A Tale of Two Mercenaries

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The dragon's words prove true, and Zaira hardly stirs the entire night. Her mind plays on her fantasies of herself and Arean, the ones she believes will never be true. Still, it does not stop her from dreaming. She sees Arean in several different scenarios, but she can feel herself smiling in each one as if for once, she's truly happy. In one dream, she's mastered the sword and the two are able to fight as near equals, for Arean's experience and knowledge always win over in the end. At the same time, he's able to fire a bow from a great distance but hits just off the mark while her aim is steady and true. When Arean's lips hit her cheek, his hand is brushing her face inside her dream. Her nightmares do not plague her as they have before, and by the time morning comes, she still rests, head buried beneath Arean's cloak.

It takes her a little while to fully wake up. She doesn't feel Arean's touch signifying her need to move and it's that thought that causes her to stir. She yawns, curling her fingers through her hair, finding the tangled mass flitting about her neck. She's in desperate need of a comb, or simply a spot of warm water to wash the dirt from her body. She rubs her eyes, coating her eyelids in a thin coat of dust before she sits up. She slept far better on the muddy ground than she thought she should have, but she finds the comfort comes not from the ground but Arean's warm cloak lining her body. Somehow, the fabric always seems to hold some essence of his body heat, despite resting on his armor most days. She's loathe to release it but she folds it around her arm a few times to keep it from the ground. She's not fully awake, but she finds the camp pleasantly silent. Or perhaps unpleasantly, given their proximity to a voracious and evil dragon.
 
The dragon has flown Arean home after months of training in his own arena of sorts. Arean will never forget those glassy gray walls and how, day after day, the dragon would instruct Arean in the ways of this new, magical, art he has been slowly discovering for himself. The dragon said himself that "You were learning but nowhere near fast enough to challenge my brother" So Arean fought until his muscles throbbed, squeezing every ounce of magic from his body in order to understand it, study it, and, most of all, master it. His skills aren't perfect, even the dragon mentions as the fly home, but they will suffice against his brother. There is no sensation of wind on his face, whipping harshly as they climb up into the clouds of the dreamscape. Everything is mechanical here, silent unless needed to be otherwise. At first it took some getting used to but now Arean delights in the caverns of his own mind as his own brother does when he meditates in that citadel in the mountains.

"Remember," the dragon instructs as they touch down a yard or two from the campsite, "all that I have taught you. Feel your way through it all, your pulse, the heart in your chest. Utilize it!" Shaking his back, Arean takes that as a signal to dismount, his feet hitting the hard earth of the dreamscape instead of the soggy one of the real world. "You shall never see me again, knight of the world, for a quest such as the one you've been on does not happen more than once."

"But you're like a teacher to me." Arean shakes his head, understanding the dragon's wishes and situation but not liking them. "I will do all I can to protect Zaria for," they state this together, "without her, I am nothing but dust. She is the one who lights up my passions and my hopes and I shall, until my dying breath, try and protect her from evil."

The dragon cocks his head gently, laying down in front of Arean so that he may look into that big eye and see Zaria's form reflected back at him. "You must tell her," the dragon orders. Arean finds himself shaking his head. "I know you cannot find the words to tell her but sometimes women don't need words to know that you return their love. When you have defeated my brother, swear to me that you will share your secrets. Both of them." Arean turns his back to the dragon, arms folded over his cloth covered body, the bright colors of purple and gold surrounding his form. He knows when he returns to the world, the fabric will stretch and grow heavy with plate, his true purpose as a knight returned to him.

"She won't love me after she finds out that I've…" Arean turns back around but finds nothing but shadows and creaking trees in the breeze. He steps back, his body grown heavy as he predicted, and his feet sinking into the dirt. "Goodbye…" he mutters before making his way back to the campsite, the glow of the fire leading him through the trees, fallen and upright. His Falchion sword is in his hands, the trusty blade covered in a rotten egg smelling blood as thick as molasses. "Disgusting…" he immediately mutters, trying not to sniff too hard for fear of vomiting. But all thoughts are forgotten when he comes through the trees and there is Zaria, sitting up, her hands moving against her face.

"Zaria!" he calls out, thrilled to see her again for its been months on his end but only a few hours on hers. Running up to her, he immediately drops to the ground next to her. His sword is forgotten about, left to rattle against the damp earth for his hands have nothing more to do than embrace Zaria tightly. "Oh you're alive," he mutters, not realizing, nor really caring, that his cheek is pressed to hers. He inhales, nearly falling over. Her hair, although speckled with mud and knots, still smells like her. She is okay. "Thank the gods. Thank the gods." he keeps his hold tight on her, his body naturally twisting gently from side to side as he rocks their bodies together. "Are you hurt?" This time, his hands come around her jawline, his amber eyes looking with concern to find hers. Stroking her hair back from her face, he doesn't seem to notice or care about the state of those strands. "Please tell me you're okay."
 
Noise fills the camp suddenly and Zaira turns her head. She's just in time to feel Arean crash into her, speaking as though he hadn't seen her in years. She's stunned at first, his hands keeping a tight grip on her body. Her first thought is that he's touching her, something they have both been avoiding since her drunken escapade. Her second thought is blown away as his fingers brush her jawline and push her hair away from her face. He's elated to see her but only confusion fills her gaze. She blinks and nods, unable to do much else. "I...," she starts, but her voice squeaks. She clears her throat, closes her eyes, and regains her composure, doing her best to ignore the warm feeling of his hands on her cheeks. She has missed that heat, but that's not the first thing on her mind.

"Have you gone mad?" she questions, looking him in the eye. "Of course I'm alive. There's no reason I shouldn't be. And the only person around to hurt me would have been you, and you've stated before that you wouldn't do that. Besides, you've been keeping watch the whole time, haven't you? You would have noticed if something was wrong." Unless he went somewhere without you, her subconscious whispers. Arean wouldn't need to go anywhere in the gods-forsaken swamp, for there is nothing but mud and trees surrounding them. Her dark brown eyes search his, but she sees concern not for himself but for her. He's acting as if he's been gone for an extended amount of time when he's been watching over herself and the camp through the night. Or has he? Her eyes narrow ever so slightly.

"You... have been watching the camp, haven't you? You're speaking as if you haven't been here when I've trusted you to keep up your end of the watch. I don't possibly see where you could have gone." She glances at his boots but finds no more mud than normal, which was any varying amount given the levels of muddy water in the swamp. What could have possibly possessed him to act like he's been gone for years?
 
"That's where you're wrong," Arean pants, his excitement and relief springing from his throat, "I am not a madman," his hand running through her roots again, "I… I just got into a little bit of trouble with one of the local species." Illusions. He thinks to himself. I have to conjure some sort of beast that I killed, for there is blood on my blade and therefore should be the evidence. "I swear to you that I am telling the truth, here," he lets go of Zaria's face, removing himself from her proximity, his heat staying in the ghosts of his fingers still upon Zaria's cheeks, "here, look at this. Blood. How could I have made this up, Zaria? There was a creature in those trees and I went after it out of fear that it would come back with numbers. Zaria, you were fast asleep, entirely so."

His hand moves to his heart, a noble act to prove himself, even though it is all lies. How could he even begin to tell her that he has been away for lord knows how long, training and working the muscles for the very thing Zaria wishes to destroy. It's on that thought that Arean seems to almost sober up, his smile fading as he looks to the ground. Will she ever forgive me? He questions internally, rubbing his hands over his eyes before picking up his sword. "Do you want evidence, Zaria? Because if that's what you need then, here, we can either go find the dead creature now or in daylight where you can actually see it. I just promise you that I'm just elated that you… that more didn't come while I was challenging that … thing."

"What were you dreaming about so much that you didn't wake up?" Comes his next question, not demanding her to tell him like an angry father might, but as a concerned friend who wishes to help. "I mean… I called out to you to get up, plenty of times. But all you did was roll over and hide inside my cape." While looking down to the sword in his hands, Arean takes in a deep breath, a small frown playing on his lips. "It doesn't matter too much. I was just worried that I… that you wouldn't wake up if the worst should have happened. I came right back to camp as soon as the creature had been taken care of. We weren't far away, don't fear, only just beyond the trees. The light of the fire was always in my sights. I wouldn't lose you." Such sentiment is hardly said from Arean's mouth, and he can't find the strength to look at her.

"I apologize if I scared you at all…" he whispers, the silence of the forest countering his story yet he did say that she stayed fast asleep. "I…" he half says, closing his mouth before he says too much. The last thing he can do before Zaria responds is smile gently and look to her, those brown eyes holding lord knows what behind them.
 
He's being so touchy-feely and she doesn't know why. His fingers run through her hair and she resists the urge to close her eyes and lean into the touch. She's supposed to be distrusting of him now, for something happened during the night that caused him to be away. He pulls away and returns with his blade, and there is indeed blood dried upon the sword. It smells foul, as if it really did come from the belly of a disgusting beast. She stares down at the blade as he speaks and she shakes her head. Whatever Arean fought off, she does not want to see it. If it could produce such vomit-inducing stenches simply with its blood, its body was bound to be even worse. Her pinks turn a soft pink as he inquires about her dreams. She cannot possibly tell him the true nature of her dreams, for it would bring in her emotions again and they had already agreed on what those were.

"I dreamed of nothing." The lie slides so easily from her tongue, the thought causes her to pause. "I must have been exhausted from sparring with you." She had been tired from their mock fighting, so it is a half truth. She sighs softly, watching as he glances down. He's sorry? No, it should be she who needs to apologize. She shakes her head, fiddling with the corner of his rolled up cloak. "No... I am sorry. I did not wake up when you needed assistance. And I should not have assumed the worst when you were only defending me." She glances down, feeling the soft fabric roll between her fingers. "Thank you," she finishes before she stands. She ought to embrace him, but she doesn't.

"You... you should rest now. It's my turn to watch now anyway. And you deserve it for saving me from the creature." The only reward she can muster for him is a smile, a slight curve of her lips, before she moves to her horse, who does indeed appear rattled by something, and straps her quivers onto her back and thigh. She nudges another stick into the fire with her boot, the light casting her form in orange hues. She takes up a spot on the outskirts of their camp, her bow leaning against her leg. She should check the camp, but she does not. They had heard something the night before, and a creature stalking them made sense to her. At the same time, Arean does not appear to be hurt or his armor shifted. Something simply does not add up. But Zaira casts the thoughts from her mind. Arean has taken care of her, just as he said.

She searches the darkness for signs of impending creature attacks, waiting for something to happen. And the night passes smoothly.

In the morning, she takes care of the fire, fixing the saddles, and checking their water and food supply before she wakes Arean up. "We must leave soon, if not now, if we hope to reach the dragon's lair before nightfall." On top of that, she must teach him how to shoot, though she does not remind him. He deserves a decent wake up, and so she says no more and pulls her hand from his shoulder where she had been touching him to wake him.
 
"Nothing? Well…" he slowly starts, as if trying to put together the pieces in his mind. Of course he knows the truth, she only dreamed for a little bit then time friggin' stopped. Then he went away for months and while he changed, she stayed the same. He learned the very thing that she despises. Magic. Now he is a threat to her and himself. "I'm just wondering… I was just wondering." He shrugs, "It's not that big of a deal, Zaria. I'm just… I was just wondering because you were so asleep." Licking his lip, he takes a step away from Zaria but not completely turning his back to her. Instead, he turns his focus to the caked blood on his sword. Then the smell hits him and he wrinkles his nose. "I'm just happy you're okay."

When she gives him the option to sleep, he takes it without any trouble. Normally, since he really is fully rested and fine to stay up another twelve hours, he would argue with her. But she gives him a single look and he finds himself warm and cozy inside the cavity of his chest. "Thank you," he mentions before finding a dry patch near the fire and curls up to go to bed. Looking back up every so often, he turns his back on Zaria so she can't see his lack of sleep. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees himself as a mage, runes carved into his body that glow when he uses a spell. Turning on his back, the plates clicking, he sighs and tries to count the stars between the mesh of trees. Soggy trees.

Before he knows it, there isn't a boot jamming into his side. She only takes his shoulder in her hand and shakes it. Not violently as if she were trying to hurt him, his armor protecting him, but rather gentle. His eyes open slowly, the light not too blinding, his body wishing to wake from his semi-gentle sleep. Groaning gently, he pretends that he is sore from the fight before. He sits up gently, turning to look at Zaria and then realizing how close their faces are. She speaks but he hardly hears, his eyes slipping from her eyes to her lips and back. "Y-yeah. Okay." Nodding gently, he closes his eyes and turns away, licking his lips as they crave to feel hers.

When he opens his eyes, they're trekking through the forest, their boots gaining more mud and the humidity growing as the sun crawls up the sky. "So what is our plan?" Looking past Zaria's horses rear, he can see her ponytail bounce and bounce as her shoulders sway. "S-so lets just talk about this. Are we going to reach the cave by sunset? Then we can practice shooting and hopefully, by tomorrow…" he sucks in the dense air in front of them, "Then by tomorrow we can face this dragon. I'll speak with my brother tonight as I did last night. He is… complicated. Conflicted too by using his magic to defeat a living creature. But he must understand. He will."
 
The swamps grow worse and soon, Zaira's boots are caked in mud and gods-knows-what else in the murky depth. She struggles to keep her footing, resisting the urge to cringe and clean her boots after every step. Legs is not entirely happy about the change in landscape, and she pulls on him too many times to count. She understands his pain. He doesn't want to be here just as much as she doesn't want to be, but she's forced to travel to the dragon. Feeling him stop, she tugs again, her elbow jerking as her hands gripped the map. By the light of day, and doing her best to judge where they were on the map. Her boots squelch in the mud and she twists her foot free of a particularly nasty, deep hole in the swamp. Legs nickers and she ignores him. In fact, she ignores just about everything until Arean speaks. Even then, her response is slow as her brain whirs to discover their position.

"Yes," she answers, "we should, if I'm correct, reach the entrance before or by sunset. I will teach you the basics of a bow for as long as I can before we sleep, and tomorrow, we will be facing the dragon." Complicated does not begin to describe the situation, but she knows it's particularly touchy with his brother. She still doesn't really trust the idea of Arean channeling magic through his brother, but if it's the only way to defeat the dragon, she has to accept it. That doesn't mean she has to like it.

"Your brother has to understand. This dragon isn't a good creature. I don't believe any of them were while they were still around. It would explain why most, if not all except for this one, are dead." She had no guilt for ending a species, for dragons are vile and malicious creatures that have to be eradicated. She doesn't know what the dragon will do outside of attempt to kill them, and she tries not to think about what it can do.

Their walk finally ends when they reach the base of the volcano. The area is uninviting with sudden hard, dry ground with sparse vegetation and even sparser air flow. It's much warmer than she thought it would be, and the air seems stifling when they stop. There are few trees to take refuge by and Legs whinnies as a sign of disdain. "We will have to back up to make camp. I don't like the open ground." Open areas are invitations for attackers, and Zaira is sure the dragon must be aware of some kind of presence outside of his lair, and she doesn't want to chance him emerging when he shouldn't be. Zaira pulls Legs and ties him to a tree, digging into her pack to give him a few pieces of dried fruit and coating his nose in water to help hydrate him. She knows he's been getting by with drinking swampy water and part of her feels bad. The poor horses never asked to be part of a fight with a dragon. Then again, neither did she.
 
Arean would have to disagree on the matter of dragons only being vile and malicious creatures. One of their kind stopped time for the gods' sake in order to teach Arean the true power and meaning of being a magical being. There were nights where he lay awake throughout the twisting energies of the dreamscape wondering if he would still be human by the time the training was over. Would he too sprout wings and be able to fly, to stop time in order to teach a novice how to become an expert? Arean chuckles aloud at such a prospect. His armored body being carried up into the sky, as weightless as can be, under the guidance of two large wings with hallow bones to keep him there. When he is done grinning, Arean considers commenting about dragons to Zaria.

But by the time he formulates a good enough argument in his head, the window of opportunity has already passed them by. So he keeps walking in silence, the ground slowly growing steeper beneath their feet. The tree line is pushed back too as if they were reaching the roots of someone's hair at the edge of their forehead. The humidity grew worse as the trees lessened. By the time they make camp, something that Arean agrees with Zaria on, his heart rate is thumping in his chest from the incline. Normally he would be able to surpass such cliffs without a second thought, his training kept up with a brisk exercise most mornings to keep his strength level. "Neither do I, the trees should give us at least some cover. I doubt anyone would attack us here but I thought the same thing last night before the creature came."

After giving his horse the same treatment as Zaria, with less outward affection than she, Arean questions the validity of a fire. "It's already so hot up here," he grumbles, knowing the heat from the embers would only grow worse the longer they maintain it. He doubts that the nights would be much cooler now that they're sneaking up the back of a volcano. Looking through the trees, Arean notices how the earth cracks in some places, rocks both large and small littering the blackening earth. It might not be active now but sometime, long in the past, the molten lava shot high above the lips of the top and trickled down these channels that are now covered in water.

"Should we get a move on with training?" Is Arean's next question, knowing that its going to take a while before he can shoot straight. A bow and her arrow are nothing like a sword. How can you feel something when you release it from you? With steel, Arean can read volumes on the damage he caused by how the blade reacts when hitting steel, wood, or flesh. It vibrates a certain way when struck, something he could hardly start explaining to himself, let alone Zaria. But with an arrow, you pull back and release. How hard could it be? You just have to know where to look and how to aim. Anyone can do it unlike a sword.
 
"We won't need a fire and it's best to keep our presence hidden from the dragon. He's likely aware of us somehow, being some sort of... magical creature, but we shouldn't make it easier for him." Zaira stretches her arms, sliding her bow from her shoulders and pulling the straps from her quivers. Arean won't need them attached to his body in order to learn how to shoot. As she's working the strap on her thigh, he speaks about learning. She straightens from her bending position and pulls the arrows out of the smaller quiver to put them in the larger one. "Yes," she answers shortly, her focus on her bow. She has to make sure the string is in good condition or it will snap under Arean's fingers. She pulls on the string experimentally and releases it, relishing in the sweet twang it releases as it shudders back to a static position.

She wants to tell him to take off his upper armor but if he has to shoot while wearing it, he must learn to shoot in the same way. She scans the trees for a suitable target and finds one in a twisted weeping willow, one that has roots both in swampy water and hard, dusty ground. She cannot afford to lose her arrows to the unkind, muddy swamps, but she cannot ask Arean to shoot at nothing. Taking one arrow, she walks to the tree, carving a crude bulls-eye into the bark. "This is your target," she says, scratching the last of the circle. "Hitting any part of this will be good, but we'll work on helping you hit the center." She taps the large dot of stripped bark in the middle of the tree before moving back.

Soon enough, Zaira is in a focused state of mind, able to ignore most things outside of shooting. She shows Arean the proper way to hold the bow both with and without an arrow settled on the string, fixing his stance and his elbows all the while. She's hardly aware of his heat while her hands shift his arms and fingers to achieve the best position. Pulling back on the bow is simple for even Arean, but shooting is another matter entirely. She doesn't complain as she scoops up the arrows that missed the tree and the few that hit. He's not clumsy with the bow but his mind is honed to aim with a sword. Precision with a bow proves to be vastly different than precision with a sword. She's grateful that he has learned the ways of some combat for it translates into experience. Still, she's a much better shot, but she continues to speak and assist him, making tiny changes where she sees them. It's the most she's ever said in a single sitting, or shooting.

Zaira helps him learn as much as she can before the sun settles behind the horizon, and that is when she has him lower the bow. He has made progress, more consistently hitting the target and with more force. "If I had more time, I could show you much more, but this will suffice," she says, wiping her brow as small beads of sweat have collected along her skin. She removes her gloves and rolls her sleeves up to her shoulders, making one last trip to retrieve the arrows from the ground and the tree. "Would you like me to take the first watch? Since you need to speak to your brother and all that." She wilts at the idea of magic happening so close to her, but she fights the feeling and forces herself to think about it clearly. They need what Cerin has and that's all there is to it. Arean would use the magic if he could, and then he wouldn't need it again.
 
Arean is distracted the entire time Zaria teaches him how to wield the bow. When he first starts out, he thinks that using less power would be to his advantage out of fear that if he pulls too hard back on the string, the entire flimsy thing might crumble. It's only wood and he has seen tree trunks shattered by weapons of war. Its, in no comparison, able to do what steel does. There is a beauty and balance between a blade and its owner but with a bow, its just point, aim, and shoot. But Arean is hardly thinking about that when Zaria touches his shoulders, arms, and stance with such education. She whirls around him as if she were dancing on her own, finding each and every nook and cranny his shootings are missing. At first, there are plenty to be filled but as the night grows on, they lessen and lessen. Once Arean actually starts to listen to her.

"If you had more time I am sure you would make an archer out of me. Let us hope, Zaria, that your life doesn't hang in my hands when all I have is a bow." The humiliation of starting with an unknown weapon and not knowing a single thing about it interrupts Arean for the rest of the night. By the end of the session, at least he hit the tree in question around the rings. But none of them hit the center. What sort of knight allows himself to such shame? "Yeah, you can take the first watch," he grumbles, handing her back the bow, hardly glancing at her. He doesn't mean to have ill intents. At least by the end of her sparring match he had broken a sweat in training. Zaria has now broken one of her own through yelling at him. Well, maybe not yelling but he could sense the frustration within her. It definitely wasn't his own.

He lies down and closes his eyes, letting the tension run from his knotted, throbbing shoulders. There was pain there, not the usual that scratches down his sides or burns uncontrollably in his biceps or around his neck. This time, the tissue has not been strained before in such a precise way. The repetitive action of drawing back the bowstring only creating more of a tare. After a while of relaxing quietly, hearing what others would consider a silent swamp. But he hears the flies buzzing around, the light trickle of moving water, and most of all, Zaria's movements. Unable to get some rest, he sits up abruptly and looks for her. They have no fire tonight, which is a strange concept to the knight. Those flames give them space from one another, one person sleeping close and the other obligated to be away. But now, all the cards are on the table.

Looking around, he only catches sight of Zaria from the glint of the moon shimmering down her bow. "Zaria, can I talk with you a minute?" he questions, not moving from his spot. "Can you come here? I can't see a bloody thing." She caught hold of him, the last look she gave down to the ground as she mentioned Cerin. "Its a temporary blindness, it'll pass in a moment or two," Arean explains, "I started to speak with my brother but I decided I should be speaking with you first. Are you sure that you're okay… with magic? And me? The last thing I want is you turning into god knows what if I do become granted this power. It might leave me scarred, Zaria. How will my body cope with no magic one moment and then the burning ability of the sun the next? This is.. dangerous. I just want to make sure you're okay with it."
 
Zaira watches him, but the darkness obscures her vision. She sees the glint of his armor flashing in the moonlight and nothing more. She turns her eyes from him, though her fingers fidget along her bow. She runs the pads of her fingers along the string, checking for frayed lines rolling in her hand. The string is still in good condition but she knows after the fight with the dragon, she will need a new one. In fact, she's likely to need new arrows entirely, given the Skinwaste's habit of destroying almost everything it touches. She shudders to think about the poison, but she understands it's a necessity. Still, she doesn't like dealing with magic potions, despite the one she keeps in her pack to heal shallow cuts and wounds.

Zaira is pulled from her thoughts as Arean calls her name. She turns to find him still perched on the ground, looking at her in the dark. However, he seems to be looking past her as he mentions not being able to see at all. With careful but calculated steps, Zaira strides over and sits beside him. She fiddles with the fletching on her arrows before her hands freeze at the prospect of magic. Her breath turns quiet and her gaze is pensive as she purposely looks away. How can he possibly ask her how she feels when he understands her hate for magic? She wants to snap at him, but she realizes concern steeps his tone. He wants to make sure she's okay, not himself. The thought squeezes her heart and she forces herself to exhale held breath.

"I... don't know," she confesses. "It's not... How do I say this...." She pauses, raking a hand through her tangled ponytail. "I know that we need it for the dragon. I suppose I don't have to like it. I just...," she puts her chin on her knee, staring out at the darkened outline of the volcano, "...understand the danger, maybe more than you. I don't want to see it kill you." She doesn't really want to see Arean killed by anything, but that goes without saying. "I know we're probably going to be injured in the fight against the dragon, but wounds made from claws and swords I can help with. I can't help with magic related wounds." She finally manages to look at him, and there's a brief flicker of pain in her eyes and something akin to fear. "I... I'm not really sure how to feel, but it's a necessary evil. I suppose that's all I can say. I'll accept it for as long as we need it, and no longer than that."
 
Her words, although they are needless fears, strike a chord with the knight. As a result, he lowers his head as if he were thinking, pondering, a good enough response to assure her that he will make it through. His words are true to an extent. If he did channel his brother's power, his body receiving no magical contact before, it would kill him. Mages cannot simply give their powers to regular people and have them come out alive on the other end. "I will be okay," he tries to assure her, a hand moving in the darkness and gently touching her leather covered bicep. "It's practically a guarantee that we'll be limping or crawling out of that cave tomorrow. But," his voice is stern yet he attempts to be comforting too, "we will come out of that cave. Both of us. Together." His hand squeezes her shoulder but doesn't let go afterwards.

She looks towards the volcano and Arean scoots closer to her. In one slow movement, he presses his fingers to her jawline and makes her look back up at him. He knows her eyes hold fear within them. Fear of loss and death. He knows because the same worried look plagues his open eyes. "Do you hear me? We will come out of that cave tomorrow." Without realizing, he glances down at her lips for a quick moment. When his body starts to lean forward, he looks to the ground between them. His fingers lose their grip on her chin and dropping down to her neck. He wants to reward himself with learning how to kiss those lips so that he doesn't have to confess. His worry for her, pinning it on duty, has always been because of her beauty whether she sees it or not. "And if there is some residual magic, we can deal with it together. I won't ever hurt you or the ones you… love."

How he wishes he never said the word. Now it hangs in the air like a wrecking ball. It's something that she feels towards him but he cannot give her the satisfaction of returning it. So Arean closes his eyes, keeping his head dipped as if in prayer. "You're right, it is a necessary evil. You've made your terms and I will live by them, Zaria." An odd memory comes to the surface of his brain, the night they raided that encampment to get their supplies back. He remembers being tired, way too tired than he should have normally been. Then sick. Sick enough that he needed to find his brother. Was that the price of having magic? Would he have to scare Zaria just like he had in the past? He shouldn't, his training should have covered his intake, but he can't help but worry.

"We should," his hand recoils to his own chest, playing with the metal plating there, "get some sleep. At least, I should if I'm going to be taking the second watch. Good night, Zaria. Everything will be okay, okay?"
 
The soft scrape of armor on dirt makes her flick her eyes to Arean as his fingers curl around her jaw. Her head moves automatically so no pressure forced her head up, but her gaze still locks on to his face. She sees her own fear reflected in his gaze, the amber eyes blinking before they draw closer to her face. And then his gaze vanishes, dropping away just as his hand does. His glove still rests upon her neck, but her muscles are still tense from both his touch and the stress of their journey. She closes her eyes as he speaks of love. There, she freezes in his grip, her eyes falling away and turning to brown steel. He doesn't love her, but he would never harm her or her loved ones. She needs to have loved ones before they can even be harmed. She nods, but in the dark, all he can feel is her neck twisting. His hand pulls away and she quickly stands.

"Y-yes," she tries to say, but it comes out as a barely audible breath. She takes a step before she finally listens to him. He's trying to reassure her, but somehow, she doesn't feel the same way. Regardless, she manages to nod again before she takes up her position. There isn't much to see, but in return, there is nothing to see her. Her knees wobble and she bends into a crouch. Her head rests on her bow and she fights tears. The morning would bring a dragon attack and the possibility of a fiery death. The thought of dying doesn't bother her, but the thought of Arean dying on her watch stabs her with fear and anger. She cannot let him die. But how can she stop a dragon?

Thoughts of all kinds plague her through the night and she almost misses her time to switch watches with Arean. With the same gentle shake of his shoulder, she wakes him. She doesn't speak to him, only curls up in a ball in the same spot he was resting. She quickly falls asleep, trying to rid her mind of the images of Arean's death.
 
A dull gray sky stretched across the swamp on the morning of their date with a dragon. Arean, already up from his shift of watching, sits upon the ground with his head up and alert. All night, while Zaria slept soundlessly, he practiced small magical spells. He couldn't do anything bigger than a water minion out of fear that Zaria might wake up from her slumber. The sound of rushing water is something the swamps dense trees lack. Here, the water pools and stays stationary until the ground finds use for it. Unlike the other nights, he had regenerated his mind with meditation while he stood watch. No animals would dare attack them. If they tried, Arean's awareness that has grown since he started to reach out with his magic, the animals would be in no luck.

On a day like today, Arean's mind is on death too. He knows that his magic will physically do everything in its power to protect and maintain the health of the owner. But he will have to move quickly, spell after spell, dash after dash, if he is going to defend both himself and Zaria while attacking the dragon. If he dies, Zaria will blame herself. If she dies, he will blame himself. It's a normal, bodily reaction to grief when death is applied to the mixture. But the solute always dissolves in the solvent. Blame because of grief always dissolves in time. "Zaria," he whispers, turning his shoulder to look at her, his body facing the other direction, "everything will be okay." Perhaps the more time he tells her that throughout the night, as he did, the truer it would become. He rolls his eyes and laughs at such a prospect.

Words can do nothing. Arean is sure of that. So when he wakes Zaria up, it's with gentle motions. A shake of an arm, the brushing back of her wild hair. He let her sleep in, hoping that her dreams would keep her from reality for as long as possible. But he can only assume she dreamed of the dragon. He dreamed of the dragon too when it was his turn. Large, white, scaly, dangerous. He thought of all the tale sizes, fang diameters, and wingspan he thought was possible. But nothing, he knows, will be close to the real dragon lurking in that cave.

"Here," he hands her their food sack of berries, their bread gone. "Eat and try to gain your strength before we…" his words slow down, catching in his throat. Even just saying it might bring Zaria to tears. Arean must tip toe around this one, he is certain. "Yeah, well, you need all the strength you can muster to help us achieve our goal today." And when they are all suited up, Arean hands Zaria his falchion sword. It's what she can manage and he is sure that it will come in handy. "Will you do me the honor," his eyes move back to the cave, "of fighting this beast with me? Just keep away from the tail, claws, and teeth. Maybe he will have a sweet spot underneath his belly that we can hit."
 
From the time that she wakes until she saddles up, Zaira steels herself. She cannot focus on dying or messing up her shot or anything. She can and she will defeat the dragon with the help of her partner. When she stands, she wastes no time in preparing herself and her horse, but she finds her mind wandering several times. Arean's voice shatters what little concentration she has and she whips around to face him. She finds only his outstretched hand with their last storage of dried berries and fruit. She takes them from him, holding back the tension in her fingers, though her muscles still coil too quickly around the food. She tries to eat slowly and fails considerably, but by this time, she's turned back to Legs. The horse can sense her apprehension and he shuffles his hooves and tosses his head. "Be still," she orders, feeding him a few of the berries. It's all he's going to get for some time, since she cannot force either of the horses into the cave. The dragon is likely to munch on them both.

When she turns back, she finds Arean ready and his hand thrust out again. This time, he holds his sword to her. Her eyes flick from him to the sword and back to him. It is one of his few weapons, and she already has her bow. She draws her hand away from the sword and attempts to protest, but he already speaks before she can muster a word. She cannot possibly hope to hit anything with the sword, but the dragon is supposedly a large target. She only knows his eyes as a weakness, and she knows how impossible it is for her to hit the dragon's eyes without her bow.

"I...," she hesitates before her fingers curl around the sword. "Of course I'll fight with you. I cannot hope to match you in speed and strength with the sword, but I will be by your side." How she never imagined to tell any man that in all her days, yet she stands in front of him, uttering words reserved for no one. She hefts the weapon up, watching it balance in her unskilled hand. He still has the scabbard, but she makes no motion to grab or ask for it. Instead, she slides the sword into a strap on her saddle. She would not be able to walk with a sword hanging at her side.

She and Arean waste little time in trotting toward the cave, and Zaira's anxious mood is almost palpable in the warm air floating around them. As the cave looms in the near distance, she hesitates again. "We should not take the horses inside. While I'm sure the dragon is aware of us, we shouldn't give him any help." The dragon already had the advantage of size, experience, and fire breathing. Zaira and Arean would need all the help they can get.

Zaira slides down when the black entrance of the stone cave hangs in front of them. The shadows seem to curl from the edge and a low rumble can be heard from deep inside the dark. Zaira loops the reins of her horse onto a broken crag jutting from the mountain. It's something to keep him there but also something he can pull away from if the dragon chooses to take the fight to the sky. "Didn't the woman say something about the entrance being guarded by magic or something or other?" She wishes she would have taken notes on what the woman had told him. She mostly remembers the dragon's weaknesses, as few as they are.
 
Arean, stupidly, forgets to even give her the blade's leather sheathe, its bottom covered in a thin coat of metal so that it may hold the blade without breaking. Perhaps it's the man's nerves that are making him not think straight. He knows that he can survive, but it's his duty to Zaria, to get her out of here alive, that worries him. "Just remember the basics and you'll be fine." That was true, wasn't it? Arean isn't even sure and he pulls in a deep breath before they start their way towards the dragon's lair.

"I…" Arean begins when Zaria asks about the potential of magic energy surrounding the cave. He feels strange not remembering the answer, it felt like such a long time ago. Inwardly, he remembers his trip with the time-dragon and those months spent training for this very moment. The white-dragon would breathe that same color. These flames burn at one and a half thousand degrees centigrade, taking anything in its wake. Arean, and Zaria, have no other option but to hide behind boulders or the stalagmites that Arean assumes spoil the ground inside. "It's near a volcano," he warns gently, "so there still might be pockets of lava depending on how far down we go. Who knows what waits for us down there."

Focusing back on her question about the magic, he closes his eyes and tries to sense any disturbance, or additive to the rock. But as far as he is concerned, all he hears inside his head is that low rumbling coming from inside the cave. "I think that he knows we're coming." Arean guesses, trying to think of his next move without stalling for time. He remembers the dragon's flame from his first encounter, a spell whispered from his lips that would shield him from most harm. It was spoken in an older tongue no longer spoken, a spell that has been long forgotten no matter its benefits.

"Take my hand, Zaria," he reaches for her without a second thought, curling his fingers around hers. If she pulls away, he doesn't try to grab her again. "It will help, hopefully, shield you from any harm that may befall us. At least, just for this first portion of the journey." Licking his lips, he looks down at his helmet in the crook of his arm, deciding immediately that having it off would be the best of choices. It would make him suffer in sight and therefore he cannot risk it. He needs to be completely agile for this fight. His cape comes back to his mind, his free hand placing the helm on a rock near the entrance at his waist line. With that hand, he too unclasps his cape, draping it over the cold rock.

"Zakara lerov bembi perinda." And with his left hand out before them, a small white orb starts to grow between his fingers and expand out towards the center of his palm. Immediately he feels his heart thump against his ribs, his hand tugging on Zaria's in an indication that she should follow him. "It's okay, Cerin has taught me how to control it." He does his best to look convincing, a small smile tugging at one side of his lips before stepping through the threshold. Zaria might not feel it, he doubts she would, but Arean does. A warmth, something opposite than what is expected when only stone surrounds the walls. It's not an assurance, Arean knows that much. A warning?

They walk, climbing down from natural, rock formed steps, jumping over clattered, jagged pieces of the ceiling that have fallen, and sliding underneath small holes to continue onwards.
 
Zaira carries the blade at her side, unwilling to leave it in a position where she cannot grab it. If she's already holding it, with the hilt burying itself in her skin, she feels a twinge of hope, hope that she can properly wield the blade and assist Arean in slaying the dragon. The feeling vanishes as Arean takes her hand, the free one that had already been twitching for his grasp. But her face doesn't heat up in a blush, nor do her emotions spike as they have before. Her mind is too focused on the task at hand. She fights her fear down, forcing her thoughts to be clear of death and destruction.

Arean speaks in a different language, but before she can ask what he means, a flare of bright light bursts from his hand and coalesces into a sphere. Her hate of magic makes her seethe and her sword arm tenses, ready to slice it down even as she knows she could not kill the magic unless she sliced Arean's hand off. Necessary evil, she reminds herself. She forces herself to breathe out and Arean tugs her forward, doing his best to reassure her. In the lair of the dragon, she is on edge, despite Arean's attempts. Her senses billow out, trying to gain a feel of the path in the dimly lit dark. She doesn't want to lose her night vision, but she silently admits the light is a boon in the pitch black ahead of them.

Si shilta keefum wux, daron di wer treskri. Wux l'gra ve. Batobot ui bensvelk, a voice rumbles, but Zaira hears nothing. The voice is aimed straight at Arean inside his mind. The voice has a biting undertone, though the words are smooth as if it has been speaking them for centuries. And it has, for the creature possessing the voice is none other than the dragon, Vanexsum. Before Arean can even think of responding, or even think of deciphering the dragon's words, it speaks again.

Wux tepoha coanwor… tiichia ini sia isthasy. Zyak wux vucot svabol si yenta. The dragon snorts and it manifests as a rumbling growl, originating deep within the bowels of the volcano. Zaira tightens her grip on both the sword and Arean, but they continue moving forward. She tries to pinpoint the exact location, but with the hard ground and dark shadows in front of them, she feels lost. Wer hofiba latali jaciar mrith vers jaci shilta ti kampiun, the dragon continues, but his words take a cryptic turn. He seems aware of something that the knight nor the archer could hope to understand. The ground shifts beneath them, but the path stays untouched. The dragon is waking, and it doesn't seem happy with visitors.

The path begins to twist down, the angle steep and unforgiving. Zaira eventually has to release Arean so he can lead with his light, but she's aware of his presence as he moves in front of her. It's reassuring even as the walls vibrate with a rumbling hum, their source a massive creature that waits for them somewhere. She could not hope to understand Arean's strange, telepathic connection with the dragon. Vanexsum does, for the time dragon is his brother and granted understanding of the ancient draconic language to Arean during his teachings.

Ae tir wux. Tir wux nafl vucot wer sthyr di arcaniss wux faestir? the dragon continues his earlier tripe, but even he cannot seem to answer his own question. He sounds wise but it belies an evil heart. Through the dragon's mental tone, it is clear he would never share his knowledge with anyone, even if it meant dying.

"Wait," Zaira says, stopping and pulling out the vial of Skinwaste she's had for much too long. She pops the lid and lets three drops drip onto the blade of the falchion. The black poison slides along to coat one side of the blade and she does the same to the opposite edge. She can see where the poison has bit into the steel, but there is no hole. She coats each of her arrows, careful not to scratch herself on the points. Arean's greatsword is last, and she is loath to disrupt the blade's perfect and biting edge with the poison, but it must be done. Necessary evil, she says to herself again. Once their weapons are sufficiently poisoned, she lets them continue, watching the ground grow harder and feel warmer with each step.

The path falls away into a gigantic pit glittering with all manners of jewels and gold. Brass bowls burning with everlasting dragon fire litter the ground and display the wondrous cavern of the dragon. There's enough gold to satisfy most of the dying cities for years to come, but the sea of coin and jewels shift. White scales flash in between the gold and a large tail sweeps the glowing prizes all over the place. A pointed head full of teeth and a pair of twisted horns pops up and two bright eyes fix upon the mercenaries. Instead of talking to Arean, the dragon's gaze sweeps to Zaira.

A female. Delightful. I haven't feasted upon a human girl in decades. You will taste wonderful, the voice booms in both Zaira and Arean's heads, and Zaira winces at the force. Unlike Arean, she's never experienced any kind of dragon, but her heart is made of icy steel. She cannot be afraid of the dragon.
 
Arean is surprised when Zaria's fingers accept his. She is trusting him, a man who has been lying since they first met in that loud bar that one evening. Perhaps it's his own defense mechanism, just like she has her own. He has chipped himself, slowly from the granite of lies, knowing that their situation and the gold promised were thrown to the flames if he did not. But Zaria has earned more than that. She has taken something from him that he will never be able to get back. It had always been a strange concept to him, giving something of yours to another person. But she has taken his heart and he would want no one else to have it. As much as he wants to stop her and reveal his feelings, he listens to the logical side of his head, believing that it would only cause them trouble.

Although his heart makes him sweat, its thumps throbbing in his chest, the longer he keeps such volatile words stuck inside him. Words might be easily spoken but their impact may keep the soundest of sleepers up in the middle of the night. Now knowing how fragile her emotions can be, he cannot risk telling her a single breath. Aarian needs to be strong and she needs to be stronger. She has always been stronger than he. His fingers tingle, not because of the heat but because of an itch for her.

As they descend into the cave, Arean's mind shaking itself of every desire, the globe grows, sprouting a new, brighter color with each thought that races through his head. He is not as rightened as he might be predicted, each emotion being transformed into fuel for his magic. Then the dragon speaks, its voice slithering down the back of his neck. He knows Zaria cannot hear it too for, with a simple side glance, she gives no indication of it being as such. Arean knew the dragon would foresee them coming but he wasn't prepared for its confidence. It speaks, therefore it comprehends. If it can do that, it can also adapt. Trick. Cause havoc.

"Zaria…" Arean breathes, his attention moving to the clutter of the cave. Looking to his partner, their eyes making contact in the magical light, Arean finds the confidence he had been lacking this whole time. Although they might not be what he originally wanted to say, he tells her this. "Zaria, I want you to know that there is a vault in the city of Dorell. Its yours. Everything in it. Yours." He doesn't have to explain his words for he knows she has caught his direction. His fingers tighten around hers, head leaning towards hers. "I couldn't die without you knowing. I need you to know…" The balls of light leave his hand as he reaches over to touch her chin with his fingers. They don't stop until his palm is resting against her neck. "I need you to know--"

"HUMANS!" The dragon roars, snapping Arean out of such a romantic gesture. Its voice is strong enough to crush the two of them, Arean's core rattling at the force.
 
The dragon is there and then it is not, diving through his gold and parting the coins like water. She turns to face him and finds the glowing balls of light fall from his fingers as he steps toward her. She loses sight of him in the slithering darkness and then his hands are on her chin. Even in the danger, she tenses, her mind racing as he speaks. "I-I don't," she stammers, but he speaks over her. His important words are cut off by the dragon as he flings himself from his treasures. His entrance startles her away from Arean and makes her whip around, hand on her bow. The dragon has not missed their interaction and his forked tongue slides from his massive fangs in almost a grin. His wings unfurl, spanning their length even in the cave. He's truly a large creature and he knows it.

"Wux itov nomeno munthrek aesthyr. Nomagqe jaciv geou loreat irral vur wux geou thesek. Coi geou petranas ve," he says, peering down at the two tiny humans with his bright green eyes. Zaira's own eyes narrow, for while the dragon speaks to them both directly, she cannot understand him. Her hand curls around an arrow and she pushes the back onto the string, fighting the urge to simply shoot him. Vanexsum glares at the female, eyes darting to the bow. "You seek to destroy me?" When Zaira doesn't immediately answer but her fingers tighten, Vanexsum lets out a roar in some sort of a laugh.

"Don't speak in strange tongues, dragon. If you're going to insult me, at least give me the honor of retorting," Zaira snaps, a bold move in front of the massive beast. Vanexsum laughs again, but Zaira cannot handle the dragon's taunting anymore. Her bow snaps up and she shoots. In her haste, she misses, but not before the tip of the arrow grazes the dragon's cheek. The Skinwaste crawls and leaves a burning wake, taking Vanexsum's scales with it. When the poison drips away, a large gash the length of Zaira's bow is left on the dragon. The black poison corrodes the scales and reveals muscle and veins on the inside. Vanexsum roars, and the inside of his throat burns red. She and Arean have a split second to roll out of the way before white-hot fire splashes against the rock and charges the air with heat.

Zaira is forced to jump off the ledge and into the piles of gold. Her feet slip and she scrambles into a semi-upright position. Vanexsum shakes his head, trying to kill the poison on his face. "You will pay for that human." He breathes more fire in Zaira's direction as she fumbles with her bow, but he wheels on Arean, growling deeply. "J'nah, shar jaciv geou loreat thric selgtarn svabol. Wux geou ti nakta doutan takh." Vanexsum flaps his wings, flinging coins and jewels all over the place. He wants to fight Arean, but the pest he sees as Zaira will undoubtedly try to shoot again. "Usv jacioniv." Whirling his head back, Vanexsum simultaneously slashes at Arean and spills fire from his fangs at Zaira. Her feet dig into the coins and fire bathes the coins right where she was a mere second ago. However, she cannot be seen. Only molten gold lies where her body was. In reality, her arm and hand are singed but she's buried behind a pile of gold, catching her breath and struggling to push another arrow onto the string. She has to help Arean, but how?
 
"At least I have someone to fight for," Arean breathes quickly underneath his breath, the size and structure of this dragon making his heart beat twice as fast inside his chest. Its true that fear is riddling its way into his DNA but the knight cannot let it bring him down. He must fight. He must win. But how are two puny humans in comparison to this god stand any chance? At least Zaria has a ranged weapon, her arrows, covered in the poison, able to slice through the beast. But his sword, he looks down at it as the gold glitters off the skin waste touched steel. "I still have this!" He shouts, readying himself for battle.

Vanexsum, after being sliced with an arrow, roars, shaking the gold at their feet and making the tunnel rumble. "We must be fast, run!" Zaria has long left his side and he, finding the soldier once again in him, has started to find tactical areas of attack on this scaly beast. He could try and go for the legs but that would be a risk for the massive claws can slash at his entire body, throwing him against one of the dark walls without any effort exerted. He feels himself lock up, his muscles unable to draw his sword. He must be reeking of fear, for himself and, more importantly, for Zaria. He is still on the ledge but knows he must jump down, its the only way to… Magic! He has magic! How could he have been so stupid to have forget this dragon's brother. First he must try and use the skinwaste before it dries on his blade.

The dragon raises its big claws, Arean's feet parting as he waits for the last second to jump out of the way. Dark claws descend upon him and he finally manages to scramble out of the way with a quick dash. The ledge cracks upon impact, deep crevasses forming and some of the edge dropping off into the coin below. Get down from here. His head tries to tell him but Arean is already running at the beast's hand no less than a second later, bringing his sword down to slice at the meaty joints that are covered by thick scales. It might serve as a distraction to the dragon, an itch that will disrupt his movements. Arean looks up into those big green eyes as Vanexsum's head whirls back at him.

"Wux tir ti kampiun?" The dragon screeches, withdrawing its hand and aiming for another strike, "Thric selgtarn svanoa tonn wux xoal, wux geou nurti gjahall ve!" Turning back to face Zaria, he uses his barbed tail, its weight easily doubling or tripling that of Arean's with his armor on.

"Zaria! Look out!" Arean shouts, his voice hardly audible with the sound of rustling gold, bronze, and silver jewels that lie below. Glancing at his sword, Arean lifts one hand up, seeing that the gold around the dragon might serve as a distraction. Slowly clutching his hand into a fist, Arean raises and lowers it, making a fist when he reaches the top of his arc. "Pek'ol! Zardasi creemo, salaha! Zardasi creemo! Zardasi creemo!!" The gold, however, doesn't move from its place on the ground. Quickly Arean shuts his eyes, and drops his sword, knowing what a mistake he could be making. "Pek'ol! Zardasi creemo, salaha! Zardasi creemo! Zardasi creemo!!" he chants with both hands now, his entire body shifting ilke water. The gold starts to vibrate.
 
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