

"Well, I guess it's too late now," Angel said with a feigned pout as as she leaned into the contact. "But you're sleeping in the wet spot."

"We'll see about that," Emery said, and pressed their mouths together, the taste of booze thick on her tongue.

God, she needed this. Angel squirming beneath her as she kissed down her jaw and throat and shoved her sheer robe open. The heat of her body, the sounds of her gasps, the salt on her skin. Angel's hands in her dripping hair, drawing her in closer. She needed the distraction, the basic human intimacy, the reminder that she could do more than hurt.

And she needed to wash the mage out of her mouth.

The thought made her freeze up, her body going tense despite Angel's nails drawing goosebumps all along her skin.

What the fuck?

She swallowed hard, took a deep breath to try to clear her head, and refocused on her goal--the gorgeous woman beneath her. But the intrusive thought had sent a strange jolt of nausea through her, and it was stupid, so stupid, because she shouldn't be thinking about that now of all times, and the thought was so strange, so uncomfortable, that she didn't know how to process it.

Focus. Forget.

But it was difficult.

Because she had kissed him.

Why had she done that, she thought as she kissed down Angel's body and remembered the cool press of his lips. She could have played the shy, mortified wife and made up some excuse. There were so many options she could have picked that were anything but that. And yet here she was, wondering what was wrong with her, a beautiful woman in her arms that she was unable to focus on because of one of the most baffling mistakes (in a long line of mistakes) that she had ever made.

What was wrong with her.

Wait.

Oh holy shit.

A sober thought wiggled in through the booze, a hazy memory that seemed far away now, and that at the time had sounded like a great idea, and a great way to assuage her guilt. As if that made any sense, but it made sense at the time. As much sense as any drunken thought could make.

She had bought him a night with a courtesan, hadn't she.

She had bought him a night with two courtesans.

Him! The celibate by choice virgin! She had thrown him to the goddamn wolves when he likely had no idea what the hell was going on! Two! Two of them! Double the peer pressure!

What was wrong with her?!

Emery pulled away from Angel with a shuddering gasp, and Angel's eyes fluttered open in surprise. "Em? Something wrong?"

Emery was already rolling out of bed--and stood there swaying dizzily for a moment, letting out a soft "whoa" as she held out her arms until she regained balance. "Angel, I'm a fuckin' idiot," she said, because apparently that was her life's current mantra. She staggered toward her discarded clothes--only to find they were gone. Of course they were gone. They were filthy, and she had asked them to be washed. She hadn't figured that she would need clothes until the morning, really.

"I won't disagree but..."

"Shit. Can I borrow a robe?" Emery was already at Angel's wardrobe and rummaging around, swearing because of course they were all sheer, skimpy things.

Angel sat up, blinking in confusion. "...What? I, um, I suppose. But do you want to, I don't know, explain what's going on, maybe?"

"Holy fuck, do you own anything that covers anything?" Emery settled on a black robe that was fairly opaque and frilly and quickly threw it on, scowling because it only came to her knees (God damn Angel's shortness!) and dipped low enough in the chest to reveal zero cleavage. Bloody hell. But it was the least revealing thing she saw. She tied it as tightly as she could manage. Her boots were somewhere, but she couldn't be assed to fuss with them, so she headed for the door barefoot.

"Where are you even going?"

"Not far. Just...shit. Look, I'm sorry," she said, turning to Angel with a wince, "but I think I really fucked up again and now I gotta go save my friend."

"Your friend...? Oh. Do you...think that's wise? Maybe you should sober up a little first?"

"Oh, I'm super sober, Angel," Emery said with a wave of her hand as she turned toward the door--and walked into the door frame with a thump, because spacial awareness was hard right then. She braced her hands against it, staring at it as though it had rudely accosted her, and Angel sank her head slowly into her hand.

"Right. Stone cold," she said with a sigh, and laid back against the pillows.

"I'll be back! Promise!" Emery said, and she picked up her coin purse, put more coin on the side table to make up for it, and flashed Angel an apologetic smile. "Later, doll." And she slipped out the door and shut it behind her.

It must be the alcohol, because suddenly Alkereth had become pliant and agreeable, and did not seem to mind the attentions both Summer and Caleb were giving him. Talk about epic emotional light switch in a span of ten minutes. Flushed and giving his sloppiest smile (that did NOT suit him at all), Alkereth tripped over his pants as he inched to the tub while both Caleb and Summer gravitated towards him. Caleb seemed keen to save the day, because Lazamar knows the priest just could not handle simple buttons any more.

What a pal! Caleb was given a fond pat on the head. The proximity gave the priest WEIRD FEELINGS, but it was just one of those things where he was happily unbothered at the moment. He had even forgotten the pain he felt between his legs. It wasn't a terrible pain, but it was a little annoying to deal with—not something he was really used to.

Happy idiot drunk.

Alkereth seemed to have it in his mind that his new 'friends' were about as eager as he was to conduct Divine Liturgy in this room, so he nodded eagerly.

"How remarkable! I never thought I'd..." He hiccuped. "I'd be able to convert such lovely companions. I... I just... gotta remember the, uh... uh... the words," he murmured down at Summer after she had finished looping her arms around him. "Don't worry, my bubbly lady. I will free you both of you from your, um... your wickedness, yes. Oh, hehe, that tickles." Oh, god, he was giggling like a dumbass over Caleb's lips, not quite registering that it was meant to be carnal. At the moment, it seemed friendly. And... hell, Alkereth was actually enjoying the attention, now that he had calmed down.

Once he was free of his trousers, he immediately attempted to cover himself with his hands, because... well, look at that, he wasn't wearing undergarments.

Splash. He tripped head-first into the bath, his shiny pale rear mooning everything and everybody. He probably took Summer and Caleb with him, if they hung on.

Rub a dub dub, an idiot fell in the tub.

Summer beamed up at Alan, and in that moment she knew that she was in love. (Not for the first time, but never mind that! This time it was for really real!) He could free her of her wickedness? He was going to convert her? Now, she was a firm believer in Ansgar and all the tenets of that faith (even if she did play loosey goosey with a couple rules) but apparently her faith had limits, for this priest of this religion with a god she'd already forgotten the name of seemed mighty compelling!

"I'm really, really wicked, I think! So it'll take a lot of...uh...convertin'? Done lotsa sinnin'! But I'm ready, Father! I'm ready!"

Behind Alan, Caleb bit back a snort. There was still a bit of irritation bubbling beneath the surface over having to share this gorgeous man (Emery had betrayed him!), but it was what it was and he just had to be flexible. It wasn't about him, after all—he was here to give him a good time! And so as Alan stumbled out of his trousers and to the bath, he did his best to help guide him, his hands wandering down and over his hips and—

Oh no.

Alan pitched forward, Summer let out a squeal and a splash, and with a gasp and a "H-hey!" Caleb tried to save Alan by grabbing onto his hips—but it was too late. Summer landed on her rear in the tub, legs splayed up over the rim and gown hiked up indecently, her arms still clinging around Alan's neck and squishing his face against her breasts. Miraculously, Caleb managed to stay upright, standing awkwardly behind Alan with his hands still on him, rear shining like the Star he was.

And that was, of course, the moment Emery shoulder-checked the door with her good shoulder and burst inside, drunkenly prepared to dive in for the rescue.

A rescue that...may...not be needed...?

She stared, mouth dropping open, at first not sure she was seeing what see was seeing—the mage butt naked, Caleb looking about ready to plow him, and the mage looking about ready to plow Summer.

"Whatthefuck?!" she blurted, not at all expecting this, horrified by the scene but too dumbfounded to look away. She expected some sort of damsel in distress situation—but it looked like he didn't need her help at all! "Fuck's sake, I thought you were celibate!"

"Were," Summer chimed in cheerfully, quite happy about her current position, and Emery let out a groan.

...Never mind that she was the one who had orchestrated this whole thing. Drunk thoughts were hard.

Caleb slid a tired a look over to Emery. "You want in on this too, now?" he asked, and Emery choked, her face flushing.

"Fuck no! Get off him. Off, off!" she said, clapping her hands and marching over. "He's a priest or somethin' for God's sake."

Wait, was that Emery?

He gasped after nearly suffocating between Summer's lovely soft bosom, his wet hair glistening so white that it nearly looked transparent. His scarlet eyes widened as he looked around at Emery, hovering over Summer while Caleb still grasped him from behind. He could hear Caleb's irritation, but he could only grin like a dumbass.

"Wazzall this 'bout celebrating?"

He misheard, but it didn't matter. He looked down.

"Oh, sorry, m'dear—I did not mean to fall on you like this, ha, ha—uh—I forgot your name." He peered down at Summer and gave her a pat on the head. He was aware that his waist was still grasped, and probably for the best, or else he might fall again. What he did not realize, at first, was that he was buckass naked. Or at this rate, he just did not care. What did he have to lose in the face of death? His horse is gone, he was all alone, his enemy gave him new friends to serve under Lazamar! Wild.

"Emery! Emeerrryyyyyy, you should come and join us! They uh... they want to be concerted! I mean conventional! You want to be convenient?" He meant converted, but alas, the sloppy grin had never left. "Or you can just watch, it's actually really quite magical."

And then Emery had to go and be a Debbie-Downer, and tell his new friends to leave. He frowned, staying put.

"Hey! Hey, go play with your friends, I'll play with mine." Ouch. He did not include Emery in that. Seems he still held a sore spot over...

The kiss.

Yeah, he still remembered that. And the plea he made that she ignored. Then an idea struck him, something that niggled a spot in his drunken mind that made his pettiness ramp up to the max.

He kissed Summer on the mouth... in front of Emery.

And why not? She was there, she seemed eager for sex, and Alkereth was raring for revenge.

Join them? WATCH? Ansgar's balls, the absolute GALL of him! Emery wanted to leave. This was so beyond embarrassing. He didn't need her help, in fact he was happy with his situation and his...friends. She didn't want to see his naked ass, as nice of an ass as it—no, wait, no it fucking wasn't!

But it was even more embarrassing to admit she'd been wrong and slink away with her tail between her legs after bursting in like a rabid bull. So she committed to the idea of saving him even if he didn't need it, the booze in her blood making her double down harder.

And THEN him telling her to go fuck herself, more or less, only put her back up more.

"Fuckin' dumbass," she growled, words still a sloppy slur if far less than his. But she also had years of practice faking sobriety around her superiors after a sneaky night out—with more or less success at times than others. "You've no clue what you're doin'. I've no clue what ya think you're doin' but pretty sure it ain't that, whatever it is. Get up. Now. Put your clothes on and—"

And he was kissing Summer.

He was kissing Summer.

Whatever Emery had been about to say died in her throat as those two locked lips, Summer happily and passionately running her hands through his sopping hair and drawing him in deeper. Was she...was she using tongue?! Oh God. She was going for it, shamelessly eager, and Emery could only just stare, flabbergasted.

It took her a moment before she could do more than sputter wordlessly.

"O-oh! OH! I see how it is! It's not slutty when YOU do it, is that it, harlot?" Emery snapped at him. "Pot, meet the fuckin' kettle!"

It shouldn't bother her. It shouldn't sting even a little, and she knew it. But that kiss wasn't the five that theirs had been, it was more like a bloody seven or eight and Summer was so goddamned pretty with her perfect skin and shapely tits and generous hips so why wouldn't he want to kiss her?

And why the hell was she mad about it?!

But her stupid drunk brain decided that it was pissed and—surprisingly enough, jealous. Which was stupid! Because she didn't get jealous! Because she didn't care! Right?! And it made zero sense! At all! He was a mage, and she didn't care about him, because he was dangerous and...and...and that didn't sound right or true at all. But her stupid drunk brain tended to a bit more emotional and significantly more honest and—

Fuck. She did care.

She cared about him.

Then why was she going to...to take him to...?

She bit her cheek to stop that thought in its tracks and folded her arms across her chest, feeling stupid in that stupid goddamn robe.

"Fine! Ya wanna fuck every bloody whore in this entire goddamn building, be my fuckin' guest, but—but you're payin'!" As if he had the money and she hadn't already paid.

Caleb, meanwhile, had gone still as a statue, eyes moving back and forth between Alan and Emery. Summer was ignorant in her bliss, happily married to Alan now in her fantasies even if she was also kind of cold with his naked body pressed to hers. Caleb, however, could hear danger ringing loud and clear, his earlier suspicions confirmed. Something was going on between those two, something messy, and he discretely let go of Alan's hips and backed away toward the bed slowly.

For his second kiss, it wasn't exactly what he'd call remarkable or memorable. No offense to sweet Summer, but revenge didn't taste so good. Summer didn't have the taste of char or the scent of the wilds. He was frigid as a result, and so not into this like she was. It wasn't her fault, really. He grimaced and pulled away. Emery would see it as a ten, but to the guy actually doing the kissing with a complete stranger, it was a two, and that was being generous.

Emery, on the other hand...

Emery. She was not helping the situation, but he did feel some satisfaction seeing her riled. But something she said had him rear up like a snake. First of all, the assumptions pissed him off, and second... was she seriously telling him to pay? Well—he could see what this would look like to anyone. Time to set the record straight.

"Leave." It was a calm request meant for Caleb and Summer, but not one that should go ignored. Alkereth radiated anger, sobering tremendously after Emery's heated rebuke. (He knew he would either laugh or cry about this later.)

Naked, he rose out of the tub looking comparable to some gleaming Grecian marble god—and not lacking in the downstairs department, if one may have an opinion. He was too angry to cover himself up, but his clothes were scattered about that it seemed moot to scramble just to get at them when the damage was already done. Emery barged in; it was her fault if she saw something while he was trying to bathe.

"Don't you DARE..."

Alkereth stormed naked until he towered inches over the ginger's head.

"...accuse me, girl."

His breath reeked of alcohol.

"You put me in this situation that I did not want," he snarled, his scarlet eyes burning. "I did not ask to be accosted by them. I drank, yes, but I did not want to. I did it anyway so that I could forget everything YOU'VE done."

It didn't stop there. Now that he had Emery's attention, he was going to give it to her, bar none.

"It DIDN'T WORK." He just admitted he couldn't forget.

"It was not until this VERY MOMENT that I understand that they weren't interested in being my friend, or to embrace my faith." His voice shook. It seems the prospect of having friends with the same faith as him would allow him to achieve something good in this world, but all that was dashed to pieces. He tried not to take it personally. How could he be so naive?

Alkereth trembled. He was angry, cold, still fuzzy, and wanted to skip the bath altogether and just go to bed.

"I just wanted to bathe and go to bed... I'm tired, my stomach is in terrible pain, and most importantly, I do not want another row with you."

The fight wasn't really in him. His body felt like lead, his arms hanging limp on either side of him. He just stared warily, now, emotionally drained, and wondering what hell Emery was going to snark and snarl at him next.

Oh shit.

A little voice in Emery's head yelled "danger" when the mage told the two courtesans to leave. What? She shot a look their way and saw Summer and Caleb exchange wide-eyed glances: Summer deeply disappointed and looking on the verge of being crushed, while Caleb looked more interested. As soon as the mage rose from the tub, Summer scrambled out of the water, dripping wet and shivering a little, and Caleb wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her out.

The door shut behind them with a click.

And Emery went stock still as the mage stormed over to her, thinking maybe she had finally done it, maybe this was the part where the good mage snapped and strangled her, because he looked angry in a way she hadn't seen before.

It took all of her willpower not to take a step backwards when he crowded her space, naked and gorgeous and quite frankly a little terrifying. Somehow, in all their time together, he had always felt smaller even though he towered a good head over her. Now she definitely felt his size, and for once she felt small, and the stupid fucking outfit she was wearing did not help. It was impossible to feel particularly tough when barefoot in a skimpy outfit and wet hair.

It also did not help that she was still just drunk enough to be...weirdly thrilled by this, her heart beating fast with two parts fear and apprehension and one part excitement? What the fuck even was her brain? Some strange part of her liked this side of him--this sudden growth of backbone.

She stared up at him, shoulders stiff and arms still folded, scowling and trying not to show just how much he had thrown her--and failing, the flush in her cheeks and throat bob when she swallowed giving it away. Nothing he said was untrue; this was all her doing. "Ya looked into him," she said tightly. "Thought it was obvious this was a fuckin' brothel. Thought I'd be nice and...oh, fuck me, I don't even fuckin' know. Look. I drank, uh...a lot. It was a good idea in the moment, alright? It made sense then." And then, a little petulantly, she added, "Looked more like ya accosted her, anyway."

With a grimace, she looked away, nails digging into her arms as she tried and failed to explain a thought process that made less and less sense the more sober she grew. Was it the booze that was making her stomach do queasy flip-flops? Then he said the words that made the queasiness turn to pain:

I did it anyway so that I could forget everything YOU'VE done.

Everything she had done, and would do.

"I was tryin' to forget, too," she mumbled before she could stop herself, pushing some dripping hair out of her eyes. "Didn't work."

It was a little unfair that Emery was wearing that outfit whose soul purpose was to tease the eyes. He did his best to keep his eyes on her face. He studied the scar, and wondered how it got there at all, and amazed that he never bothered to ask.

His voice never lost its curt intentions, but the drink softened it and gave his words a little slur. He would rather shout, but how could he when his voice lost its fiercest edge. It pissed him off, but there was naught to be done about it.

"I wasn't born yesterday, idiot, coming in I was well aware that this is a place for loose frivolity." Well, maybe not immediately, but. "But those two—they told me... they were willing to listen to the words of my holy book... and I believed them. Or I guess a part of me desperately wanted to. They are objectively beautiful creatures, and as a man I sincerely appreciate their physical bodies, but I did not want them," he finished firmly. Odd, because he remembered vaguely how his body responded to their advances. A basic part of him wanted them, but he just couldn't bring himself to admit it. Lust was a powerful force, and even he was subject to its clutches. He reminded himself to reflect on this in his prayers later. "In retrospect, I suspect that they saw it as a form of play. For that I do not fault them."

He sighed, chest expanding and falling. If he was cold, he did not seem to notice.

"Yes. I kissed her specifically to make you angry. And I succeeded." He crossed his arms now, glaring down at her. "And perhaps I thought it best at the time to erase the memory of yours." He did not say it, but the far-off glance and slant of his lips was a clear indication that despite everything, he just could not forget about Emery's stupid kiss.

Emery couldn't forget either. Well, color him shocked. He thought that perhaps some cherry-picked honestly would do well for the situation, but he was not expecting this. He sighed, more exasperated than the last.

"Enemies cannot be lovers, Emery," he said wearily.

He was surprised that he had enough clarity to get this much out. He still felt his head swimming; perhaps it was the alcohol and not his own volition that gave him the liquid courage to say this.

Oof. Emery felt a jab of...sympathy...when he spoke of his desperation, of seeking belonging even from courtesans. Ugh, she should have known better. Of course he would be too naive for that. What she had interpreted as flirting and interest between he and Caleb was likely just Caleb saying what he wanted to hear and the mage being too tipsy and desperate to realize it.

Hadn't he snapped something like that at her before? That he was alone in this world and had the bad luck of encountering her first?

This could be the first time he'd been around anyone aside from her since he arrived in Connlaoth. Fuck. Of course he'd be desperate for any social contact.

She'd been a fucking monster toward him.

Her chest ached, a feeling she was not keen on examining, so it was perhaps both a blessing and a curse when another set of baffling words dropped out of his mouth.

He kissed Summer to make her angry, and it worked.

He was trying to erase a memory—she knew the one.

Enemies cannot be lovers, Emery.

"W-what?" She jerked in surprise and snapped a look up at him. "Who said anything about—?" Was he insane? Thrown off balance, she looked away quickly, her face burning shamefully. "Obviously not, jackass! Where'd that even come from? How'd you get that from what I just said?"

Deep breaths. It was difficult for her to form rational thoughts when she was several drinks under with a beautiful naked man looming over her. The only safe place to look was his face, but even that was dangerous when she felt her own expressions might give away more than she wanted, and more importantly, when she was afraid of what she might see in his own eyes. Liquid honesty had been her undoing before.

She closed her eyes, scrubbed a hand over her face, and tried to form coherent sentences.

"Listen. I wasn't mad about the...the kiss. About ya kissin' her. I don't care. I hired her for you in the first place, so why would I...? Ugh, look, I wasn't angry, I was just...annoyed," she lied, then paused. That wasn't much better. Why was she annoyed? Shit. "Annoyed 'cause...uh...fuck, I-I dunno." She was fumbling, searching for an explanation, eyes lowering from his face to his chest before jerking back up before she could look lower. His lips were a dangerous place to look, but his eyes were worse, so she focused on a point around his eyebrows.

"Probably 'cause I left a perfectly good fuck 'cause I sobered enough to remember what Trashed Me did, realized that was a mistake, and came to fix it." Aha! There! Yes! That sounded like a good excuse! She could use this! "That's it. Ya didn't need savin', you're a big boy, so I sabotaged us both for nothing. Sorry. You're still a virgin, I'm still frustrated, there ya go. It ain't that deep."

She chewed her lip, hating how she had fumbled her way through that, hating how hard it had been to think up some convincing half-truths to toss in. This was getting too deep, and she had already blurted out too much.

"Speaking of," she said, cocking her head and glancing briefly at his lips with a smirk. "Kissin' Summer. Scale of one to ten. Better or worse than ours?"

Why am I like this. It was a lame attempt at a joke, to show just how little she cared, but she realized too late it gave away how on her mind that whole thing still was.

"Don't be a fool," Alkereth snapped. "That kiss was... was my first, but it... it was... good. Really, really fantastic." There. He said it, and it didn't make him any happier.

"Who said anything? I DID."

Now he had his hands on his hips, staring in such a way with those eyes that could probably shoot lasers if he tried.

"Don't evade the topic. We need to talk about this now."

Yes, naked and exposed. Alcohol was an odd elixir indeed.

"You do care. It infuriated you as much as it did for me when you kissed that girl."

Oho, so Alkereth admitted to being the jealous type. Emery's admission—or as close an admission as he was going to get—was met with a smug look. For some reason, it made him feel a little better. And because he felt better, and liquid courage was egging on all the bad ideas, he said baldly:

"Just admit you want to kiss me again."

And evaded the question about Summer's godforsaken kiss. Hypocrite.

This was a goddamn trip. Emery didn't realize she was capable of experiencing so many wildly different emotions in the span of a night—or, hell, even minutes! She had run the gamut here from worried, annoyed, pissed, afraid, aroused, confused, curious, and everything in between, and looped back around to revisit several of them along the way.

And this mage. This fucking mage. He was not making this easy, and she was way too inebriated for this conversation.

It was fantastic? Their kiss was fantastic? And his first?! The one he said was awful? What?! Her head spun and not from the booze, and it only got worse with each word that followed: him calling out her bullshit, him admitting he was jealous, his smug-ass look, him demanding they discuss this when she really, really didn't want to and really, really wanted to storm away and lock herself in the room she'd bought and just fucking die.

Her head was buzzing, the blood pounding in her ears, the frustration bubbling up until—

"Just admit you want to kiss me again."

No, no, no! Don't do it. Don't—!

"...I fucking hate you!" she growled, and she looped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

Fine. FINE. She didn't fucking care anymore, she decided as she poured all her frustration and aggression and confusion into that kiss, her body flush against his own, silk against his bare skin. It was a horrible idea, she knew as she ran her fingers through his wet hair, feeling and tasting and breathing him in, but the thought vanished to the back of her mind as quickly as it came. He smelled of flowers and tasted like wine, and she had given him shit for that before, but fuck...

She loved it.

This was a dangerous gamble. Unexpected. Foolish.

The sparks flew in ways he could never imagine. When she threw herself upon him, he could only return the favor and pull her in with a gentle and timid embrace of his arms. The experience was damning as it was wonderful. He was not sure if this is what love was supposed to be, but it felt incredibly right. Booze be damned.

He wanted nothing more than to lay with the enemy named Emery.

"I don't hate you," he said softly, the alcohol on his tongue potent. "But it is okay if you hate me."

This was the worst idea in the history of ideas. Of course it was. He did just say something about enemies and lovers, but who was he trying to convince? Lunrath wasn't here, his own mother had been absent for too long to offer any real guidance, his Order was a hundred billion miles away to feasibly sneer at this. He was lost and alone on a strange planet with a woman less a stranger to him than she was yesterday.

Alkereth wholeheartedly believed that Emery had changed. Because of this—or because time took its course... he may never know. He no longer cared.

Caught by the intense high that gripped him so, he pulled Emery away for just a moment. Nevermind that his lower regions looked excited as hell, but he possessed about him a gentle sincerity that ached his soul.

"I want you to know my name. It's Alkereth."

Alkereth.

His name was Alkereth.

Emery stared up at him when he pulled away—and felt utterly defeated. She had avoided asking him his name, as though that would keep the distance between them, and yet look where that had gotten her: her arms around him, her body flush against his, her heart hammering away with a strange mixture of excitement and fear of the unknown.

It hadn't worked. Nothing had.

She didn't hate him, either.

"Alkereth," she repeated, a little breathless, her body trembling—why the hell was she trembling? She hadn't expected reciprocation. She hadn't expected him to put his gentle arms around her and kiss her back with such sincerity.

She hadn't expected forgiveness.

"You should hate me. Why don't you hate me? I want to hate you! I tried, I—fuck." Her hands found his face, warm against his cool skin, thumbs tracing along his cheekbones. A pained look crossed her face mixed with confusion as she looked into his crimson eyes, and she knew she should stop, knew she should end this here—but she didn't want to. 

"It didn't work," she finally said. "You stupid, stupid man, I don't hate you."

She should stop. But she wanted to taste him again, wanted to feel him all around her, and the words spilled out before she could even try to stop them. "I want you, Alkereth."

This was madness. Pure insanity. Had he made her go mad instead? Yet she was beyond caring at this point, beyond pretending, and from the way she felt his excitement grow, she felt maybe they were both full of bad ideas in equal part. She leaned up to meet his lips again, a desperate neediness to the kiss this time, and even as she clung to him she stepped into him, backing him toward the bed. 

"Because... you have a good heart."

Alkereth could spiral into a whole novel's worth about why he thought this, but he was too sloshed for that. He had a one-track mind at this point, a mind filled only with thoughts of what could be, and Emery seemed to share that sentiment, for she had suddenly come upon him again with hands and lips that burned. To return the favor, Emery was met with an embrace that clung tight. Her scent, her warmth, her taste. Was it truly indefinite? 

How had he missed this his whole life?

He had every opportunity to know what it was like to embrace a lover. But no lover had ever been like Emery.

She was cold, and ruthless, and hellbent to offer him up to the chopping block. But she changed. He steered her to a better path. Or perhaps she did it all on her own. He believed in her. It was no longer about winning the gamble. It was about relishing in the opportunity laid bare before him... so to speak. An opportunity he was inclined to savor.

"I want you, too," he murmured, timidly kissing her scarred face. Her vulnerability, in turn, made him weak. She'd said his name, and he shivered. She could say it like that for an eternity and he'd never tire of it. "I wanted you for a while."

Completely trusting of her, he let Emery take the lead, guiding him back. Once he felt the soft edge of the bed hit his legs, he fell back—and took the Mordecai with him. His hands explored, pausing every now and then as if in question: was this alright? He was shy, but when something felt so right, why should he be afraid of it? That was a first.

Emery was so beautiful. How had he not noticed before? Let's be real—he had noticed in the way a man notices a woman, but he refrained from letting his prudish eyes stray too far, punching down any thoughts that would naturally follow. But this was different. Tonight, he was no longer a priest. Tonight, the Harbinger spirit fled him. He was only just that: a man.

She was a work of art. What others might see as mere imperfections, Alkereth could only see beauty in it's purest form. He wanted to pay his respects and worship every inch of her. From her small breasts hiding beneath sheer silk, to the flat of her stomach, he wondered at his luck to have such a wonder in his arms. He could spare no thought for the courtesans. They were objectively lovely to behold, but Alkereth did not know their hearts. He did not desire them. Emery was fire unbound, and left scorch marks in places he'll never forget.

When she kissed, so did he, pulling her in close as he flicked a tongue to taste her again.

Perhaps he was afraid that this was all a sham, so he only held her closer. Please let this be real.

Emery kept her thoughts to herself--because she disagreed wholeheartedly. No, she didn't have a good heart. She was fucking awful.

But it was nice that he thought so, though she had no idea why he would.

She had been so goddamn cruel to him.

Maybe she still was. Because she shouldn't be doing this. She should fucking know better.

Yet when he said he wanted her, too, that he had for a while, and then kissed her face so sweetly, it sent a shiver down her spine that rose goosebumps along her skin. This felt utterly surreal--but he was solid as ever when he fell upon the bed and pulled her with him, and she let out a surprised gasp and sprawled across his chest. He was cold to the touch as she rolled to straddle him, sliding forward so she wasn't grinding on him just yet, but she didn't mind; she planned on warming him up.

This was exactly where she wanted to be.

She had never slept with a virgin; she had stuck to the same handful of experienced partners over the years: friends with benefits in the past, courtesans now. Casual yet reliable relationships that didn't go much deeper than sex, but that weren't entirely strangers, either. It wasn't that she was opposed to the idea, because it frankly didn't matter to her either way; it had just never happened.

With Alkereth beneath her now, Emery found herself strangely nervous--like it was her first time and not his. What if she was too much and scared him? Where did she even start? He was sweet, and she wanted it to be good for him--how did you figure out what someone enjoyed when they didn't even know what they liked or what they were doing? How did she not fuck this up? What if she did something he hated or--?

She took a deep breath. Slowly. She started slowly, she supposed.

"Touch me. Nothing's off limits," she breathed warmly into his ear, and nibbled at the lobe. "My body is yours." She could feel the shy hesitation in his touches and so she caught his hands in hers, lightly kissed across his knuckles, and then guided them where she wanted--up her sides and to her breasts, still covered by a robe that she felt strangely hesitant to lose, because fuck, she cared what he thought of her, and what if he didn't like what was beneath? She shoved the fear aside and dipped to kiss him, pleasantly surprised to find him a quick study as he boldly tasted her, too, and she let out a soft sound of enjoyment as she deepened it and traced her fingers through his hair, breathing him in. God help her, she was going to hell.

"Let me know if you don't like something," she murmured as she pulled back and pressed her lips to his neck, then his jaw, and then slid a little lower. "Or if I'm going too fast." She shivered, loving the way his hands felt on her, his cool skin a strange but nice contrast to her heat. "I've never...ah...this is a little new to me, too," she admitted, feeling a flutter in her belly as soon as she said it, at admitting vulnerability.

She so did not want to fuck this up. And she had a bad track record of fuck ups when it came to Alkereth.

How had she never seen him before now? Oh, she had, but she had done her best to ignore it, focusing on what he was over who he was until she could ignore it no more. She had made fun of his appearance before, but it had never been real; it had just been a defense thrown up in the hopes that she would believe it. She had teased and belittled him, but it had all been to convince herself of a different truth. His skin was smooth beneath her fingers and lips, cool like marble and just as perfect, and she wanted to touch every part of him and see what pleasure she could bring him.

She moved down his body, lips against his chest, then his belly, her damp hair tickling along his skin.

"What is there not to like?" He inhaled of her deeply. "Your body is intoxicating."

He spoke the goddamn truth. Even when he spoke of her heart, he knew he would defend every word he's said.

His hands was lost on her, grazing over her flesh and finding a nipple that made him blush furiously. But he tested it, wondered at it, and felt a thrill when it grew taut beneath his touch.

When Emery moved, so did his hands. He explored her back, felt her muscles, and found the ginger hair that drove him crazy. It was wet, but he played with the short strands experimentally, then caressed them adoringly.

"Please..." He arched his back as Emery trailed her kisses downward. Unsure of what she was going to do, it was plain to see that he was terribly excited to find out. He felt himself throb with undeniable need. "Please... go at the pace you want. I am not scared. I will tell you if you hurt me." But he did not think she would. At least, not on purpose.

He was aware of how fast his heart was racing. He peered down at her now, watching, anticipating her next move. When he felt the tickle, he couldn't help but giggle and squirm a little.

He never thought he would enjoy being Emery's prey up until now.

Intoxicating. That was it, that was the word she would use to describe Alkereth, too. For Emery felt drunk on him in ways that had little to do with the booze; oh, she was still tipsy, certainly, but not nearly enough that she could claim to not have a clear head. Every caress, every kiss, every flick of her tongue against his skin, was made with intention. She knew exactly what she was doing.

And she was hyperaware of his touch and the way he seemed to grow a little bolder, his hands like ice but caresses electric. She had yelled at him for his cold hands before, but now they elicited a different kind of gasp as they played over breast and nipple—and God she wanted more, her skin burning up at the tease, a little whimper escaping before she could bite it back, but there would be time for that later.

Patience.

Right then, she was on a mission, and she was focused entirely on making him squirm, even as his hands along her back made her squirm. And then they were in her hair, sending pleasant tingles from her scalp clear to her toes, because there were few pleasures greater than that. For a moment she froze, breath coming out in a burst against his skin as she wanted to lean into him like a goddamn cat—but she persevered.

Emery settled on her knees between his legs, fingers trailing lazy patterns along his belly toward his groin, and then down his inner thighs to his knees, pointedly ignoring her goal to tease him instead. She peered up at him, watching him watch her, and the corner of her lip quirked. God, he was so fucking beautiful, he was addicting. The way his back arched, his innocent curiosity, the salt of his skin, the adorable giggle when she hit a ticklish spot (which she then committed to memory)—did he have any idea what she planned? She had a feeling she was about to introduce him to a brand new world.

Go at her pace, he said. He would tell her if she hurt him.

"I'll hold you to that," she said softly, and leaned down to kiss the tip of his cock, tongue darting out to lick up precum. "Pretty sure this won't hurt, though. Promise. Now...why don't you just lay back and moan for me?"

She had noticed he was well-endowed even when she had been trying not to notice—and she was up for the challenge, gently stroking a hand along him before running her tongue up him from base to tip. He was a taller man, and larger as well, than any she had been with, and she was eager to explore and learn what he enjoyed. For a moment she simply teased him with lips and tongue, her free hand cupping his balls lightly but carefully, in case he didn't like them being touched. And then, finally, she took him in her mouth even as her hand still stroked his shaft—all the while listening and watching for his reaction, ready to adjust if he responded badly, and longing to see him writhe.

He looked pretty with an arched back and flushed face.

The anticipation was both thrilling and devastating. He felt his hips buck involuntarily with each kiss that drew closer and closer, then pouted in thick moans when she trailed away. His cock quivered, stiff and painful. Wildly, he imagined what it would be like if she took him in her mouth. He would never know what that was like, but if Emery did it, he wasn't sure what would happen—

And then, she did it. He gasped and tensed, looking down again and catching her eye. Oh, Lazamar, she was peering right up at him, kissing and trailing her tongue over him. It felt... amazing. So did her hands cupping an area he did not know could feel so pleasurable. He felt something building, just slightly out of reach, but he suddenly wanted to chase after that feeling. Perhaps he looked goofy with his eyes rolling back, doing everything in his power not to buck into Emery's mouth as he focused on it, on her, like a hunter on the trail of something juicier than a hare.

"Don't... don't stop... whatever it is you're doing..."

Emery took his breath away. She was so lovely, working on him like this. It was enough that his body had become hard all over because of her—muscles tense and hands gripping the bedsheets for dear life—but it also made him weak, too, and unable to keep his head up to observe. When his head fell back, it was with a hitch of his breath, feeling that evasive feeling well up.

"Emery... I feel like I'm going to burst."

For most people, it would be too soon. But for Alkereth, this was his first time experiencing an orgasm. He knew what it was, but for him it was little more than fairytale, and perhaps a little disgusting when others spoke of it. But now... he was getting it, understanding what all the fuss was about, and lamented that he had not tried this sooner.

No. No other time was perfect than this. He could picture no one else in Emery's place.

Was this beyond lust? He wanted her, yes, but he also wanted more time spent with her beyond just sex. Adventuring, and camping. He saw a life with her.

Oh, no.

And it all started with a kiss. Who knew that it would snowball the way it did.

Alkereth gave her exactly what she wanted. 

There were few power trips so great as this: reducing a man to begging moans and clutched sheets with just her hands and mouth. Emery didn't even have to pull out all the fancy tricks—not that she didn't enjoy demonstrating, because she did, but because he was so deliciously sensitive that he was already a quivering mess. She had felt that might be the case; not only did she simply enjoy this, thoroughly and purely, but if he was going to last longer than two pumps then it might be best get that out of the way now. Not because she minded; a misfire was not the end of the world when they had all night—they could try again and she hoped they would. But if this was his first, then he might mind. 

Best to save him from potential embarrassment now.

Alkereth might think he looked goofy, but Emery thought he looked gorgeous, and she shamelessly watched him—the clenching of his muscles, the tremble in his body, the way he jerked but was trying so hard not to, the outline of his ribs as his breathing became erratic and his back arched. God, she loved it, that pure expression of bliss and knowing she was responsible—and she could feel heat pooling between her legs at the sight and feel of him, almost to the point of pain. 

Fuck, she wanted him. All of him.

She wanted to learn everything that he loved, and teach him what she knew.

She had hurt him before—but she could please him, too. Those same hands that had yanked his hair in anger could bring him to ecstasy—and she wanted to make up for that. She didn't think she could, but she could try.

He told her not to stop, and she didn't. He warned he was going to burst, and so she maintained the pace—did not slow, did not quicken, did not want to throw off the steady pressure she had built. She could feel him throb and stiffen in her mouth and knew he was close, and so she continued to take him in, hand sliding up and down his shaft to the rhythm of her mouth. 

Somewhere deep down, from some unexpected place, a burst of affection had her reaching out with her free hand to find one of his tangled in the sheets. Covering it with her own, she laced her fingers in his and squeezed—a silent gesture to let him know it was okay.

Not that he really had a choice, since she wasn't stopping.

Alkereth felt her hand take his, and his heart surged from the comforting message it brought. It also emboldened him, melting away some of his lingering hesitancy and apprehension about any of this. Her hand was warm, a little calloused, but he familiarized himself to them regardless, melting into the warmth, relishing that they were her's. He grasped her hand with his own smooth fingers, and held on as he felt a rush unlike anything he had ever felt before.

He had seen the tantalizing secrets of the deepest black, entertained the whimsies of fantastical self-proclaimed gods, beheld the terrible leviathans that drank sunlight, and had strolled the liquid crystal palace that was considered legend among his people.  He remembered how he felt when he had seen them. These did not compare to what he felt.

His world shattered into fragments of white-hot pleasure as he experienced his first long-awaited release. If Emery insisted that her mouth should linger upon him, she would taste something oddly sweet, almost like biting into the thick juices of some obscure fruit. It was not unpleasant, if she was used to the slightly viscous texture of male seed.

Alkereth's chest heaved. While his body normally ran cold, it felt warmer than usual. Rendered a useless mess after the earth-shattering orgasm, he needed a moment to calm his heart and wait for the pounding rush in his ears to die down.

Once he was able to find his voice, he realized that he was unsure of what to say. Should he thank her? No, that sounded ridiculous. What about taking her in his arms? Oh, he quite liked that visual very much, but he found that he could not move us arms. He chose something that was easy to say without making him sound like a complete idiot.

"You felt incredible." Struck with an idea, he continued: "Do you... want me to try that on you? Would you feel it too?"

The mage did not want the Mordecai to feel left out. In fact, he wanted her to feel just as good as he did. It was important to him, and the sincerity of his questions managed to reach his eyes as they raked over her lovely form unfairly shielded beneath scraps of silk. How would she taste, he wondered? Perhaps he could slip her out of her robe while he sampled her small bosom with his tongue and lips, and trailed down like she did to him? The thought made his cheeks blossom in a hot shade of pink.

"I... want to experience all that you are," he whispered. "Let me pleasure you."

How like a puppy he looked. Timid, but eager to learn.

Alkereth let go, and Emery drank him in. She could never say that she particularly enjoyed the flavor or texture itself (though she did enjoy the culmination of a job well done), but it was simply quicker and less messy to swallow. Once again, the mage surprised her; she had called him sweet, but it seemed it was literal, and it was safe to say she would be happy to taste him again. She slid her hand free of his so she could caress his thighs through his release, feeling his body warm and tremble, and she pulled back when she felt he was spent, not wanting to overstimulate him.

From the way he looked so utterly lifeless save for his heaving chest, she felt it safe to say she had done well.

With a smug grin, she sat up, wiped the corner of her lips, and opened her mouth to make a joke about scales and ratings. Alkereth, however, spoke first.

Holy fucking hell.

If Emery had been warm before, she felt on fire then, her cheeks flushing an embarrassing shade that spread down her neck. Her smug look evaporated, turning more deer staring down the wolf--wide eyes and parted lips--because his words had made all her blood and brains rush to other regions as soon as he opened his stupid sexy mouth. Shit. Shit. It was such a stupid thing; for God's sake, she had just had her mouth on his cock and had swallowed everything he gave and yet she was blushing like she'd never known a man.

"I...uh..." She rubbed at her arm and adjusted the sleeve of her robe, but the words stuck in her throat. He looked so eager, so earnest. Shy, but willing in the purest way. She would be a fool to say no, and it might crush him if she did. He would get the wrong idea when it wasn't about him but entirely about her own bullshit: the simple fact that giving up control, letting herself be vulnerable, had always been difficult for her.

She had always been a giver; she enjoyed it, and enjoyed mutual pleasure, and had planned on guiding him through this experience. Being the center of attention, on the other hand, had always made her...squirmy. The thought of letting him explore her as she had done to him, submitting to his curious touches, kissing between her legs...

She sucked in a shuddering breath. It was hot as hell, but intimidating as fuck. She enjoyed doing it, and had only let Angel do it to her. It was almost too intimate, but...

"Yes," she breathed, swallowing back her nerves.  "Absolutely." She scooted further onto the bed so she could flop beside him and curl in close. Her arms encircled him as she pulled him into her, pressing her forehead to his, hoping he couldn't feel the tremble in her hands as she caressed along his spine. "Of course I'd, um, feel it. If it felt good to you, it'll feel good to me. Obvious differences aside, our bodies aren't so different when you break it down--you know, similar idea, slightly different execution..." She was rambling. Fuck, she was already feeling squirmy and trying hard not to show it, nervous jitters fluttering in her belly and making her heart pound harder, because for all her anxiety she had never felt so wanted. It was a potent and confusing cocktail--and yet, at the heart of all those warring emotions stood one potent truth:

She trusted him.

As frankly terrifying--and exciting--as it was, she supposed turnabout was fair play. Besides, she would be lying if she said she didn't want it.

She peered into his eyes, hand stroking his hair and over his ear, and then lightly cupped his cheek. "Ah, fuck, enough of that. I did say my body is yours, didn't I?" she said, and she pulled him into another kiss, nibbling along his bottom lip with light grazes of her teeth.

God help her. He wanted to experience all that she was, and the desire was mutual. Their dynamic had changed and was still evolving--into what, she didn't know, but she was as curious as she was afraid to explore it. She cared what he thought. She worried he might judge her. She was all wiry muscle and old scars and an ugly bruised shoulder and freckled skin, not some soft, perfect, feminine thing. How in God's name had someone like Alkereth landed in her (well, Caleb's) bed? She couldn't see what he saw, when to her he looked like one of the world's rarest wonders--and wasn't he?

Her Star brought to earth.

Conscientious of her pain, namely her arm that was surely tender, he carefully allowed himself to be enveloped by her first. He was surprised to hear how nervous she was.

He kissed her. Not to silence, but to reassure. It was bold, but it was loving.

"You did say so," he murmured against her lips, amused. "As mine is yours."

Slowly, methodically, he lifted himself and pulled up and over until he was now looking down at her.

A trembling, cool hand eased slowly under Emery's red head, nervous of her surrender. Certain he would make a mistake, he deliberated, behaving as one ill practiced, but opposed to taking too long. He was... eager. He wanted to explore this new frontier. And he did all this while looking upon her face. He could not look away. An imperfect human, his enemy, his deliverer to a great evil—

What about her drove him to this point?

Her eyes. The way they pierced, like a freshly sharpened knife, wedged hot into his heart, filling him with fire. They were beautiful. And her face—that scar—it was a story driven in a slant, but there was a defiance in her toughened skin that remained unmarred. He wondered vaguely about the poor fool who dared insult it, if ever there was one. He also wondered if there was ever a person who desired to kiss every inch of the scar with terrible longing. Because that is what he did, was driven to do, and suddenly felt a deep loathing for the one responsible for causing her pain. The freckles... a constellation he would trace with his fingers. Her body was a sacred palace filled with intriguing treasures. The bruises he carefully skirted around at the risk of hurting her.

And then he moved down, entreating her with the same kisses she gifted him before, but stirred to create his own. Her jaw, her neck, collarbone, and down, down, down, pressing his lips on bared skin not covered by lace and silk. Deftly, he encouraged her robe to open up to him, gliding his lips over her skin, and feeling the softness of her breast until he found her nipple and swelled his lips over it, wanting to know if feeling it grow firm in his hand would feel as good in his mouth. Never having known to ever do this before, he was inspired by his own discovery with how interesting it was, but became wary. He paused, if only out of nerves, to chance a glance upon Emery.

"Is this okay? Shall I keep at it?"

The roles flipped, and Emery soon found herself on her back, staring wide-eyed up at Alkereth from an entirely new angle. Where once she had terrorized him, now she was the one feeling weak as he loomed over her, but not in a bad way. Just in a way where she felt like she could die, but also that she might like it? Apprehensive, but safe in his arms. What a strange feeling.

Reaching up, she caressed his cool, smooth face with a calloused hand, her eyes on his. Red eyes, the color of death and demons in every tale, yet all she saw there was affection and sunrise. "Just remember who caught who." She flashed him a teasing smirk. Inside, she was flailing.

What was she supposed to even do? Just...let him explore and touch and experiment? It made sense. After all, she might very well be the first woman he'd seen naked. Already she had been doing everything in her power to be as unthreatening as she could, slowing down, toning down her usual aggression like a wolf showing its belly to another.

It was a struggle.

But she was trying.

He kissed her face, and she let herself melt into him, eyes drifting closed--until she recognized the path his lips followed and realized what he was doing. Her throat tightened with an unexpected surge of emotion and she clenched her eyes shut tighter. He wasn't just being sweet or cute; he was tracing her scar.

What the fuck...

She wasn't aware she was holding her breath until he slid lower, and it came out in a shivery gasp as those cool lips met her neck and jaw, sending chills and goosebumps along her skin and prompting a tilt of her head to bare more of herself to him. Surely he could feel her pulse fluttering in her throat, because it was thundering in her ears. Lower still he went, and God, she suddenly--stupidly--had no idea what to do with her hands. So she ran them through his hair and over his shoulders, holding on like he was her anchor, and bit her lip hard as he went ever lower.

When was the last time she had experienced something like this? Been held like this? Had she ever? They barely knew each other--and yet she had never felt more accepted. More adored. More beautiful. Never felt more undeserving.

His hands were at her robe and she froze and tensed, but she was no longer afraid. Nervous, as was natural, but no longer fearing rejection. He had felt her through the fabric and seemed to enjoy it. He had kissed her disfigurement, traced the freckles she hated. Too many cruel comments in the past had made her insecure, but he had reassured her with his hands and lips. When he coaxed her robe open and the cool air made her shiver, it was a shiver of excitement. When his lips found her breast and then, finally, tasted her, she could no longer hold back her whimpers. She was so wound up, so tense in anticipation, and so completely out of her element, that his mouth was near electric on her feverish skin.

She squirmed, her hands tightened in his hair, and she arched into him with breathy little moans and a soft, "Holy shit, Alkereth..." They were quite different from the exaggerated ones she had performed earlier. How had he gone from so timid and prudish to so bold and eager? She pulled him against her, craving more--

And then he stopped.

It took a moment before she could register what had happened. She blinked up at him, chest rising and falling fast, nerves thrumming. "Wha...? Oh. Y-yeah. God, yes, keep at it. It's...ah...it's wonderful. You're wonderful," she managed to get out, a tremor in her voice as she struggled to be somewhat articulate. She sucked in a breath. "Please, do as you like. I'll tell you if it's too much. You can even, um...be a little rougher, if you want. Use your teeth a little. Suck and pinch. I'm not made of glass; you won't hurt me. Quite the opposite."

Ah. This was more her stride. With a playful smile, she added, "Also, my dear...you do have two hands." And to demonstrate her meaning, she grasped one of his hands and drew it to her other breast. "They get jealous."

"Yes, my lady," Alkereth said with romantic fervor. "I will remember, for all of time. And I will remember how you buckled for me." He couldn't help himself, half serious as he dipped back onto her body.

"You're so beautiful," he told her earnestly.

Emboldened by Emery's blessing to continue, he did so, more enthusiastically than before as he brought his mouth to her tit and suckled and teased with lips and tongue. His other hand glided over the other breast and cupped the modest mound until he felt her nipple harden beneath his palm. This reaction induced his own; he was crazed with a strong appetite for more. He moved his mouth to the other breast, but continued his administrations with a free hand by lightly pinching, groping, and kneading, adoring her body and the reactions she gave him.

This opportunity granted Alkereth to rub his other greedy hand to explore further down, pleasured by her own touches and emitting small, hungry moans. He liked her hand in his hair. He felt her waist, her thighs, and even dared encroach on deeply unfamiliar grounds: the prize between her legs, but he did not touch, only creep close, groping her inner thighs. Now—Alkereth might not have ever seen a woman down there, but he understood what it was, what it can do. He was not that stupid; he had done a book study on anatomy for... scientific purposes. Totally not because of perverted intentions. He blatantly avoided touching her there for now. He wanted to take it slow, to ease his own comfort into this as much as her's.

She felt so incredibly warm all over that it induced his skin to glisten slightly. He never did well in intense heat, but he very much liked Emery's, and it was not like an unpleasant, miserable heat at the pique of summer. This was more like... spring. Balmy in the best way, and comforting.

He was ready. His glazed, hooded eyes looked at Emery as he ceased his attentions on her breasts, and began to kiss downward, nibbling experimentally along the way. He kissed where his hands had groped her inner thighs, on each side, now grasping her legs with his hands. He inched closer in between them, until his mouth found her folds, and he kissed them, scarlet eyes on Emery's face. If she had hair, they did not seem to bother him in the slightest.

Well, fuck...Alkereth had her there.

Emery never liked being the one to break first—and yet there was no denying that she had buckled. Completely. That stupid kiss had been the pebble that started an avalanche, a joke that went way too far.

And she couldn't even be mad about it. Not when she was being so thoroughly consumed.

Not when he had called her beautiful.

No, no, fuck, how dare he...

Alkereth was a quick learner, but more importantly, he was attentive. He had listened to her feedback, and she could tell he was listening to the feedback from her body, too, as he explored and touched in all the ways she enjoyed until she was trembling from pleasure and anticipation alike. How was he so good? She had been with men who boasted numerous conquests beneath their belt who had only been...mediocre, at best. Yet this previously celibate priest was playing her like an instrument he had been practicing all his life, and her body reacted like it already knew and craved him.

God, did she crave him.

She felt like she was on fire, and like his body was the only thing that could put it out. Except he was only stoking the flames, his mouth and hand on her breasts, other hand traveling downward in a way that made her suck in her belly in surprise, her heart leaping into her throat. Was he going to...? His hand drifted to the junction of her legs and dipped inward, and she opened her legs for him, more than ready, hoping he would give her some relief from the slowly building pressure—only to be ignored. He caressed her inner thighs instead and she let out a needy whine, arching impatiently against him, silently begging. Because she would not beg aloud.

"Bastard," she breathed, but her lips were quirked in a wry smile, because hadn't she done the same to him? Fair enough...

But she was about to lose her mind. His touches had her breathless, his hungry sounds sending shivers down her spine, and she was helpless to do much more than cling to him and whimper, not sure how much teasing she could take before she burst. The heat between her legs had grown unbearable, and she was so unused to playing this role, to just receiving pleasure. She wanted nothing more than to roll him over and pin him to the bed.

He kissed her lower, and Emery glanced down—and flushed hard when she caught his eye. Strangely, it was too much; why could she watch him unabashedly when she pleasured him, but suddenly his eyes on her now were...overwhelming? She let her head drop back against the bed and pressed a hand to her mouth, trying hard not to jerk too much as he nibbled and kissed, and when he grasped her legs and kissed her inner thighs, she bit the side of her hand. He better be planning on doing something there or she was going to break, she was absolutely going to—

"Alkereth." It came out as a strained sound, somewhere between a moan and a squeal. Holy shit, he went for it. It was only a kiss, but it sent a jolt through her, enough that she she had to consciously struggle to keep her legs open when she wanted to reflexively shut them around his head. How did he know these things? Just from picking up what she had done to him and applying it to her, as she had mentioned? She trembled, needy as hell but also not wanting to rush him into brave new territory without a map—not to mention this whole thing had her feeling incredibly awkward and vulnerable in a way she wasn't used to, and so she dealt with those feelings in the only way she knew how.

"Th-there's a lot going on down there," Emery managed to get out, hand still pressed to her mouth because she was afraid she might soon scream. She felt like a bowstring drawn tight. "Do...uh...you know what you're...? A-ah, look...kiss a little higher. Right here."

She glanced down at him, and felt scorched by those scarlet eyes. Holy God, who was he? Swallowing back nerves and averting her eyes, she reached down to gently guide him, pointing out the little cluster of nerves that she desperately wanted him to touch. Fortunately it was fairly easy to find; she kept herself natural but trimmed, and the carpet indeed matched the drapes. "Sorry if it's...uh...a bit wet. It's your fucking fault. I want you so fucking bad, you...you don't have to, you know. You could just fuck me...you know, if it's weird or whatever..."

Just kill her now.

This was so... empowering. He thought wildly that Emery was his captive now; he had her in his snare, and now she was the one with little control—except perhaps guiding him, which was very much a necessary endeavor. He did not pretend that he was a first-rate lover. But he was willing to listen... and learn. But he had the power, now. Even if it was just an illusion, he used it respectfully.

It was all or nothing.

He felt Emery squirm, but after reading her body, he could tell it was out of enjoyment, and so he kept going. She even had the grace to communicate her feelings about it. She wanted to be fucked? How crude, he thought with a wicked smile. But, oh—did she want that, truly? Did he? He deliberated, because he was struck with sudden shyness that made his heart scream in panic. But still, he could hardly keep the thought of penetrating Emery out of his mind. Oh, yes, he really wanted that. Just the thought made his breath hitch, and any hesitance to go flying out the window.

But first, he had something else in mind. Alkereth did as Emery bade and kissed higher until he found the spot, and flicked a curious tongue over her heat. It was messy, and strange, but but not unwelcome. Just because it was new did not mean it was gross. Certainly his 'staunchly celibate priestly brain' free from alcohol might put his foot down, but this was Alkereth who chose in this moment to be free from such burdens. He was simply Alkereth, a man from Aetheria.

He imagined how it would be to run his tongue the length of her lips, so he did that, lapping at her slowly. She was wet indeed, hardly needing the attentions of his mouth, but he would not deny that he was being a little selfish in this moment. Her taste was intoxicating. When he felt a little bolder, he inserted his tongue deeper, spreading her folds, getting a feel and taste of the flesh inside. He did this several more times, listening and taking a peek at her reaction.

Oh, god. He was not sure if he could take much more of this. He felt himself throb painfully. Now his thoughts were completely taken over by imagining pounding himself into Emery with reckless, animalistic abandon.

"I'm glad it's my fault," he said hoarsely, looking at her with sultry eyes, mouth glistening with her. He was thoroughly amused by her, and began to crawl up the length of her body, elbows resting on either side of her head with one hand playing with her hair. He now had his swollen head lightly rubbing against her lips. He couldn't help it; it was more or less directed by instinct and the absolute willingness to—as she said—'fuck' her.

"I can tease you more. I like feeling you in every way I can. What do you want me to try next, my lovely teacher?"

It may have been a surprise to Alkereth that Emery wanted him that way, but Emery had known from the moment she claimed to hate him while kissing him on the mouth. Maybe even sooner, if she felt like untangling the messy knots of emotion that had formed over the last few days and tracing them back to where they began. Wherever it had started, though, seeing him with Summer had been the trigger; it inspired something within her, a strange jealousy she didn't know she possessed, and she knew then she had to make him hers.

She was ready for him, lightly tugging at his hair as though to guide him back over her—but he had other plans.

His tongue tasted her and effectively stopped her feeble attempt at resistance. Her back arched and she pressed both hands against her mouth to muffle the surprised yelp he dragged out of her, every muscle going taut as she tried to stay still and not buck into his face. It was a struggle; his tongue was driving her crazy, making her want to writhe, but she knew if she moved he would lose his place and that would be excruciating. One hand fluttered down to grab white-knuckled at the sheets, needing something to ground herself to that wasn't his hair, because she was afraid she might yank out a clump.

It was a wise decision, since he decided to start lapping up and down her, and soon slipped his tongue inside her in a cruel mimicry of what she really wanted.

"Where did you—where did you learn that?" she managed to gasp out, voice a little higher and breathier from passion, before she bit down on her fingers again because it was too much and yet too little and she was going to go insane.

The booze had mostly lost its effects, but she felt stupidly drunk on him, dizzy with pleasure and need alike. She wasn't sure how much more she could take; the teasing was as wonderful as it was painful when all she could think of was his body pressed flush to hers, fully sheathed within her. She would never beg, but was seriously starting to reconsider her position on that matter as the pressure and heat within her built, but never crested, his ministrations enough to get her riding the edge but not enough to go over.

And then, once again, he stopped.

She glanced down at him, her skin glistening with a thin layer of sweat, and she let out a soft snort at his comment. But her eyes never left him, for he looked...absolutely debauched, his hair mussed, her wetness on his mouth, and she didn't hesitate to pull him in for a rough kiss as soon as he had settled atop her, for a moment too breathless to give him a proper answer. She didn't care that he tasted like her; if anything, she liked it. Her tongue slipped past his lips, hands cupping his face, and she finally pulled back with a shiver.

"I think I'll literally die if you tease me more," she breathed against his ear, and she slid her hands down his back, short nails dragging along his skin. His hand in her hair felt good, sending tingles down her neck. "You're too good at it. That's dangerous." She could feel his cock against her and she shifted her hips, wriggling a little to rub against him, letting out a soft, frustrated whine because she couldn't take him in herself from this position. With a quiet huff, she peered up into his eyes.

"Besides...I think I already told you what I want, rookie," she added with a grin, and nipped sharply at his jaw. "I want you to fuck me until I can't breathe."

"Oooh, someone's excited," came the low growl in her ear. He could barely contain himself, either, but he held off just a little longer, his rubbing becoming more persistent. "I am dangerous," he agreed. "But I can be sweet. You make it so easy." He nibbled her ear.

"How did I learn? I followed what feels natural with your guidance. And... and you are easy to read. You make me want to do... so many things to you. Things I didn't know I could do."

Unable to resist now, Alkereth pushed his hips forward. There may have been a slight struggle to find where he needed to go, bless him—he was still unlearned, as it were, and ultimately he did not wish to harm Emery, so he took his time, until he felt himself slip in.

The shock of feeling her swallow him up with little resistance and tighten around him made him almost crash on top of her, but he held fast, gasping. He had to hold on for a moment to get used to the overwhelming emotions that took hold.

"Oh, god, Emery... is this real?"

In the midst of losing his innocence, he marveled at some strange victory. In a way, he felt a thrill to claim some part of her. Like her own jealousy, he was relieved that, tonight, that silly tart would not be the object of Emery's affections.

Yes. Emery was his. There was no doubt about it now.

"You feel amazing... this is truly marvelous."

And so he kissed her, moving his hips forward until he felt the length of his cock burrow deep. He held himself there for a moment. It didn't take a genius to figure out how sex worked; even the smallest creature knew how to mate because nature drove them to do so. For Alkereth, he did what felt good—but importantly, he wanted to make sure that Emery was receiving that same pleasure, so he remained conscientious of that. And... oh, god, she was like a furnace inside. It made him want to... god, oh god.  He closed his eyes, feverishly rolling his hips with a little more intensity.

"Can you feel it, too?"

He simply to ask as he planted sweet kisses on her face, then, because he felt like being a little shit, her nose—because it was there, damnit, and it looked so fucking cute.

Alkereth growled teasingly into her ear, and it was so unexpected that it sent a thrill down Emery's spine that made her breath catch and her face burn. Holy hell, where had that come from? And could she get more of it?

She squirmed as he nibbled her ear, rocking her hips against him with growing impatience as he tormented her, and for the first time realized that her sweet, innocent mage may very well become a monster, given enough practice. For the most part, she had done her best to remain passive through this, letting him explore at his own pace with her guidance—but perhaps the power was going to his head. It wasn't a bad thing; she did like a challenge, a little push and pull. But she would have to remind him who was ultimately in charge.

For just a little longer, though, she let him have it even though it was making her restless. Poor thing seemed to be struggling a bit, and if she was in a more patient headspace she might have teased him, angled her hips to make it more difficult for him. Right then she was ready to reach down and guide him in herself, unable to take much more, arching into him with needy moans to try to help him—until she felt him press against her, then into her, and her entire body went taut.

She dug her nails into him, her sharp cry muffled as she bit his shoulder, and she shuddered as he sank inside with a searing stretch that had her trembling. He paused, and she appreciated it as she hung right at the edge of pain and pleasure at first, but soon shifted to pleasure as she adjusted to him. He was larger, and it had been a while since she'd been with a man—not for lack of desire, but for sheer practically's sake. Shivering, she clung tight to him, heart pounding in her ears and breathing shaky, his words a mirror of her own thoughts. Holy hells...

Was this real?

"If it's not, don't wake me," she managed to get out when she could speak again, giving an experimental roll of her hips that had her eyes fluttering shut. "Fuck...you feel so fucking good..." Surely she was dreaming. This was the last place she could have ever predicted she'd end up at the start of their, ah, journey: in the arms of her mage—wait.

Her mage. When had she started thinking of him that way...?

Emery didn't get a chance to chase that thought, for Alkereth was kissing her, sliding deeper, and all thought skittered away. She moaned against his mouth as he finally started to move, spreading her legs wider to take him in deeper. Her nails raked up and down spine and over his arms as she moved against him greedily, learning his pace and trying to match him, her breath coming out in gasps and needy whimpers as she chased that building heat and pressure that was only just out of reach. His once cold skin felt warmer, a little sticky from their shared sweat and salty beneath her tongue as she pulled away to kiss and bite at his neck, and she delighted that she had been the one to warm him.

Could she feel it, too? Dazed, Emery's eyes fluttered open to peer at him, then crossed slightly when he kissed her nose—such a surprisingly cutesy thing right in the middle of something so carnal. Wait. Did he think she was cute?! Despite herself, she let out a soft laugh—a real one that brought tears to the corners of her eyes, filled suddenly with a strange and giddy mix of emotion because, to be honest, she was a little overwhelmed. Dominant among them though was her genuine delight at his innocence and audacity alike, though it was cut off with a hitched, shuddering gasp as his intensity grew.

"Alkereth...my princess..." Her voice was a little strained as speaking grew difficult, her hands traveling up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair and hold on tight. "You're literally inside me," she said shakily, clear amusement in her voice. "Of course I, ah, feel it."

And then she pat his shoulder, squirming a little restlessly beneath him. "Hold up," she said. "Roll over, now. I'm going to ride you."

It was getting too much. His body heavy on hers, trapping her as he pleasured her...she loved it, but she was starting to feel too out of control, a little too vulnerable. She had let him have his fun. Tilting his head down, she kissed him hard, and lightly tugged his bottom lip with her teeth. "Let me show you how it's done."

He was lost in his own head space, enjoying these brand new sensations. He had grown bold. Perhaps too bold.

That's right, Emery, who's the alpha now?

That is, until the wicked ginger took it and trampled on it by calling him 'princess'. Feeling emasculated (and he'll never admit it, a little aroused at the sheer GALL and GUMPTION of this woman), he gawked down at her, looking like a browbeaten puppy. His pace screeched to a halt.

"Uhhh..."

It was all he could say as he let himself roll off and fall back, a little afraid. He was ashamed he could still be so hard after all that.

Oh, hell. It wasn't all that bad. He liked it. Heavens above, he liked it!

It was a little like before—he felt a surge of defiance, like when he had been captured. This was a little different. The bastard smirked at her.

"You wear the pants better, ser Mordecai. By all means." His eyes met her with a challenge, his 'sword' drawn and stiff and glistening from piercing her flesh. "En garde."

It took this long to realize the effects of his own alcohol had worn off. There would be time to freak out about this later—he was too far gone into this, too curious, too lust-drunk, too enraptured by his Emery to back out now.

He wanted more. Especially after that parting kiss.

With a haughty smile, Emery sat up and shrugged her robe off the rest of the way, for she had been laying atop it with her arms still in it. Poor Angel. She would have to apologize for soiling it later—and Caleb, for that matter, for taking over his room, though it was interesting that he hadn't tried to kick them out.

But those were issues she'd deal with much later, she thought as she crawled over Alkereth. For right now she had a mage she needed to conquer.

That mix of fear and defiance looked good on him, those scarlet eyes burning like flame—and with a jolt, she realized she recognized it, that it was familiar, the look he had worn since the fateful moment she met him. Hadn't she even noted that way back then? She had said it in anger and frustration, had been trying to get under his skin and insult him, but...holy fuck...how long had she felt this? Had she really? There was a brief pang, a lurching, dizzying sense of what is wrong with me? But it was brief, for lust was a wild drug that had made her say and do crazy things before.

When he playfully challenged her, she snorted and rolled her eyes because he was so utterly ridiculous and yet...

Wasn't it what drew her to him?

"Curious, I thought you hated my pants," she said as she dipped down low and gently stroked his balls. "I always knew you wore the skirt, doll. But you look best with nothing at all."

Emery dragged her tongue along the length of his cock, not caring an ounce what he was wet with. For a moment she simply teased him, suckling on the head before taking him in deep and withdrawing with a soft pop. Just a little taste, and she hoped for more later.

She worked her way back up his body, kissing and licking from his thighs to his belly to his chest, a reversal of what she had done earlier until, finally, she ended with her hips straddling his and her mouth on his lips. She liked him defiant, but she also liked him weak and squirming, and as she breathed him in and kissed him deep, she reached between them and slipped him inside, her moan trapped between them.

For a moment she stayed like that, grinding against him gently, kissing his mouth and his neck, until she finally sat up so she could truly ride him. She brought his hands to her breasts to give them something to do as she rocked on him, watching his face through hooded eyes that fluttered shut when it got too good. She would have never gotten off the way he was fucking her—no offense to him, he was new and still timid—but he hit all the right spots here, stealing away her breath.

"How is this?" she managed, covering his hands with her own trembling ones, holding on tightly. She was so pent up, so overloaded, that it wouldn't take much more to get her there. She knew her own body and what worked, and she was willing to teach him.

Alkereth looked on hungrily, every inch of him quivering with anticipation. Now that he got a taste of what it was like to be inside of Emery, he could not wait to have that feeling flood back into him.

"The same can be said about you. Look at you. Exquisite."

He let his head fall back, unable to resist rolling his hips against hands stroking his balls. Then came her mouth. He made a sound in the back of his throat, muscles tensing as he gripped the sheets. Oh, Lazamar, he hoped she would do that for a while, he was dying for a second release—

Then she kissed him, easing him back in. He responded with a moan of his own, arms snaking around her, and then she pulled back. He got a lovely view of her front. Freckles, the small of her breasts that he was only too happy to fondle, the scar on her face, the plump of her lips, the red of her short hair, the flesh between her thighs; he defiantly claimed them all. Whomever had claim to them before were no longer beholden to them, he decided triumphantly. If they did, oh, he will fight for them.

For her. All of her.

He throbbed inside her. "Outstanding," he gasped. "I love the way you feel. I love..." He paused, the words trapped in the back of his throat. "I love everything you're doing," he finished hastily. "I love that you're in control."

He had almost said something. Had he lingered in the effects of booze, he was certain he would have said it. It was ridiculous, he knew that. But—oh, that feeling returned, welling up inside him, a rush like a dam threatening to break. He had all but forgotten what he was going to truly say. He squeezed her hands, moaning like a proper princess.

He arched his back, slightly lifting Emery, face screwed up with raw pleasure. "I'm going to do my best to hold back, but... ah! Ahhh... god. You make it difficult not to... to give in." He wanted to test himself, to go the distance as long as he can. "Use me, Emery. Do whatever you want to me. I trust you. I want to learn everything."

Fortunately for Alkereth, Emery did not notice how close he got to Disaster. She was so caught up in the thrill of eating forbidden fruit—and Alkereth was full of so many delightful surprises.

That fear mixed with defiance; he loved that she was in control.

Interesting.

Entreating her to use him. Do whatever she wanted. Saying he trusted her...

"Well, well. Whatever I want, hm?"

Tightening her grip on his hands, Emery forced them down onto the mattress to pin them on either side of his head. "I want to kiss and taste every inch of you."

She had slowed to a near stop to hold off her own building release, hips rolling against him, squeezing him, keeping the flames stoked without fanning them. He certainly made the effort difficult, though, when he arched up into her, a surprised whimper escaping her, because she wanted nothing more than to ride him with abandon. No, no, she needed to slow down. Oh, she could come far more than once, but it turned her into pliable putty when she needed to maintain control.

She peered down at him, meeting and holding his gaze, and smiled a dangerous smile as she dipped down to brush her lips against his without fully kissing him. "I like you like this," she said, and kissed his nose in vengeance. "Your moans are music, I...I want to hear more..."

She pressed her lips to his chin, his jaw. "How has no one else tasted you?" she breathed, then released his hands so she could tangle a fist in his hair, gripping near the scalp so it didn't hurt him when she pulled. "You're so fucking gorgeous..."

She drew his head to the side to expose the curve of his neck and bit down sharply, then soothed it over with her tongue. Another soft nibble, and then she suckled hard on the skin until a bright bruise began to form on the pale flesh, effectively marking him for all to see.

"...and now you're mine."

The words slipped out, words that would likely mortify her later, but her big dumb horny mouth said and did a lot of things that sounded great in the moment. What was it about him that made her so possessive?

She began to move against him again, a slow, circular grind of her hips that gradually grew in intensity, her breath hitching because fuck, he felt amazing, and she wanted nothing more than to be greedy—but she held back. She slowed again, not ready yet to tip him over the edge.

"Beg," she growled, and nipped his ear. "Beg me to fuck you. I want to hear how much you want me." She slid a hand down his chest to circle a finger around a nipple and then pinch lightly, curious of his reaction. Some men felt nothing, while others enjoyed it, and she was interested to see which one he was. "You don't get to come until I allow it. So make it good. Convince me."

Was she tormenting herself in the process? Absolutely. But there was no greater thrill for her than pleasuring another, and he looked wonderful like this.

Oh. Oh, god. This was new. He was figuring out all sorts of stuff about his—what was it called—kink—yes, that's it. Figuring those out.

He was discovering a whole new side of himself. It was as if he was shedding his old skin and welcoming a new one.

He liked this. No. He loved this.

And to prove he loved this to Emery, without sounding completely weird about it, he gave her an emphatic moan borne out of the pleasure of being ridden like this.

He was called gorgeous which earned a rosy blush (he had never been called that before by anyone else), and then she did something that made him yell passionately, holding her, loving the way she rode him and suckled his neck, which bruised like a peach very quickly. That was certainly going to be a badge of achievement his lust-addled brain thought he might enjoy later.

"Yes, I am yours," he agreed feverishly, but that was all he could push out of his mouth as he felt extremely good, and decided to pursue that ever-mounting feeling of release like before—

Only he was denied that, and the frustration of it all made him want to roll Emery over and fuck her senseless, but the way she looked at him made him so incredibly weak that all he could do was mewl and whimper in return, which intensified when a finger found his nipple. He gasped, tossing his head back, soft waves tousled over closed eyes.

It was so hot, but he could barely express his joy verbally.

That is, until Emery made a demand that made his cock throb inside her. Beg? Oh, he could be very good at that. He didn't have to put on much of a show; he was perfectly genuine in the way he grimaced with the pain of needing her.

"I want you," he gasped again, knowing that if he could not make himself speak, that he would prefer the release of death if Emery bade him to wait. "I want you like the desert longs for rain, I want you like the dark longs for light, I want you so much that to not have you would kill me," he said. "Please, Emery, my strong and exquisite warrior, I am at your mercy!"

Emery had followed a hunch.

And it looked like that hunch had paid off.

Alkereth took to this so naturally, like he was born for it. He had truly let go, no longer the uptight priest--and wasn't that what it was all about? Giving up control for a moment, letting someone else make the decisions for you, trusting in them completely, basking in the sensations and letting all the stress and pressure fall away. His body was hers, but she would let no harm come to him; she carefully watched his reactions and read his body, listening to his sounds of pleasure and feeling so goddamn lucky, like he was a trove she had stumbled upon with so many buried treasures. But even as she worked on unearthing them, she tread carefully; she was as ready to bring things to a screeching halt if he showed discomfort as she was to experiment and see what new pleasures he could discover. God, there were so many things she wanted to do to him, wanted to teach him...

His body was wonderfully responsive, and she thrilled at knowing that she was the first to see and touch him like this. Did he even know all this about himself before now? And when he begged her, she sucked in a shuddering breath, skin flushed with heat that made her want to squirm, because no one else had heard such music. How was he able to be so poetic even now when she could barely conjure up a sentence? It was legitimately impressive. What had he said before? Something about poetry and blistering love?

He had certainly outdone himself.

Dipping down, Emery grazed her lips against his, rocking her hips just a little to tease. "Good boy," she said against his skin, a little breathless and trying hard not to show it. "You did so well." And then she deepened the kiss with a soft moan and began to move against him in earnest, though slow at first, growing far too impatient with need. It had been torture to hold still with him filling her to the brim, feeling every twitch of his cock, so she decided to have mercy on them both.

"Good boys get rewarded," she said, sliding her hands along his chest to explore a new discovery. She rolled a nipple between her fingers and then lightly pinched, then dipped down to briefly circle her tongue around its twin. Drawing it into her mouth, she flicked it with her tongue, then suckled gently, before drawing back with a light graze of teeth. With a heated smile, she pushed herself upright again and cocked her head, peering down at him.

"I'm going to fuck you, now," she said, and punctuated it with a needy roll of her hips, her breath catching in her throat and eyes fluttering closed. "But...you're still not allowed to come. Not until I say you can. Do you understand, princess?"

Whether or not it was possible for him was not the point; Emery didn't expect him to be able to hold out for long. She only hoped he could last until she boiled over, because she wanted nothing more than to feel him deep inside her as she came undone. God, she needed him now like she needed air, and seeing him like this made it so hard to hold back. He truly was gorgeous; how had she ever thought to hurt him before? How had she ever wanted to do anything to him but tease out pleasure? Her body was on fire, and she watched him through hooded eyes as she rocked on him, leaning back a little so he could have a good view of his cock lancing into her. Soon the familiar pressure and heat was building, growing, the new angle hitting just the right spot.

"Holy fuck, you feel so good," she whimpered, back arching, body tensing. "Hold on just a little longer...not yet..."

She had been born blessed in this area, at least; she had never really struggled to orgasm once she finally figured out how to get there, and after all the teasing, all the tension...God, it really didn't take much.

Tightening around him, breath coming out in labored bursts, she reached down between them to stroke herself, to give herself a little edge in the race against Alkereth--and it was just the push she needed as she lingered on the edge. She gasped, clapped a hand over her mouth, and let out a muffled, "Oh, fuck," as the dam burst. It was a rush that knocked the air from her lungs, leaving her a whimpering mess, and she trembled uncontrollably on him as for a moment as all else ceased to exist. Rendered weak, she curled forward and collapsed against his chest, shaking and struggling to breathe through the intensity of it all.

It was almost too much.

Every touch was fire, but compared to the sweet ministrations on and around his nipples, he felt the blessed electricity surge through his bloodstream. How is it her tongue can feel so damn good? It took every effort not to cry out.

He greeted the swell of her kiss with hot fervor and small whimpers, wrestling her tongue and tasting, memorizing. As of now, she was his god, and he would have written a book dedicated to her, singing songs of worship and praise. It was absurd, of course, but loving (or fucking; Emery's words, not his) someone like this drove them to scary frontiers.

"I am a good boy," he echoed, his tone more a plea than absolute agreement: he could be wicked, but he needed his release so, so bad, so he dared not. Not yet. His goddess did not give him the word.

Then Emery said she was going to fuck him, and his body tensed with anticipation. "Yes, yes," he yelled. "Please, my sweet goddess! Take from me everything; my body, my heart, my soul..."

Then he felt it, her walls closed in around him, leaving him breathless. He couldn't stop himself—Emery's climax coaxed his immediate release, so he yelled his pleasure. He had not meant to climax so soon, and without warning, but he held out for so long that he wasn't sure he could actually hold himself together before he let it all go. He caught her when she collapsed, and held her there while his cock wrung every drop of cum into her, leaving him amazed and dazed at what had just happened. His heart hammered. He felt electrified in ways he never felt before; even his magic never gave him a buzz quite like this.

Suddenly, he was so, so tired—and very, very happy.

"Stay with me," he whispered, caressing her body. He gave Emery one final kiss before he succumbed to sleep.

Stay with me.

"Of course," Emery whispered back, still lightly panting, but Alkereth's breathing had already deepened to the tell-tale sound of someone who had passed the fuck out. She snorted softly, not even mad that he had peaced out and left her with the cleanup—just amused. It was impressive how some men could just do that, and to be fair, for someone so inexperienced he had soldiered it all well.

Dipping down, she kissed him once more, then rolled off of him and lazily stretched for Caleb's nightstand until her fingers brushed the drawer. Finding the clean rags he kept stashed there for convenience's sake, she shoved one between her legs. She would...deal with that issue later. She hadn't intended to let him fill her, but she supposed there was no better place for such a mistake to happen than here, a brothel equipped with the means to ensure accidental babies didn't happen. Ugh, that was wholly irresponsible of her, and yet, like so many things tonight, her general attitude was fuck it.

Literally, as it were.

She pulled at the covers and managed to wrestle the top one out from under Alkereth enough that she could throw it over him. Then, tired and pleasantly sore, she curled up against him, head tucked against his shoulder, one leg tangled with his, bad arm resting along his chest. Oof, she had probably worked that arm more than she should have, because it was throbbing like a bitch and in the heat of the moment she hadn't noticed the pain, but...

Worth it.

He was worth it all.

And he was hers.

—

For the first time since she had met him, and even a few days before that, Emery actually slept through the night. After so many days of so little sleep in uncomfortable places under uncomfortable circumstances, she slept like a brick. Not even a single nightmare woke her, for once. She woke long after the sun, stretching sleepily and nuzzling into Alkereth with a quiet yawn, breathing in that sweet, honeyed flower scent she loved so much. She wasn't ready to wake just yet, despite her body's insistence, so she cuddled in tighter, her fingers idly stroking his smooth chest. Just a little longer...just a little...

But her mind woke quicker than her body. And as it did, little flashes of memory trickled in through the sleepy contented haze.

She cracked an eye open a slit, and sucked in a breath.

Oh God.

Right.

Yep. That had definitely happened.

Her hand stilled, resting flat on his chest, and her breathing slowed to an almost stop, as though afraid just the act of breathing would wake him. Right. Okay. Wow. Yeah. With all the pleasant feel-good chemicals long abated, and now long removed from the heat of the moment, what replaced it all then was...paralysis. She froze, for once a rabbit instead of a wolf.

Oh shit.

Holy fucking shit...

In the wee hours of morning, Alkereth rolled over, taking a good amount of the sheet with him, never used to a bed companion—so naturally, his selfish tendencies divulged itself in full, and shamelessly.

He curled up, feeling unnaturally warm and happier than he'd ever been. Gold rays of sunlight filtered through cream-colored curtains. Birds sang their morning song. The bed was comfortable, the air smelled salty and sweet and—

Shameful.

Alkereth's eyes snapped open. Like Emery, the flood of memories came rushing back in one fell swoop. He bolted upright, ripping the rest of the sheet with him, and stared straight ahead in horror.

"Ah... ah ahhh AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

And he tumbled clumsily out of bed in a tangle of sheets, flailing and screaming. When his face emerged (still screaming), he managed to find his feet. Without taking one glance back, he bolted straight for the bathroom. It did not have a door; but it did have a heavy and expensive gold-trimmed curtain that he pulled closed sharply behind him. Emery could hear some commotion behind the curtain.

"FUCK."

Never having swore before, it seemed like the best and most appropriate time to use it, so he said it with much shock and gusto.

So much for staying calm.

While Emery had frozen in panic, Alkereth did all the screaming for the both of them and took half the bed with him in the process. It was blessedly enough to shock her out of her own paralysis, and with a gasp, she scrambled off the bed and darted a look around for her clothes. Except, of course, she didn't fucking have any, and her robe was somewhere in the tangle of blankets Alkereth had taken with him.

Meanwhile, Alkereth was screaming like a fucking banshee all the way to the bathroom. Emery stood awkwardly by the bed, hands pressed to the sides of her head, gripped tight by a full-body cringe because WHAT THE FUCK WAS WRONG WITH HER. And what did she do now? It was hard to think with Alkereth screeching like that, and soon panic bled into anger.

"SHUT UP!" she barked, whirling toward the curtain. "Shut up, shut up! You absolute moron, shut up! You're going to get us kicked out!"

Storming over to the pile of blankets, she ripped into them. "Where the fuck's my robe?!" Oh, there it was. She yanked it free and pulled it on quickly, then just...stayed there. On the floor, knees pulled to her chest, staring wide-eyed at the bathroom curtain.

"You gonna be long?" she called, and grit her teeth, running her hands through her hair and pulling lightly. "Hurry the hell up! I've got...things to deal with, no thanks to you. Don't think I won't drag you out of there, swear to fucking God." 

Her head was spinning. She let her forehead drop against her knees, and prayed for Ansgar to strike her dead as she focused on taking deep, calming breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth. "Look, mage. It's...it's not a big deal, you know. It's just...these things happen." She wanted to scream. She was trying very hard not to scream.

He wasn't the one she was trying to convince, here.

And she knew damned well these things DID NOT JUST "HAPPEN".

What had he done?! That was a stupid question; he KNEW what he did, and he remembered how it all felt so amazing and wonderful and—

Absol-fucking-lutely idiotic...

Alkereth clapped his hands over his ears as he sunk to the floor, needing a moment to think without Emery's barking. He grit his teeth and curled into himself.

This was never supposed to happen. He made a vow, and then they inked his symbol in his hand. They warned him: Do not stray from this path.

Slowly, he pulled his hand down and dared a glimpse at his right palm.

The magic circle was gone.

Gone.

He went from screaming to full-blown wailing, holding himself and vaguely shocked at how warm his body was, how human-hot and...

He rose up, panic and fear moving his arms up. In the midst of sobbing, he cried:

"By Lazamar's grace, bring your fiery hand to me!"

Nothing happened.

He must have not said it right. He brought his barren palm to the sky, and said words in a foreign tongue.

Nothing happened.

"GAAAAAHHHH!" he cried, slamming his fists down onto the floor.

Gripped with a sudden idea, he stormed out of the bathroom, ran past Emery, and took up his sword that he had sheathed and perched against a table. He unsheathed it, and raised its point to the ceiling. No matter the words he uttered, nothing happened. In defeat, he dropped the sword with a ringing clatter, and fell to his knees, the sheet tangled around him.

"Lazamar, forgive me, oh forgive me," he wailed pitifully. "I have sinned, oh I have sinned. Take me back, I beg of you, I cannot do this without you!"

Emery was all but forgotten in this moment.

Alkereth seemed to be having a full-blown meltdown in there, and didn't seem ready to emerge any time soon. Despite her threatening to kick him out of there, for once in her life, Emery was unprepared to follow through—because she wasn't ready to face him yet, either. She sucked in a breath and rose to her feet, anxious and needing something to do, and decided she didn't need the bathroom to take care of everything. She needed to pee like a fucking horse, but she could wait longer. 

There was a perfectly good tub right there, the water long cold, and so she knelt and splashed water on her face. She had already taken a full bath last night, so she did a quick wash of the important bits without fully submerging herself, doing her damned best to get the evidence of Alkereth off of her and out of her.

A whore's bath, she'd heard it called.

Ha-fucking-HA.

From the bathroom, the distressed noises took a sudden turn to grief. Emery froze and looked to the curtain, tying her robe shut again. What the fuck? She supposed she should thank him, in any case. His full on freak out was distracting enough to keep her from spiraling down her own. She wasn't ready to go there just yet. She was not ready to examine the implications of what she had done.

So instead she focused on him, squinting as though that would help her hear what he was saying. But she couldn't make out the words. God, was he actually crying? Fucking hell. It wasn't that bad! He had enjoyed himself, hadn't he? And...so had she. Emery cupped a hand over her mouth and swallowed hard, feeling the panic rising from her gut and into her throat, squeezing, and she sat back onto the bed as the world grew a little wobbly.

What had she done.

Alkereth barged out and past her and she jolted out of her thoughts, snapping a look at him as he drew his sword and spoke in tongues both familiar and unfamiliar. He looked like a man unhinged, and it only grew worse as he collapsed into his knees in grief and begged his God's forgiveness.

Her own issues were quickly forgotten, shelved to be sorted and dealt with later. Emery rose before she realized what she was doing—but for one rare moment, it was not to run away in the face of his anguish. She dropped to her knees beside him and grabbed his shoulders hard, giving him a firm shake and forcing him to face her.

"Hey! Alkereth! Stop," she said, but the anger of earlier was absent from the command as she gripped him tight. "Slow down. Be still. Breathe. Look at me. Do you want to tell me what the fu—" She stopped herself, grimaced, and amended, "What's going on? Talk to me. Because you're looking a bit out of your fucking mind right now!"

It came out harsher than intended. Which was part of the reason she just...tried not to engage with sensitive subjects. She had no idea how to deal.

It took a whole minute to realize that Emery's hands was upon him now. He jerked, still unused to mere touch, despite everything. Indeed, even last night's intimacy did little to forget his fear of touch. It was deeply embedded into him; touched-starved, but also repellent to it.

Last night had barely started to sink in. There was a bigger issue at hand, one of which Alkereth wasted no time in pointing out. He thrust his palm inches away from Emery's face.

"My magic circle," he cried, "it is gone. Gone, Emery! What am I to do?"

He curled his hand and clutched it to his bare chest. He heaved a shuddering breath.

"When I took my vows, my Order marked my right hand with our god's blessing. I made a sacred promise to use my power for good, and in his name. Should I break even a single vow, then I sever this sacrament with my god. And with it..."

He could not bring himself to continue. Losing this part of him, what was essentially his identity, was devastating. It was like like losing Lunrath all over again.

Alkereth shoved his hand into her face, and Emery jerked back as though to avoid a broken nose. He was emotional enough right now that it seemed an easy enough mistake to make.

"Magic circle...?" she repeated, staring at his empty palm. Gone? To be honest, she had never taken the time to examine his hands, and most of the time they were covered in gloves anyway. She didn't realize he had a mark there in the first place.

She squinted, brow furrowing as he spoke through his pain. He was panicking, distraught, tearful, and yet the wheels in Emery's mind were calmly turning in the face of it, slowly drawing toward an exhilarating conclusion. She tilted her head like a canine trying to puzzle out a strange new sound. Magic circle, gone. Use his power for good. Breaking vows equals severance. He had sinned, broken his vow of celibacy...

"No fucking way..." she breathed, slowly looking from his hand to his face, green eyes wide and eyebrows climbing as realization clicked into place.

Grabbing his face between her hands, she looked at him, really looked at him, and fought hard to keep the rising hope at bay, just in case there was a catch. "Are you saying what I think you are?" she said, peering into his eyes. "Are you saying you're...cured? Your magic is gone? Is that right?" It was hard to keep the excitement out of her voice, a slight tremble in her words as her heart skipped a beat.

"Did I seriously fuck the mage out of you?!"

Regret.

That singular word was not quite as strong as he wanted, but he knew nothing else befitting his feelings at the moment. The pieces for Emery fell into neat little piles and all Alkereth could do was watch in despair.

It dispelled when he felt her hands touch his face. She may find that it was warm from no other source than his own body heat. Perhaps he was in the sun's light too long?

That old resentment filled him. Rather than snap at her, as he originally intended to do, he instead plastered on a wide grin that looked far too unsettling stretched over his pale face.

"Why, indeed! It sure seems that way! Oh, happy day!"

Oh. It was sarcasm.

He took hold of her hands and held them as if in celebration, but his grip was uncomfortably tight, his scarlet eyes burning, looking positively mad, if not downright scary.

"Dear little Mordecai, you sucked it right out of me!" He laughed hysterically. "Gone! Pop! Woosh!" He snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Just like that! Well, AREN'T YOU PROUD OF YOURSELF?"

His voice crescendoed into a shout at her face, his expression twisted into unbridled rage.

"TELL ME THAT YOU'RE PROUD." His voice dropped to a whisper, leaning in close to her lips while holding Emery in a vice grip.

"And it all started with a kiss."

It was almost sensual in the way he did it—sensual, but dangerous. He was teetering, and the scarlet of his eyes darkened considerably, almost black as he closed in with his lips hovering over her's.

Behind him was a tall figure cloaked all in black with a hood and no visible face beneath it, holding the back of Alkereth's head firmly as if puppeting him.

The surprised joy was short-lived.

That smile. It looked too large for his face, too feral. Emery registered the danger just a second too late.

"Alkereth--?"

His hands gripped her own in a crushing grasp, just on the verge of pain, and her breath hitched more from the shock of it than the discomfort--and that discomfort very quickly spiraled to fear when her eyes found his. It wasn't like her to freeze up. Her usual fear response was to fight, to face danger head on. But as he stared her down with that unhinged look in his eyes, and as her hands began to cramp in his iron grasp, she found herself unable to move, her mind blaring danger while her body recalled past trauma, reeling as she struggled and failed to process just what the hell was happening.

This was a complete juxtaposition from everything she knew. When she had been hurt before, it had been from strangers.

He was laughing hysterically. Openly mocking her, but it was different from before. This was true, unbridled anger, rage the likes of which she had rarely experienced. Her body went taut, muscles trembling from tension. The snap of his fingers made her wince--and then he was screaming in her face.

Emery flinched, a full-body jerk that had her cringing back away from him, but there was nowhere to go with his grip rooting her in place. She tried to pry her arms free, but felt like a child for all the good it did. "Let. Go," she growled out, or tried to, but it came out more of a whisper as her throat closed up. "Alkereth. Stop." And it was so fucking shameful, so fucking embarrassing, so fucking humbling to realize for the first time in ages that...

She was fucking terrified.

And that no matter how in control she felt, she was still just a woman. Lighter, smaller, weaker. Alkereth had weight and height on her, and there was nowhere to go as he leaned in close like he wanted to kiss her, voice sensuous, danger written in every line of his body. Her mouth went bone dry as she leaned back and started to squirm, tried to wriggle free, shaking her head no, no, no, because what the fuck was this, WHO was this? Oh God, how badly had she fucked up now? Heart pounding, head reeling, stomach twisting, she barely recognized him at all--

And then a shape caught her eye from over his shoulder, dark and hooded.

A strangled sound caught in her throat.

FUCK.

THIS.

Her words were trapped, her hands were trapped, but his lips were close. Reacting out of sheer panic, Emery leaned into the kiss--

And bit him.

Hard.

Her teeth sank into his lip until she tasted blood, and she did not let go.

There was a pressure in the air, perhaps similar to the feeling one might get before the onslaught of the storm. But this... this was more intense, and it closed in all around them. Light seemed to bend away, the morning had gone dim.

The black in Alkereth's eyes returned to normal when the pain hit. He yelped sharply, and released Emery instantly.

The dark figure had gone.

Alkereth, frightened, clung to his freely bleeding lip and peered up at Emery with large, confused eyes—

What in the hell?

He saw the fear in Emery's own face. He scrambled back several feet until his back hit the wall. When he spoke, it was with a wince from the sharpness in his lip.

"I... Emery? What..."

He had no memory of what befell them. No inkling that a shadow loomed above him, or that the world had gone dark, or that Emery experienced real fear, or that he attempted to kiss her.

"What happened? Just now? Tell me."

The instant Alkereth's grip loosened, Emery scrambled away from him until her back hit the bed, as surely as he scrambled away until his back hit the opposite wall. She was shivering uncontrollably, legs trembling far too much to stand, her breath coming out in shuddering bursts. But the...the creature had vanished.

And as she stared at Alkereth, his lip bloody, the taste of it thick on her tongue, it was like she could see the fog lift from him. He looked suddenly...afraid. Confused. No longer twisted with rage and contempt and hatred. His eyes were brighter, too, the scarlet she so loved, not the shadowed, awful things they had become. This was Alkereth. She didn't know who he had been before, but this was the man she knew. A man who had been nothing but gentle even in her cruelest moments.

Emery held herself, arms tight around her middle, and tried to get herself back under control. It was difficult; it had been a long time since she had been so shaken. Oh, certainly, the brigands and the deer lady had been stressful, frightening encounters, but this was on another level entirely. This had been... personal. Intimate.

This had taken her back to a time she would much rather forget.

She reached up to brush at her lips with shaky fingers, wiping away some of his blood, and swallowed hard against the dryness in her mouth. She was teetering awkwardly on the edge, somewhere between regaining her composure and losing it completely, and it felt like any soft puff of air could tip her either way. It had been a long, long time since she had cried before a witness and she was determined not to break that streak now.

He was speaking. Emery stared blearily at him for a moment, slowly processing what he was saying. It was a little difficult when her mind was so busy.

"Wha...what happened? What happened? I should be asking you!" she snapped, then closed her eyes to collect herself.

"Fuck me. You...really don't remember? You kind of went, ah...crazy," she said at last, voice hoarse and a little shaky. "Screamed at me like a fucking lunatic. Just about crushed my goddamned hands. The room went...wrong. And...oh...right...let's not forget the creepy-ass fucking shadow thing behind you. No big deal."

She hugged herself tighter, forcing out a weak laugh, then tapped her own lips. "Oh yeah, that. You tried to kiss me. Not in a cute way. I...yeah..."

Lifting a hand to her face, she rubbed at her eyes. "What the fuck, Alkereth. Your turn. Explain. Now."

His heart sank with every second gone. Guilt, trepidation, and resentment all bubbled up to the surface, a conglomerate of confusing emotions that was difficult to analyze all at once. He suddenly felt a hideous pounding on the side of his head, but he insisted to plough through it.

The one emotion that stood out above the rest was guilt. Guilt for hurting Emery, even if she gloated at his misfortune for having lost his magic. He remembered that well. Well—it wasn't... gloating; she seemed genuinely thrilled that he was a mageless husk of a man, now. But still, he could not fault her for any of it. For the sex, or for her joy. It was not like she was on the front lines seducing him when he dared her to kiss him... then, one thing led to another.

Resentment came next, but this was a difficult one to pick apart. He resented Emery for her happiness, and perhaps a little heart-sore and mildly betrayed, but he could not bring himself to be angry. No, not him. He remembered feeling anger, but it felt...

Like it was forced. Like someone from the outside coaxed him to let it envelope him, and then helped magnify that feeling by distant whispers. He blacked out after.

Trepidation crawled beneath his skin like venom. It was damn near palpable, and it made him tremble as he heard Emery's explanation. His eyes lowered, worthy of blame, but also with a hint of recognition.

"I do hope that I am wrong," he said with a quavering voice, gripping the sheet weakly out of desperate need for comfort. Wildly, even now, he realized how badly he craved to be held by Emery. "I have been wrong before. But if I am not... then we are in terrible danger."

He lifted his palm, staring forlornly at his missing tattoo.

"That magic circle was also a protective ward against spirits, ghouls, and abominations. Before I became a priest, I was a man haunted by these. But this... I believe what you saw might have been a Shadow Wraith. An entity most foul. It lives in darkness and serves only one master. It has one weakness, and that is light. If one is here, now... hunting me... stalking me...biding it's time... I think perhaps it was waiting..."

He looked up at Emery, determined not to cry and to be strong for her, but the weight of it all and the reality of his situation came crashing down.

"I—I am sorry," he told her. "I would never hurt you. Never. B-but... at the risk of harming you again, knowing what I know now... it would be best to keep our distance." When he said it, he had done his best to keep his composure even, but he failed. He felt his face burn hot with tears.

"I'm sorry," he said again, covering his face with his palm, wiping his tears. "I've walked a lonely path for years for a reason. I understand if... if after this you don't want anything to do with me again."

Perhaps Alkereth's explanation should have scared her more, learning that he—and by extension, she—was being hunted by some supernatural thing. But on the contrary, it only helped calm Emery. Not knowing was the worst part, but once she knew what she was working with then there was the potential to do something about it.

And...and maybe there had been a little fear that some of what she'd experienced had been Alkereth. It was fine if he hated her; she was prepared for that, had even been wanting that—for a time. When he was a mage, she wanted him to hate her and wanted to hate him. They had both failed, but maybe he would hate her now for fixing him.

That was fine. It was a price worth paying. But that didn't mean it didn't still sting.

She let her breath out slowly, and with it some of the tension.

"Don't be so dramatic," she said at last with a roll of her eyes. What was it about someone else's tears that made her forget her own fear? His sorrow was uncomfortable; she never knew how to handle it, always afraid of saying something that would make it worse, always afraid of what her stupid insensitive mouth would spit out. But she didn't run this time.

Because at least now she had some answers.

"You didn't leave me, not even when I gave you every fucking opportunity." She looked at him pointedly, hoping he understood what she was implying.  "So I'm not leaving you. Look." She rubbed at her temples, trying to find the right words. "Things have been crazy, but...this is a good thing. Bad, but good. You're cured, Alkereth. Maybe you can't see it, but it's a fucking miracle and I...I prayed for this. Well. Not this, exactly. The Shadow Wraith thing or whatever was an unintended consequence, to be sure, but you get my point, right?"

With a deep breath, she stood, still shaken but not quite so wobbly anymore. Trembly, but it was a combination of so much. Fading fear, fresh excitement. She crossed the distance between them and settled down beside him just to show what she thought about his "keep our distance" bullshit, pulling her knees to her chest.

"I...I wasn't going to turn you in, you know," she said without looking at him. "I knew that...a while ago. And last night I damned myself. I'm a lot of things, and fucking idiot is one of them, alright? Shit, maybe I'm still being an idiot. This is probably a bad idea, but...fuck it." She glanced sidelong at him, rubbing a hand over her face. "I don't really know what I'm saying, just...roll with it, alright?"

Alkereth buried his hands into his hair and pulled at it while scrunching into himself. He actually hurt Emery, and that was the worst part about all of this, more so than any looming threats. Abominations he can deal with, but without his magic... well. There would be time to deal with that fiasco later. That was the price he paid for giving even a single shit about someone else.

He should be angry. Furious. About all of it. Hurting her, hearing how she prayed for this. He was too overwhelmed to be this any longer, and what was most maddening that, above all, he simply wanted companionship. Specifically Emery's. So when she sat next to him and explained herself, he could only choke on his tears. How stupid, he thought. This whole fucking situation was so insanely stupid.

"Perhaps you are right," he laughed wildly, rubbing his face. Wait, what? Emery was right? Had he gone truly off the deep end?

"I'm upset, but there's not a damn thing I can do it right now. My livelihood is gone. No longer a Harbinger... no longer a priest... and now we're being stalked by a shadow."

He planted his head back on the wall. He had been well rested, but suddenly he felt exhausted again.

"If you hold such convictions, there are things you must know. I've made many dangerous enemies. I've evaded them for a long time. If a Shadow Wraith is here, it could mean many things, and none of them are good." He sighed a long, heavy sigh. "I've exposed this world to them. To Him..."

To hear that Emery was not going to turn him in earned a small smile. He reached over, tentatively, hand hovering over her face, but he decided against it. He was worried about touching her, worried the Wraith would take over.

"I know," he told her, withdrawing his hand reluctantly. "I've known for a while you wouldn't. And for that, you have my eternal gratitude and loyalty."

Slowly, he rose up. He kept the sheet around him.

"But you're an absolute cunt." Woah, wait, what? Now that Alkereth was no longer a priest, it seems he was testing his new life as a nobody. Complete assholery did not suit him well. "For being happy that I lost my magic. How would you feel if I told you that I was thrilled that you've lost your identity as a Mordecai? Or if you lost Hilda? Just... a bit of compassion would be nice. I know I'm not showing it right now, but I'm not exactly sure how to handle any of this. I feel like I'm teetering on the edge and I'm about to fall into an abyss."

No longer a Harbinger?

That made Emery snap a look at him, because while she hardly understood a thing about it (and he had been vague as fuck) she did understand one thing: his horse. Lunrath. She was a Harbinger thing, wasn't she? So did that mean...?

Oh shit...

She was quiet as he spoke. Quiet as he warned her of his enemies and spoke of him, whoever that was. It sounded bad—but she found she just didn't care. She was no stranger to danger, her whole life revolved around it, and she had long ago accepted (if begrudgingly) that she would likely die young because of it. Whatever dark things lurked around him...let them fucking come. Did it scare her? Of course. 

And she had about a million questions she wanted to ask.

Watching him, she found herself wanting to touch him. When he had broken down the other day, she had wanted to console him, too, but knew she couldn't. Maybe this time...? If she knew the first thing about it. How bloody odd. She could touch every inch of him shamelessly last night, but she hesitated to wipe his tears, because maybe that was the wrong call. Because he seemed just as hesitant to touch her and...she had no idea what they were doing, or what they were. This was new ground for her.

Still, she quirked a smile when he said he knew, and wondered when he had figured it out, and if—

Her thoughts screeched to a halt.

Wait, she was a WHAT now?!

Emery's shoulders twitched violently. She opened her mouth and raised a finger, eyes narrowing at him—but then she curled her fingers and rested her cheek on her hand with a soft huff, swallowing the words.

"Mm. That's...valid," she muttered under her breath, pressing her lips together and staring at him as though he had grown a second head. She was more surprised by his vulgarity than the insult.

Riiight. Compassion. How would she feel, indeed. Hilda was an obvious answer, but the other... 

She laughed despite herself. "Shit, if I woke up giftless and you said 'congrats!', I'd be—" Nope. Wincing, she snapped her mouth shut with a soft click of teeth. No, no, no. What had he just said? Compassion. Yes. That. It was tough when she spent so much time emotionally closing herself off, but...right. Time and place, time and place, take the win and take it silently. 

"Never mind." She cleared her throat and slid her eyes away. "I'm truly sorry for your loss." Aw, fuck. That sounded worse. She groaned and sank her face into her hand. "That sounded...insincere...didn't it...? It wasn't supposed to. Just—if I say something and it sounds bad, but it could be taken in a good way if you squint, just assume I mean the good way? Holy hell, I'm the fucking worst at this, alright? I really mean it, though, I..."

Slow down. She let out a breath. "Let's start over. I really do feel for you. I...know this is a big deal. I do." Turning to look up at him, her expression softened. "What does this mean for Lunrath?"

Alkereth peered down at her, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he broke into another small smile, shaking his head. "Wow." He nodded in agreement. "It's a start, but it sounds so fucking empty." He cringed a little when he swore, but got over it instantly. He wasn't used to it, but damn if it didn't feel liberating.

"Not ungrateful, just..." he pulled his hand over his head and rest it at the back of his neck. "A bit... I don't know. I don't feel much like myself at the moment."

Indeed, he looked a little gray in his complexion. He walked over to collect his things, but as he held his priest's regalia in his arms, he felt an odd, penetrating feeling. As if something mighty scrutinized him hatefully, screaming that he was unworthy to wear it. If his relationship with god had been severed, then it was only right that he let go of the symbols led by his faith. Frankly, he was still in shock and doing everything he could not to crumble beneath the weight of his depression.

Emery's voice snapped him out of it. He turned to her, still holding his clothes.

"It's as you've said before," he sighed finally. "She is probably dead. Even if she wasn't, I have no idea where she is and I have clue where to start looking. Starmounts... would find their riders easily, even if separated at a great distance. Our bond is strong... but it's been days."

His voice was heavy.

"I don't know where to go anymore. My purpose has concluded before it ever crossed the finish line."

Emery wasn't sorry for curing him.

She would not apologize for saving him.

But as she heard her own words echoed back at her, those careless words she had thrown at him when he begged for Lunrath as she dragged him from the pit, Emery felt it like a punch to the gut. She hadn't meant to plant that seed, yet here they were, and he looked all the more hopeless for it.

Fuck. Fuck, she was such a piece of shit.

But then he was speaking about his purpose, or lack thereof, and Emery felt her back stiffen.

"Bullshit."

She scowled up at Alkereth, curling her legs under her so she could rise swiftly to her feet. She stepped over to him and took him by the chin, firmly tipping his head down so she could look him in the eyes.

"You're still breathing, aren't you?" she said, and pressed two fingers to his neck. "Strong pulse. No mortal wounds..." She frowned and gently touched his wounded lip, hating that she had made him bleed. "Decades of life still in you, yet. Who the fuck says you only get to have one purpose? How little do you think you're worth?"

For a moment she paused, gathering her thoughts. It was difficult divorcing herself from her own biases, difficult to see the world how Alkereth likely saw it when all she could see was living evidence of divine intervention. God had saved him. Why couldn't he understand that? But as she had watched him pick up the literal pieces of his life while faced with an uncertain future, she thought...fuck. Maybe she could relate after all. Maybe even more than she first thought.

Maybe the magic wasn't the entire point.

Emery pulled back from him, crossing her arms over her chest awkwardly. "I'm not going to pretend to be so arrogant as to know your feelings, Alkereth. But if I've learned anything at all, it's that sometimes...well..." She glanced away, eyes lowering to the clothes he held as she was suddenly unable to meet his own. "Sometimes, you just have to mourn the life you thought you'd have."

Alkereth tensed up the minute he felt contact, and waited nervously for the darkness to take over. To his surprise, it did not, but he could not help but feel that something was watching them from the dark corners of their room, like a predator waiting for the opportunity to pounce. "Emery, please," he said suddenly, holding up his hands between them. "Don't. I don't want a repeat of last time. It's... it's not safe."

How could she be so reckless? Even so, he so desperately wanted her to touch him, that he resisted the urge to take a step forward for every step Emery took backward.

She was clumsy in her approach, but anyone with half a brain cell could tell that she was trying—and, importantly, sincere. She thought he might be worth something, beyond the promise of coin in exchange for his life. It made his heart surge happily to hear it come from her.

"It's all I've ever known," was all Alkereth could say. It was the truth. He swallowed. Could there be a life worth living if he could no longer cast magic and ride his magnificent horse across the cosmos to save worlds from consuming darkness?

It was no longer his concern. It felt surreal. Even with the threat of wraiths, there was only so much the magic-less Alkereth could do about that. It was not like they could summon their Master here. No. No... this world was safe, for now. Even if spirits would haunt him again, he convinced himself that he would find a way to ward them off. He thought about sharing this with Emery, but he abstained. He was already overloaded that he had no desire to do the same to his ginger companion.

"You're the only friend I have left. I've traded my livelihood and my only beloved companion for you." He wanted to grasp her hands, but kept his arms firmly planted by his sides. "Please do not squander it."

He took a moment to simply breathe, and still his ailing heart. "Even so... you're mad to want to be with me." He scoffed, running a hand through his hair, fluffing it. "I may be forced into retirement, but that does not mean that the darkness will never stop coming. Does that not scare you? Am I really worth the trouble?"

For a moment, Emery couldn't breathe. He had traded everything for her. She was all he had left. Had he known this would happen and still chosen to lay with her despite it? Was it a conscious decision, or a choice made in the heat of passion heedless of the consequences? Either way, the result was the same, wasn't it?

Surely she wasn't worth it.

And yet, hadn't she made a choice that night, too? A very conscious decision? She had held back on telling him just yet, but maybe he had already figured it out. For her part, she was trying not to think about it at all because she just might vomit if she did, so if there was one good thing that had come from Alkereth's crisis, that was it.

"Of course it fucking scares me! This whole thing does, and I don't just mean the Wraith." She froze, her eyes going wide from saying a bit too much, and she bit her lip. She was still unsettled, still a little vulnerable after that scare, and that made her a little too unguarded, a little too honest. She scrambled to recover. "Mostly the Wraith. When that...thing...took you over..."

A shudder went through her and she rubbed at the goosebumps rising on her arms. Having a creature puppet Alkereth's body, feeling like him, looking like him, sounding like him but so obviously not him...his obvious fear of it, afraid to touch or be touched lest it took him over again...

As much as it scared her, it also pissed her off.

How fucking dare it.

Her nails bit into her arms, her shoulders tensing. Like Alkereth, she was keeping her hands firmly away from him, as though afraid of slipping up again. "Look, I'd be abso-fucking-lutely thrilled if I never saw another one of those things, but here we are, and running isn't my style. I'm not afraid to be afraid. So yeah. Maybe I'm mad. As for whether or not you're worth it?" Her lips quirked into a crooked smile, a little sadness in her eyes.

"I think it's worth it to find out," she said quietly. "I can't guarantee I won't fuck up, maybe even a lot, but...I won't squander it, either." With a soft snort, she shook her head. "I can't for the life of me see how it's worth it for you, though. I mean...you...you've seen what I'm like, surely? You know what you're getting into, right? It's not a very even trade."

To hear the confirmation that, yes, Emery felt that same kind of fear any normal person should. Relieved, he showed a little nod, and then after a good deal of pondering, neatly and reverently folded pieces of his outfit around his holy book and trinkets. He left only a loose black undershirt and his leather pants sprawled out on the bed, and it was these that he proceeded to pull on. It meant he would appear buck-ass naked as he let the sheet fall from his body, but to preserve some modesty, he turned his back to her. There was no point in shyly escaping to a separate room. Emery had already seen the goods.

"It is likely they will target you to torment me. We must prepare for it. Do you understand?"

He said this matter-of-factly, but it nevertheless hurt his heart to speak like this.

"We... we made love, Emery. I won't ever forget it. I don't know what that means, yet. We moved too fast under the effects of alcohol for me to really understand it all, but I do know beyond a reasonable doubt that I cannot lose you. We've come this far."

He did not say that he regretted it. He was not yet sure how he felt about it all; he was still raw about his god abandoning him over one moment of weakness. If anything, it left him bitter. He knew the feeling wouldn't last—if he knew himself, which he did, he would feel sorry for himself later, and perhaps beg Lazamar to forgive him several times over until he cried himself dry.

"No one expects perfection, least of all myself. God knows I'm not perfect."

He hesitated before reaching for his sword, guilty to have left it on the floor because of his meltdown. He sheathed it in its scabbard, and belted it around his waist. Unworthy to wear the clothes of his Order, he could not bear to part with his sword.

"I know you are quite the spitfire and a competent fighter who knows how to pleasure a man. Are you saying I won't be able to handle you? Know I've tamed horses in my youth." He smirked.

"I should like some new clothes," he murmured. "And perhaps... if I'm lucky... a job. Will you help me, Emery?"

Now clothed all in black, he turned to face his partner.

Shamelessly, Emery watched Alkereth dress. His back was to her, but it was a lovely sight. The definition of his muscles, the sweep of his neck, the curve of his spine, all leading to a firm ass that she was more than happy to eye, and quite pleased that he chose tight leather instead of hiding it away.

It was kind of adorable, really, how they had been skin to skin, his body inside hers, and yet he was still trying to be modest. Shy even now. Her smile softened, a little wistful. There was no denying she was fond of him now, but she wasn't ready to call it anything else. He wasn't the first friend she'd been intimate with, back when she took more risks and let more people in.

Like she said, these things happen.

He spoke of the creatures, how they might target her to hurt him. She was quiet for a moment, her body stiffening, but her face went neutral. Finally, she shrugged. "I figured as much. I'm...familiar with that tactic." Voice quiet, there was a tightness in her words. "Just teach me how to kill them."

He called what they did "love-making". Shit. Emery jerked and opened her mouth in protest—no, it was definitely not, she thought she had been quite clear when she said she was fucking him—but she thought better of it. It...didn't matter. But it mattered to him. She had taken his abilities and his virginity in one fell swoop, so maybe now wasn't the time to debate fucking semantics, Emery?

Yet acknowledging it made her surprisingly...squirmy. She told herself it was just sex. It didn't mean anything. It—

Wait, what?

Emery choked out a laugh, Alkereth's compliment and subsequent horse-taming comment taking her completely off guard. She arched an eyebrow at him, a baffled "are you fucking serious?" grin on her face. "Are you sure you want to go there?" she asked sweetly, but there was danger in her smirk. "My dear horse whisperer, shall we recall the night's events—specifically who rode who? I assure you, your skills do not transfer. I never break."

She appreciated the joke, though, like light cutting through the clouds after a vicious storm. And as he turned to face her, she took him in anew. No longer was she judged by his shoulder angels, his holy book stored away. He looked like just a man—a painfully gorgeous one, yes, but no longer so lofty.

For a moment she just took him in, eyes moving over him slowly before coming to rest on his face.

She was terrified of the future before them. 

But somehow, it didn't feel like it would be quite so difficult with him. That didn't mean it wouldn't be rough...as he spoke of finding a job, Emery drew in a breath. She had put it off for long enough, but they had finally come to a point where she couldn't ignore it any longer.

She had to come clean.

"We'll have to help each other," Emery said, a slow look of realization creeping across her expression. "This is new for me, too. Alkereth, if I'm being honest, I...I'm not sure where to start."

He was looking at her to lead, to know what to do. She was no leader. She was a fraud. "I don't have any useful skills. I can fight. I know how to rough it. I can track, catch, and hurt people. That's, uh...that's about it." She looked away. "It's been a long time since I was a civilian. I'm going to be honest, I'm a liiiittle—" She held up her finger and thumb just a hair apart. "—freaked out about this whole thing because I haven't the slightest idea how to make honest coin or where the fuck we're going to even live or—"

Oh God. Emery had made a choice, but she hadn't had time to consider all the details or ramifications. Now that it was finally coming up and she was forced to consider it all...

She had started to pace. "I never forgot what you asked of me, you know. 'Promise me this is your last bounty' or whatever it was, and...right. So that's just the thing, you are my last. Promise fulfilled. I can't fucking do it anymore, I'm fucking done. But I was never really honest with you about, you know, who I am and what I did. You know I hunted mages. What you don't know is for whom. I know you're from up North so I'm not sure how much you know about the politics down here, but...it's been a hot fucking mess to say the least and you should probably be aware of what you're getting into, too."

Fuck, she was rambling. She ran her fingers through her hair, in full "nervous jitters" mode.

"I'm employed by Grand Duke Calent," she said at last. "One of many Hunters. My partner—ah, former partner, I suppose, and I mean that in a strictly business sense—leads them. I wouldn't say we're a popular group, it's...controversial. You know, civil war, people choose sides. I left the Mordecai to join them, as some Mordecai did. Many did not. Those Mordecai hate people like me—they follow the old ways. I know that doesn't mean anything to you, but it's not important."

Coming to a stop, she turned to face him fully. She wasn't sure how much he would understand, or if she was even making much sense, but now felt like the right time to get it all out, if she was ever going to.

"You said I have a good heart, but I want you to understand...I'm not a good person, Alkereth. I've done some...fucked up things. I've made a lot of enemies and I'm about to make a lot more. I'm not important enough that they'll track me across the nation when they have bigger fish to fry, but when I don't return, that's desertion, and who knows? Maybe they'll slap a bounty on a wall somewhere? Anyway, it's kind of funny, really. You're not even a mage anymore and it's still not safe to stay here, but...I'm also not sure where to go. Serendipity, maybe? They'd fucking love me there. Magic-sucking person in an entire nation of mages?"

The thought was enough to make her skin crawl. With a pained look up at him, she let out a breath that made her shoulders go slack with defeat. She smiled sadly. "Mm, I suppose I'm good at one thing. I'm good at ruining your life."

"Hey, hey... I feel your eyes staring. I'm not a piece of meat." He was wearing a shit-eating grin when he said this. To keep himself occupied, he started making up the bed. It was something to do—and he clearly had an issue with mess.

"To tame a horse requires patience, to earn the respect of one requires dedication. I don't think I want to tame you. The fire in you deserves to keep burning. Earning your respect is enough."

Alkereth finished making up the bed, and let Emery speak. She had a lot to get off her chest. After hearing all she had to say, he decided that it was not he who changed Emery. She changed herself. After coming to this conclusion, he realized that it no one could truly change another person. They had to do it themselves. He was proud, and relieved—because he did not think Emery was a bad person, either. Misled, perhaps, but not inherently bad. He always believed that. He planted his hands on his hips and watched the Mordecai pace in agitation.

"Emery, my dear, be still. We will help each other," he agreed. "I don't know this country at all, so I will rely on you." He paused, wondering what she meant by 'it's not important'. "Everything you said is significant. I don't understand it... but I appreciate your honesty. Look... I am no stranger to killing people, either. But I made the conscientious effort to kill in self-defense. Back when we got jumped by those hunters, I did not hesitate if it meant saving our skins. It's us against them, and I choose us."

He thought for a moment, now with fingers tapping his smooth chin. "Perhaps we should be sellswords. The fight is in our blood, and loaning our skills for good sounds like our calling. And we have a say to whom we bare our weapons to. We do not have to answer to anybody if we do not want to, as long as the law allows. Oh, but I suppose there is always... some absurd law about a government or kingdom buying sellswords to fight their wars. Some times, it is mandatory under the threat of a hanging or other such political nonsense. I don't know if your country does this. In fact, I'm not familiar with the politics here, or in that place you just mentioned, but they both sound miserable, and their leaders sound like fucking morons." Oh. Yes. He liked the flavor of that swear. It felt good on his tongue.

He wondered what the hell Serendipity was, and why a country—or place—whatever—was named that. He bit his lips to stop himself from laughing at the name.

It was an interesting aspiration, anyway. He figuratively left the idea open on the table for Emery to experimentally poke and prod at while he thought about what she had said about desertion.

"In that, we are kindred spirits." He grinned, unable to stop himself. "We're good at ruining each other's lives, but we have it in ourselves to pick up the pieces. You taught me that, and that is what I'm doing now. We will find a way. I promise. Let me ask you this: is it more dangerous to request your leave, or to run away? I am not going to judge however you move forward, but if your associates are in any way understanding, perhaps they would hear your case and dismiss you from work. Unless it does not work like that, in which case, leaving cold-turkey may be your best bet. Either way, you have my support."


"Anyway, we have time. Breakfast, and then blazing a new trail? And new clothes, if you would be so kind, unless you spent the last coin on drink and whores. You know, I considered some of that coin mine. I helped bring the child to his parents, too. And since I am no longer beholden to my priestly affairs, I feel no guilt about claiming some of that coin."

He bat his eyelashes as he leaned in with the biggest, shit-eating, dopiest grin.

Emery wasn't certain what reaction she was expecting. Perhaps, even now, she was giving Alkereth the opportunity to walk away because...that's just what happened. People left or they died, and goodbyes were their own special kind of death. She was terrified of getting attached--

But God, she was tired of it. She was tired of being alone even when she wasn't alone. She had never grown close to the people she worked with; even her partner, Zannrick, was more of a closed book than she was. She kept things strictly business, and it was fucking hard but--she'd felt--necessary. But if she was already taking crazy risks, why not another? Why not hold tight to this thread and see what tapestry it belonged to?

Once again, he surprised her with his acceptance. Perhaps it shouldn't surprise her; he had shown who he was right from the start. There was no judgement to be found. They had both killed the other day to save their lives, and that was not his first kill, nor hers. He chose them, he said.

She liked the sound of that.

She also liked the sound of his sellswords idea.

"Sellswords," she repeated, perking up, and some of the anxiety faded. "Oh, that's...that's actually not a bad idea. That's actually a brilliant idea. Alright, see, it's not exactly legal? But that doesn't actually matter right now--we're in the middle of a war. Everything is just batshit right now. All the duchies are at each other's throats murdering each other, people are picking sides even down to the family level, the usual conscription drama, not to mention entire duchies getting fucking razed...needless to say, legality, official policies, they're..." She waved a hand. "Tenuously enforced, at best. We'll have to be careful who we sell our services to, of course. We don't want to cross the wrong people or shit where we sleep. It'll largely depend on the local politics. Smaller towns would be optimal; with all the men dragged away to fight for their local duke, many are having issues with raiders and brigands."

Excitement crept in, increasing with every spoken word and slowly replacing the dread. Not knowing was the hard part, but now that she had a clear goal in sight..? It needed further consideration, a little planning and thinking, but it was workable. Even him bringing up her former associates was not enough to dampen it. She laughed, finding his naivete a little cute. "Oh, they'd hang the shit out of me," she said without hesitation, grinning. "It's not the sort of thing you just leave. Especially not in the middle of a war. Temporary leave as I'm technically on now is one thing. My family wasn't far from where we're stationed and they needed news from my...guardian, you could call her, anyway. I was the quickest option."

She gave a strong shrug. "It's fine, though. Really. I'm not afraid."

Then Alkereth went and tried to lay claim to the coin. Emery snorted, rolling her eyes. "Do you, now?" she said, and stepped in closer to him as he leaned in with that goofy smile, bringing their faces close together. It was good to see him feeling a little better, and she...had always enjoyed his playfulness. The potty mouth was new and a little startling coming from him of all people--was that how he felt when she taught the child to swear?

She cocked her head and peered up at him. "I think not. You had your chance, fool. You already said no! I heard it, God heard it, and--and fuck. I don't want to count what's left. Do you realize I bought three fucking whores and we didn't use the services of a single one? Because I'm starting to remember that now." Another pause. She looked past him toward the bed. "This is Caleb's room, isn't it."

Another laugh escaped her, because it was so ridiculous, and yet for all the stress and new terrain they were covering, she felt...strangely light. Shaking her head, she looked back up at Alkereth, met those scarlet eyes, and knew right then she was about to do something incredibly stupid.

It was foolish. It was risky. But Emery was fresh out of fucks to give. She had spent her last one well over a day ago, starting with that stupid, wonderful kiss that had killed her old life.

May as well start her new life with one, too.

She closed the distance before Alkereth could protest and brushed her lips against his, gentle so as not to hurt his wound. And as she did, she stuck a hand behind his back and flipped her middle finger at the air, daring the motherfucker to even try.

"Oh." Alkereth made a face after Emery told him about the status of sellswords. "That is annoying. Really annoying." He childishly crossed his arms as if what he was about to say was entirely infallible, but he said it more to himself than to Emery.

"I forget this world is from a more primitive time. Humans do love their wars..." His voice faded; he was distracted. "But I suppose I'd be called a hypocrite for choosing 'sellsword' as my career path. At any rate, I will stand firmly as a neutral party... with no loyalty to one country, or the other..."

It was hard to focus on one subject when his mind could not help but drift to other issues. He could handle a sword without magic, but he would no longer be classified as a Spellsword. It ached.

"Your information is invaluable. We'll start small, build ourselves a reputation, and see where we go from there. Although... perhaps I spoke to soon, and more modest work would suit us best. I'm not inclined to get into trouble with the law. I've come close already." He grinned sheepishly. "But I don't know if I am ready to hang up my sword indefinitely. Either way, I'm a walking risk, even now." He sighed as he picked apart his thoughts, hanging his head.

"I can deal with raiders and brigands. They're a lot... ehh... squishier than what I've dealt with before."

The ex-Harbinger looked down at Emery, amused at her matter-of-fact tone. "Okay. We don't want you hanged, so running is our best option. Got it." A palm found his face. "What was it that I said about being a law-abiding citizen? I suppose I'm tossing that out of the window."

Alkereth stood his ground with a smirk, liking very much that Emery was showing her spicier side. "You thought you were helping," he pointed out. "Maybe stop helping moving forward, it's expensive." Unable to bite back a laugh, he did so. It felt good to laugh with Emery; it made him forget the more glaring problems, even for just a little bit.

The kiss happened too suddenly for him to react, but before he could actively protest, he already had his hands around her. The pain in his lip was a bit grounding—he did not feel the pressure of darkness closing in. Just as he tried wondering why that is, he was already pulling Emery towards him, and he forgot all about it. She will find that his skin was strangely warm compared to before. Where did the cold go?

"Um... another round, perhaps? Since we're still here," he whispered after their lips broke apart.

He did not know that Emery had essentially flipped off their mysterious stalker. If this shadow had seen it, he never gave any indication. He was, as they say, silent as the grave. Was he even there at all?

This world? Did he mean this country? That comment earned an eyebrow arch and a scoffed, "Primitive? Really?" but Emery let it slide. She wasn't in any particular rush to defend her country when she was in the process of betraying it.

Betraying it. Her stomach twisted sharply, but she drew in a deep breath to calm herself. No, no. She would process those feelings later, she decided. Much, much later, if she had a say in it, because she really didn't want to think about it. Too much had happened in such a short time, and she hadn't walked into this brothel with the intent of walking back out a traitor. She had intended to let him go once she figured out how, but quitting?Burning every bridge between herself and her nation?

There would be time to panic about it; it had been a long time coming, perhaps, but she hadn't even realized that until she was walking away. But for now she listened to Alkereth speak and felt hopeful for the future, as uncertain as it was. At least she didn't have to do it alone.

Holy shit. They were actually doing this. Forging their own path, both criminals by virtue of existing...

"Stop helping? Alright, you said it, not me! No new clothes for you," she said with a shit-eating grin. "Scrounge up your own food while you're at it! You're damned right it's expensive. You're expensive."

Another round? Emery laughed, leaning up for another gentle kiss since the first one had been safe. "You're such a man," she teased, because he had somehow gone from crying and screaming his head off, trying to preserve his modesty, and dealing with a Wraith...right back to sex. To be fair, though, it wasn't exactly like she could take his magic away again.

Still, as much as the offer made her blood heat, she hesitated a second. As flippant as she was acting about the Wraith situation, it was more to make him feel better and hide her own fear. It wasn't the first demonic entity she had encountered, but those had been a bit more fleshy. She had never witnessed a possession—and the unpredictability of it made her skin crawl. What triggered it? If it had taken him over in the middle of a conversation, what about a far more vulnerable situation? What if it happened right in the middle of...?

Alkereth had been worried about touch, but they were touching now, her arms around his waist and and body flush to his. It seemed fine. It was still Alkereth in there and he couldn't be that worried if he was suggesting another go, and he was the expert on these matters.

And she was not about to let some demonic asshole control her life.

Fuck it.

She was already making stupid, foolish choices. At least this one was a diversion from the others—and at least, in some small way, she could maybe apologize. She was terrible with words, but if she could make him feel better...

In answer, Emery reached down to start undoing Alkereth's breeches. "I'm not sure how much time we have," she said with a wry smile. "Caleb probably wants his room back, but he's not banging down the door yet so he can deal. I did pay him. A lot. He can afford to leave us alone."

Breeches undone, she slid a hand into them to stroke him, shamelessly pulling him free, while she leaned up for another careful kiss. "Sorry about your lip," she murmured against his skin—which was surprisingly warm. Hm. She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth after, then peered up at him curiously.

"You're warm," she said, and though she had felt him heat a little before, and though she was not complaining about the lack of ice, this was unusual. As he had explained before, his people ran cool. "You good?"

Oh, hell. Emery was right. Alkereth tried not to grind his teeth in annoyance, but he did little else to hide it since it was plain as day on his face.

"Ugh... this wasn't planned well. Actually, I think you had a plan, but considering I accidentally changed that, you're now in a bit of a bind. Well, that settles it. You had best be making some money to support our little group of misfits. You, me, and Hilda. Besides, I don't fancy wearing this every day in the foreseeable future. It doesn't exactly scream 'big bad mercenary'." He plucked his black shirt, which was clean and crisp, but he treated it as if it had been through the mill.

Woopsies. Alkereth nearly let the cat out of the bag, and he had not really known it until after it happened. It raised the old question if he should have told Emery the whole truth, but he was unsure of how well she would take him essentially being an alien on this planet. In his experience, many never took it well, thus Lunrath's insistent warnings to keep the whole truth to himself. Lie through his teeth, if he must.

"Uhh..."

Awkwardly scratching the back of his head, he could only grin sheepishly.

"No offense," he ended up saying. "I've just come from a, uhh, slightly more progressive place where the worst someone could do is give backhanded insults to one another over political disagreements."

Alkereth felt a slight stab. He would have loved to tell Emery all about it, and now he was pushing it. If any of it stoked the fires of her interest, Alkereth would only bury himself deeper.

"Oh..."

A blush blossomed over his cheeks as he felt a hand stroke him down below. He squirmed from growing stiff in her hand. "Oh, oh my. I'm still not quite used to this, but I love it."

Without really giving it much thought, he took Emery around the waste and pulled her back to the bed. What she said next confused him, but then he felt his cheek.

"Huh," he murmured. "I suppose it's just warm in here. The... the sun is shining through the window, after all. I don't take to heat well, never have. So... don't worry. I'll be right as rain soon."

He tried not to think about it. Besides, his horny one track mind could think of nothing else but Emery having her way with him one last time before the unknown ventures ahead. Hell, he even wore a big puppydog pout.

God, has he really changed so much?

Horrible darkness seeped into the back of his mind, one that threatened to take him over the deep end again. It was easy to punch down... for now, at least, while he was good and distracted, and desperately craving Emery's wanton touch.

Yes—that's it. He was escaping. That's what this was.

Sometimes, Alkereth said these things that were so utterly baffling Emery didn't know what to make of them. For example, calling his home progressive. Now, she was certainly no expert on the world, but from everything she had heard about Hyoite, progressive was about the last word she would have used. Except, no, it couldn't be Hyoite, could it? It had to be somewhere else. Maybe he was from a different area? Last she had heard, they were still pissing in chamber pots there and didn't even have cities, yet his clothes and mannerisms had always struck her as too refined for that kind of lifestyle--not to mention his flat-out derision when it came to Connlaothian style, as though they were the backwater ones!

So was it all just propaganda, maybe? What if there actually was something better up there somewhere, beyond Hyoite and Fell, because why would anyone choose to go there if it was awful...? There would be mages, certainly. And humans might not be dominant, if she had interpreted his past comments correctly, but...

But then he was pulling her toward the bed, assuring her that he was fine (though the room hardly felt warm at all to her, huh) and she shelved the thought for the moment, right next to the growing list of things she wanted to ask him about.

There would be time for that.

"You'll get used to it," Emery said with a sly smile as she went with him, liking this little hint of boldness. "I plan on taking advantage of you as often as you'll let me." She gave him a little wink, followed by a light push onto the bed. She followed after him, straddling his hips with his cock trapped between them, and playfully pinned his arms to the bed so she could lean in and nuzzle her nose against his.

"Now, stop fretting about your bloody clothes while I'm trying to get you out of them, hm? We'll figure it out. Can't promise you'll like our selection," she said with a roll of her eyes, "but you'll survive, I promise." She leaned in to press her lips to his, then paused before she did, something else he'd said niggling at her brain. "...Also, the fuck you mean I better make some money? Only me? What are you--oh, never mind. Just shut up and get naked."

Shaking her head with an amused snort, because the man could be such a little shit, she released his hands so she could yank at his shirt. She pulled it up and over, but stopped short before she could pull it all the way off, leaving his face covered and his arms trapped in it above his head.

She could be a little shit, too.

With a grin, she tugged the shirt up just enough to uncover his mouth so she could kiss him, slow and light with the barest caress of her tongue, conscious of his injury and not wanting to hurt him. And then, still content to leave him trapped, she kissed down his throat and pressed her lips to the bruise she'd left on him, admiring her own handiwork. It had darkened to an impressive shade of purple.

"Is there anything you wanted to try?" she asked against his skin, and gave him a teasing little grind of her hips. "I'm more than happy to ravish you again, doll--but I'm also happy to entertain your desires."

Slightly abashed at his own forwardness—and Emery's, as it were—he gave her a bit of a goofy grin as he happily undressed for her again, not even the least bit annoyed after having carefully selecting what part of his garb he'd wear moving forward.

"We've a long journey ahead of us, with no clear end in sight. We will have time enough to experiment."

It was a bold enough claim, but Alkereth had turned into a simple man with simple needs. He wondered: was Emery into the idea? To embark together with the occasional heat? Would she grow tired of him, and consider this nothing more than a—what's the word—"fling"?

Jealousy was an ugly beast, one that Alkereth hastily beat back with an imaginative whip. He was not sure if he was comfortable bringing up what they could be in the long term. He was not sure his vulnerable heart could handle it, or withstand watching Emery take someone else to warm her bed at night. But for now, he would enjoy this while he had her.

It felt amazing to be wanted.

"We'll have that discussion after, unless you do well to make me forget, and I very well might." His scarlet gaze hungrily took Emery in. She was so beautiful.

"But just now, my dear, you are fanning the flames. Yours is a heat I'd bask in for eternity."

He met her kiss carefully, growing pleasure warming his flesh. His hands caressed the robe from her body, in desperate haste. They have such little time. When their lips parted, if just for a moment, it was to speak:

"My whole life, I was revolted by intimacy. But now... I cannot get enough. Your touch is addicting." His hand glided downward until he touched the softness of Emery's inner thigh and found her lips, stroking. Since he knew she found it pleasurable with a cock in her, he wondered if his fingers that teased gave her a shiver.

"I very much liked your rough play." His other hand felt the bruise at his neck, and he blushed furiously. "Command me, tell me what it is my Goddess desires. I am but your humble servant, eager to worship."

There would be time to experiment. They could have that discussion later.

Those statements gave Emery pause, just for a heartbeat--because it was an interesting realization. They would be traveling together. Working together. Living together. She enjoyed his body and he enjoyed hers, so...it only made practical sense. It was convenient, after all. And yet it hadn't really clicked that this could be a regular thing. Everything was still so new and raw: their choices, the future, what it all meant...

Huh. Her eyes moved over him, the morning light giving his pale skin and hair an almost ethereal glow, and her heart only beat quicker as she truly took him in. Here she had joked about jumping him as often as he'd allow, but it seemed he was actually on board with...whatever this was?

Before her thoughts could spiral around the question of what, exactly, 'this' was, Alkereth's hands were on her, warmer than she expected, and like so many other thoughts it got tabled for the time being. She helped him get her out of the robe, shrugging free of it until they were both once again bare so soon after dressing, and when their lips parted and he spoke, she couldn't help but but flash him a cocky little smile. To think that he had been afraid of touching her clothed leg just days ago...

"I've enjoyed corrupting you," she told him as she pressed another soft kiss to his lips, goosebumps following the downward trail of his fingers. "You were born to—ah!" Her words cut off with a hitched breath and a little jolt as his fingers caressed her inner thigh, pleasantly ticklish, before moving inward to stroke her. For a moment she completely lost her train of thought, focused too much on the cruel teasing of his fingers and the slow heat building beneath them, and with a shiver she gently took his hand and guided his fingers to her clit. Oh, she enjoyed being the tease, but she had always been too impatient on the receiving end.

Besides, he wanted her to command him. That Emery could do.

"Then worship, as you were born to do," she told him, and sharply nipped beneath his ear. "Earn my favor. I can be cruel—but also kind. If you do a good enough job, I may reward you. Would you like that?" Her hands caressed over his chest, fingers lightly rolling over and then pinching his nipples taut, and she leaned in again to kiss the unmarked side of his neck, nibbling with just enough teeth to hint at what she could do. 

"Keep touching me...right there," she breathed, rocking her hips against his hand. "Then fuck me with your fingers. I want you to show me how you'll use your cock, if I deem you worthy." She punctuated it with a sharper bite, not yet hard enough to bruise but teasing it. "And don't you dare stop until I say. Understand?"

"Oh, I'll bet you did," Alkereth the Corrupted shot back, peering at her with hooded eyes as he continued to play with her. Something welled up within, a strange feeling, but also... familiar? He probably shouldn't worry about it. What did he have to lose at this is point? Well... nothing, really.

Nothing but her, said a voice.

It was a taunt, he thought. He was taunting himself with the idea that he could lose Emery.

No, he wouldn't allow that, so stop thinking about it.

Worship as you were born to do.

In defiance of his own thoughts, he growled into Emery's ear: "Yes, my Goddess." Fingers parted her folds and plunged into her flesh, amazed at her tightness and ability to suck him in so readily.

Alkereth fell back onto the freshly made bed done by his own hand, eager to rough it up again. Maybe this time, he won't make it up. It was so delightfully evil.

While he performed for Emery, delighting in her heat and flesh by pumping his fingers into her, a voice he did not hear spoke only to Emery:

"You should have turned him in, Mordecai."

It was a low male voice, and distant, like an echo of a memory.

"Look upon your precious Fallen Star, and think: is he worth the trouble you will certainly face?"

Alkereth was so eager to please, so good at following orders, and she was just as eager to train him. His fingers slid into her and Emery shuddered, the growl in his voice sending a shiver up her spine. Oh yes, she really loved this side of—

You should have turned him in, Mordecai.

The thoughts came to her unbidden, intrusive and jolting, slamming into her like a bull out of fucking nowhere. She gasped, easily mistaken as a sound of pleasure.

The fuck? No. No, she was not doing this right now.

...is he worth the trouble you will certainly face?

She peered at him through hooded eyes, this man she had thrown her life away to save. Was a man she'd met barely four days ago really worth trashing the life and career she'd built for herself? Worth losing everything? Worth dying for?

Had she really abandoned reason for emotion despite everything she'd done to stifle it all?

Was he really worth spitting on the graves of her fam—

Fuck off! she told her own thoughts, closing her eyes tight and drawing a deep, shuddering breath. Now was not the fucking time, when this was supposed to be about distraction. No, she did not regret her choice—but the thought did a great job of bringing all the anxiety rushing back to the forefront of her mind.

She realized abruptly that she had frozen despite his fingers working her, that a familiar numbness had settled over her. Shit. Knocked out of the moment, she struggled to get back into the correct headspace, back into the role, but it was difficult to feel in control and confident and focused with doubt gnawing at the edges. Where had she been going with this?

Shit.

Hoping Alkereth hadn't noticed the sudden mood shift, she rolled her hips against his hand and dipped down to kiss him roughly, lips pressed hard to his. She nibbled sharply at his lip, forgetting his wound in her desperation, and when she withdrew it was to whisper hoarsely into his ear. "Fuck me," she breathed. "Just roll me over and fuck me."

She'd had a plan. She had been going somewhere with this. But now all of her focus was on calming the fuck down. Hopefully Alkereth didn't notice the switch; hopefully he thought she had just broken down from pleasure and impatience. She wasn't ready to lose this moment, but holy hell did she hate her brain sometimes.

"You know not what he is."

"Ahh-!" Alkereth whimpered into the kiss, surprised at the roughness of it, but somehow... liking it? When Emery pulled away, he saw bits of crimson on her lip. His blood. It drove him.

Completely carnally charged, Alkereth rose up and held her in his surprisingly strong arms, flipping her over and letting her fall as he positioned himself between her legs. For a moment he watched her, reading her. Even in his sex-addled brain, he was still concerned. Something was a little off; Emery froze up a moment ago, and seemed desperate, as though to push something away.

"Oh, my Goddess... are you alright?" he purred as he slowly, effortlessly, pushed himself into her. She felt so good that he dipped down and moaned sweetly into her ear. He would not stop unless she bade it; anyway, he was aching for this.

"Shall I tell you?"

Alkereth did not want to waste much time. He grasped her hands in his and held them back on the mattress and started rocking his hips into her, plunging wetly and fiercely, doing his damndest to hold back enough to keep his lover entertained. He recalled how hard she rode him, and how deep he was inside, and how it sent her over the edge. He wanted to see it again, looking to hit the right spot.

As he fucked her, he bent over and grazed his teeth along her neck, a silent question: may I mark you, my Goddess?

"You know not what he is."

...Wait, what?

That wasn't her intrusive thought.

Alkereth easily lifted and flipped her, cutting her off before she could pursue that realization further, and Emery let out a surprised yelp. Holy shit, for all that she pushed and pulled and bossed him around, his strength still surprised her—though she knew it shouldn't. Her shoulder throbbed, aching as her back hit the mattress, but it was just another physical sensation to help keep her grounded in the moment.

Peering up at him as he crawled atop her and asked if she was alright (ah, damn, he was way too observant) she nodded, opening her mouth to say she was fine, and don't dare stop, but then he slowly slid home and her words came out a wordless moan. Oh God, what had she been worried about again? She rolled her hips to meet him, eyes fluttering closed, and bit her lip, tasting copper...oh. His lips had been a little too red, she had assumed from kissing—had she hurt him again? If he cared he didn't show it, and she was far from squeamish, and so she reached to pull him in tighter—

"Shall I tell you?"

—except Alkereth pinned her hands to the mattress and Emery found herself at his mercy as he drove into her in what was suddenly the most confusing fuck of her life.

He felt amazing, but her blood chilled at those words—or would have, if Alkereth wasn't doing such a good job heating her up. She cried out, breathless from the intensity of it, torn between being ridiculously turned on by his dominance, a bit thrown off by it, and more than a little concerned about being pinned—because those weren't her thoughts, that was a goddamned VOICE, and there was really only one thing that could mean unless she was totally losing it.

Oh. Hell. No.

"A-Alkereth!" she gasped, but that was as far as she got because it was sort of difficult to verbalize (much less think) much of anything when she was getting pounded into the bed. His teeth grazed her neck, sending shivers down to her toes, and she tilted her head in assent even though she knew she should be stopping him. God! Why NOW? It was such a surreal experience, heat and pleasure and fear and need all swirling together in one potent cocktail.

And no small part of her was also really bloody annoyed.

"Oh God...oh fuck...!" She clutched tightly at his hands, squeezing like she was trying to break them, her body trembling as he stroked just the right spot and edged her ever closer. No, no, she had to tell him. That thing was still here. She squirmed, tugging at her hands, shaking her head as she struggled to find her goddamned words. "Alkereth...fucking...tell that asshole to fuck the fuck off!" It came out a nigh incoherent whine, but she never claimed to be smart or eloquent while getting railed so that was the best she could do.

Meanwhile, Alkereth was on the highway to complete bliss. But when Emery clutched his hands, and spoke to him with angry urgency, he stopped altogether, both annoyed and alarmed.

"What?" he growled, pausing mid-coitus and peering down at her stupidly.

"Oh, for FUCK's sake."

He pulled out, his manhood slick from her, but his mood had completely gone. He did not like peeping toms in the best of times, he realized—least of all from malevolent spirits.

"Having a good show?" he called out angrily, plucking his pants from the ground. "Couldn't be the least bit bothered to let us at it? I've had enough of you. Show yourself, and let us see what you're made of."

Silence followed, with only the sound of Alkereth's heavy breathing.

"Look, you, I've gone most of my life seeing the likes of your kind. Ghosts, ghouls, and spirits. You're not special."

Alkereth peered at the darkest recesses of the room, expecting to see the merest flicker. Even though the air felt oddly stifling, he could not see a peculiar shadow.

"Emery," he said more gently, turning to her. He had not yet pulled his pants on, but he was using them to cover himself out of a habitual need for modesty in the presence of others, even if it was an unseen force. "Tell me what happened."

A feeling like dark tendrils attempted to snake it's way into Emery's mind, more or less like a gentle coaxing from a mother's hand.

"You will tell him nothing of this meeting."

It was almost a kind, but firm directive from a voice that demanded nothing but obedience, masking sinister intentions.

"But rest assured... we will meet again, my little redbird. Perhaps... in person."

For fuck's sake was right. Emery rolled over and planted her face into a pillow to muffle her frustrated groan, completely defeated. Great. Bloody great. Their stalker was a voyeur and it had been in her fucking head. And of course it couldn't choose a different time, no, no! Let's choose when Alkereth is balls deep in her about to send her over the edge, because why not?

Worst of all, it was exactly what she had been worried about: being attacked in a vulnerable moment, violating what was supposed to feel safe.

How fucking dare it.

Alkereth spoke to the thing, demanding it show itself, and with a heavy sigh Emery sat up and grabbed for her robe. She glared at empty space, now afraid, angry, and sexually frustrated, so she dared it to show its stupid ugly faceless face because she didn't care, she would find a way to murder it. Somehow. Or at least punch it in the face, she didn't care, she would settle if she had to.

But of course it didn't come out now. Of course.

Coward.

She held onto the anger, much preferring it to the other feelings--the slimy chill that wanted to crawl down her spine at knowing it had been in her head, present for everything...could it have taken hold of Alkereth even then? Her stomach twisted, her chest tightening, and she quickly shoved the thought away though it was too late to stop the shudder that went through her.

Right. What happened.

"It was fucking with me. It said--" She paused, brow furrowing. Shit. What had it said? It had been right there, but suddenly she couldn't remember the exact words. Seriously?

"Uh...shit. It was in my head. It said...um...things?" she finished lamely, and pinched the bridge of her nose. The feeling was still there, the surprise and panic when she realized that wasn't her inner narrator but an actual voice, but the words themselves? Poof. Most frustrating of all, she could still feel them sitting there, like trying to recall a word you knew but that your brain decided to temporarily forget.

Rubbing the back of her neck, she shook her head. "Dammit. I can't fucking remember. Probably something creepy, since it was watching us." Her shoulders drooped in defeat. "We can kill this thing, right? Tell me how we kill it."

Alkereth moved to sit at Emery's side, gently cupping her face in his hands. To have that kind of experience would rattle anyone, so he wanted to be sure that she was sound.

When Emery tried to explain, the ex-priest's frown deepened.

"They do that," he affirmed, "when we're at our most vulnerable. Forgetting what it said speaks volumes..."

Hesitation took over as Emery demanded to know how to kill a Wraith. He lowered his hands to rest on his lap, gritting his teeth.

"You remember when I told you about them? Light... light is one way to kill them. Well..." He scratched the back of his head. "Not kill them entirely, but it will force them back to their world, in great pain. He won't appear now, because there is a strong light coming in through the window." He pointed at the joyous brush of gold shining into the room. "But they can always live where shadows dwell. In yours, or mine."

Unable to get himself in the mood again, he grumpily pulled his pants back on, muttering, "I am sorry—I don't think I can do this right now. It's... not your fault. I... I really enjoyed it. Very much." He turned to her with a small smile. "We'll just... put a cap on it until further notice, yes? But right now, we should probably go. I think I hear an impatient huffing outside the door."

He heard a distinctive shuffle and a thump of someone having just pressed their ears against the door.

"We'll discuss our next move, because this attachment is going to be problematic if we attempt to ignore it further."

He closed the buttons in his shirt.

"Tell me any more if the bastard says another word to you." And I shall do the same, he thought angrily. "Ugh. I was hoping to avoid problems like this after I became a powerful High Priest."

Nothing more was said from their mysterious foe.

His hands were so warm now but Emery liked the feeling of them on her face, especially right now. It was such a simple gesture, and yet...how odd, the way their dynamic had shifted. She was too proud to seek comfort from others but she soaked it up when he gave it then, a little tension fading as he explained. Light could hurt them. Not kill, perhaps, but she would settle for blasting it back to wherever it had come from.

...She did not like the part about it living in places where shadows dwell. Because good God was her head full of shadows.

Could it view the details of her mind? Her thoughts?

Memories?

"Fantastic," she muttered, swallowing hard against the sudden dryness in her mouth. "So, I'm hearing fire. Lots of fire." Was it still there, clinging on, waiting--stop. She cut the thought off before it could gain ground. She was trying very, very hard not to freak out about this, because she was certain that wouldn't help the situation. If there was nothing she could do about it right now then what was the point? But an invisible enemy was a new one for her, especially one that could get inside her mind, and the sick feeling returned.

She rose from the bed and pulled on Angel's robe, and flashed Alkereth a sad smile as he, too, dressed. The moment was gone too soon, and she still wasn't quite ready to face the strange new future before her, but he wasn't the only one who had lost the will. Their safety had been compromised, this room no longer a sanctuary, and there was no way she'd be able to relax enough to enjoy intimacy at this point--perhaps not until it was dealt with. What a load of bullshit.

"It's fine," she said. "There'll be other times. Shit happens, but we'll figure it out. And by 'figure it out' I mean blast it back to hell or wherever."

Emery shoved away the discomfort gnawing at her and headed for the door once Alkereth was done, reaching out to give his ass a playful, 'no hard feelings' squeeze as she passed. Alkereth had heard someone on the other side and she didn't have to make any guesses as to who. What she wasn't prepared for was how suddenly awkward she felt--you know, because she had just fucked a guy in the room of another guy she'd fucked several times before. And all after making a total ass of herself, too.

She rolled her shoulders back, drew in a breath, and opened the door.

Caleb nearly tumbled into the room but grabbed the door frame to stop himself. Emery stared flatly at him, and he stared knowingly back, a slow smile spreading over his lips as he looked from her to Alkereth. He arched an eyebrow at the so-called celibate priest.

"So...you guys worked things out?" he asked innocently.

Emery rolled her eyes hard and motioned him to step aside, fighting against the heat rising in her cheeks. "Don't start."

"Yes, you get it! Fire—any strong light source! But we'd have to—hey!" He yelped when he felt a hand on his rear, blushing furiously. "Let a fellow know before you do that, eh?"

Then, he was struck with an idea, one that he could not say when the door had just opened, and in stumbled Caleb.

Alkereth preened like a proud peacock. He rose up, made sure his sword was belted properly before gathering up his folded clothes and followed after Emery.

He extended a hand out to Caleb. "Who knew passion could pave its way to great horizons? And it is all thanks to you for the inspiration, friend." And Alkereth looked damn pleased with himself as he showed the bruise on his neck, and the bite on his lip, as if these were a badge of honor. "Farewell, sweet Caleb. I am off to find new prospects. In between jobs, you see." Indeed, he was no longer wearing his trappings as a priest. He practically pranced past as he said this.

In retrospect, maybe leaving the bed an unraveled mess was a bad idea (adding salt to the wound, perhaps), but it was a fleeting thought. Alkereth had more pressing issues.

Once they were out of the room, Alkereth would shake his head at Emery, a silent way of saying that he had no desire to discuss the matter until they were safely outside and on the road.

He felt his lip, and winced. While he enjoyed the idea of pain and pleasure, he missed being able to heal at a whim. It saddened him, but he was desperate not to let it consume him—not now. He felt strangely giddy with anticipation about their new road, and he did not want to let that feeling go.

"How is your arm?" Concerned, he sidled up close to observe her movements. He did not forget, and worried about it now after their night together.

Caleb took Alkereth's hand in his, lips pressed together as he fought the urge to laugh as 'Alan' said and did ridiculously Alan things. He couldn't even be annoyed over the situation--it was too silly--and anyway, the man had been fun for the short time he'd entertained him. Or rather, for the short time Caleb had been entertained by him. His eyes slid over the his bruised neck and cut lip and he clapped him on the shoulder with his other hand, like a proud father to a son. "I'm happy for you, Alan," he said with an amused grin, and meant it. "Congratulations."

After all, it was just business, and he had still gotten paid handsomely for little work.

Emery ran a hand over her face, shaking her head as Alkereth pranced on by, his behavior surprising the hell out of her. She had thought he might try to be all coy and hide the evidence or something, but it looked like instead of shy he was going to be insufferable and...

Proud.

Hmm...she actually didn't mind it. In fact, she kind of liked it.

He was essentially bragging about her.

Lips quirked in a half smile, she paused by Caleb and leaned in. "Thank you," she whispered. "For leaving us."

Caleb waved her off. "I just slept in the room you paid for. Easiest night of my life. See you later?"

His expression said that he didn't expect it. Emery just shrugged. "Later," she said, and picked up her pace to rejoin Alkereth.

As they walked, she made a mental checklist. First, hit up Angel and track down her clothes. Get food. New clothes. Kill a bitch, somehow? She lead the way toward Angel's room and was reaching to knock when Alkereth spoke up.

"Hm? Oh, it's...not happy, but it's alright," she said, and rotated her arm gingerly. "Mostly just stiff and sore, but I'll manage. Hey, I'm going to get dressed, why don't you get us breakfast?" She pressed the coin purse into his hand and peered up at him with a small smirk. "Don't run away, now."

Breakfast sounded amazing. Taking the coin, Alkereth performed a bow with a bit of a flourish of hands, and sleight-of-handed her hand into his. "Anything for my Goddess." He grinned, pulling her in. To tease, a bit of play before a grand old adventure.

"Why would I? I would miss your beautiful face." And he discretely planted a smooch right on her forehead where the scar began, because he was not quite ready to be so public about his, ah... affections. Caleb knew, no doubt about it, but he was keen to keep it minimal at best.

But he was certainly crazy about her (wild, I know! Weren't they enemies like five minutes ago, damn!) , and remembered their morning passion fondly, even if it was cut short. Blast it all.

"Take care of that arm. I will meet you at Hilda's stable in ten minutes."

He went out of the brothel with a pep in his step, smelling the morning air. The market opened up before him with the late morning fare: loud noises, boisterous merchants, eager shoppers, and whining children tugging at the hems of their mothers' dresses.

Ah. It all reminded him that he avoided markets as a habit due to its insufferable noise, not to mention how unforgiving the sun was on his pale skin. Now that he had more of it to show, he felt a little awkward standing in its light. But it was not like he would blister like a vampire. And wouldn't the strong light keep the Wraith at bay? But the prospect of another good meal to fill their bellies was a great incentive to take another step forward.

There was much to see. Alkereth peered owlishly at every stall, pausing a long time at one that had beautiful garments for sale. He fingered Emery's coins longingly, biting his lower lip and feeling the urge to splurge on something lovely (but practical!) for himself—but he could not afford such a selfish endeavor, and he was not thrilled on the idea of fishing the old fashioned way—without magic. The idea depressed him.

An old grandmotherly woman sold something Alkereth had never seen in his life. "Hot pasties, fresh out of the oven," she'd say to the eyeing crowd. "The best this side of Connlaoth." It looked to be popular, too, for several people lined up to buy her infamous food. As Alkereth approached, he could smell roasted chicken. It smelled divine. When it was his turn, he exchanged coins for a two, then weighed the hefty pair in his hands. He could smell the chicken and vegetables, making his mouth water.

"This should keep us satiated for a while," he murmured. He glanced back at the beautiful clothes with a sigh as he passed them. "Perhaps another day. When our purses are good and fat..."

Alkereth began making his way to Hilda's stable, feeling a mixture of things, but content to cling to his happiness. It would do no good to dwell on the bad. No. Not while there was a goddamn Wraith lingering like a tumor.

How long would he be able to keep it together?

When did he get so smooth? Emery couldn't help but think as he pulled her in to be all disgusting. Calling her beautiful, kissing her brow...ughhhh, much to her own surprise and horror, she felt her cheeks flush. Which wasn't like her. What the hell? They had been all hot and sweaty together and yet it was a stupid forehead kiss and a compliment that made her belly do that strange, lurching thing that wasn't exactly unpleasant?

She swatted playfully at him and ducked her head away, clearing her throat. "Right, ten minutes, got it. Off with you!" she said, and turned quickly back to Angel's room and knocked loudly.

God help her.

She wasn't even shy about public displays of affection; she had made out with plenty of people in plenty of bars in front of plenty of other people. Ever the aggressor, she was unused to being on the receiving end, or for it to continue after the passion had faded. It always remained in the bedroom, or the bar, or--huh.

Alright, so maybe sloppy public makeouts weren't quite the same thing as this.

Whatever this was.

Angel indeed had her clothes ready for her, clean and fresh and dry. No amount of cleaning would repair how beat up they were, but it felt good to get out of the skimpy robe and back into her familiar getup, after cleaning herself up a bit in Angel's bathroom. As for Angel? She knew everything, because apparently the three of them--Caleb, Angel, and Summer--had been talking last night, and Angel made it no secret that she found the whole thing amusing.

"Sorry about the robe," Emery said as she handed it back to Angel, who barked a laugh.

"Robes can be cleaned," Angel said, wrinkling her nose at the garment. "But can your conscience for ditching me?" She pouted, and when Emery opened her mouth in protest, she laughed again. "I'm joking, you know I don't care. I got to be lazy and get some actual sleep for once. Now get out of here and go find your man."

"He's not my--!"

Angel pressed a finger to her lips. "Oh, sugar, no," she said with a shake of her head. "You're not fooling anyone. Now, here." She folded a packet into Emery's hands. "The herbs you wanted. Just take mine, we have plenty more here. Take it no later than tonight, remember."

They said their goodbyes, and for once it did not end in a kiss. For some reason, it just didn't feel right. With those words floating in her head, her sword buckled at her waist, and a packet of herbs in her hand, she headed out of the brothel and toward the stable.

She got there before Alkereth did and had the stable hand bring Hilda out. There she waited, checking Hilda over and making sure all their supplies were still there, packing the herbs safely away, and just generally keeping her hands busy. Alright. Fresh start. Fresh start with Alkereth. Holy shit, the reality was terrifying--but it was also exciting. New. Unexplored territory where she had no idea what was on the other side, or where to even go first. Yet, as they had agreed, they would help each other. They could do this, and she was ready, more than ready, and better yet, she was free.

I sincerely hope you're given the strength to do what you want to do.

Emery had never forgotten Alkereth's words.

Hilda pressed her nose into her hands, searching for treats, and Emery stroked her gently and quietly apologized that she had no apples to give. The old girl deserved it; she'd have to make sure to pick up a few when Alkereth got back--

A small commotion started up somewhere in the crowd of people milling about in the distance, sounds of admiration and awe. Curious, Emery twisted to look.

And her breath caught in her throat.

The horse and rider were far in the distance, their features a blur but their shapes distinct; Emery would have recognized that pair anywhere.

A large white horse ridden by a blond woman with braided hair, wearing a white tabard that could only belong to one group.

Fuck.

Emery ducked around to Hilda's other side, even though the pair was too far away to notice her, and traveling away from her. But still her heart hammered away in her chest, her breath catching, and where the fuck was Alkereth--ah!

She caught sight of him coming out of the crowd and wasted no time. Crossing over to him, she grabbed his arm and pulled. "Don't freak out," she told him under her breath, "but we need to leave. Now. Get on the horse."

"Emery! Look what I—"

Alkereth paused just as he held aloft two steaming pasties, then his face fell. He was so caught up in the unseen shadows that he had forgotten about the seen ones that could do worldly harm to him. Both of them.

At least, that is what he assumed, judging by the alarm in Emery's eyes.

His confidence wavered as he hoisted himself up onto Hilda, giving her an adoring pat on the neck. When faced with actual threats, he never usually hesitated, and leaped into battle with a sword gleaming with magic. Still firmly holding the pasties, Alkereth rose his palm and looked at it, but the tattoo was still gone. He didn't know what he expected, but his disappointment was visible.

"Right," he murmured. "What is happening? Is it more important than food?" He hastily bit chunks into his pasty, burning his mouth in the process. "Nobody cab take be away from bis," he told her as he shook his food fiercely. "Oh my gob, bis sooooo goob. Hot, hot, hot..."

Emery mounted after him, taking the front, and wasted no time in steering Hilda down an alley behind the brothel. If she could take an alternate route out of here and avoid the main road, all the better. Either way, they were headed in the opposite direction and as long as they didn't attract attention, it should be fine.

Her hands gripped the reins until it hurt, but she did not rush, as much as she wanted to. Still she felt terribly exposed, and she was all too aware of how distinct the two of them were, as well. His white hair, her red hair. A hood was an easy fix for that, but not much could be done about a scar across her fucking face. 

Alkereth's words interrupted her thoughts, and she let out a baffled laugh. "More important than...? For fuck's sake, you are such a man." First sex, now food. What had she created.

"Yes, it's more important, if you value your life—and if you don't, I'll do it for you since I'm risking a lot for it. A Lily is here," she said, then pulled a face and sighed. "That means nothing to you, does it? Ah, they're like..."

Oh, she hated to say it, but there was no simpler explanation.

"Better Mordecai," she said, old resentment lacing her words. "Only all women. Holy virgins. Bunch of stiffs, really. They're much stronger than I am and they're absolute bitches. Not sure what the hell she's doing here...if she knows or...?"

She tossed a glance at him over her shoulder. "Anyway, I'm sure they'd love to dissect you."

Alkereth swallowed. "Hey, easy there. I do value our lives. But this food was expensive, and I would be most put-off if we put it to waste." He sighed over the roasted chicken and golden flaky crust. "It was this, or that silk garment... in retrospect, we should have gone with cloaks. We both stick out like a couple of lambs in a lion's den." He gobbled the rest of his pasty, and forced it down with a hard, painful swallow.

"Okay, you have my full attention. What is a Lily?"

He listened carefully, clinging to Emery's waist with one free arm.

"Oh, nice. They sound just like my old Order. A bunch of Holy Virgins with their Holy Staffs dug deep into their Holy Asses." He was aware how strangely blaspheme it sounded, and it made him squirm uneasily. He said it with surprising contempt—where, before, he held such high regard. "Your ladies sound like they are hilarious good fun at parties, at any rate," he finished, showing a little smirk.

"Very well, we will avoid this village. Too bad, it was starting to grow on me. That old lady's pasties are to die for. Ah, not literally," he sighed, aware he might receive scathing looks from that, since, they were quite literally running for their lives. "But seriously, if you don't want yours..."

It was in light jest, but he had already wrapped it in parchment and attempted to stow it away in Emery's many saddle bags. He would not let her go hungry.

"You saved my life, and potentially, so many others. I am eternally grateful. That already makes you the best of them."

When Emery turned back to look at him after giving a horrific description of what would happen if they caught him, he gave her an uneasy smile. "Ahaha, I'm sure that won't ever happen. Don't worry. We've got a future to think about, and a gorgeous woman to protect me from all the Big Bad Evil Women from Hell. Mercenary work, and valleys filled with shining coin. We will be rolling in it, just wait and see."

"Silk garment? You weren't seriously—see, this is why I'm in charge of the coin."

Not that...she was much more responsible with it. Granted, she had very much been under the influence! She had an excuse!

In any case, Alkereth succinctly summed up the Lilies and despite her tension, Emery let out a choked laugh. Yep, that sounded about right, but his blatant irreverence caught her off guard. Oh, he had waxed poetic about his Order and his shoulder angels and his celibacy and all that nonsense not days before, but that was before his faith had been tested and failed.

"You know, to be honest, some of them were okay. At parties, I mean. They're still technically virgins if it's with women--" She cut herself short, pressing her lips together. Had she been absolutely terrible? Yes, yes she had. Alkereth was the only virgin she'd been with, but she had been with a 'virgin'. "Anyway. Right. They're basically the worst."

They cut through several more alleyways before being brought back to the main road, after Emery carefully scanned the area for signs of the Lily. She couldn't see her, though, so she continued toward the gates. Alkereth was going on about the pasties with a lightness she didn't feel, but she let some of the tension out on a slow breath, because they were almost out. "To die for, he says. You better not have nibbled on mine or maybe you will."

Optimism did not come easily to Emery. She was always looking at things from an angle of trying to figure out how and when things would go tits up, so she could better prepare for the inevitable. She didn't think of it as pessimism so much as...preparedness. Expect the worst, be pleasantly surprised when she lived to see another sunrise. If she anticipated the worst, it was impossible to be disappointed, right?

But she could see Alkereth was trying, shining like sunbeams to her rain even after her grim statement, so she held back the urge to point out all the potential holes in the picture he painted and bit the tip of her tongue instead. She was hardly the best of them. She had likely ruined more lives than she would ever save. It would take a lot of hard work to make enough coin to live on and the path forward was dangerous as hell. But there was no point in scaring him. Let him have his happiness; after what she'd put him through, he deserved a little reprieve and she didn't mind being the one with her head on a swivel.

"No, it won't happen. It can't. You're not a mage now, it'd be impractical," she said instead. "So it's not like you really have to worry. We'll put this town behind us, make a little distance, then plan our next stop. Cloaks would be wise, and maybe...we could see about coloring your hair to be safe."

She was facing forward again so he couldn't see it, but she was grinning, quite certain that would not go over well. "Perhaps a nice, broody black to match your new heathen soul. Anyway, I'll take that pasty, now. I think we're alright."

The guardsmen had barely paid them a glance as they exited, except maybe to stare a little longer at Alkereth.

"Don't be so hasty. I said I looked. I never said I bought them. And therein lies the difference between you and I, because one of us actually splurges on unnecessary things, from what I've seen so far." He raspberried noisily behind her. "But they were so nice. I doubt we'll find their likeness anywhere else."

Alkereth scoffed. "Is that what they tell you? Sex is sex. No matter if it is with a man or woman. And that is the hill I will die on." He said this in a way where he refused to budge the point.

"I prefer the taste of a particular woman," the ex-priest said cheekily, tugging at a lock of her red hair. Knowing she wouldn't stand for this (especially in what was essentially an emergency of all things), he hastily removed his hand and placed it politely around her arm. Or not so politely. But boy if he is wasn't wearing that trademark shit-eating grin.

The grin fell when Emery of all people helped remind him that he was no longer a mage. It struck his heart like a knife, and he was silent for a good long while, chewing on her bitter words with a scowl. He knew Emery didn't mean it that way, but to hear it said out loud really hurt.

"Even without magic, I can be a formidable swordsman," he said gruffly. "Before I honed my magical prowess, I learned my way around a blade with the best masters my people provided. But it has been a while since I've worked with mere steel alone. I've been a Spellsword longer. But anyway," he sighed darkly, "no, I suppose I don't have to worry. Thanks."

He surprised himself at how ugly his tone sounded. He opened his mouth, wondering if he should reiterate, but decided against it. In a huge way, he still blamed Emery for a lot, but in others, he valued her companionship as much as he valued his with Lunrath. And oh, how he craved companionship.

And Emery changed.

Her invaluable resourcefulness softened his heart, and he leaned into her, resting his chin on the top of her flaming red hair.

"It's not a terrible idea." He dug his hand into the saddlebag and procured for her the still warm pasty. "Good options to consider. Black hair to match my black soul." He playfully drew the pasty away, dancing it out of reach. "Oop, gotta be fast. Oop..."

"Oh, you know that, and I know that, and I'm sure almost everyone knows that, and yet it remains a loophole no one talks about but everyone knows. A stupid technicality. I don't make the rules. The Saint Adhara came up with that one. Take it up with--hey!" He tugged at her hair and she reached down and swatted at his leg, but it was more for show than anything. She didn't mind it, those casual playful touches, but it was distracting. Because she really enjoyed having her hair played with, but maybe not on horseback when she had to pay attention and couldn't melt into a puddle.

Still, the little compliment was nice, even if that pessimistic part of her wanted to point out that she was the only woman who's taste he even knew, so how would he know? Well. There was Summer. Summer barely counted, though, right?

Right on the heels of that, she managed to jam her boot down her throat, speaking the words without even thinking. It was hard to untangle her own cultural baggage enough to tread around that topic with any sort of sensitivity--and she was terrible at delicacy to begin with. Emery winced, clamping her mouth shut. Goddammit. And here she had been trying to be reassuring--and yet, in classic Emery style, she managed to bungle it. Right, shit. Alkereth loved his magic. He missed it. It was part of his identity. He wasn't from Connlaoth where it was a dirty, sinful thing to be stamped out and destroyed. If he didn't have magic, what need would anyone have of him? He'd be safe. That should be a relief! But of course he didn't see it that way, and she could hear the shift in his voice.

Thanks, he said, and she could fill in the blanks. He didn't have his magic thanks to her. Ouch.

Emery closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath, but she still could not apologize. So instead she let the silence stretch, not quite sure what to say that wouldn't make it worse. Would offering to practice swordplay with him be patronizing in the moment?

She was just starting to get a little squirmy, wanting to speak up but also not wanting to fuck up again, when he rested his chin on her head--and that felt about as good as being forgiven. She relaxed again, liking how his body felt against hers, and was pleasantly surprised that he didn't oppose the idea. Huh. She'd just have to figure something out, herself. In the past, she had tried to hide her scar with makeup--but it somehow made it look worse, caking all around the raised tissue and not working well with her freckles. She reached back for the pasty as he offered it--

And scowled.

Really?

"Alkereth." Emery twisted in the saddle to crane a look up at him, holding her hand out expectantly. Her expression was stern, but her lips twitched as she made a visible effort not to crack a smile despite her irritation. She was still in a bit of a mood--getting harassed by a demon thing in the middle of sex and then seeing a goddamned Lily would make anyone grumpy! "I'm hungry and stressed enough that I can't guarantee cannibalism's off the table. You want to try again? I don't know how good that pasty is, but I know your neck tastes nice."

She was not playing the stupid keep away game. She wasn't. She would not be baited.

"When you congregate likeminded people, suddenly an opinion becomes fact," Alkereth mused. "For example, if you and I, right now, decided that Hilda is a cow, and we agree that she is a cow, then suddenly, she is a cow, despite the fact that it is plain to see that she is a horse. And a fine one at that." He gushed, giving Hilda's hindquarters a fond pet. "Anyway, there is little that can be done about a mind that is convinced that their opinion is the right one. However... with a little bit of patience..." He grinned at Emery, and said nothing more.

The uncomfortable silence was given a little shrug. "It is what it is," he told her for the umpteenth time, but there was no denying how sore a topic it will be for the foreseeable future. "Whether it's your fault, or my fault... it doesn't matter. Forget it."

Determined to keep the mood light, Alkereth lowered the pasty into his gaping maw, tongue sticking out. The tip very nearly touched it, before he gave in and snickered like the bastard he is. "Okay, okay, fine. If only because I need you to tell me how it tastes." He handed it over, licking the bits of crust from his fingers. "You have not lived until you've tasted the chicken. And the vegetables? My god, it's delectable."

Alkereth amused himself in his own thoughts for a while, allowing Emery a moment of peace to eat. Then, he lifted a finger suddenly.

"Okay, so I have laid out a plan for our future expenses. We will need to buy quality gear. And then, outfits befitting a couple of professional sellswords. Oh, and as much as I adore our darling Hilda, I will need a mount of my own. I imagine the poor dear's spine won't hold out for long if we continue this... arrangement."

He fell quiet, but he did not explain his sudden silence—perhaps Emery could guess what blared noisily in his mind. Replacing Lunrath was not exactly what he had in mind for his future.

A little bit of patience, he said...

Had he honestly believed in her that long?

Speaking of patience, it was something Emery was seriously lacking as Alkereth came between her and her meal.

"You think I'm joking." She stared at him, still making an obvious effort not to smile. He was so fucking ridiculous. "I assure you, I'm not. You're playing a very risky game, Alker—don't you dare!" But the stern mask had cracked, laughter in her voice, because he looked so bloody dumb like that, pasty dangling over his mouth and tongue dangerously close to the pasty. Eugh! Sure, she may have had his tongue and its slobber in her mouth, but that didn't mean she wanted it on her food!

Wisely, he relented, and she snatched it up before he could try to dance it away again. "Fucking brat." She made an exaggerated show of examining it and brushing it off as though looking for slobber, and then she took a bite—and melted. It was no longer piping hot, but it was still warm, and oh dear God it was good. The complimentary textures, the savory flavors, the buttery crust...

"It tastes like I want ten of these," she finally said, eyes sliding shut as she took another bite—and made a conscious effort not to moan. "I'm almost willing to sacrifice you to the Lily for them."

She was hungrier than she realized (she had a bad habit of forgetting to eat under stress, and last night she had drank far more than she'd eaten) which meant she just about inhaled the damned thing—which she regretted, because she would have like to enjoy it a little longer. She forced herself to slow down when she had just a couple bites left, listening as Alkereth shared his thoughts.

"And what, my dear, does a 'professional sellsword' look like to you?" she asked, clear amusement in her voice. "I'm not denying we need new clothes, but I know your, ah...aesthetic," she waved a hand vaguely, "and as lovely as it makes your ass look...no. You'll need something simple, something good and Connlaothian. We don't want to stand out more than we already do." She shrugged. Fashion was about the last thing she had any interest in; she was all about utility.

"Anyway, a horse will be expensive, but nothing a few jobs can't cover. I'm thinking we'll head South, way the fuck away from the camps...if we cross the Matron we can follow it down then head to Uthlyn, maybe. We'll want a horse long before then, of course, but Einhall isn't too far from here—decent sized city, might be able to find some work there, easy to walk around on foot so Hilda can catch a break..."

Emery knew almost none of that meant anything to Alkereth, but she was talking out loud to get the thoughts out there and cut through the silence. A new horse. Shit...he was right, of course, but she imagined acknowledging it had to hurt. He had never had time to even begin mourning her, either, had he?

She chewed her lip, wondering if she should say something...comforting words, maybe? Reassurance? But she decided to play it safe instead and just kept talking.

"God, it's been ages. My family used to go there all the time, to sell our wares and everything, but I was a kid the last time I saw it. It's probably changed a lot." For a moment, her belly tightened, but she popped the last of the pasty in her mouth before she could linger on the thought.

Lightly slapping a hand on his knee, she opted to switch topics completely. "Speaking of change, let's talk about you. I never got a chance to ask you, since you passed the hell out, so let's go: on a scale of one to ten, one being 'like fucking a rotting starfish' and ten being 'I touched the sky and saw God', how's the sex?"

"Isn't it just divine? If we're ever back at that little village, we must find the old lady again. Drat it all... I should have gotten her name. All the same; we'll just follow our noses." He scowled. "You would, traitor. But don't come crying if your belly swells ten times it's size." And then he poked the flat of her belly.

"Oh, yes, because I am absolutely stoked to look like a Connlaothian. Riveting." There was little to be done about the piercing glare. "I'm—I'm not saying we should wear heavy Knight's armor and go wagging our swords around," he protested. "But decent armor to wear underneath our clothes... good, supple leather..." He looked annoyed, and pouted visibly while Emery gave her two-cents. "You have no imagination! You're boring. I demand a new riding partner." He scoffed and folded his arms.

"What do you mean my 'aesthetic'?" He plucked the black of his shirt. "Have you seen yourself? Let's talk about your clothes for a moment..." But we would never find out his thoughts on Emery's clothes, not after she complimented his ass. That shut him up for a moment, because now he was wondering if all the stares he garnered at the village was due to his blatantly foreign appearance, or because of how near skin tight his pants were.

He was content to listen to Emery talk about the world. It tickled his inner adventurer, so naturally, he was enraptured with every word. He would have liked to see a map, and told Emery so. "To see the world as a whole," he'd muse.

He was about to ask about Emery's parents until she piped up with a question of her own, one that made him choke on the air.

"Excuse me, what?! No, not this again!"

Unamused, he planted his fists on his hips.

"Look here, I'm not going to give you a number. If-if you want to hear what I think about it, then... that I can do."

Except he gave the longest pause ever, chewing on what to say about it. How was it he had become bashful all of a sudden? He looked left, then right, making sure nobody was near to overhear him.

"It was amazing," he said dreamily. "The most wonderful thing I've ever felt with anyone." Not that he had a basis of comparison! But there was no lie in his words.

Ahh, it was a tried and true technique: bait him with something kind of dirty and it flustered him right out of his funk. It worked for her, too—she got to skip away from awkward subjects and she sure as hell loved getting a rise out of him. Emery grinned victoriously as he acted all scandalized, facing forward to hide it and giving him a chance to gather his thoughts. As much as 'rate that thing!' was a game for her, she was also genuinely curious.

On the one hand, her inner twelve-year-old just found it fucking funny. On the other, she always liked to know where she stood and where she could improve on...basically everything. It was a safe way of getting feedback. No, she was not insecure, why do you ask?

"Aw, come on, that's a cop out!" she teased. "That's not how it works! You can't just skip the number part, that's the entire point! But fiiiine. I'll accept it. I guess."

...Because it was fucking adorable. Most wonderful thing he'd felt? God, had she absolutely ruined him?

One hand on the reins, she reached with the other to pull one of his arms off his hip and back around her middle. Then she just held it, hand resting over his. "It's rocky up ahead, hold on," she said, but it was really just an excuse. The road was rocky from disrepair and they were heading up a small hill, so it wasn't a total lie, but she also just liked how his arms felt around her. "Hmm. Anyway, I'd give it an eleven out of ten, I think. See? It's not hard."

They had some time to kill before they reached the city. They could make it by the next day, if they didn't run into any unforeseen issues, which meant camping overnight and then riding once the sun was up. It really wasn't far—but she just never bothered to go, because it was outside of her usual route, and...well...maybe it had some bittersweet memories, too. But right then it seemed the safest and most convenient stop, so she would deal.

It meant there was plenty of time to talk, she supposed.

"When did you know?" she asked suddenly, surprising herself, but it had been gnawing at her since their talk that morning. Her voice was quiet, thoughtful. "You had no reason to ever trust me. When did you know I couldn't do it?" Turn him in, that is.

"I hate it, numbers are useless and mean nothing. Words, on the hand—gestures..."

Alkereth took advantage of their privacy, and glided his hands along the silhouette of her frame. She may not be buxom, or wear her curves like the controversial nude statues of the Temple of the Nine Moons, but touching her made him excited nonetheless, because he loved feeling her, and loved playing with fire.

"This bears more meaning, does it not? Here, I am showing appreciation for you."

And then his hands moved to rest around her middle, at her behest. The forward way she did this made him feel hot.

"Eleven out of ten? Goodness...," he murmured bashfully, the hypocrite. "Well, um, I hope to continue living up to your standards."

The majority of his time spent with Emery was mostly light flirting—complimenting how the sun was caught in her hair, or how exquisite her scarred complexion in certain lighting (which was all of them). Other times, he would tease her, proclaiming that he would totally win in a sword fight because he was a master swordsman, and all that. He couldn't help it. The lad was completely enamored.

But when the question came up, he sat quietly to contemplate it, caught completely by surprise.

"That is a... complicated question. I was not entirely sure if you would spare me. But it was worth giving you the benefit of the doubt, because even when you were against me, you were... my only companion I had in the world. I figured if I... stay true to my word... show you I'm not a freak... that... well... I don't know. I wanted to claim victory, but I don't think it was just my doing. You made the conscious choice to spare me in the end. Do you... regret it?"

The question came out before he could truly think of the consequences of what such a question may entail, but it was too late. He said it, and clung to silence, afraid to hear the answer.

Alkereth was trouble.

His hands glided over her, proving his point with action, and his touch sent a pleasant chill down her spine that raised goosebumps beneath her clothes. Emery's breath hitched, and she muttered something under her breath about that being illegal and definitely not fair, torturing her like that. Because her body remembered how his hands felt on her bare skin and she wished he would slide them under her clothes--if she wasn't on a goddamned horse trying to pay attention to where they were going and any potential obstacles.

Not. Fair.

Ugh, he was scarily good at that. And he proved to be quite formidable as he continued to wax poetic, while for the most part she had...absolutely no idea how to deal with that. She wasn't used to all the compliments, especially the ones about her scar; if it had been anyone else, she might have assumed they were making fun of her, but she knew he was nothing if not completely sincere. It threw her each time, leaving her unable to think of a response.

It made her heart ache. Secretly, she loved it.

And that was truly why she had proclaimed him an eleven and meant it.

She listened as Alkereth answered her question, eyebrows rising, because shit--he had made a dangerous gamble, right up to the end.

Damn...

And then came a question of his own.

Did she regret this?

"No," Emery said without pause.

She pressed her lips together, thinking for a moment. She probably owed him a little explanation.

"Ah, no. I don't regret this. I don't regret you." Her hand tightened over his; she was grateful that her back was to him, for it made talking about this a little easier. Staring at Hilda's ears, she pressed on.

"I regret...how I treated you," she said slowly, shoulders hunching with a cringe. "And I regret certain things that will be a consequence of this choice...things I never got to fix and have to live with...but I don't regret this. Look, I've always been a fucking mess, alright? My relationship with God and who I am--what I am...it's always been complicated, it's--never mind, it's not important." She shrugged, shoulder twinging from the movement, feigning an indifference she didn't feel to avoid a pain she didn't want to feel. "Ah, I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say. In any case, it's not my first time starting over. Mourn the life you thought you'd have, right? In my case, my old life was kind of bullshit, anyway."

She was quiet for a moment, realizing too late that she had said a bit more than she intended, even if it was vague. And yet, maybe that was alright? If they were going to be partners going forward then it made sense to learn more about each other, but it didn't come naturally to her. It felt strange sharing so much.

And yet it also felt...okay, dipping her toes in like this. Cautiously testing the water. She drew in a breath, and forced the words out. "We both have something in common now, though: you're all I have left, too."

Oh. Oh, damn, she was actually being truthful. Stunned, Alkereth struggled to find the right words to say to all of it while fighting the butterflies taking up residence in his stomach. It was all too familiar, like the first time he bedded Emery (or when Emery bedded him?), but that was when he drowned in booze.

"It... it is important, Emery."

Alkereth was no longer the touch-starved lad who fell to earth, but that did not mean he lacked the sensible yearning to be touched, or to be the one touching. Without a moment's hesitation, he joined his other arm around the woman he surprised himself to wholly adore in a warm embrace, and buried his nose into her hair.

"Our past does not define us. But... it is the reason why we are here."

Emery's hair fluttered from Alkereth's laughter into them. Then, he said:

"ₕₒw ₐbₒᵤₜ ₜₕₐₜ ₘₑₑₜᵢₙg, ₗᵢₜₜₗₑ ᵣₑdbᵢᵣd?"

Alkereth wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Emery huffed a breath out through her nose. It wasn't that it wasn't important, it was that she just didn't want to go there. In fact, she made a concentrated effort to forget as often as she could--impossible as it was.

"I know," she said. "But I can still think it's bullshit." But despite the bitterness in her voice, she welcomed his touch, closing her eyes for just a moment to take it in: his warmth, the tickle of his breath in her hair, the strength of his arms, his--

What the FUCK.

Emery went rigid, her blood going cold. It was his voice, but not his words, and suddenly she remembered, she fucking remembered everything. The Wraith speaking to her, calling her that pet name, saying it knew things and would visit later--

Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

She wanted to fucking fling herself off her horse, but instead she gently squeezed with her knees, pulled back on the reins, and drew Hilda to a stop with a calm, if gritted out, "Whoa," because she was not about to spook or hurt her mare and get them all thrown. Her heart was pounding wildly, her throat tight, and she grabbed at Alkereth's arms to pry at them while doing her best to wriggle free.

"Off, off. Get off!"

Alkereth immediately withdrew his arms, looking completely hurt by the sudden shift in mood. Emery's tone and sharpness felt like a kick in the gut.

"Woah, pardon me? Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were having a moment," he said a bit testily, blinking back the sting in his eyes. "If you didn't want to be held, you could have just said, but you're the one who grasped my hand and put it around you in the first place."

Frustrated at the situation (and completely unaware, it seems, to what he had done), he clucked his tongue and folded his arms.

"I just thought—I don't know... that maybe something more was—I just wanted to—ugh, nevermind."

Both flabbergasted and low-spirited, the ex-priest sharply drew his eyes away and focused on the closest rock. And then the next, because they were constantly moving. Unfortunately rocks are far too boring an object, and did nothing to pacify his mind.

"I get it. It's fine if you don't want to talk about it."

He said it was fine, but his attitude made it obvious that it was far from fine. Emery's past was not the issue that burned in his heart, but the way he felt the connection between them... how warm it was! And how cold it became in the next.

It made him wonder about her true feelings. The thought made his heart ache, but he knew that he could never express what precious thing he stowed there.

Emery froze, her eyes wide. "Wait, what?"

Alkereth let go, and that was definitely him in there. His words, his hurt tone. There was no mistaking that.

And now she looked like a giant asshole, shoving him away for no good reason when he was just trying to be cute, thinking she hated it when she really wanted more.

"What--no--it's--!" She sputtered, completely baffled, and for one rare moment she found herself utterly tongue-tied in a mixture of residual fear and hurt and confusion. "I didn't--you're not--FUCK my life!"

She was done. She was so done.

With a frustrated growl, Emery dismounted and stiffly marched up the road, fists clenched and absolutely seething. The jump-scare had nearly knocked her soul clear out of her body, and she was still trembling wildly--but now it was with a combination of fear and straight-up unbridled rage. Three times. Three times the motherfucker had fucked with her, and not only fucked with her, but done it using Alkereth. And always when it was important or intimate! How dare it.

She had no idea where she was going or what her actual goal was, just that she needed to move and probably scream and she wasn't going to shout in Hilda's ears. She finally came to a stop and turned in a slow circle.

"You wanna come out now, you ugly fucking CUNT? You want a goddamned meeting? C'mon! Let's fucking GO."

She whirled back around to face Alkereth, scowling darkly, chest heaving. "I wasn't yelling at you. Your asshole friend came back. But I'll bet he's TOO FUCKING COWARDLY--" She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted the words. "--to actually DO anything. Scared of a little sun like the worm he is! Bet his face looks like a wrinkly old ballsack! That's why he hides it!"

At first, Alkereth didn't believe her. Too exasperated, he threw up his arms and said, "The Wraith this, the Wraith that, you can only use it as an excuse..." Looking around where she stormed off warily, his voice trailing off, he said: "Shit, you're being serious, aren't you?"

He grumbled, leaning over Hilda and facepalming. Not wanting to leave Emery alone, he took charge of the good horse, and trotted to meet her up the dusty road.

"Emery, will you please quiet down. Sunshine or no, I don't think it would be a good idea too..."

Caw.

A white raven descended and hopped up to Emery with a bit of flesh in its beak. It looked up at the Mordecai with beady red eyes before swallowing it.

"Uhhh... bird?" Alkereth intoned, squinting down at it.

Caw.

The raven took into the sky.

Distant laughter echoed—not the laughter of one might think; this one was corporeal and sounded like it came from a couple of drunkard scoundrels, coming up the road in a donkey-drawn cart.

"Who is that, Bobby?"

"Sounds like that girl from that huntin' cave, Billy! Ha, ha, ha!"

"Aye, I'll be! It is them, Bobby, lookie there!"

"Ain't ya young lubbers a sight for sore eyes!"

"Ya mean lovers."

"Bah, same thing!"

They both laughed over each other as they waved down Alkereth and Emery.

"Hullo there!"

"Don't think we've been properly introduced."

"I'm Bobby Trueman."

"Billy Trueman."

"Trueman Brothers at your service!" The apparent twins bowed their heads.

The men looked around at each other, cried "JINX!" and then fell over guffawing like idiots.

Alkereth had turned to see them, but could only give them a deadpan stare of: Now is not the time.

But it was the perfect time for the Trueman brothers. The one named Billy grasped the cloth covering their cart.

"Oi, lassie, wanna take a look beneath the cloth?"

"Maybe she more interested in taking a gander under the lad's pants again, ha, ha, ha—"

"Don't listen to Bobby, he's a drunken idiot," Billy said in a toothless grin. Both of the brothers had wrinkly tanned skin and dirty beards, but they both had good natures, if not terribly annoying.

"We're selling quality leather!"

"The best tanned leather this side of Coanloath!"

"Exotic furs, maybe a nice evening coat for the lad—"

"New bedcovers for your honeymoon bed—"

"Something to brighten the face of the lass?"

Alkereth groaned, not wanting to get caught up in their game. "Emery, let's just go."

"Hold up there, young man! What about a new saddle for the horse?"

"That's the donkey's saddle, ya blithering idiot!"

Oh, Alkereth did not just say that.

Emery was already pissed, and that did not help matters. Using it as an excuse? AS AN EXCUSE? She could not believe that shit! As he finally caught up to her and asked her to quiet down (ohhhh hell naw) she turned on him, about ready to lay into him, too.

But they were interrupted by a white raven.

Emery closed her mouth and stared at the bird as it stared at her. Was that...flesh? A chill went down her spine, the hairs along the back of her neck rising, but then it took flight and was gone.

She rubbed her arms. It was probably nothing. Albino? It happened in nature, did it not? 

Right. Yeah. She sucked in a breath, interrupted from her anger just enough to simmer down a little, but she wasn't done yet. She turned to Alkereth, eyes narrowed and shoulders stiff, and raised a finger—but a laugh cut her off before she began.

She knew that fucking laugh.

Oh God why this.

It seemed she and Alkereth had two more Wraiths clinging on, these ones more fleshy, and Emery watched as the two goons approached and clenched her jaw hard enough to crack a tooth in a vain effort to rein in patience that was long gone. She was not in the mood for those two at the best of times, but especially not when she was already stressed and losing her mind and dealing with a SITUATION. 

Deep breaths. 

"That's just...lovely," Emery said when she could get a word in edgewise, proud that she somehow managed to sound like a normal human—kind of. Her voice was strained and inflectionless with the effort. She flicked a glance at the covered cart, then back to Alkereth, her thoughts echoing his. "Wonderful. But we're in a hurry. Dinner with the in-laws, you know how it is."

Let them read that as the reason for her sourness.

"Maybe next time." Oh God please no. "Good day, gentlemen."

Reaching up, she grabbed Hilda's reins and started to walk, leading them down the road and away from the buffoons. She wasn't yet ready to rejoin Alkereth on Hilda, so instead she lead them like that until they were out of earshot.

She was not finished. Calmer after the interruption, for sure, but not done.

Finally, she came to a stop and let go of the reins, and turned her full attention to Alkereth.

She took a deep breath, peering up at him to meet his eyes. "Alkereth. Let me make something abundantly clear," she said, folding her arms across her chest. She was still visibly upset, but she was trying to temper her words. 

"I do not cry wolf. I would never use something this fucking serious as an excuse. I'm not some coy little maiden that's going to pull you in just to slap you away, and I'd love to know when I've ever given that impression," she added with a roll of her eyes and a grumble. She felt that when it came to physicality, at least, she was pretty damned straightforward.

"If I don't like something, I will tell you. With my fucking words. If I do lose my shit, assume something very serious is going on. You know, considering we actually do have a fucking Wraith stalking us? You told me to tell you when shit happens. I need you to believe me when it does."

Oh yes, Alkereth totally did say that, but the sight of the white bird made him yelp, as if he was just blindsided by a blow to the skull.

Meanwhile, Billy and Bobby continued to bicker good-humoredly down the path, their cart overtaking them at a brisk pace.

Emery was being sincere in her own charming way as she gave Alkereth what for where communication was concerned. Alkereth pulled at his hair; he could not focus on her at the moment. This feeling, it was familiar; he chased it like a wolf to prey--

He could feel hot blood pulse in his brain. Images flashed in his mind's eye, like a movie reel skipping at different scenes, not making any sense. When it had finished, he grit his teeth, waiting for the pain to subside.

"I'm sorry," he managed to squeeze out, but it did not sound entirely sincere amidst his own personal distress. He looked distracted as he tried easing his fingernails from tearing into his scalp. He didn't know what else to say. Perhaps to anyone looking at him might think he was overstimulated from so much going on at once. Perhaps that was not too far from the truth; he looked extremely bothered.

Oh. Huh. He seemed...distracted. Bothered by something that had nothing to do with anything she was saying.

Emery stared at him a long moment once she'd finished her spiel, then let her arms drop back to her sides with a heaved sigh. "You're not even listening, are you?" she said, but the fight was gone out of her, replaced with a hybrid of irritation and more than a little concern.

She peered up at him with a frown, head cocked. "What's up with you? Are you...good?"

Alkereth looked tiredly at Emery. It was too early in the goddamned day to feel tired.

"I'm sorry," he said again, a little lamely, doing his best to sound sincere, but he kept grasping at the images he just saw so that he will not forget. He remembered dark clouds swirling around a glittering city. If he had a legitimate vision... did that mean that some of his abilities remained intact?

"Just... migraine. I... I did hear you. So much happened so fast. It was overwhelming."

Despite everything, he decided to keep it to himself. As excited as he would feel over keeping some of his powers, even if it was just precognition, he felt that Emery would not share the same sentiment. Their friendship (or whatever this was) had only just blossomed, and he did not want to squander it while he was still feeling lost, lonely, and vulnerable. As much as he adored Emery, he suddenly felt a strong desire to retreat into an enclosed space with only himself and silence for company. Seeing as that was not an option, he said:

"Give me some time to my thoughts for a bit."

He was right about that. So much had happened in such a condensed amount of time, but Emery was more concerned about checking that the wraith wasn't still fucking with him. She looked him over a moment longer as though to make sure it was still him in there, then let out another held breath.

"It's fine. Come on," she said at last, voice quiet, and took him gently by the arm to guide him back toward Hilda. "You can zone out while we cover a bit more distance. I'm sorry, but we have to keep moving."

She was no stranger to migraines, mostly stress-induced, and wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere dark and quiet when the worst ones hit. But they needed to get further away from that Lily and that fucking wraith had already wasted enough of their time. 

Quickly mounting Hilda, if a little sorely, she offered her good hand to him. "I promise to shut up if you promise to warn me if you need to puke."

There was so much more she wanted to bombard him with, but she supposed she could wait until his brain wasn't mush. 

Alkereth accepted help, even if he didn't need it. He wouldn't say it loud, but the help was, in a weird way, comforting. He appreciated that Emery cared about him.

"Maybe I won't," he told her, in his best attempt to remain cheery and playful. It was half-hearted at best. "But yes. Keep moving... yes."

Once they had taken back their course, the ex-priest closed his eyes, trying to remember his vision.

Swirling clouds. Tendrils of darkness. The glittering city. Unfamiliar faces. Armies. Death.

So much death.

It made his blood run cold.

What was that city? Was it a kingdom? Or something else? It was swallowed by something he could not quite fathom, and the vision cut off before he could make heads or tails of it. But that was the nature of his visions—he caught merely glimpses at the best of times, and as a Harbinger, it was his duty to figure the rest out with his equine partner.

And, for some reason, the white raven—no, that was not part of his vision. But the bird kept swimming into his mind's eye, interrupting his focus.

"Emery," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. They had probably covered a lot of ground. He did not realize, but he had meditated for good while. "You saw that white bird, right? Did you see anything else before those blasted imbeciles showed up?"

He figured if he didn't bring some attention to it, then the thought would continue pestering him when he would have been happy to reflect on his visions. At least one of those had a higher chance of problem solving... maybe.

His comment earned him a snort and a roll of her eyes, but she was quick to get them moving again once he was settled.

The closer they could get to the city before nightfall, the better. Because she would not admit it out loud, as though speaking it would jinx them, but she was not looking forward to the night. Not out in the wilds. At least in a city there was light and activity and people, but the thought of being outdoors in the dark with a wraith around...

No. Don't think about that. It hated light, so they would build a fire and she just wouldn't sleep. What was new there? She had gotten decent enough rest that she could pull an all-nighter and sleep during the day once they got to Einhall—if she could settle, at least. They would find a way to deal with the creature. Of course, dealing with it likely meant drawing it out in the first place and facing it. 

Her thoughts wandered as they rode, and true to her word she left Alkereth to his thoughts. It was a nice enough day which made for easy travel, overcast and breezy and smelling like it might rain later, but with enough gaps in the cloud cover to know it wouldn't be quite yet. Emery watch the road and watched the passing scenery, content that aside from the two oafs, they had this stretch to themselves for now. 

By the time Alkereth spoke again, it was late in the afternoon. Emery startled a little, so used to the quiet and the sounds of the wind and rhythmic clop of hooves.

"Huh? Oh. Right. No, I only noticed the raven," she said, trying to think of she had seen anything else. "Looked like it had recently scavenged, if that's what you mean." She paused, brow furrowing. 

"Why, do you think it means something? Look, I'm trying not to be overly paranoid here and read signs into every misshapen leaf or strange animal. But seeing as we're dealing with asshole over here..." She gave an uncomfortable shrug.

"If it means something to you, maybe you want to share your thoughts?"

"Hm."

He mused for a moment, taking in the scenery with a halfhearted stare.

"I am asking because it's not unheard of for a Wraith to have a familiar."

Suddenly he looked much more interested in his surroundings, swiveling his head around in one direction, and then the other, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of white wings.

"Like Harbingers, I suppose." He opened his mouth, feeling the urge to tell Emery about his visions, but then he stopped himself.

"It's probably nothing more than a simple scavenger," he said carefully. "But I can't help but wonder why it stopped in front of us like that unless it's used to people."

But now his mind wondered about the potential connections. A Wraith, here, following him, a Harbinger. And the vision of a city enveloped in darkness...

Alkereth chewed on his lower lip.

But how could he tell Emery about any of this?

"When I was a Harbinger, it was always important to look at even the subtlest of signs. Just because you live in your sad little mundane life with not an ounce of wonder in your blood for the mystery and magic behind the great unknown doesn't mean it's not there. Do you not find superstition the least bit interesting?" Well, now he was teasing.

That wraiths could have familiars seemed like a mighty big detail to casually drop in now! And that suddenly made what seemed like an odd interaction, well...intensely creepy. It had had fresh meat in its beak! Emery stiffened, now wondering exactly what kind of animal it had been feeding on. If it was just a bird, it didn't matter, but if it was related to the wraith then...clearly it wanted to send a message.

Maybe something like this will be you later?

Nope, nope.

She had been about to say as much when he made his little quip.

"Excuse you?" Emery said, whipping around to level a scowl at him, though the scowl looked very much like she was struggling not to grin. "My life has been anything but mundane and you, sir, are living proof of it." His migraine must have improved a great deal for him to be all saucy again. There was amusement in her eyes as she faced forward again. "I wonder about plenty. I'm just not going to jump at every gleaming pair of eyes like a child who hasn't learned that animal eyes glow in the dark. Most things have an explanation."

She paused, and added begrudgingly, "Even if that explanation is magic. Or God. It's not superstition if there's a reason, you know. Like everyone knows you bless someone after a sneeze so no bad spirits get in and make them ill, things like that. Ah, that's beside the point! Back to the bird--chances of it being a familiar, and also...what the fuck does that mean for us?"

"Ah, then..." Alkereth could feel Emery's fire lick at his skin, making him tremble humbly. "I'm happy to bring a little magic into your life." Awwww. "I mean... you did seem pretty wide-eyed when I gave you the gift of magic... in my pants. And you jumped on that. Eagerly." He snickered like a child behind the Mordecai.

"Wraiths grow stronger in the physical realm when they have a living anchor to hold them. Stronger in the sense that they can be corporeal, otherwise they're mere shadows. It's possible that the raven is our Wraith's anchor, and it makes sense if it can physically manipulate us. But it's strange that it's familiar would behave in this manner. It almost feels like... a... I don't know. Like the Wraith is extending a hand to us. Like a... a handshake. Or sizing us up. Most familiars stay out of the way... spy... just hazarding a guess, anyway. I've never dealt with familiars."

Then he planted his bare fingers onto his chin in thought. "Or maybe it's is just a passing raven. But an albino raven is a little too... ehh... obvious?"

Emery supposed she should thank Alkereth for adding a little levity to an otherwise dire topic. She made "pffft" sound that was half surprise and half barely contained laughter, a little color heating her cheeks. "My eagerness was matched only by your eagerness to submit, princess," she threw back with a wicked grin.

God help her. He was going to be trouble, indeed.

She listened patiently to his explanation about wraiths and anchors and what it all meant, and knit her brow when he said it was behaving like it was...extending a handshake? What? Because that was one hell of an ominous handshake if true.

She had been about to remark that when he added a statement that made her bark a laugh. "You don't say! An albino is too obvious, says the albino!" Emery shook her head, thoroughly amused by him. "You're not wrong, though. I think if I was trying to be a spooky entity, I'd want to blend in rather than draw attention...unless, as you said, I wanted the attention. Goddammit. See, this is why I don't like dealing with signs and bullshit: you can read it whichever way you like. Is it just an albino like you and the white deer I've seen before? Is it an entity that wants attention? Who the fuck knows! I guess we could ask it. The wraith has been up my fucking ass all day."

With a huff, she shook her head. "A handshake. Really. It had flesh in its beak. Unless it was trying to feed us like a cat or--oh, shit."

It was then that a little piece of memory came back to her: what the wraith had said this time. That was probably a crucial detail. She stiffened, bringing Hilda to a pause. "Alkereth, the wraith said something about a meeting this time."

There was a violent red on Alkereth's cheeks when Emery called him 'princess'. God, why did he enjoy that so much? It was disgusting—no, he was no longer beholden to those ideals, he was a free man—no.... Emery's Princess. He didn't know what to say to that, perhaps afraid that he would admit it openly. There was something a little more pressing than his kink discovery.

"The flesh in its beak is concerning," he murmured thoughtfully. "What does that mean? What does it symbolize?"

A scowl grew over his face. "Right, I get it. I'm a pale freak, whoop-dee-doo." He jazzed hands sarcastically. It was a sensitive topic.

He was quiet a moment, mulling their conversation over, until Emery stopped the horse.

"A meeting? Why didn't you say so?" Alkereth looked determinedly at Emery, and slipped off Hilda. "Then let's do this now. We'll need to make a fire first. If it's a handshake it wants, and a meeting, then we need to face this thing head on."

"Wait, now?"

Emery had wanted this just hours ago. In the heat of the moment when she had been pissed off and afraid, and had wanted nothing more than to square off against the thing and do...something, she hadn't planned that far ahead, but she had been angry-brave and confident she could figure it out. Now that she was calmer and in a much more rational headspace, Alkereth going on about actually meeting the thing had her...uneasy. It was one thing to face opponents who were flesh and blood and felt pain like anyone else--she knew how to handle that. But this was a situation completely new to her and she was going in blind to face an enemy she couldn't knock the teeth out of.

As much as she wanted to punch it in its stupid ugly face.

"I mean...of course now, while we still have light. Makes sense." Get it out of the way, right? Face it head on just like anything else. She slid off of Hilda and began to fish around in one of the saddlebags for her flint and steel.

Once she'd found it, she built up a small ring of stones, then began to look around for dry sticks to pyramid in the pit. "Sorry I didn't say anything sooner, it's...I don't know. It's weirdly hard to even remember it."

"It's... it's fine. I had forgotten it... it messed with you like that." He felt guilty, and then remembered what she had told him when he had his 'episode'.

"Back when you told me... that you would tell me if something happens... I know you will. I trust you. And... I am sorry."

Alkereth was busy. He helped Emery, and made a pair of makeshift torches made of wood and twine. He complained every step of the way.

"If only I had my magic, this might be a little easier," he grouched, trying to make the fire happen, but thankfully Emery was a step ahead of him.

Once they had finished, he looked at their handwork. "You and I will need to hold a torch." He gave Emery one. "Just in case. Now all we need to do is to just... call it."

Alkereth's heart was hammering. He was not usually afraid, but that was back when he was a powerful Harbinger that could take on the most mind-boggling entities. He was generally never afraid of these beings—but now he had a reason to fear, and it was for Emery's sake. He ran through everything in his head. Did he tell her everything she needed to know?

"Are you ready?"

Emery could feel Alkereth's nerves, and it didn't really help with her own. This was a guy who had been nothing but confident, even cocky, in the face of death, so if he was nervous about this meeting...

Well, granted, he had been practically gelded getting his magic sucked from him, hadn't he? If he had fought these things with magic, and magic had been the only thing keeping them away, then where did that leave him now? Perhaps they were both walking into the unknown here on somewhat equal ground, though he at least had the advantage of knowledge. Emery stepped close to the fire, holding her torch like a club she was ready to start swinging, and glanced sidelong at Alkereth.

He was nervous, which made her all the more determined not to be. She kept her expression nonchalant, though she had to make a conscious effort to keep her breathing steady as her heart raced.

"For what it's worth, for better or for worse...I know you trust me," she said, flashing him a crooked smile. "And I trust you. We're both absolute dumbasses like that. So, uh..." She gave an awkward shrug, glancing back toward the fire. "Right. Don't worry about it. This day's been batshit. I get it."

She sucked in a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back. Her mouth felt dry, and she swallowed to help with that. "If there's anything I should know going in, you should tell me now. If not...well, let's get this over with."

Whatever this was. She supposed it was her turn to follow his lead.

"You know as much as I do," he told her.

He took a deep breath. "Alright." He took one step forward. "I greet you, shade, and call you forth from the dark."

Silence. Alkereth shifted uncomfortably, casting a wary glance over and Emery. He took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. And still, nothing seemed to happen—

"It took you long enough," said a voice. It was male, and low.

Alkereth whipped around, holding his lit torch aloft on a group of large oaks. At first, he saw nothing.

The white raven circled above the trees before swooping down and landing on the gloved arm of a hooded man. The bird belonging to the Wraith was one mystery solved. Though he looked solid, there were parts of his body that looked oddly transparent where the spots of light hit it.

The Wraith had a mask beneath the hood, and seemed to wear armor befitting someone made to be agile. There was light in the mask, but not the kind of light that brought the relief of warmth. It was cold, more like a moon reflecting an icy lake.

"You've got some nerve," snapped Alkereth, upset by the casual way the Wraith leaned casually against the safe, shaded tree. "What is it you want?" He wasted no time. Now that he was face to face with their stalker, he was ready to throw down. Besides, he was confident that the Wraith could not hurt them in this environment.

Alkereth called the wraith, and Emery squeezed his hand in return, a bit harder than he did, and did not let go. Alright. Here went nothing. She could not believe they were actually doing this, that they were actually having a bloody meeting with a monster. It was madness, but what else were they supposed to do?

The silence stretched, the sound of the breeze and rustling leaves making her twitchy as though expecting each sound to be the wraith.

And then came that voice. That all too familiar voice that made her blood turn to ice, cold sweat beading on her brow that she blamed on the closeness of her torch.

The voice she had heard in her head.

It was the raven that drew her eye to the wraith, for between his stillness and his dark armor, he practically blended into the shadows. She recognized his masked and hooded face immediately, and her stomach twisted in revulsion as she remembered the moment when she'd first seen it, the fear and helplessness she'd felt as it made Alkereth hurt her. But rather than be clutched by fear at finally facing the creature, she felt herself tense in anger instead.

It had always been the unknown that frightened Emery most. The flashing glimpses she had caught of the wraith had left a lot to the imagination, had made her build the wraith up into a monstrous and twisted entity. Now that it was standing before them looking like a man in fancy armor, mask, and hood...it humanized the creature a little. No, maybe that wasn't the right word, but it made it look tangible. Touchable.

Like someone she could punch in the face. And she bet he had a punchable face beneath that mask.

It was the memories of how it had toyed with her, toyed with Alkereth and used him against her, that kept the fear at bay just enough. No, she wasn't afraid now that he was right there before her--she was pissed. This was the thing that had been terrorizing them?

Letting go of Alkereth's hand, she waggled her fingers at it in a wave before flipping her hand around to give it the middle finger. "Hello, bitch," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She took a step toward it, keeping the torch between them. "Tell me, how solid are you right now?"

Alkereth moved to take Emery's shoulder, but she was quick. He couldn't blame her; he caught a fury, and while his was more like the threat of distant thunder, Emery's was more the threat of an imminent inferno. He took a step back, unable to help himself. She was, perhaps, the scariest thing here. God, she was beautiful.

The Wraith did not bother to look in Emery's direction, at least not yet; his mask was pointed down at the white bird perched on his arm. A hand stroked the bird fondly, and he was speaking to it in undertones. As Alkereth watched, he could only be reminded of his bond with Lunrath, and his stomach twisted painfully.

"I would welcome you to find out, but I'm afraid you would only be disappointed, my little spitfire. That was not an invitation," the abyssal being quickly said, holding up a hand against the flame that Alkereth brandished in front of him. The light emanating from the flames turned the Wraith's midsection slightly transparent. "You would not want to do that. At least... not yet."

Alkereth scoffed, delighting in the slight hitch of the Wraith's voice. Yes—he was loathed to be in the light of the fire. "One wrong move, and we both will send you back to the abyss where you belong," Alkereth snarled. "Anyway—why would we NOT want to do it? You've caused us NOTHING but hell since you found us!"

The Wraith gave a little laugh. "I've always been in your shadow, boy. Ever since you leapt through the gates for the last time on your precious star horse." He paused, snapping his face towards the pair. "I was there with you when you fell."

The ex-priest turned paler, and made a sudden movement, as if gesturing for it to be quiet.

"I seem to have your full attention now." The Wraith continued to stroke his bird, which cooed from the affections it's master gave.

"That bird," Alkereth remarked, trying to change the subject. "It came at us with a bit of meat in its mouth. Why did it do that?"

The Wraith tilted his head, perhaps as a gesture of confusion and annoyance. Then he said derisively, "She was hungry."

Oh.

Alkereth was not the only one who was about ready to take up that 'invitation'. When the creature had the audacity to call her "his little spitfire" (what the FUCK?), Emery went rigid with barely contained fury and had been on the verge of making some very poor choices as her hand tightened on the torch. Perhaps she had gotten a little cocky over the years, taking her Mordecaism for granted. Most demons could die just like men when they were stripped of their powers, after all, and many mages relied too much on their magic. It was (former) mages like Alkereth who were the dangerous ones—the ones who knew both magic and steel.

It was his not yet that made her pause. Maybe it was stupid—they should not be entertaining anything this beast had to say—but curiosity was her downfall and Alkereth, at least, was entertaining the Wraith. Emery clenched her jaw and listened as he spoke, but she could feel her patience slipping as it proved to be more of the same bullshit.

It was fucking with Alkereth. She cast a glance at him when the Wraith claimed it had been with him since his 'fall' and something about gates, but she interpreted his reaction as being in response to just how long the creeper had been clinging to him. It sent a chill down her spine, knowing it had been there since the beginning—but she held onto the anger, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her shaken yet again, for he had seen that too much.

In any case, none of that was anything she didn't already know—he'd been thrown and he'd fallen. She didn't know what he meant about gates, but it didn't seem important; most communities had gates.

And then there was the snark about the bird.

Oh, for the love of God.

Emery heaved an exasperated sigh. "This is a waste of our fucking time," she said at last, cutting a glare back at the Wraith. She stepped closer to him, emboldened by his discomfort of the flame.

"First thing's first, shitheel: I'm not your little anything and he's not your boy," she growled, stopping just feet from him and staring up at him, looking at his mask where she thought his eyes must be. "Address us by name or I'm roasting your dick off—if you even have one. Understand? Second, get to the fucking point. We get it, you're a sick, voyeuristic asshole—that's well established. Why the fuck should we listen to, much less believe, a word you say?"

Alkereth felt threatened in many ways Emery felt, but therein lies one difference: he knew that the Wraith knew. He wondered what else the dark servant knew, but he didn't want to talk about it in front of Emery. If he sent her away, even for just a second, it could raise suspicions.

Shit, he thought in a panic. This is actually a terrible idea. The Wraith could give it all away. What is he up to? There's something else going on here.

Alkereth could only watch and wait. It felt safest. He saw how the Wraith took Emery's verbal abuse with absolutely zero fucks given. Despite the Wraith's outwardly cool presentation, there was no doubt he hid a knife in the dark... so to speak. Needless to say, the Wraith's calm confidence bothered him immensely.

"Uh, maybe don't antagonize him too much," Alkereth whispered to Emery. "He could still try to harm us..."

The raven blinked her red eyes at the pair, enticed by the idea of potential bloodshed. Her master made a sudden movement which made her take flight and find a perch among the trees.

Alkereth tightened his grip on his torch, taking a defensive stance, but was surprised to see that the Wraith only took a step forward, pointing at Alkereth.

"I know where your horse is."

"He won't," Emery said without lowering her voice, and without fully believing it. She knew she was playing with fire, in a manner of speaking, but bluffing was what she did. "There's two of us, he wants something, and he knows the instant he tries anything he's going straight to hell."

But even as she ran her mouth, her mind warned that Alkereth was probably right, and she should probably back off a little, but she was beyond done with the fucker. He had frightened her—deeply and truly—and he still did, and she hated that. She refused to let anyone have that kind of power over her...for better or for worse.

It wouldn't be the first time it had gotten her into deep shi—oh fuck.

The Wraith moved too quickly, the bird took sudden flight, and the the flame flickered wildly as Emery jerked back in alarm with a hitched breath. But rather than attack them, the Wraith was merely pointing at Alkereth.

And then he said the magic words.

"Bullshit," Emery snapped back, and glanced over at Alkereth then back to the Wraith. "Not a shot in hell. Alkereth, let's send him back. There's no fucking way he knows that—unless he has some really solid proof he'd like to share?" she added, eyes narrowed at the creature. "Come on. If you're going to be manipulative, you've got to do better than that."

She shot another look at Alkereth, her heart hammering in her chest and expression slipping into one of concern. Demons and things told you what you wanted to hear, right? That is what she was told growing up. There was no way. It wanted something, and it was trying to prey on his desperation.

Right?