Light beamed over the horizon, and with the waking dawn Vakhanor stirred from a deep sleep. Hazed in his awakening Vakhanor's mind registered the familiar warmth of a woman laying next to him "Morning," he muttered, instinctively pressing a gentle kiss the skyrider's cool shoulder.
"Shit," he swore, shifting around as he remembered it was Elyna laid next to him. What was worse, his body was working against him. Embarrassed Vakhanor grabbed one of the sheets in an attempt to hide the bulge beneath his waistline. For the first time in over fifteen arcs Vakhanor flushed, what was he going to do if she woke up? Stand there and look like an idiot probably. An honest idiot, but an idiot none the less.
Vakhanor sat around, turning away from Ely as he tried to train attention onto what needed to be done. First Vakh needed to go and gather what he could from his household, take what he needed and find a new home before somebody destroyed it. His mind raced through the list of things he owned. All of his nel, drawings, the sword Oberyk gave him, Bjorn's teddy bear and his bedroll. Those were the things he wanted from there the most. The smith's brow furrowed, he didn't even know if he had enough gold to buy a new house.
Eventually the twinge of pain caused by his looming injuries caught up with him again and he twitched, whatever their plans were for the day; they wouldn't be able to do a lot. Vakhanor wasn't strong enough for outrageous effort, not yet.
Elyna was awake. Staring in the grey morning light without moving and hardly daring to breath. If she just lay still, then it could all just be part of a continuing nightmare. Malcolm would still be alive and none of this would be happening. She watched the shadows sink down the far wall; flickering as light slid beneath the curtains. Her chest was empty of air and filled with pain. Where was Elsie? Where was her daughter? Had she returned home safe last night? Had she been found, crying into the arms of the Smith? How was it possible to feel so numb, and so much pain all at once? Was there a place that people like her existed, floating between sleep and waking. Wishing to dream and afraid to wake.
She’d always thought, before Yoreth, that grief was something that came at night. That people were taken by death in the darkness, in shadows. It was never like that thought. Death arrived in bright sunlight, on the glare of a snow-covered mountain. It came when the buttercups started to bloom and it was always a surprise. A bolt of lightning in a clear blue day. Vakhanor pressed a kiss to her shoulder and then he shuffled away, awkward. His voice had been gruff with sleep and she closed her eyes, pretending that she hadn’t spent the night crying into his shoulder. Her cheeks were sticky and her throat was hoarse. Somewhere, Elise had gone to sleep without being tucked in by her Mother and the skyrider found the strength to sit up. There was no reason she would have to rise without her mother as well.
The young woman looked back at Vakhanor, “I’ll be right back…”
Then she left the room, vanishing silent through the hallways until she returned to the room that Elsie had been born, filled now with her toys and clothes. The baby was lying, still dozing and warm on her back, the blankets kicked off. Elyna collected her and cradled the girl close to her chest. Eventually she sank down into the rocking chair Malcom had purchased for her and sat, cuddling the baby, flinching at the occasional, repeated question of “Dada?”
With Elsie asleep once more, Elyna returned to the room where Vakhanor rested. “What do you need to do today?” She asked, voice quiet and mindful of the sleeping child in her arms.
Using the time that Elyna was gone to sort himself out of the mess he'd put himself in, Vakhanor cursed the moment the maid had sedated him. In reality Vakh should have probably told Elyna to go off on her own, to go to her child and not stay the night laid next to him crying for hours. He could still feel the lingering wet of her tears linger beneath his skin. That would have made him truly heartless.
About as fragile as an old man the Aukari grit his teeth and wandered to the end of the bed where his boots had been left ready for him, as clean as if they had been brand new. Vakhanor didn't like nobles, their use of people below them or the fact they lorded themselves over other people. He did have to hand it to the maids however, they knew how to clean a pair of shoes. Studying them closely Vakh lifted it above his head, to the side, inside, even the smell of old sweat had gone. What kind of miracle worker hid behind these walls.
Baffled by the simple and yet complex art of shoe cleaning the smith eventually stopped admiring the shiny clean leather to put the thing on. "Argggh," he winced, leaning forward. The pain was not nearly as severe as it had been the week before. At least he could walk a little without feeling dizzy. Elyna soon returned to the room carrying Elsie. Now she was the one drowning. "Right," the word escaped his thoughts.
"Yeah. Gold, Sword, Drawings, Bear, Bedroll." the smith listed. What could he do to make Ely feel a little better? What did Ely love? The sea, ginger tea, stories, the stars, sailing, adventure, Malcolm. He had an idea, not one that would change anything but one that would maybe bring some hope and make a pleasant memory. As a friend and protector of the children she bore Vakh stood over her, placing a comforting hand upon her should as he looked down at the sleeping child.
Vakhanor replied with a checklist that saw the Skyrider nodding. She wondered if he was still a little pale, struggling with simple tasks. Maybe it would be best to remain in the house? Take a few trials for the man to build his strength. Yet knowing Vakh, surely, he would value his independence above all? Elyna herself could barely stand spending more than a few breaks in her Mother’s domain. The baroness had been watching her, hawk like. About to pounce on her prey. She’d heard Caelan talking to Pavoo, until the tall blonde was dismissed from the Judge’s study. Her mother wanted to arrange a marriage for her, already. Yes it would be hard…yes it would take a unique individual to accept a noblewoman with a child and another on the way…and yet. Elyna couldn’t say that her Mother had wept at the news of Malcolm’s death. Uncertain she could ever forgive the woman who had raised her, Elyna watched Vakh as though he was a life raft. A way to escape the building.
A surprise? “That sounds nice,” Elyna forced a small smile, the most that she could manage. How many more grey days before the sunshine of spring broke through? “Given your worries though, should we collect your belongings first?” She was concerned, that if anyone was to retaliate against Vakhanor he would lose the last shreds of his history. The bear…had she seen Bjorn with a small toy bear? She couldn’t imagine Vakhanor having a soft toy that he kept for himself. Gold would be replaced, a sword remained, drawings reimagined. But the bear was important.
Under the arch of his arm was the promise of a lie. The false security of safety.
"Yeah," he replied. Grave sadness filled Vakhanor's heart as his memories skipped back to his little brother. Time slowly passed by and each passing day grew harder. It had been almost and arc now since Elyna had shown him Bjorn's dead body, small, lifeless and without a little breath. He missed his brother, his son. That big cheeky grin, the games, the laughter, even the bits where Bjorn had decided to try and act up to get apple and honey.
He didn't have the time to remember. Now, here with Elyna and a little girl wrapped in her arms his eyes widened as the severity of his loss finally began to take a hold again. Sick to his stomach Vakh stepped away from Elyna, almost in fear that everything he knew was going to disappear. Right now he had to be strong.
Vakhanor's face turned to meet Elyna's eyes, wordless and searching for a reason. Why? Ever since he had met Elyna all he had ever done was come to her, and in return she'd met him with lust. Now that Malcolm was gone, she realised what she had. Patience shifted into frustration, it was about fucking time. There was no use in speaking to her now, not like this. No good would come of either of them yelling at each other, or even the protest that Elyna still had her whole life ahead of her. She wasn't going to listen to him.
Clothed and ready to go, Vakhanor avoided sparking conversation with Elyna and walked past her, slowly making his way toward the door. He didn't know if it was distance that she wanted or comfort, and knew not how to give either other than attempt to do something that she'd remember. Vakh flinched, the excruciating sting of the burns and stitches still nagged at the raw, healing skin; further agitating the half-blood as he walked.
Her friend had fallen quiet and answered with only a word. Elyna reminded herself that Vakhanor had been through a lot and lifted Elsie on her hip once more. Confident that the child was secure she followed the smith from the room and through the corridors of the house. They went slowly down the stairs and she collected a cloak for herself and reluctantly gave Elsie over to Anna’s arms. The child was growing restless and hungry, for a food that Elyna could no longer provide her. It was probably safer for the child to remain in the Burhan household, than to have an impromptu visit to the city. Vakh had also mentioned that he was concerned about repercussions from the mysterious Alliance, and Elyna would not put her daughter into danger. She couldn’t lose anyone else.
The skyrider huddled in her cloak as she moved after the smith, having to jog every so often to keep up with his longer strides. She remained quiet, respectful of his thoughts and reluctance to speak. What was there to say? They were going back to collect the pieces of his life that were left. The noblewoman hoped that by the end of the day, they would have found the young man a place to live. Not somewhere for him to retreat immediately, because if she was honest with herself, she was worried about him being alone. He would receive better care at the Burhan house, someone to help with the dressings and wounds even if she could not. Left alone, would those wounds become infected?
She watched him as they walked, “what do you want me to do, Vakh?” What do you want me to say?
Nothing, he wanted nothing and he needed nothing. Why was that what she always asked of him? Even in a dream, a nightmare never supposed to happen. There was nothing to say, that's why he didn't say it. He could offer no comfort to her that she would accept as anything gentle other than the quiet warmth of laying there next to her. Vakhanor didn't know how to take away her pain and it was killing him.
"Nothing," he resolved, briskly wandering past the dozens of hazed faces in the crowd. In time of need, anger had been his answer. Talking, talking, talking, people always yacked on and on about what was right or wrong in the world. Why wasn't anybody satisfied with silence? Vakhanor took Elyna's hand, as much as his frustration boiled in his blood he wanted her there and he didn't know how to tell her that without an awkward deflection.
The markets were busy and all around them the haze faceless strangers peered at the quiet pair and the comforting smells of his daily life started to calm Vakhanor, as he slowed to a pace Elyna could manage more easily. The world returned to its context as the children danced across the sidewalks, men took to the hard labours while the women paid better attention to the fine details they missed. All wrapped up in their own worlds, living the adventure of their life while him and Elyna walked. Side by side, they had started in whirlpool of pain together and together they world weather it. He still loved her, and still accepted that he would never have her.
Familiar sights drifted into view and the closer they came to arriving, the more paranoid and more guarded Vakhanor became of his companion. The Alliance had tried to take her before, if there were a trap laid for them he would fight like a rabid dog. And eventually, they made it to his house without incident.
Uneasy, the smith took a heavy gradual breath. This was his home. Right here in this house hold was the place where his mother had given birth to him, given birth to Bjorn, where she had passed on. Tears fought his eyes, he had never had the chance to cry over his mother's death. His house was the last thing that he had left of her, and now it was going to be taken away. An aching pain formed in his throat, stronger than the searing sting of his burns; everything was slipping away from him.
Burning with rampant, hot emotion the fires in his blood began to resurface as he broke away from Elyna and turned the key into his door.
It felt strange to walk hand in hand with the Smith. Would Malcolm, Immortals watch him, think she had moved on already? That he was so easily replaced that she could walk with such public declaration for her affections. Her skin itched, her palm felt as though it was burning in his grip. Though she didn’t try and break the touch, Vakhanor wanted her comfort and after spending the night asleep in his embrace, who was she to deny his silent request. Nothing he said. There was nothing she could do for him, except raise the dead. Always, her life bound to his. At his mercy, to his whims. A responsibility she had never expected and yet at points had embraced. He slowed his steps so she could keep up, slower now than she had been last season. The baby was due at the end of the season, her belly felt heavy, taut.
She wondered if his footsteps slowed even further as they turned the corner to his home. Elyna squeezed his fingers tighter. The world moved on around them, as it always did. In the space that they occupied together, it was quiet and almost melancholy. Elyna wasn’t sure, if Vakhanor hadn’t been leading the way, if she would have known her way through the city streets. She felt lost within the walls of the city. They stood outside the house without moving.
Finally, Vakh moved forward and opened the door. It was Elyna’s turn to pause, till finally she lifted her chin and set her shoulders back. She could do this, for him. The skyrider smiled a faint thank you, and ducked beneath the door lintel.
The world stopped, and for a second he watched her, she was sad; so sad and so strong. It broke his heart to see Ely in pain. The question repeated in his mind - what could he do? Be there for her. Then he woke up, she passed through the door and his attention fell to the dirt. Whirling thoughts drifted around his head, what would she have done if he were in the place? An image of the hill crossed his thoughts, she'd kissed him. Then apologised and followed him to a place of comfort. No, that wasn't right. Kissing her wouldn't save anything, neither of them wanted it; not after everything. He wasn't sure either of them had ever wanted it, not really. Reality slowly drifted back into focus, and he remembered he needed to do his list.
Stepping inside of the small thatched cottage he once called home, Vakhanor crossed the threshold and scanned the environment, looking for a trap. Everything was as he had left it. A thin layer of dust had settled over the smooth wood surfaces of his furniture, cast into the room from the dirt drifting through the glass-less windows. Accented by the rancid aroma of decayed fruit that wafted from the kitchen, housing a small swarm of flies buzzing around. A sick feeling entered Vakhanor's stomach, he turned to Elyna to deny the reality of what was in front of him to remind himself of the good.
"Sorry Elyna," he said finally, closing space between them "I don't mean to cause you pain." He gently lay his hands either side of the skyrider and pressed a kiss against her forehead. With Malcolm's passing she needed him now more than ever, just to be there. For a moment he held her "I can't change what happened," he muttered quietly and looked into her eyes, he needed her to listen to him now "No more cowardice, no more giving up. I will be there, for you. Always." Vakhanor could not keep his old vow, and so he made another.
Conscious of the distance she tried to keep Vakhanor did not linger long than he was welcome and pulled away. Stripped from his old life, the soldier forged in the volcanoes of Sirothelle studied her the woman with a hardened determination blazing beneath his icy blue eyes. Something shifted in Vakhanor that day. Love had no time for him in this life, and the hope he had been clinging onto fell away into the fire. There was only the vow.
Vakhanor watched her as she entered the room. Elyna could feel his gaze burning on the back of her neck. He was considering his actions, she thought, wondering what to do with her. How could he repair a heart so broken? Well, there was no answer nor a cure as he knew. She pressed a hand to her swollen abdomen as the baby moved within. There was no replacing the loved ones they had lost. Though she had always been told that time would ease the sting of grief. Elyna was yet to find that it was the case. Years of mourning had not lightened the burden of Yoreth’s passing – and this, this was so much worse.
Although the young woman kept her own house clean, mostly because of Elsie, she didn’t notice the layer of dust anymore than she noticed that the windows were still secured. Dust meant that the house was undisturbed, little else. Vakhanor closed the distance between them and she looked up, closing her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He used her own words against her, this is the truth. The young woman nodded and offered a faint smile, “I know Vakhanor. I know…”
What else where there to say? He vowed to be her greatest friend and ally. There was nothing more that she would risk taking from their friendship, precarious as it was. She turned when he released her, studying the small room, “what do we need to collect?” She pulled a small canvas bag from a deep pocket in her cloak.
