Familiar Faces in New Places [Alivilda] (Graded)

[Zihaqihs]

58th of Zi'da, 719

It was the teas fault she was here.

It was a morning prayer almost at this point, something to soothe her nerves as she went to hall to get food. The Yludih craved the tea but no matter what she ate or drank nothing quelled the urge. It was a wound that had went septic and poisoned her, like too much of an herb until it became toxic. Most things that bothered humans did not bother her but this was different. Although it was not the only reason she'd decided to stupidly venture out into the harsh Zi'da weather. But the other reason were the same as always, and it did her little good to let them overwhelm her.

Yet. Even as she knew this her eyes skittered about the hall like someone would suddenly see right through her. Though none gave her more than polite smiles or nods as they went about getting their lunches and brunches. People were more concerned with sitting close enough to share warmth and filling their bellies with that same warmth. Crowded enough to where she could get lost in it but not enough to overwhelm. Zih thought it was similar to when she play with kids a child, another passing face of no note.

It relaxed her shoulders. Here people did not recognize the food she got or the herbs she bought or the books she read. Here Zih was just another Melrathi citizen taking advantage of the halls heat. That thought let her focus on the dish, trying to figure out if it could be considered health giving in more than the sense is was sustenance. It tasted good, but there was none of the herbs she recalled that added enough to be considered a cure for anything other than bland food.

But she ate it all the same, taking notes on possible herbs she could add to make it a truly worthwhile meal. Especially as she heard the few sniffles and coughs in the hall, her eyes hardly moving from in front of her now. Almost content in her anonymity.

[Brent Forrester]

58 Zi’da – Familiar Faces in New Places

While Ted Forrester’s cooking was atrocious, Brent’s wasn’t much better either. While there were benefits to the two brothers sharing a house, there were certain things they lacked. And in this case it was a good home cooked meal. Sometimes their neighbor Molly was kind enough to bring over baked pies but it wasn’t Vhalar anymore and unless it was necessary, the villagers tended to stay indoors where possible.

Fortunately, Brent didn’t live too far from the town centre but he wasn’t going to take any chances in the cold. The Melrathi dressed warmly with heavy boots and a warm coat. Overtop, he threw on his black cloak with the hood drawn up, and placed a small coin pouch into a pocket. It was all too easy to get frostbite and layering up didn’t hurt anyone.

As he opened the door, the sun sparkled brightly on the blanket of snow. He tromped down the front path to their home and was soon on the main village road. Some places had a path cleared, whereas other times Brent was trudging through snow up to his knees. A stiff wind kept him with his cloak wrapped tightly around him. The Alivilda Great Hall was a landmark and meeting place in the village. There was always good quality mead there and often some hot food. The tall wooden and stone structure stood like a beacon of hope, welcoming visitors and residents alike.

Brent kicked snow off his boots as he entered the building. There was a strong smell of mead, and to his delight, Brent caught a whiff of roasted meat. There were at least two fireplaces roaring and Brent quickly shut the door behind him to keep the warmth in. Much of the Hall was filled with longtables where people sat tightly on the benches. Villagers ate, laughed and told stories. There were only a couple of servers, but it was Zi’da and people were more happy to be warm and wait a little longer for their food.

Brent took off his cloak as he started to get some feeling back into his fingers and spotted one of the servers.

“Susan, could I get some of that roast meat and warm mead to take away the chill?”

“Well if it isn’t Brent the mapmaker! One home cooked meal coming right up.”

The cartographer’s cheeks were already flushed from the cold, obscuring the self-conscious blush that crept onto his face, but he gave a simple nod as he went over to find a place to sit down. As he squeezed past two crowded tables, he glanced off to the side and caught sight of a women sitting a little away from the others. For a moment, he did a double take. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her.

Then it hit him like a rock. No wonder he could barely recognize her, it had been about ten arcs since they had last spoken in Raelia! Brent changed his course and approached the table. Was it Frey? No, that was her nickname. Childhood nickname. Oh how the arcs had passed. Freya! That’s it! She was even more beautiful now than she had been those many years ago.

As he reached the table his mind suddenly blanked for words. He wanted to say something witty but all that came out was, “Freya? Is that you? It’s Brent. Brent Forrester from the Forrester logging business. What brings you to Alivilda? It must have been ten arcs since I’ve last seen you. May I join you?”

He gestured to an empty seat beside her hoping that they might be able to catch up after all these cycles.

[Zihaqihs]

The oatmeal caught in her throat at the cheery voice. The ungraceful swallow that followed was not helped by her wide eyed stare. All her time and Raelia and not a soul payed her more than a glance. A few even recognized her foolish shopping patterns that she'd stopped right after but none, not a one, spoke with such familiarity. Her fingers clenched in lap as she let the warm lump struggle down and tried to figure out if she could escape.

If she ran he'd think she was crazy. If she shifted everyone would know what she was. Unable to still the panic on her face as she stared at the man. He walked towards her table with a limp, taller than her while she sat, looking something like a happy bear. In her panic she scooped another bite in her mouth to fill it before something stupid came out. Laughter drifted from the nearest seat mates as they watched the pair, his voice and her silence attracting eyes.

"Young love, ha!"

"Poor things panicked, hush you, and sit dear. I'm sure no one minds, do you dear?"

Zih took the opening even if she hated it. There was no escape. She was entirely screwed. Spots danced before her eyes and she dropped her gaze with a nod hoping it came off as demure. Thickly she swallowed, "Ah...y-yes...Brent, sit."

She fell awkwardly silent after as she struggled to recall how small talk worked. Should she ask how he was? How did he remember this...Freya as? How in the name of all the Immortals was she meant to be someone different? Her breathing quickened but the Yludih could afford to panic here. Not that her body truly cared, mind running with the worst outcomes until she forced herself to count each bit of silence until she tentatively tried not to give herself away again.

"Wood! I'm...ho-how is your woo-tre-logging?" Anything to turn it away from her. But she could bring herself to do more than two her journal, counting the taps as she gazed at his food. The closest she could get to looking at him.

[Brent Forrester]

Brent could feel the heat on his cheeks at the mention of ‘young love’ and he hoped it didn’t show on his face. Gruffly, he took a seat and undid the coat he was wearing. The fireplaces and all the people sure kept the hall toasty.

Turning his attention back to Freya, he scanned her features intensely. She had certainly changed, but in a good way. He tried to spot some recognition on her face, but she seemed both awkward and intensely shy. At the mention of wood, he gave a small snort of laughter.

“Oh you know me, Freya. I was never meant to take over the family business. Logging was the sort of thing my older brothers were good at. I only got in the way.” He gave a faint grimace and his eyes darted down to his leg and back.

“But the Forrester business goes on, while I have my own. Do you remember the maps I used to show you? It’s become a real business. Compass and Design Mapping.”

Maybe she was still shy from the unexpected encounter. Frankly, he was still a bit in a daze since it had been so many arcs.

“And what about you, Freya? Did you ever marry that Jarl you were hoping to? Or some other noble? You were so sure that it was going to make you rich and live a life of luxury. But I most remember those trips into the forest where you picked wildflowers and other leaves, blessing and thanking the spirits as you went.”

Brent fondly remembered the sweet younger version of Freya who soon had ambitions about how she was going to make it in the world. He had doubted her plan to marry into a rich family, and he asked because he figured doing such was no guarantee to her happiness. One couldn’t be choosy about finding someone who was kind and loved her back if the prerequisite was to marry into wealth. But there was definitely the more selfish side of him that wondered about her status in the world.

[Zihaqihs]

He unnerved her with his casual chatter.

Like they were old friends but she was not his old friend. The Yludih was no one's friend, least of all a native to Melrath. His warm countenance set her teeth on edge, her body still as if she were literal stone with no soul inside. Any more she could make might be wrong. What if he found her out? What if he didn't? Was ten arcs long enough to forget someone enough for her to play it off? What of when the real woman seen him? As her eyes rose to glance at his face she found a black hole trying to swallow her at the thought. But she couldn't dwell on that, she was too focused on trying to keep her eyes from stinging as the room blurred, foot tapping out a tuneless rhythm.

"Th-that's good. If you-that is-I-" She swallowed the word vomit that filled the silence after his questions. Everything he did drew her attention as if it would give her clues to how to properly react to him but she couldn't focus on both him and forming sentences. Slow and stupid the words came again. "You're ma-maps I mean. You like them. It's...good."

A lame, quiet, defeated finish as her gaze dropped once more, afraid to meet his. Instead she counted each groove in the worn table as she continued to speak, letting the sight of the wood wash over her like a balm. It would not judge her or likely murder her for her faults in her acting. But still nothing more would come until she abruptly slid her journal over then tapped it to show him the notes of herbs, flowers, spices, and the like along with her notes for dishes to make.

"N-not married." Hopefully the woman wasn't. They very thought of accidentally running into a husband or wife made her pale considerably, the warmth of the room doing nothing to soothe the chill creeping in. "Um...but herbs-I mean fl-flowers! Or...all of it? I..."

The Yludih tapped the book once more, a helpless shudder running through her as she gave up attempting the farce of communication. It would have to do but the woman knew, she knew he would know. There was no hope in her that he thought he anything but strange, probably nothing like his memories. Enough so he could accuse and-

Zih let out a heavy breath as she waited, and tried to subtly wipe at her eyes. She needed out of her but how was she supposed to without causing more attention than she was? Why had she even bothered to leave Raelia? Not even the tea would not even let her sleep peacefully at this.

[Brent Forrester]

“Are you doing okay, Freya?” Brent asked. He used to remember her as being headstrong and outgoing, not a timid girl who could barely get her words out. “Nothing has happened to you, has it? Or is there some reason why you’re in Alivilda rather than Raelia?”

Brent didn’t mean to pry, but there was something off about her. Maybe she had simply changed a lot in those arcs but maybe there was some reason why she came to Alivilda in the dead of Zi’da.

He didn’t expect an answer right away, and instead turned to the journal she had on the table. She had tapped at the book several times and he turned it around so that he might read it.

“Honey, nettle leaf, rosemary…” He murmured as he read down a list of herbs. They seemed to be remedies for ailments. “Lemon balm, valerian root, basil… for calmness.” He gave her a second glance. That’s what she was, nervous. And exceptionally so.

“It looks like you really know your plants and remedies,” he said gently with an encouraging smile. “Is that what brings you to Alivilda?” He couldn’t imagine her collecting the herbs in this weather but his mind desperately sought out an explanation. “Perhaps helping people with their coughs and colds? We don’t have many healers here. It’s a small place.”

Sitting back in his chair, he looked over his old friend. There was something up. Something was wrong, but he wished he could know so he could help her.

“Say… have you been here long? Do you have a place to stay? If you need somewhere to crash, I’m sure Ted wouldn’t mind if you slept on the couch. We’ve got the space after all. And you know, if something or someone is bothering you…”

He still couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong but at least he could give her options. He pushed the journal gently back to her and then as if noticing it for the first time, decided to tuck into the lunch of roasted meat. If silence fell, that would be alright. She was clearly troubled and maybe it would give her the opportunity to open up. The mead warmed his stomach and his concerned eyes couldn’t help but glance over her small frame.

[Zihaqihs]

The only thing keeping her from fainting was that she might wake up and shift into her more comfortable form rather than this new one. Then what would she do? Wake up as a ghost? The man was suspicious, and Zih couldn't pinpoint the expression on his face but it meant she was ruining this. It had been safer in Raelia! The journal did enough to keep the strange conversation going but even as she slowly took it back she had no real answer that wasn't a lie. Nothing she could say that might not give her away but...in this case. Her mind worked both slowly and far to fast, thoughts knocking the breathe out of her as they came and went.

The truth was stranger than fiction, or so she'd read somewhere.

"A-a tea." She tried, squeezing the journal like a security blanket in her hands. The words forming slowly on her tongue though she braved a glance at him to try and soothe him so he'd not ask so much. "I...it-I tried a tea, and it made m-me addicted. I ha-need it to study, so-so I can fix it. Um...I do. Heal! I do heal. I mean..."

Once more she gave up, and shook her head. Her height had never bothered her but now she wished she could shrink, she might have to try that when her company was gone. Shrink into nothing to escape this situation before she gave anymore of herself away or he captured her like the other Melrathi had captured the other Outlanders. Just the thought made her nose sting with the scent, the crackle of flames even less soothing now for all their warmth. But his blessed silence allowed her to relax minutely, even if his questions set her at the literal edge of her seat.

Staying at an Inn was fine but would the real Freya decline? Would he figure her out? Did being socially nice require her to answer yes? Or should she say no? A new pit to join the many others began to eat away at her vision while she watched him. The edges of him blurred like a fading painting, his kindness made it hard for her to breathe. This was bad. The Yludih was doing something bad and she didn't know how to stop it anymore. Her chance had gone when she hadn't fled. With startling swiftness, Zih realized the voices around her were fading, the man in front of her a blur of color with no features. All she could hear was the erratic beat of her own heart, tripping as she stood then fell to her knees. Something was wrong. No matter how much air she inhaled it was not enough, large gulping, gasping pulls of air only made it worse until she closed her eyes, and just let it go.

A dark, still thought taking over her mind like would take her to the Uleuda.

[Brent Forrester]

The book was clearly precious to her and gave her comfort. A tea… Brent gave a frown. If nothing else, that would be justification for her odd behaviour. Especially the way she spoke in fragmented sentences. She seemed averse to questions, but of course, becoming addicted to a tea was not something you typically shared in public. Particularly with affects like this.

He held the silence a little longer, wondering if it might help her open up, and at the same time watching for other clues that might reveal more about her. He could tell she was thinking, concentrating hard, since her eyes had the vacant look of someone staring off into space. But what she was thinking about, he had no idea, other than it briefly made her face tighten with discomfort.

Brent set down his cutlery, no longer interested in his meal, and he saw her start to get up as if to stand. Unsure of whether she was about to make a dash, he began to stand as well. However, the reverse happened. In moments, Freya drooped like a limp flower and Brent leapt forwards to catch her as her knees hit the floor. As he grasped her arms, they too weakened, and he had to hold her around her shoulders and body to keep her from slumping all the way down to the ground.

“Freya?” He whispered.

Her eyes were closed and her body weak, but she seemed to be breathing. He had heard of women fainting but had never thought it would be like this. The cartographer glanced up and was met by a dozen stares.

With one voice the silence was broken, and several more chimed in.

“Poor dear, her heart’s weak.” “Get her some water. Maybe a rag for her forehead.” “She’s not one of those Ardiechy girls, is she?”

There was a sudden buzz of chattering, gaping and even pointing. Brent protectively wrapped his arms about Freya and brought her to a sitting position. As much as he liked the Alivilda villagers, boy could they ever gossip. Brent wasn’t sure how long Freya would be out. Ideally he would have taken her to the Alivilda Aesir for help, but he had no idea where the Aesir was. In any case, she couldn’t be left here to be gawked at.

Carefully he reached for his cloak and lifted her slightly so he could wrap it around her. He put his thick woolen hat over her head and mittens on her hands. None of it fit her properly, the hat covering her eyes, but she still hadn’t stirred and he felt it his duty to help her away from the prying eyes of the curious villagers.

Brent placed the book in her lap and looked around for any other belongings she might have so that he might carry them too. Then bending his knees, he lifted her up with one arm under her knees and the other behind her back.

“She’ll be alright. She just needs some rest and a quiet place. No need to worry. It happens sometimes when she’s overwhelmed by a lot of people.” Brent calmly and matter of factly, as if he was a close friend of Freya’s. Neither of which he was. “If someone could get the door…”

The chatter died down slightly and someone was kind enough to open the door to the hall. He winced slightly with his first step onto his right foot, then hobbled out of the great hall, with the woman in his arms. The stares he was used to, but for her sake he wished there hadn’t been so many.

The cold air bit at his exposed hands, and he shifted slightly to make sure the cloak was fully wrapped around Freya. Fortunately he didn’t have far to go, but the deep snow made it all the more challenging. Every so often Brent would check if the woman stirred. He was both amazed and anxious about fully out she seemed.

He struggled with the door, his arms starting to burn from holding her so long, and then thankfully set her down on the couch. Now what? He had only thought as far as getting her out of the busy hall. The fire had burned down and he added some wood to it. He looked around to find a blanket to cover her and then set her book down on a nearby table. A healer. She had said she was a healer.

Brent opened the journal and read over some of the ingredients with descriptions. Honey was something he might have, and it might make for a nice tea. There had been something for calmness… Basil. Did he have any of that around?

“Oy Ted! You home? Do we have any of that basil stuff? Or maybe Molly next door might.”

A voice from upstairs called down. “Give me a trill or two. What do you need it for?”

“Kind of busy right now, but it would be great if you could get some.”

For the next little while Brent would periodically watch Freya’s sleeping form as he prepared a kettle with boiling water for some honey tea. It was definitely not the kind of tea that she was after, but he hoped that when she woke, it might soothe her.

OOC

Let me know if I went too far, but it sounded like she was pretty out based on your message.

[Zihaqihs]

She was young again.

The feeling of being floated to be, the voices that carried and interrupted her sleep, being set into bed. A deeper sleep would have come if not for the realizations that came abruptly after: she had no parents anymore, her trials memories were not of being in her stolen home, and those voices were not ones she recognized. Still the odd, childish sleep made her think kidnapping before the hall, and it's memories knocked into her hard enough to sit her upright. The Yludih choked on air as she woke, hands fluttering for purchase on things she couldn't name right before the urge to flee back to her peoples only true home hit. But it was obvious she'd woken up, sleep would not save her now.

To make things worse she was not even in the hall anymore. Her eyes skittering over the furniture in a daze. The house was warm, relatively clean, and smelled a bit like herbs and honey, and Zih was no great scholar but even she knew the man had likely carried her. The thought was enough to make her throat burn, her eyes itching passionately but she could not cry right now. But his kindness hurt in a way nothing had ever hurt her before. Maybe that was why her mother had left. Having someone else's face meant you took all the feelings that came with it, and none, not a single one was meant for you. It had never been something she'd had to dwell on before, her face, while similar to her mothers had been much her own design. This face had a life, a family, people who cared about it. The knowledge grated on her insides until they were entirely shredded strands hanging from her bones but she could not act on whatever make her false skin crawl, without this face she was better off never having woken up.

Trying to marshall her thoughts, she eyed his clothes instead of his face, imagining she could count every fiber. But her voice wobbled all the same, and her fingers picked at her own clothes in a steady rhythm. "Th-thank you...and sorry."

No other words came forth but she stood, legs shaking a bit until the floor settled under her. Already she searched for the door. This whole thing was a disaster, and the smell of things boiling only made her ache for both the tea and the ability to disappear. It was a pity her kind couldn't blend in with the walls themselves because that was precisely where she wanted to be.

"You-if-this-" Frustrated she bit her lip then cut off the words. Think! She had to think then speak. Inhaling shakily she tried again, her eyes meeting his only briefly. "I'll go. I'm-I'm sorry for...this, I-it-I don't feel w-well."

[Brent Forrester]

Brent had managed to find some honey and with his brother’s help, had also gotten some basil. He requested Ted to leave them on their own in the living room, and although there was with a wink and a nod, his brother agreed. The kettle was almost at a boil when Brent decided it was good enough to pour into a mug and add the two ingredients to make the simple tea.

Just as the tea was beginning to steep, Brent heard a splutter from the couch and he immediately glanced over to Freya from the chair he was seated on. For a few moments she didn’t speak. Emotions seemed to flow like water over her face, but he couldn’t pick up on most of them. He assumed it was a rather troubling experience to wake up somewhere foreign especially with a man you didn’t really know.

When she did speak, it was with gratitude, although she seemed to be unable to meet his eye even as he looked at her face. Freya stood suddenly, and Brent quickly got to his feet afraid she might have a repeat of what happened at the Hall. But she managed to stay standing, although shaky, and he took a couple of steps towards her as she looked around the place.

Freya started talking again, but it was fragmented. He waited as she stood on wobblily legs sorting out her thoughts. When her words finally came out and she met his eye briefly, it cut him deep.

He turned sharply away, unable to look at her. Go? What did she mean by ‘go’? He had defended her dignity at the Hall and carried her back to some place quiet and safe. His nails bit into his palms as he clenched his hands trying to compose himself. And now she wanted to put herself in harm’s way again? He glanced back briefly at her, a hint of anger in his gaze. But what really hit home was the curt rejection. She wanted nothing to do with him.

He wanted to shove his foot into the wall but instead he sat down heavily on the chair opposite to her, but did not look at her face. Clasping his hands together, he knew he needed to be a man of virtue and not let his anger get the better of him. At last he spoke, with a heaviness in his breath.

“Freya, please stay.”

He only glanced up at her once. If she needed to go, that was her business, and he would shut the door behind her without another word. Even duty had its limits.