eyes in the dark

Rylee let out a huff the moment he started to sing. Maker help her. As if it wasn't bad enough that she was stuck travelling with this shem, but now he had the gall to sing.

Fortunately for both of them, he did not stay too close to her.

While she might have gone on, it was obvious he'd not be able to see as well. Shemlen did not have the same keen sight at night as elves did. Without the aid of sunlight, a shem could so easily blunder into something and bring trouble.

Stop here, she instructed, gesturing toward a large tree a short distance off the road. It appeared large and sturdy enough to hold two into the branches. Off the ground and, hopefully, away from that which would prowl in the night.

Are you capable of starting a fire? she asked, hints of condescension in her tone.

With her rations off toward Amaranthine on her horse, Rylee knew she'd need to hunt for something to keep them fed for the night. Hunger would do no one good were they to be attacked.

Hardly giving him time to answer, she disappeared further off the road, past the tree and into a more densely wooded area. She'd reemerge some time later, a brace of coneys in one hand.

Hope you don't mind rabbit, she quipped - as if either of them had much choice. She didn't wish to waste the energy of hunting down anything larger. And a rabbit each would be sufficient for the night.

Singing with a rumbly, rugged baritone to himself was a distraction from the void of trust between each of them. He sang selfishly in a low voice that rose louder at his favorite parts. At these lines, he might close his eyes, or step in time, or tenderly touch a tree as if it were soft. Sometimes he would glance at the elf, who would shoot glares at him, and he'd settle back down until he forgot himself again in another song and their unspoken argument repeated.

It was like this for miles until nightfall, at which point he was tasked to set up camp. Eager to show off his usefulness, he turned this way and that, grabbing the obvious pieces of dry wood about him. "A fire it shall be," he said confidently, for at least he had a piece of flint in his pocket. But when he turned around to see if she was pleased, he found himself alone.

For the first moment his lack of trust prevailed, and he looked around and leaned into the shadow the tree she gestured towards a minute ago, listening. Then he let out a disgruntled breath, shook his head and tossed what he'd gathered into the beginning of a pile. If she had intended to leave him, she would have done it ages ago, surely, instead of now.

Jorah did not struggle to put together kindling thanks to his flint. He was never good with the bow drill, and hadn't practiced using one in years. He built the fire in a pit he dug with a flat stone. He set some rocks and pebbles to warm for fixing water. He had quite some time to think as he gathered wild blueberries, meager fair but something.

Rylee was dangerous, and perhaps she was only cooperating with him to deal with the hardships of the woods. He remembered the glint of greed in her eye when she asked him to become a warden. The cult had never appealed to him, and thankfully, her threats stopped at her words. Maybe what he had offered her, a favor owed by the crows, would be enough to satisfy her. He wondered what had drawn her to the wardens, what had made her so mad with bloodlust, and how she had learned to fight like a black graceful cat.

When she returned, he stood, staring at her as she dropped a rabbit at his feet. His brow furrowed as he slowly bent down, picked up the game, but did not begin to skin it. He just held it, looking like he had something to stay, feeling he had something to say, but the words were lost. He didn't like her disappearing for that long, he didn't want to insult her. His hands betrayed his nervousness as he held the rabbit.

[color=orange]'It would have been..."  (don't say 'better,' he thought) "faster if you took me with you,"[/color] he finally decided to say, obscuring his instinctual emotions to stay close to her in this wilderness. A part of felt scared alone, and another part of him felt scared for her. They had spoken earlier of her welcome for death. But to Jorah, this thought was like burning a masterpiece or killing a horse in its prime or taking a sacred a holiday and erasing it. There were no simple words to describe it, so he finally looked down at the rabbit, sat, and began to skin it in a bothered manner, not singing.

(note: bard training lets go. also, i saw what you did there with the brace, lol. also gosh i forgot if jorah had a dagger or not, so im just gonna assume he has one now, and if he didn't before, maybe perhaps rylee gave a small utility one to him.)

Rylee stared at him, a look of impassivity in her eyes. He did not reach to touch the rabbit and she wondered how wholly incompetent he might be. Though he'd managed a fire, at least, that much was abundantly clear. She supposed it would have to do, and she'd deal with cleaning the kill if need be. After all, what was a bit more gore for the day?

A dark laugh peeled back her lips to reveal her sharp teeth. A shem can no more see in the dark than a blind cat. Faster with his help? Tch. Absurd, truly.

She did not notice the mood which descended over him as he finally set to work cleaning the kill. Instead, she bent down to grab the other and sat across the fire from him to clean it.

The silence between them was welcomed. She'd always preferred it to anything else. Calm and peace came with silence. A thing that eluded her elsewhere in her life even at the best of times. Despite the less than stellar company, she found she did not mind it - much to her dismay - so long as he remained mute. No songs, no talking. The mood in the air did not affect her as it might him, for she'd continued to focus on her own task. Too absorbed in it to recognize anything but tranquility in the dark of night.

Jorah focused on the task of the rabbit, the business it gave his hands easing his mind. He bent over it burdened half with concern of where he needed to be next and half with curiosity about the mad warden. Jorah rarely met those of this faction, their concern always with the otherworldly and their presence always so close to death. It was near suicide to become one - and a rational Crow would often scoff at the army of fools. His thumb pressed on the knife splitting skin from ribcage, and he swallowed another question, glancing up at her, and then back to the rabbit.

She had scars all over her face that were but shadows until their campfire illuminated their deep scrawls. Her fire-bright eyes glowed like a cat's, highlighting the predatory way she worked on her own rabbit across from him. Despite their truce, her presence still prickled at his mind to be wary. Still, he tried to hide this, like he hid his name and rank amongst the Talons - she didn't need to know. But what he wanted to know was how such a woman could be molded into this. What had happened to her family? Had she given up on love? What sort of person drank the poison-blood of darkspawn. While he'd met Elvish women before, some even crows, none let their monsters dance so freely about.

He ripped the last bit of sinew that connected the fur to carcass, and finally broke the silence between them.

[color=orange]"Why did you drink the blood?"[/color] he asked plainly, looking at her, pausing all intents upon the food despite his great hunger.

Perhaps it was the enjoyment of the calm and quiet leading up to the moment, but Rylee did not immediately snarl at him for speaking. Blue eyes flicked up from her task to the shem. But it was only for a brief moment that she looked at him, sadness creeping across her gaze until she ducked it away and back to her task.

She finally answered, breaching a silence she'd let settle again: Because darkspawn took my husband. Her words punctuated by the tearing of skin from flesh as her knife pulled through the last bit of her kill.

Normally she might attempt to save and dry out the pelt for use later. Something to be said for not wasting any bit of the animal, but Rylee had not the resources or the patience to do so tonight. This was a brief pause in the trip and she preferred to travel light when Perun was not at her side.

Setting the pelt aside, she continued to separate the pieces so they might cook faster. Silence followed her words and she offered little else to explain herself or her reasons for being a Warden. It was as simple as an act of revenge. The shem had not earned the right to know it actually took a week of Taeven wasting away. That he'd begged her at the end to put a knife through his chest. That all the anger behind her violent, desperate attacks against the darkspawn came from the immense, festering pain of loss.

Jorah flinched, looking back down at the rabbit in a quick motion like his eyes were burned by her words. He knew grief all too well. He squeezed the rabbit remembering Elena's kind smile, and the way every muscle in her face was twisted into pain when she was in labor with the twins. He took a deep breath to try an push away the thoughts, started counting to himself, but once the memories started replaying themselves, the whirlpool of regrets cascaded all on their own. He shouldn't have asked for more children. He shouldn't have married her. He shouldn't have loved any one when they can just be ripped away. He was selfish to drag anyone into his life like he did to her. Tears willed away from his cheeks dripped down his throat instead.

Defeated, he got up to find a twig to stick through the lean rabbit, and calm down alone. He'd always avoided thinking of Elena, always put aside the memories, but sometimes moments like these would cause her to resurface and his mind would get lost in a melancholy haze. He considered Rylee's grief, and he wondered what following her path would have done for him. Maybe letting the blood decide if he should have kept living or not would have helped him move on? He didn't have that freedom, not with Julien, Jacqueline, and Tomas needing him. Taking another deep, shaky breath, he pulled himself together and came back to the fire, but he wasn't the same. A lump in his throat shifted his voice into a froggy rasp, and his heart was a slab of iron. He looked unsatisfied at the Warden Ivers.

He cleared his throat. [color=orange]"What sort of man was he?"[/color] he asked, barely holding back the beg for a conversation that might break him away from his thoughts. He expected her to share a beautiful, happy, memory that might roll Jorah away from the edge.

The silence was piercing, but not uncomfortable. Rylee wasn't sure why she expected he might pry further for a reason, or perhaps not find it good enough an answer. But the silence she earned herself was a shock. Her gaze flicked up toward him a couple times, especially when the clear movement came as he stood.

Rylee tensed in the moment, gripping the knife a bit tighter. But as he returned with nothing more than a stick for the rabbit, she relaxed and resumed.

Upon his throat clearing, she finally looked at him fully. Unlike the last time, this time she could see something was different. Off, just a tad. Just enough. His voice gave it away even more, though she opted not to point this fact out. Not caring enough to delve into the shem's emotions.

The want to bite back at the question, to snap that he'd not earned the right to hear about her Taeven was strong. She held her tongue for a few moments, though, battling her will to shove everyone away against the need to finally speak of her husband. It simply wasn't something she did. Ever.

Piercing a hunk of the meat onto her knife, she leaned forward to hold it over the fire. The heat would eventually lick at the skin beneath her gloves, but they'd hold long enough. Or, well, they usually would.

Kind, compassionate, honest... she trailed off, glancing over at the shem. Everything I am not. Rylee was not unaware of her nature. But Taeven had made her a softer person, knew how to slither past the walls of struggle and trauma.

His skill in crafting was unmatched. She gestured with the knife in her hand, though careful to keep the meat positioned over the fire. This was one of the first knives he made. With much care and love, she'd kept it in as good a condition as she could under her circumstances. As it often found itself covered in blood of something. Or someone.

Her free hand shifted toward her breastplate, where she knew nestled behind it was her Joining Amulet, along with their wedding bands. A beat, then she dropped her hand and a bomb: It is also the knife that pierced his heart.

Jorah nodded, his eyes more downcast than they were for all his tromping and singing the long way here. While he agreed she lacked kindness and compassion very quickly, he almost interrupted her when she called herself dishonest. But the shift in her tone was too solemn to intrude on, and his sudden thought ended with but a quick glance up before dropping to the floor again. He listened, feeling the respect in her voice. It came in the form of a softness, a tenderness, like ripe fruit. Her monsters seemed to retreat, and he felt as though he were speaking with a common lady, perhaps one who lived in the woods and hunted, but none too different from one he might meet in a countryside inn or smokehouse.

He stuck his rabbit over the fire as she gestured towards the knife. He looked at it again, and saw the detail in the firelight more clearly. It was stunning - intricately carved in a manner that rivaled the Crow's most ceremonial weapons. He was still entranced by it when she mentioned its story, and he was beginning to feel himself roll in a calmer frame of mind, only to wince. Silent tears broke the corners of his eyes. He looked down again, hoping she wouldn't see, that the rivers would bake off his skin in the heat of the campfire or be obscured by all the dirt and sweat on his face. The tears slid like hot senseless knives, and he confused as the pain of her loss and his own blended together in a muddle.

[color=orange]"It killed him?"[/color] he exclaimed in a knee-jerk reaction, his voice slightly breaking.

Rylee watched closely as she revealed a harsher truth about her loss. Barely catching a glint off the corners of his eyes. That was... a surprise. For someone she'd been so rude to... to show any amount of compassion... or was he merely sensitive? The startled question prevented her from spending too long attempting to decide. So she set it aside for later consideration. Perhaps more information to digest would come up as well.

Closing her eyes a moment, she let out a slow breath. A shake behind it, if he listened closely enough. Have you witnessed what the Blight does to a person? Seen the slow march of death across their pale, withering face? Watched the light, joy, and warmth flicker out of their eyes? Heard the ragged, breathy voice as they beg you to bring an end to their suffering?

Blue eyes sparkled with their own hint of unbidden tears. Another sigh as she looked down at the fire. It is a fate I would avoid, were I you. To survive is a heavier burden

Her eyes soon focused on the glint of the knife in the heat. Had she hoped for death when she learned the truth of the Joining? Perhaps. Regardless, it was why she'd already made peace with her pending death. A part of her died when she pushed the knife into her husband's heart. What more ill could the darkspawn do to her than they'd already done?

Her descriptions brought his child to mind - caught in the throws of their illness - and their muddled pain spread in Jorah's clenched chest as he tried to rip the two apart. He told himself she spoke of a completely different horror. A faster one, a desperate one, a crazy mutant illness so unlike the slow and peaceful deaths that were normal diseases by comparison. His child's illness, shaking in bed, unmoving during a wave of whatever it was that left their skinny legs crippled, was nothing compared to the fast rot of the Blight.

Jorah muttered [color=orange]"I have not,"[/color] but he nodded his head as if he were saying yes.

The warden named her monsters burden and as she did, it was as if whatever haunted her disappeared from her countenance, and her humanity bubbled to the surface for a breath. Jorah closed his eyes. He should be relieved to see this madly violent woman speak so tenderly, but his own monsters had their claws in him. He felt suspended in the deepness of pain nearly two decades old, that, while it had shifted into new shapes with age, never dulled. He let himself feel it, clueless as to if his memories were something he should hold onto or seek magic to help him forget. This catharsis had ambushed him; He was an assassin. He needed his strings tied. He felt in his pocket for where he'd put his wedding ring, but didn't dare pull it out. Just touching it and he knew he could never give up those memories. Nothing made him happier nor more proud than Elena's smile and laughter had, and even if he never found another person like that again, knowing what it had felt like was like the memory of seeing a beautiful waterfall when one had no map to mark where it hid to find ever again.

Jorah sank into his thoughts, his mouth twisting wryly at the awkwardness of how overwhelmed he was.

[color=orange]"I think today has exhausted me, Warden,"[/color] he admitted with care. [color=orange]"Do you mind first watch? I would volunteer, it is unseemly, but this is a dangerous forest and I would not lie to you when our lives depend on it,"[/color] he chuckled with a sniff.

Now that she'd given more focus to the shem, she picked up a bit more on his reactions. His quieter words, the less articulated gestures. Perhaps, just maybe, it was indeed sympathy he felt that brought such tears to his eyes. Perhaps it was not merely a doddering, emotional fool. To that thought, a small modicum of credit was given. Though she'd no reason to show her hand on such a thought at this stage. Stranger he still was.

Her eyes still downcast toward the flames, toward their glittering dance upon the blade's surface. She did not see him reach, in a manner much as she had, for the reminder held close by. Though the movement away caught her peripheral vision, she did not think much of it. Would not see how much they might have shared in the tragedy of the past.

Only when he spoke again did she fully lift her gaze to his direction. Warden. The thought flickered through her mind to award him the privilege of her name, but it went away just as quickly as a snuffed flame. Eat first, she quipped, the rough edges returning to her tone. All fluttered, softened edges fading away. Evanescent were the cracks in her emotional walls.

While not having been over the fire dreadfully long, Rylee did not care to wait much longer. Content enough with the rarity of the rabbit. What good were sharp teeth if not to tear into such flesh, after all? Biting it directly off the blade, she moved to pierce another of the pieces she'd cleaned off the carcass.

She'd repeat the process quietly, not keen to answer any further questions for the night. And awake she'd stay, keen eyes glittering in the firelight, alert for any trouble. Rylee held no intent to sleep at all, rest could come when they were safe in Amaranthine. When she'd arrived at Vigil's Keep. A few moments taken here and there only for light meditation, senses always open and alert for any malice might try and come upon them.

Jorah considered the fire-roasted rabbit, but shook his head. By now, all of his emotions filled his stomach with their cottonball prickles, and there was just no room in him for anything else.

[color=orange]"I'm not dying of starvation yet - It is yours - and the sun rises tomorrow enough for me. Wake me at my turn," [/color]he trailed, rising. He turned away from the nameless Warden to find a spot on the forest floor with a comfortable cushion of pine needles. Soon, the gentle crackle of the fire lulled him to sleep.

***

Jorah's eyes open with the clamor of the new sun. He abruptly rolled up and looked around, assuming she took this as an opportunity to leave him, but he saw her nearby and he sighed. Jorah wasn't often afraid of being alone, but he knew this would be a tough hike and anything could happen where Darkspawn prowled. 

Jorah got up, smelled himself, and promptly shelved the truth that by now he stank, not only of sweat, but of rotting blood. 

He closed his eyes, listening to the leaves.

Everything was enchanting. 

Nothing was foul. 

He would soon be out of these woods and taking a break from all this wonderful travel at his villa estate.

He smiled, fresh, the night before consolidated away, only to realize he had taken the Warden's sleep. He gave her a puzzled look and walked over to her.

[color=orange]"You didn't wake me-?"[/color] he asked only to be interrupted by the impatient and loud outburst of his stomach. Was that rabbit still uneaten? He was so hungry he'd take his chances that it hadn't spoiled overnight, and he glanced at what remained of the campfire.

Rylee arched her brow at the man as he denied the food. He'd come to regret it, but she'd let him discover that on his own. She did not push the matter, instead she let his coney cool before wrapping it up and setting it aside.

Her eyes trailed after him, easily seeing him in the darkness as he moved away to sleep. Were he wise, he might have stayed closer to the fire, but she again was not keen to question. If he passed in his sleep due to cold, that would be his own fault. And one less burden upon her come sunrise.

The night was quiet, and Rylee cherished the feeling. The stillness offered a good opportunity to mediate. And in silence she sat for the hours as they passed. Nothing had come for them in the night. Nothing audible or nothing silent, attempting an ambush. She would have felt any darkspawn coming. But, thankfully, they were free of such things for a few blissful hours.

As the sun rose, Rylee didn't move much. She sat with one arm draped over her knee, red hair blowing across her face with the breeze. Movement caused one ear to twitch slightly, but she only barely cut her eyes over to see the shem was awake. Otherwise, though, Rylee did not bother to pay him mind.

Only when he specifically walked over to her she did peer up at him. I do not require as much sleep. Nor did she trust he'd be able to fully protect them from the darkspawn should they try to ambush. Nor did she desire the nightmares that came with an active archdemon.

The growl of his stomach was quite audible. Reaching over to her right, she retrieved the small bundle, then held it up for him. There was a look of smugness on her features though, as she glanced up at him to see if he'd take the offering.

She looked on edge and exhausted, but he believed her Elvish strengths. Still, he levelled a long, haggard, worried look at her for a moment, before wandering over to the remains of the fire. The rabbit was still skewered, stuck between ashes and rocks to hold it upright, and Jorah scooped it up and gingerly peel off strips of the dry meat. Despite his filthiness, he ate with type of obvious daintiness. He peeled off the succulent dark meat first, pinching the strips with his dirty fingers as if he found touching his food unpleasant. He chewed slowly, lacking the sense of the crazed, devouring of those who grow up never knowing when their next meal would be. Jorah sat down to eat, looking uncertain about each morsel, and he thought for many moments after swallowing, glancing around at the trees, unhurried. Dawn leaned into the horizon, tossing its light enough into the clouds to make his eyesight comparable to the Warden's.

After several bites like this, he shot a long look at Rylee, still taking his time, studying her shadowed form at the edge of camp - the alert ears, how she seemed a statue in her repose, still as an owl on a branch. He wondered what she would have done if she'd had children like he did. He thought of young Tomas and Jaqueline, the way their faces echoed Elena's and forced him to always remember. To always go back in his mind. To always feel so empty and stuck. Was he so far from home just to escape them? Surrounded by darkspawn, with a Warden just as mad as he was deep down, did he feel more at peace? Was his need to find the cure for his son just a story he told himself? To justify why he did this. Why one drinks the blood of darkspawn. Why one seeks them out. Jorah saw himself reflected in the Warden, the part that wanted to be free and the part that wanted to die, and he thought of all this as he stared at her silhouette silently.

Have you ever been to Antiva? he asked tentatively, halfway through skin and bones of the small meal.

Rylee watched as the shem picked apart his meal as if he had all the time in the world. And all the concerns of lady in the court getting her hands dirty. She said nothing, though, instead looking away to observe the landscape around them.

At least, until the point at which he spoke, drawing her attention back.

Can't say that I have. Antiva had been fortunate in the last few hundred years to not find themselves the target of a Blight. Thus giving her little - or really no - cause to venture there. Perhaps if he life had gone differently, perhaps if she'd never become a warden she and her husband might have visited. Sought to trade among the Antivans. Certainly the Crows would have appreciated Taeven's trade.

I am from Halamshiral, and have not ventured further north than Ansburg in the Marches.