A Tale of Two Mercenaries

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Zaira's angry now. She has stalked the halls until she knows that she's passed through the same one several times due to a speck of white in the otherwise rich blue and green rug. She's hopelessly lost in the castle and she is seething. No one has seen her and she's beginning to think that no one exists in the castle at all. Zaira's hands hold the skirt of the dress so her feet move freely, but she still despises the damn thing. Part of her wants to abandon her search for the knight and instead find some suitable clothing, but she has to know Arean's here. So she trudges along, rather amusingly to some perhaps, until something stops her.

A skinny young woman finds herself in Zaira's path. She looks eerily similar to the one in the bedroom, but somehow, that girl was different. She actually spoke to Zaira, whereas the one in front of her now just stares at her. Zaira goes to step around her until the girl finally pipes up. "You shouldn't be awake, miss." Her voice is dull, like nothing in her life is ever exciting. With Ranir, Zaira suspects, the idea is probably true.

"Well, I am." She can't disguise the anger in her voice. "Where is Arean?"

The girl only swings her head to the side once. "No one here goes by that name."

"Yes, he does." She bites back a curse. It is now the second time someone has told her that Arean isn't in the same place she is. Arean wouldn't have left her alone, not after the dragon fight. He had carried her out even though he was exhausted. He'd protected her, as far as she knows, from Ranir's men and from the fat mage himself. He wouldn't have left her to heal. Had the gold been that important? Zaira rubs her temples with one hand before whipping around. "I'll find him myself." After she picks up her brisk pace again, she looks over her shoulder to find the servant girl trailing after her. Lengthening her strides, she turns a corner to find another long hall and another serving girl in her way. With a scoff, she moves around the girl to see her join the first one.

Shortly after, Zaira finds herself with an entourage of silent serving girls as she storms the halls with a vengeance. The utter silence has grated on her nerves until she finally snaps. Stopping and turning on her heel, she stares all five girls in the face, brown eyes blazing. "Where. Is. The knight." It's no longer a question, but Zaira demands an answer.

"There's no one here--" the girls begin in unison.

"Yes, he is!" she shouts, an echo following her words down each hall. After what seems like years, she gets the first sign of a response in any of the girls. They flinch and turn toward one another as if trying to form a protective huddle. "I know he is here! He wouldn't leave me in this damned place alone. And you are all clearly unhelpful, so I'll find him myself!" She flips around and runs now, leaving the serving girls in the dust.

Time passes her by just as fast as each door does, but she does the smart thing and searches each one. She leaves them open in case she doubles back and passes the same place. Upon opening a particularly heavy door, she finds Arean's room. His armor and weapons rest against the wall and the sheets are disturbed, but the serving girls did have one thing right: he isn't in the room.

Dashing out, Zaira glances down each hall, but she doesn't see the knight. Taking a chance, she runs down the left side of the hall in what she hopes leads to the exit. When she doesn't immediately spy him, an emotion swirls inside of her. It takes her a moment to realize she's filled with despair. She's alone in a place full of magic in the middle of nowhere. She has no weapon and, surprisingly the most important thing, no knight.

"...Arean?" she calls out to the stale air. When only silence greets her, she chokes back tears. "Please come back...." She picks up a walk again, but her feet shuffle and her head hangs. "I can't leave without you."
 
That whispering wind leads him down the hallway, only a torch or two lighting up his pathway. Arean is not sure where he is going or what he is doing but all he does know is that he has to find Zaria. His hand runs alongside the smooth wall, fingers trailing behind him as he squints and moves towards the small flicker of light ahead. Ranir said it would take a couple of days and she ought to be better by now, Arean doesn't see how she couldn't be. Zaria is one of the strongest women he has ever known, other than his own mother. She has fought, bled, and cried, but she has made it through every obstacle the world has thrown at her.

The hallway turns down, steps proceeding to the floor below them. "Where are you taking me?" Arean whispers, but no answer greets him. He is alone in these haunted halls. It's then that the small gusts of wind he had been following disappear, the only sound is his feet taking one step at a time downwards. Its cold in here, Arean's bare body littered in small goosebumps, his body shivering. But no matter his physical ailments, he moves onwards, knowing that his own health and safety comes second to that of Zaria's. He needs her to know that he is alright and that he did not leave her. He won't have the strength to ever leave her.

Even though a part of him knows that he shouldn't be here, Arean still descends the steps as they gradually curve downwards into whatever crypt he has been lead into. The arches are wide and the place smells damp. Lifting a brow, Arean reaches for his sword then realizes that there is nothing at his waist, only the ending of his pants. He should run up those stairs and never wonder around these halls but he doesn't put it past Ranir to throw Zaria practically in a jail while she is healing. He dislikes her, for whatever reasons that she might not even be able to control. So Arean presses on, ignoring as best he can the ripping feeling starting in his gut.

"I'm glad you could make it down here, Master Ibanell," rings a voice that is all too familiar. The shadow of Ranir's plump body draws closer from the shadows. His robes are clean and flawless, as the knight expects, but in his hands holds the cube that had penetrated the young man's mind. Glancing down to the cube, Arean thinks nothing of it. The artifact is, after all, Ranir's to keep and he was just a simple messenger who brought it to him. Never mind the dragon involved.

"What do you want, Ranir?" He questions, his words cut with serrated edges. "Where is Zaria? You and your magic should have healed her long ago. Tell me where she is so that I may go to her, I am sick and tired of waiting around."
 
If Zaira counts the times she's called to Arean in her head, she knows it would be too many. She cannot bring her voice to do anything but catch in her throat. If she parts her lips, only a sob will follow. So she wanders the halls in silence. She doesn't glance at the statues or the tapestries, but she feels a chill that should not be present. Her burned hand itches with a ferocity to match a dragon, but she digs her fingernails into her palm to fight the feeling. She chances upon Arean's room again, finding everything as it was. She sits on the bed, picking up the falchion resting on the bedpost. She runs her fingers over the sheathed blade before she takes the belt and loops it around her waist. Arean is larger than her, so the belt hangs askew on her hips, but the leather serves its purpose. Zaira feels better with the weapon at her side, as unfamiliar as the blade is. As she steps out of the room, she feels something wrong. Magic coats the walls, the floors, everywhere, for the castle belongs to Ranir. That's what I feel. Wrong. This place is too full of magic to ever be right. What she doesn't know is that directly below her, Ranir has a plan in store.

"I have what I want, mostly. I brought you here to see what you wanted." A figure rounds a sharp corner. It's Zaira in the beautifully revealing black dress, the fabric hugging her curves and accentuating her assets. She's clean and smells of wildflowers in summer. Her hair is in the all too familiar wavy ponytail, and she has a soft smile on her face. The image is perfect; it's all Arean could have ever wanted. But as Arean goes to her, the image of Zaira wavers. The air glimmers and pops into existence a wall of stone with no windows. Something snaps closed and the room becomes what it originally was. It's a dank cell of darkness with sharp metal bars on the door and no escape. A trap.

Ranir chuckles and waves his hand along the length of the door. A bright red light swirls around the edges of the door before the magic slides into the wall. "There. Just in case you have any thoughts about trying to escape. For being a strong man, you're weakened by that girl far too much. You turn pathetic. She guides your heart, just as the dragon Emphaleon said. Of course, I ordered him to focus you in such a way. Love does get in the way, does it not?" That sly smile perches on his face, but Ranir's eyes hold a hint of madness. "It's perfect for controlling people. You've blinded yourself, but you've grown. I can feel it. You're going to make a fine prisoner. Your magic is going to be wonderful."

Ranir pulls a glass pyramid from his robe. It swirls white, just as the cube does. A square hole is inside the pyramid, but Ranir remedies that by pushing the cube into the pyramid. The artifacts flash and glow as the two souls mingle and become one. When the light fades, the pyramid is whole again, as if a piece of it was never missing to begin with. "The dragons were strong, but as you conquered one, I conquered the other. Emphaleon never suspected he would play such a grand part in my plan. And now, knight, so will you." Ranir holds the cube in his palm and begins to mutter a long string of words. The mixed dragon soul pushes tendrils of white smoke from the pyramid, swirling in the air before they make a line to Arean's body. The tendrils are painful and invasive as they slide along Arean's skin. They jab into his arms and chest, digging into his muscles and veins, but they draw no blood. Instead, they transform into a myriad of colors, the magic flowing up and away from Arean's body.

"Ah... Yes, your magic is very strong, indeed. Our dear Miss Hale's involvement with you has left you with power beyond anything you could dream of. I wonder what she would do if she knew you possessed such magic? She wouldn't love you anymore. That is, of course, you believe that wench could ever love. Oh well. It matters not. You belong to me now, Arean. You can forget about your precious Zaira Hale. You'll never see her again." The tendrils rip away from Arean and push into Ranir's hand. The color drains from the tendrils before they fall away. Ranir takes a deep breath in, relishing in the added power. "Delicious. The perfect magic, I must say. Now, you get your rest. I have a guest to... entertain." With another cocky smile, Ranir leaves Arean alone in the cell with no hope of escape.

~

"When I find him, I'm going to kill him, I swear," Zaira growls. She paces back and forth in her own room, forgetting that the serving girl from before sits in the corner, whimpering in fear. "Quit it," the huntress snaps, snatching the hilt of the falchion to calm herself. Knowing that she has something of Arean's in her possession stills her anger in her heart. "Go find me some real clothes. I'm tired of this dress." The serving girl dashes away, nearly crashing into Ranir in the process. She mutters something akin to an apology before she practically flies off, leaving the mage and the huntress alone.

"What's the matter with the dress, Miss Hale?"

"Save it, mage. Where is Arean? I know he's here. I saw his room." Zaira stops pacing long enough to glare at Ranir. The mages eyes had already been traveling along her body, but now they're sparked with amusement as he gazes back. His hands are clasped behind his back, giving off the appearance of an innocent child.

"He's gone." He smiles at Zaira's flinch, her expression turning to anger and disgust. "He took his money and left. Why he left his armor and weapons, I don't know. He clearly doesn't need them, what with the magic in his blood."

Zaira blinks and shakes her head. "Arean doesn't have magic. He told me himself. He used magic in the fight against the dragon but it belonged to his brother."

A sharp laugh escapes Ranir and Zaira nearly jumps at the sound. "Is that what he told you? He lied to you then. He's full of magic, just as I am." As Zaira starts to shake her head, Ranir holds up a hand to stop her. "We gave each other what we wanted, and now he's left my home. If you leave now, you might catch him. Unless, of course, you're scared of his magic."

"I'm not scared. You're not telling me the truth. Arean would never lie to me about that. He's here, and I'm going to find him."

Zaira repeats that same statement for the next seven days, but by the eighth, her search comes to an end. She cannot find Arean, and she forces herself to accept Ranir's words as truth. She looks as terrible as she feels, but she's finally back into cloth pants and long sleeve shirt. Her bow is still broken, but she has it in her possession along with the rapier. She stands outside Ranir's castle with the mage himself, staring out at the beautiful day. But she's alone. No knight stands beside her. She had known they were to part ways after the adventure, but she thinks maybe the feelings they shared might have kept them close.

"Your money is here, as promised." Ranir hands her a hand-sized sack that feels empty. "It contains the gold, though no bag exists to hold such an amount. It's there." Zaira digs her hand into the bag and pulls out a handful of gold, just as Ranir said. "Congratulations on killing a dragon, Miss Hale. Luck to you on your next adventure." Zaira rolls her eyes and ties the bag onto the saddle before she mounts. She's silent just as she used to be, angry at the world and everyone in it. She gallops away, knowing that she should feel sad about Arean's absence, but no emotion rises in her heart.

She should never have gotten close to him. Or anyone.
 
((I would make this longer but I have to get to work))

Arean buries himself in shame for ever believing a word that Ranir had told him. He knew that the man was bad news ever since they started their involvement together. But the knight, holding up the truths of his order, believing that there is good in everyone and they all need protection, is false. He should have demanded to see Zaria within the first day of them being in this forsaken castle. The walls are high and unseen eyes sweep all over the blackened interior. There is no privacy and no escape. Ranir is a man of magic, his worries hardly on a jail break when he can corrupt time herself into stopping the world's movements. Even if its only for a few seconds, Arean knows, that Ranir would, he could, leave everything in ash.

Its not the confines of a cell that make Arean cold, but rather the fact of Zaria and her whereabouts. She will not know his situation, she will not understand that he was looking for her and wanted to leave with her as soon as she was well. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the stone, his body curled up into a ball. It's the only position that doesn't bring pain spiraling through his veins. Every time he thinks upon Zaria, he can feel a pulse of magic leave his body, unlatching from his core and spreading outwards. When Ranir isn't there to collect it, the magic simply floats around for a while before returning to a jail of its own. The worst part of it all is that Zaria still, after all this time, thinks that Arean does not return her affections. That's what is ripping his insides out, the pain bringing tears to his eyes.

He is weak and bruised with bloodshot eyes when he finally listens to the world around him. A man in an adjacent cell is looking at him, hands gripping the bars. "What are you in here for?" he questions, the bulky build much like Arean's. The knight mumbles something about not knowing when another sound rings from across the hallway, another cell there too. "It's okay," whispers another voice, a thin shade is all Arean can see of its owner, "we can help you. That is, if you let us. Come closer and we'll tell you our story so you can tell us yours." Not knowing exactly why the knight listens, Arean scoots closer, dirty hands gripping the floor to help him move. And so a plan is hatched, a code taught and one kept by every man, woman, and child down there in those cells. An immeasurable amount of time passes, Arean and his fellow inmates not knowing day from night in the damp darkness. What they do know is that they must escape and now that they have one who has been touched by magic, they believe that freedom is possible.

So the next time Ranir comes down, looking for another fix from Arean, he lies in the corner, back facing the mage. When he orders Arean up, the knight does not stir. So Ranir, not to Arean's surprise, takes what he needs anyway. But Arean's thoughts are not of Zaria this time, the magic leaking like a drip from a faucet and nothing more. This upsets the mage and makes him storm off. Meanwhile, Arean utilizes his magic in another way. The armor that had been left behind in his room, save his falchion sword, slowly rattles into life. It cannot be killed for its simply a casing of armor with a sword. But it can do loads of damage, distracting Ranir's eyes from the jail cells for the moment being. The other men, while Arean plays his hoax, fuse together any and all the powder they have left in their shoes, for bandits always have tricks up their sleeves. Soon the jail doors are blasted open. The large giant of a man scoops Arean up so the knight does not lose his focus and they do not lose their distraction out of this place.

"Go, go!" Cries the blonde leader, her footsteps leading the dozen or so men as they prepare for battle with bare fists. At least for now. Arean recognizes her voice but other than the shaking of his body, he cannot gage anything else. They're running, him in the arms of a giant god but that's all he can quickly think about before the metal armored suit draws into battle and his focus is needed. The blank eyed servants charge at him and he, through the armor, slices them down. Without magic, they're useless. The air grows colder around him, his skin littered with goosebumps, the air damper as they travel through the tunnels. Finally they rise upwards, a long staircase guiding them to the surface where the light scatters black dots across their vision. They're in a courtyard, the heart of the castle and now must fight their way out.

Ranir, quickly taking notice of what is happening, makes sure he has the pyramid in one hand and the betwixt in the other as he marches towards the group of huddled bandits. Servants charge at them like zombies, their limbs stiff and battle cries nothing but gurgles in their throats. Ranir must have control of them all, therefore they work as a unit, not as functional individuals. "Kill them all!" Screams Ranir, his eyes alight with that very fire that haunted Zaria's dreams. His hands raise, the artifacts rising above him, and he starts to cast spell after spell. But Arean does not allow that fate to be brought down upon his newfound friends. He calls his armor to him, the shape breaking into sections and gliding through the dark hallways. "Throw me," he whispers to the giant, confusion plastering itself to the taller man's face. "Trust me, throw me."

Arean then feels the arms tense, his stomach rising in his cavity, and then the air's attempt to catch his falling figure. But his armor reaches him before the ground does, encasing him in the protective shell it has always promised. With magic holding him up, Arean throws out his arms, his mind muttering the spell that his cracked lips cannot open to speak. Ranir immediately counters sharp, dagger-like, strips of wind that Arean had conjured, the knight's magic nothing against Ranir and his artifacts. That doesn't mean the knight gives up. They battle, whirling around one another until Arean strikes a proper blow, knocking Ranir to the ground, his head hitting the ground and rendering him unconscious. The knight, covered in sweat, drops to the ground with a clank. It isn't long before he falls, someone or something catching him. But all he can see is darkness, his dream quiet for the first time in a very long while.
 
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As Arean battles his way through the citadel that is Ranir's home, Zaira gallops across an open road. She's already on a new job, knowing that shooting someone will take the edge of pain off of her heart. She cannot dwell on the past, especially not thinking about how Arean had saved her from the dragon or how he'd carried her away from the carnage and tried to heal her wounds.

But she could not forget. She has too many reminder. The black scars lining one side of her body or the falchion resting at her hip always tells her about the fight. How Arean abandoned her for money. How Ranir tried to convince her that her once-partner had magic.

Legs comes to a stop, and Zaira realizes she has jerked on the reins so hard, the horse's mouth threatens to bleed with the bit. "Sorry," she whispers to the animal, loosening her death grip. Legs jerks his head but is otherwise still. She finds she's short of breath and something warm pricks the backs of her eyes. Before any tears can fall, she swipes her hand along her face. Her gloves absorb the beads of sweat collecting on her forehead. It's much too hot for long sleeves, pants, and full gloves, but Zaira cannot look at her hand. Her burns are the most painful reminders of the adventures she shared with Arean.

Or maybe it's the love she tried to show Arean and got nothing in return.

~

Zaira completes five jobs in roughly a month, but she no longer needs the money. She can place any amount of money in Ranir's magic bag and it never fills. She can be comfortable wherever she feels. She could even settle down and live out the rest of her years in peace. But she knows she could never leave the life of action and adventure. Buying a quiet place and doing things she sees as only things for old women to do when they're lonely... Zaira can never envision herself in such a position.

Zaira slows her horse down, letting Legs take deep breaths. She cannot run him too hard in the summer sun lest he overheat and fall beneath her. He has done good by her, proving himself to be a worthy mount. He's put up with her pulling and her hard attitude, just as she used to be. The old Zaira has resurfaced, the one with the snappy voice and cold glare and the hatred toward many other, for she is done trusting.

She lets Legs walk while she fiddles with the saddle horn. They're both tired, but in the thick trees, no one but the birds see their exhaustion. Zaira has been hunting a particularly elusive bandit leader for some time, but each time, the bandit has managed to escape. Zaira hardly hunts bandits, but she's desperate to do a job. Doing something that isn't related to thinking is the only thing she wants to do.

Zaira pulls the horse to a stop, hopping down from his saddle to lessen the weight on his back. The falchion bounces at her side with the motion, swinging past her legs. She's more armed this time around. Her bow has been fixed with a better string and the frame has been curved properly again. She has more arrows on both her back and her thigh, and she now sports a dagger at her belt. The falchion has remained in its scabbard ever since she took it, for she cannot bring herself to stain the sword with blood.

"C'mon now," she says, tugging on the reins. The trees are awfully quiet for the middle of the day, but Zaira pays it no mind. Instead, her eyes are alert as well as her ears. At least in the silence, she can hear the breeze ruffle the leaves or a stray, small animal break a twig under its foot. She can see the faint shadows of lazy clouds passing overhead or the different colors of dirt and stones lining the ground. She gives her surrounds her attention, for she knows she's dead if she's ambushed, because if she was, there was no knight at her side to guard her back as he was the last time.
 
Not knowing where else to go, Arean is offered a place among the bandits. He reluctantly takes it at first, feeling as though he has betrayed the armor he has on. But as the weeks pass, more time separating his heart and Zaria's, he grows comfortable with the men and women around him. Their leader, a woman by the name of Loril, has taken quite a liking to having a skilled, military trained, knight among her ranks. She offers him, in exchange for food and shelter from the elements, a job at training her men how to handle their weapons better. Arean, wrapping himself in another blanket of betrayal to his order, agrees. He has been awfully sick these last two weeks, much like he had been before meeting his brother again. Sweat stains his body, a fever causing his body to shake and pulse strangely. Loril asks him to teach the men anyway, despite his sickness.

Dessan, on the other hand, brings a different approach to the table. With Arean telling her what to do from the safety of the ground, his back against a tree, she moves at his command. He can't deny her beauty, his eyes watching her more often than any of the other men and women. The first few nights he was at camp, it was Dessan who brought him water and food, her kind words unfaltering themselves into conversation by the nights end. But the longer Arean talks to her about his home, life, and reasons for being alive, a small part of him wishes it were Zaria's reflection in his eyes, not this carmel colored woman. Whenever he looks into her eyes, he wants to see Zaria's world locked up inside them, her lips struggling to make out the proper words. He dreams about her in his sleep and as the weeks press on, he finds himself daydreaming about her. Soon he is on his feet with Dessan's help, Loril's close eye watching the two.

"They say that a contract has been made for Loril's head," Dessan whispers, Arean's ear close to her lips as they feed the fire more wood. Arean has long shed his armor, storing it away in his gear. Instead, he has borrowed some leather from the bandit's cache that will allow him to move faster in the case of an attack. A scouting party had just been sent out, the evening dusk falling upon them as they make camp in a small clearing of trees. The ground is hard and scattered with branches, roots, and decaying leaves. As they build the fire, Dessan continues. "I'm not exactly sure what the men were talking about in town but the only thing I know is that our lookouts should be tenfold until this murderer mercenary is caught and killed." While she talks, Arean snaps his fingers and lights the kindling, staring at the flames until they spread over to the larger bark pieces.

"It's just a good thing that we know someone is after us. Search parties have been sent out and this mercenary," the word sticks in his throat, causing him to cough the irritation away, "will be found. You have magic on your side now, Dessan. Don't worry, I will do everything in my power to…" he stops there, his words too familiar to similar ones used on Zaria's gaze. His body shakes again, head turning away from her. "One of the search parties might get lucky. "This mercenary," his or her sex unknown, "will be brought back here. Loril will be able to rule over you all."
 
Zaira walks and rides until the sun descends. Deciding to slow her walk for the time being, she slides from the saddle and tugs on the reins. However, something causes Legs to stop and nicker. No matter how Zaira pulls, the horse refuses to budge. In her efforts to remove him from his current spot, Zaira misses the sudden change in quiet and turns to find several dark clad figures shifting around her. The bow is pulled from her shoulders in the blink of an eye and an arrow is pointed at the first one before the others can move. She counts five in her vision and at least three more behind her, she figures. Automatically, if it comes to a fight, she's outnumbered. Still, she takes a defensive stance, bow and arrow unwavering. "Can I help you with something?" she asks, though her tone leaves no room for playing around.

"Mebbe. We jus' wanna know wha' someone's doin' aaaaall the way ou' 'ere a' this time-a nigh'," the one directly in front of her said. Through his words, Zaira could hear the others shift toward her, ready to strike if need be.

"I don't see that as your business. This forest doesn't belong to you, or the road."

"Well, y'see tha's prolly untrue. We sorta do own this place, whether anyone likes it or not. So, lemme ask ya 'gain. Wha are ya doin' ou' 'ere?"

"...I'm looking for someone." It seemed vague enough for them, but after a moment of mulling her words over, the main man shook his head and stepped toward her. "Come near me and I will kill you." They all laughed, and Zaira notices there are some women chiming in with the men. It's clear that they're bandits now, but Zaira refuses to back down.

"Mebbe yar the one we's supposed t'be lookin' for then." Zaira blinks in confusion and then the mistake is made, for she took her eyes away from her enemies for just a split second. They pounce on her, causing Legs to rear and dance away in fear. It takes them only a few seconds to pull Zaira's bow and arrows from her and pin her arms behind her back. They bind her wrists with a rough, fraying rope and pull her to her feet. One man tries to remove the falchion from her hip and she lashes out at him.

"Don't touch that!" she snaps, causing everyone to flinch. "I clearly can't use it, so leave it." The bandits grant her this one wish, so she goes quietly as she can. Legs trails behind her as he's pulled by one of the female bandits. Their camp is deep into the trees, though whatever path they take is difficult to see in the dark. Zaira at least commends them for having a well defended area they can call home, something she hasn't had in some time.

When she arrives, she finds the camp more fortified than she believed previously. Wooden planks connect lookout posts high in the branches while the camp is surrounded by thorned spikes of wood, preventing horses that would trample the inside. The tents are sturdy with wooden holdings and tough ropes, but the biggest one is more like a functional home than a tent. She smells smoke coming from a newly made fire, but instead of surveying the bandits' home, Zaira is suddenly swarmed. Everyone is wondering who she is and why she was brought here.

The scouting party bandits makes the others back off, but one still makes the mistake of trying to take the falchion from her belt. Zaira slams her heel into the man's foot. When his head bends in pain, her own foot flings up, clipping the man in the jaw and launching him back into a group of bandits. "I said don't touch it! Anyone else who tries to take this gods-damned sword from me is going to die!" she snaps. Her muscles are coiled and tense under her skin, preparing to move if anyone dares to near her again. She notices one bandit dash to get their leader, but instead of paying attention, Zaira does her best to make out the features of each bandit staring at her.
 
Dessan's head looks up and over towards the gated drawbridge to their right. Darkness has fallen upon them and the figures, not covered in yellow torchlight, are slow to cross the bridge and into camp. Their "moat" if you could even call it that, is simply a ditch along the outside of their wooden fortress. There is nothing glorious about this place, a simple rustic lifestyle proving itself to every bandit here. The clatter of hooves and feet on wood makes her stand up slightly, peering over the flames to try and catch a better look. Arean remains seated, his legs crossed. "What do you see?" He asks, knowing his strength cannot lift him up on his own two feet yet. His legs are asleep and he readies himself for the army of tingles soon to come now that he has shifted his body.

"I think they found someone either getting too close to camp or…" she scoffs, knowing that catching this mercenary would have been harder. Zaria's voice travels across the camp in a low muffled cry when the bandit tries to take her sword. Arean moves his gaze in her direction, only seeing the shadow of a horse and a crowd of men and women gathering in front of their honored guest. Before Arean can question another word, Dessan is greeted by another pair of feminine footsteps, their leader, Loril, falling in step with her most trusted ally.

Arean barely notices them leave, the faint murmur of shouted words across the camp leaving him with a curious memory. His body and mind feels as though he should know this voice and recognize it above all others. His eyes close as more shouting continues across the way. There is something so familiar… His brain decides, but what is it? Heaving a sigh, he fiddles with the red mask pulled down around his neck, covering the leather collar. It's a simple ripped piece of cloth folded into a triangle, serving only to cover his lower face if he should need to. His hair is shorter than it had been when he had been traveling with Zaria, tied back into the smallest of ponytails. His face, however, has not changed. Age has touched him, brushing against the darkness below his eyes and the fatigue in his eyes. But other than that, he is still Arean. True and strong.

While Arean ponders the validity of his mind recognizing the faint voice, the two leaders make their way quickly to where Zaria is. "Well, well, well, mercenary," Loril chirps immediately, her dark brown eyes fierce and unforgiving. She will not take the matter of a bounty on her head lightly. The crowd around her simmers down into a faint hush, all eyes moving from Zaria to Loril. "Here you are in my walls, under my jurisdiction. But you've only come to find someone. Who are you in search of?" Word travels quickly, the messenger telling her all that Zaria has done and spoken since their contact. "You see, you can either play my game and possibly walk out of here with your life or I can just end you. It's very simple since there is only one of you and," he waves her hand around slowly, palm facing the sky, "how many of us? Too many, that's it. Now I'll ask you again," she steps forward, hand resting on the familiar hilt of a sword, "what is your business in this forest?"
 
When the camp quiets instead of trying to grab at the falchion, Zaira glances forward with them. Not one, but two female bandits stand at the front of the pack. She can immediately sense the air of authority that floats around each woman. Zaira draws herself up straight, though her legs remain braced in preparation to kick whoever gets too close to her again. At the first question, Zaira bites her tongue, but the first female is quick to follow up her words with clear threats. Zaira narrows her eyes at the woman, but she takes a moment to answer. It doesn't seem to make her very happy, but Zaira isn't here to make anyone happy.

"As you already know, I'm searching for someone," she says, doing her best to keep her voice strong. The last time she showed any weakness, she lost Arean. She'll not be making that mistake again. "A knight." Wait, no, she thinks, but the words already come out. "...Two people. A knight, but... He's not here. He's not coming back." To me, she wants to finish, and she bites the inside of her cheek until it bleeds to stop herself from continuing.

"The second person is one of you two." Zaira jerks her head at Dessan and Loril. "One of you is Loril, I can only assume. You've got a rather large bounty on your head for a number of things." She shrugs one shoulder as well as she can with bound hands. "I despise hunting bandits, particularly ones with people behind them, such as yourself. Dragons I will do, bandits I will not." She lost some of her hefty stance as she sighs. "Release me and I'll leave you and your group alone as long as I can pass through here. I'll drop the job and no one will hear of your location from me. I can't say someone else won't try to come after you, but it won't be me."

As Zaira attempts to negotiate her way out of the ropes, the leader of the scout party takes her bow and jumps to squat beside Arean. "'Ey," he says, running his finger along the frame. "Look at th' real nice bow we got from th' hunter lady." He stretches his arm to show off the bow. The silver paint gleams in the fire while the grip has an added golden flourish. The dings and cuts in the wood have been hidden by the paint, but no matter which way anyone looks at it, it's clearly Zaira's bow. "Ya know how t'shoot? Mebbe with this, we'll get another edge on ev'ryone else."
 
"Dragons?" One of the bald men standing around the circle chuckles. "I seriously doubt that you, out of all the mercenaries in this world, dealt with a dragon all by your lonesome." A trail of laughter follows through the crowed, men and women enjoying what humor the huntress has. The bald man with a ring around his lower lip, is the last one laughing. "I'm going to give you a metal, dear lady, if…" but his words are cut short by a sharp snap of Dessan's fingers, catching his words before he can speak them.

"Let's not speak so ill of our honored guest, Rorban." She clicks her tongue, glancing over at Loril who seems to still be studying Zaria and deciphering her words. Is there a trick of ploy suggested that the leader isn't catching on to? She can never be sure, fingers tapping the hilt of her sword as she takes three steps closer to the huntress. Watching calmly as her bow is taken away to their new battle master, Loril can't help but smile. "If you despise hunting bandits so much, why did you agree to a contract. A head in return for a mountain of gold coins can solve every problem, can't it?" Looking up at her men, she hardly considers Zaria's offer as truth. "Do you really think that you could convince me with just your word? Why should I place my trust and the lives of my men in the hands of a woman who is so foolish! What can you possibly do or say to make me believe that you won't utter a word? All bandits care about are their loot just like all mercenaries only care about the amount of gold coins in their pockets."

Arean, right where Dessan left him, tries to strain his ears and hear more of the conversation. There is something about searching for someone, a knight and Loril. He pulls up his mask, its weight reminding him that he is alive and breathing. When he starts to drift off again, the siphon of his power by Ranir setting unforeseen drawbacks into his future, the leader of the scout party kneels next to him. The man speaks, Arean's head rolling in his direction, eyes still half shut with fatigue. His fever still hasn't lifted, his upper lip and temples covered in sweat. Drunk eyes look before him at the bow, his mind immediately mulling over the evidence in front of him.

He was fine a few minutes ago, when Dessan's company stuck around. But once she left, his mind turned back to thoughts of Zaria's broken heart, his own hardly daring to thump inside his own chest. After all he promised her, the knight could not keep his promise. But he looks past the haze in his own eyes, the buzzing ringing in his ears, so that he may fit the puzzle pieces of his mind together. This is Zaria's bow. He knows it. He can feel it. A slow smile shines across his face and it grows with each thought of their reunion. He nods to the scout not once but he keeps nodding until words can formulate. "I can teach you basically how to shoot," he whispers, attempting to focus on the blurry face before him, "but I need you to bring me to this huntress. Now." His body is hoisted from the ground and, with great limp in his step, he is walked through the crowed, bow in hand and mask covering his face.
 
Said huntress is scrambling for ideas. She should have known the two bandit women wouldn't go for her attempt at an escape plea. After nearly biting the man responsible for cracking a response about the dragons, Zaira has struggled to talk her way out of being killed held eternally by the bandits. Either road means death, and everyone seems to know it. She narrows her eyes at Loril's comment at foolishness. Zaira is desperate, but she's no fool. She understands the very real consequences if she doesn't handle the situation properly. Her head is down as she rakes her brain for answers, and she doesn't see the crowd shift aside to allow the limping knight through.

As she looks up, her mouth is open to answer Loril again, but she stops as she sees what appears to be a crippled man. A leather strip hides his lower face, and his dirtied blonde hair is tied back into a stump of a ponytail, unlike her long, unkempt hair. There's something so strangely familiar about his stance and the way he carries himself. Then she notices her bow in his curled fingers, the same way he might hold a sword. She glances down at the falchion then back to the unknown bandit. He's the only one so far who's been utterly silent for reasons unknown to her.

She finally takes the time to look into the hidden face of this quiet man. He's tired, just as she is. Dark circles ring his eyes, eyes that are too much like something she knows. They still have the same amber glow she used to stare into. Those are the eyes that held concern when she nearly died or watched over while she slept. Her own dark orbs widen and her foot slides forward as if she wants to near him. "Arean? It...." She trails off, losing her voice for a moment. It cannot possibly be Arean. He had left her in Ranir's castle with his money, only to join up with bandits? It didn't make any sense.

Zaira realizes she's backed away from this ghost of Arean when her foot kicks a pebble away. "Why," she whispers, "why did you leave me with... with him?" She can't hide the fury in her voice, but some part of her doesn't want to. "I spent so long looking for you, and you abandoned me for this! Tell me why and at least when your bandit friends kill me, I'll know the truth." Her hands tremble, not in anger, but fear. Fear that she will once again lose the partner that she never wanted, even though she grew to love him. Fresh pain springs in her eyes, the pain that she fights to keep down, the pain she tried for over a month to keep locked away so she wouldn't dwell on Arean. Now, those thoughts are all laid out and she wants to run to and away from him at the same time. The man she loved left her, or so she believes.
 
Another chorus of muttered whispers arises from the bandits around Zaria once she starts to scream at their new weapons master. The one with the apex of confusion in her gaze is Dessan. Looking from Arean, her newfound friend, and the woman who threatens to kill her leader, Dessan is slow to speak. "Arean." She practically shouts over Zaria's quibbling, not in a question but an addressing, authoritative, tone. Dessan could care less about the captured one, referred to as their honored guest. What she really wants to know is if the words spewing from her mouth are true. She is hurt and doesn't understand why. Perhaps her friendly attachment to Arean proved to be more violent towards throws of love than anything else. Now this captured one, the woman who threatens to kill Loril, knows him. Has been looking for him ever since he left her. But when she opens her mouth to speak, Arean's voice has beaten her.

"Loril, Dessan, and trusted friends," he addresses all of them, an arm still around the shoulders of the scout leader. It's obvious that he cannot yet stand on his own, his muscles giving him enough strength to stand up, yes, but not carry his entire weight. Ranir was draining his strength and magic from his body, making his body keep its from not unable to hold its endurance. Immediately upon seeing his friend, the giant man who carried him all the way out of Ranir's castle, moves forward. His name, Arean learned on the trek to their camp, is Hijkar. Taking Arean's weight from the scout leader, the man with his choppy words fades into the masses once more. It's Hijkar who had heard Arean's stories about Zaria, his love as desperate as a flower in a drought. And when the giant sees the woman tied up, he recognizes her from Arean's careful description.

Arean looks downwards before rubbing his chin up against his shoulder. Slowly the mask is tugged down, his arms too busy wrapping around Hijkar's shoulder and waist to be of any use. "Whatever words this huntress has said, she speaks the truth. If she swears upon her life that she will not harm Loril, then on her honor, she will keep to her word." There is a long pause where Arean's sweat streaked face twists in discomfort, the pull of Ranir's magic strong even when they're half way across the world. He is still trying to siphon every last drop but Arean, now that he has found Zaria, won't let him.

"Why?" Questions Loril, "why should we trust you? What have you done for us?"

"You should trust me because..." Arean starts, looking to Hijkar and nodding his head in Zaria's direction. Slowly, he is placed down beside her with just enough balance left in him to stand up straight on his knees. "Because I have never met such an amazing woman in my entire life. She has a sharp tongue and a quick wit to fuel it with, its true. But underneath all of her hardened exterior, lies a woman who understands the world and the people in it. She will spare those who deserve it. If she makes a promise, she never turns her back. I know she has killed a dragon because I helped her. I was, until captured by Ranir, her partner."

But once his eyes meet hers at eye level, he forgets about the bandits, the interrogation, and the fact that she is even a prisoner. He is gentle with his words now, a soft whisper from his lips. A part of its the fatigue of his weakness, and the other is that he needs her to understand his truth. "I never left you willingly, Zaria. It was all Ranir's plot to separate us because he knows that…" my magic is fueled by my love for you. Arean's words stop, his gaze breaking as he looks towards the ground. He plays it off as pain, a groan played from his lips.
 
Everyone is taken aback by Arean's description of the angry huntress, including Zaira. Arean has never spoken about her that way in front of her, or behind her, as far as she knows. Yet, he chooses now to announce what he sees in her, if only to prove a point. Zaira blinks, dark eyes glistening with pain. Anger no longer writes itself into the lines of her face and her lips have turned from a scowl into an expression of neutrality. She wants to understand his words, but she doesn't know how he can know any of that about her when she does her best to show no softness, no weakness.

When he has to kneel just to be in front of her, all she can do is look down at him. She almost shakes her head, but Arean has never lied to her about anything. On top of that, he seems too weak to have left her on his own. How he had gotten from Ranir's castle to the bandit camp, she doesn't know. It seems as though Arean would have told her if his gaze didn't fall away and a sound of pain didn't spring from his lips. "Arean?" she questions, but she hardly constitutes his broken speech as an answer. As best as she can, Zaira mirrors his position on the ground.

"I am sorry for yelling. I just... Ranir told me you had left before I had even woken up. Your armor and swords were still there. Well... Except your falchion." She glances down, now noticing the falchion's scabbard has pressed itself into the dirt beside her. "I took it, hoping you would try to search. But I never saw you. I don't know why he separated us, but I hope you can tell me why." Even as she sits in front of all the bandits, Zaira dips her head and pushes Arean's chin up with her brow so he can look up. She pulls herself upright again, looking straight at Dessan and Loril.

"My priority is now him, not either of you. Whatever you may have done, whatever bounty you've collected on your heads... It's not worth it to me anymore. I need to take care of Arean." Just as I always have... and always will. For the first time since her escape from Ranir's, a feather of hope tickles her heart. Somehow, she has found Arean, the one person who has even remotely mattered in her life. But even as he's in front of her, he's toeing the line of death, something she cannot protect him from.
 
Loril looks unconvinced, her brows gently swooping downwards when Arean bites his tongue and bends over in pain. The knight has done nothing wrong, as far as she is concerned. He helped a portion of her men out of those cells and returned them safely home to her. Isn't that enough to gain her trust. Peeking a glance over in Dessan's direction, she doesn't have to ask why her friend's eyes are now to the ground. A hand gently moves towards her, placing a firm grip on a padded shoulder. "Be strong, my girl. I am certain that your care for the knight is long from over. I am sure that you will be called upon should anything be needed." But even those words aren't enough to bring a smile to Dessan's face.

But before Arean can speak again, Hijkar stands up and faces the two leaders. Their eyes temporarily move away from the battered body on the ground to look at this thick muscled man. Loril dips her head, waiting for him to speak. "I do not know her," he starts, jumping right into his words like he always does, "but I have gotten to know Arean as the moons have come and gone. Ever since he assisted us in breaking out of the black cage we were all confined to with amazing feats that no man can possess without a price. Arean has risked his life to save us, to save me, and the whole time, Zaria's name had been whispered from his lips. She is the fire that he is drawn to. The warmth and comfort he needs to recover. Let him stay. Let her help him." There is a pause and an unconvinced look coming from Loril. "I shall stay as their guard if that will make you both feel secure. But I assure you they will keep to their word."

Slowly, the bandit leader uncrosses her arms and motions for a few people in the group to untie Zaria. "I shall comply but only because I trust you, Hijkar. You will not let them out of your sight. Never for a moment." The man nods at her words. "So with that being said, take Arean back to his tent for he needs to rest." She looks at the body that has slumped down to the floor again, the joy of seeing Zaria and speaking to her weighting heavily on his wounds. His love for her makes him stronger but it hurts for the meantime until the sickness is gone from his body. Hijkar picks him up with one arm, cradling the battle master against his chest. "Come, Zaria Hale. I will teach you our medicine so you may look after the man who has spoken nothing but you to me ever since we escaped the castle."
 
Zaira has since knelt again, doing her best to speak softly to Arean, who at that point was fading into darkness. She catches the last of Hijkar's words, but it would have served her well had she noticed the first part of his speech. As the large man is responded to, two women behind Zaira remove her bindings. The huntress rubs her wrists and almost immediately wants to ground herself again, even if it's simply to pull Arean up to her and hold him, just as he did with her in the dragon's cave. Even though her feelings are at the forefront of her mind, a place they haven't been for a while, she doesn't miss Loril's words. The bandit leaders might have trusted Arean for reasons unknown, but Zaira remains on their list of people to be wary of.

"Take care of my horse," she says to the man holding Legs. She swipes her bow from the ground from where Arean dropped it after he fell in pain before she continues, "And if you touch anything in those bags, I will know." It seems her ability to be intimidating isn't diminished even when she worries. The bandit nods, and, satisfied with the answer for the time being, Zaira follows Hijkar, though it's easy to do so with how large he is. Zaira's never seen someone so big, and if she has, he's never been gentle. Not only has this man shown her benevolence, he carries Arean as if he would a wounded kitten. For the time being, she will trust him. When he speaks, she nearly stops in shock. Arean talked about me? I don't... "Understand," she finishes aloud before she shakes her head. Taking a few long strides, she catches up to Hijkar. "I don't understand," she repeats. "I don't know anything about what happened in the castle. That... stupid, fat mage," there are other words that almost spill from her lips, "told me that Arean had left before I had even woken up. If Arean told you about the dragon, then he might have mentioned that I nearly died in the fight."

A shiver runs down her side and she can feel the cold claws of Vanexsum's massive paws squeezing into her. It's something that she'll never forget. It's something she dreamed of before, but never again does she want to feel such a deadly, icy embrace. Before Zaira can say more, Hijkar reaches Arean's tent. It's a simple canvas covering over sturdy sticks with stones to hold it all down. The inside isn't entirely bare, but Zaira knows as well as anyone that it's designed to be packed for a quick getaway if need be. The bed appears to be more of a movable cot rather than a bed she might find in a tavern, but it suits their needs. "He has been like this once before," she says. "I had to take him far away from here in order for him to be healed. If I must, I will travel back there." The ride would be unbearable, but she had done it once. If it meant Arean's life, she would do it again.

"You know my name. Yours is Hijkar, if I recall. I need you to tell me what happened at Ranir's castle. I spent an entire week scouring the entire place, but I never saw a trace of anyone else. It's been a whole month since I left that place... I didn't think I would ever see Arean again."
 
Hijkar looks up and shakes his head gently when she requests for him to tell her everything that happened. "Arean told me that I cannot tell you. He requested it, rather, as a favor. He does not want to hide what occurred in that castle from you, Zaria, but rather wishes for you to hear it from him. What I can tell you, however," a small smile lights up his boney face, "is that during his time captive, Arean thought or spoke nothing else but finding you and making sure that you knew the truth. His words, Zaria, are as valuable as gold itself. I would not recommend you lashing out at him now that you know his state of being." He motions towards the cot where Arean is sleeping. "But you will find out, I assure you." With those words, the giant shows her a few vials, telling her how much to give him and when he needs one over the other.

The light from the candle was dim when Arean opened his eyes again. Above him lay a green canvas, the patchwork enough to make a pattern across certain spots. "Zaria…?" he whispered, hearing her labored breathing he had gotten to know from their travels together. Now that there were no eyes on them, Hijkar stepping outside of the tent to give the two of them their privacy. When she answers, Arean's head rolls toward her, a slow smile playing on his lips. "You're here? You came all this way looking for me…" Arean takes a moment's breath, sweat lining every inch of his body. The candle by his side lights up his face in a dim yellow glow, revealing his eyes once they search to find hers and keep her gaze locked.

"I never left you," he repeats, forgetting he had said it in the first place, "and I need you to understand me when I say that. You know that I will never lie to you. But you really don't know anything at all." Arean shifts his body in the bed, both his legs and butt asleep and starting to tingle. "Ranir used his magic to lure me into the dungeons and from there I tried to fight my way out but… you see how much damage he had done. It's not physical but… magical. I…" have magic. "have been practicing my brothers link with my own and I'm afraid to tell you the consequences. I tried to use his power to rid me of that cell, to bring me up to the surface, and to bring me to a safe place where Ranir would never find me. But during all that, I wanted you to be with me. At my side. Always."

He feels rotten, like a fruit that has been sitting out in the sun. "I should have told you months ago, Zaria. But I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to be the one to blame. To fear. To hate. I need to tell you something…" reaching over, he slips his fingers through hers as it rests on the bed next to him. "Please just try and understand me. Try and wrap your head around that I… I…" love you and that's why I never revealed I have magic. "I don't know where to begin. What to say. How to act…. will you be patient with me, Zaria?"
 
Zaira nods at the vials as she sees them, but her mind is on his words. This is now the second time she's heard things about Arean in regards to herself. And yet, she's never heard those words to her face. She ponders this as she perches on a short stool next to Arean's cot. One gloved hand rests on the thin mattress, a finger tapping almost in impatience. She wants him to wake so she can hear his escape story. However, she cannot rush his recovery, and so she waits. It seems like too long of a time and when Arean wakes, Zaira's eyes are closed as she tries to rest. However, her mind has other plans, instead filling her head with unnecessary images of the dragon fight and her subsequent, and very painful, injuries. Her side itches but she refuses to scratch. She has to fight the memories or the pain will never fade.

As Arean speaks her name, her eyes blink open, settling upon his weakened, bed-ridden frame. The situation is reminiscent of when Arean first fell ill, but she cannot take him to Cerin this time. No, this time, he has to heal on his own, but she doesn't know if he will. She knows Arean's strength and how much he was reduced to for the first sickness, how it drained his entire system and left him as nothing more than a mumbling husk of a man. He is still sick, but he doesn't speak until he says her name.

Before she can answer, he's already smiling and claiming she came this way for him, not a job. In the moment, she doesn't have the heart to correct him, so she simply nods. He begins to explain himself and she sits in silence. It seems to take much out of him to speak, so she doesn't dare interrupt him. Her eyes narrow when he tells her she knows nothing, but she knows one thing: he only refers to the fateful day when he was taken away. She looks away, refusing the urge to wipe her eyes, for if she does, she will shed tears. The last thing she wants to do is show weakness in front of an already weakened man. Her head turns back as his fingers cover hers, and her own index finer stops twitching. She takes a slow moment to answer his question, but when she does, it comes in the form of an action, not words.

She removes her hand from his and stands, pulling her gloves from her fingers. She deliberately doesn't look at her own left hand, choosing to roll up her long sleeves. As she does, the black slashes show themselves on the right side of her arm, and it goes unspoken that more exist under her shirt. Instead of dwelling on her scars, she pulls the flattened pillow from under Arean's head and replaces it with her own crossed legs. She lets his head rest on her calves as she sits, her long, brown ponytail swaying over her shoulder as she looks down at him. With careful fingers, Zaira swipes Arean's hair away from his forehead. She tugs each tangle out with gentle pulls, never hurting him. "I will," she says, "but you must hear me out first." Her eyes dart from his hair to his own amber orbs, the ones darkened by sickness and exhaustion.

"I didn't come this way for you. I was on a job, hunting down your leader, or... one of them, I suppose. That's not to say that I didn't look for you, because I did. Every day in Ranir's castle, I searched for you, but he constantly told me you'd left me. Taken the money and ran, as it were. After a week, I still couldn't find you, and I left. I wanted to track you and make you pay for leaving. I was angry, Arean. I thought that everything we'd done was for nothing." As she speaks, her hands absently stroke his hair and her thumbs rub at knots coiling in his shoulder muscles. "I'm not angry now... Well I was, but in this moment, I'm not. When I saw you all done up like a bandit, for a moment, I thought you really had run from me."

Even as her hands move, she locks her gaze back on his, her dark brown eyes searching his face. "I'm sorry for being angry with you outside there. I didn't know what to think. I tried not to believe that you'd left me so willingly for the money, so when I left Ranir's castle, I picked up jobs anywhere I could. Anything to... to stop me from thinking. If I thought, I would remember all the pain that came with knowing that you were gone. That's what came over me out there." Her eyes close and her ponytail shifts as her head tilts away. "I'm sorry, Arean."
 
"You have every reason to be angry with me, Zaria. If I had any… idea that this would happen to you, I would have never let Ranir willingly take you away from me." He closes his eyes, remembering the fear he had held, and still holds, for her life much like she does him. That mage's face, one of his own kind, flashes before him, a cruel smile played upon his lips as the doors to his cell slammed shut. He can still remember the way the iron coupled together, the spark of magic igniting to warn him from escape. If only he had known Ranir's intentions. Arean could have taken Zaria to his brother instead of Ranir's castle. But they could never hide from the mage. What that man wants, he gets.

So Arean swallows, shutting his eyes again to calm his shaking nerves. While keeping his eyes shut, Arean knows that he is safe. Nothing can hurt him but he still has the power to ruin Zaria's life. She loves him, this much he knows. Her words are enough to make his stomach feel sour in the cavity of his chest. It coils around itself and ties into a knot, leaving his mouth open but no words coming forth. She speaks of being angry, her voice traveling easily to his ears, the lump growing worse in his throat. He wants to tell her the truth, the entire truth. But how can he when she is so happy to see him? The truth in her words rattles him. His own mind is angry at his dishonesty. She should be told the truth and if she truly loves him, she won't run.

"You should not be sorry," he breathes, not a single worry for her actions crossing his mind, "Zaria. I should be." He breathes horsely, trying to catch himself from saying the wrong words too fast. If that was anger she unleashed out in front of those bandits, he wonders what her fury will feel like. She will leave, turn around, and never come back. "You're going to be angry…" he warns, eyes opening gently so that he can look up her neck to the bottom of her chin before she looks down at him. Don't ruin her happiness. She has gone through enough already. Just keep it from her. The easy path whispers in his head, Arean not daring to look into Zaria's eyes. "When you find out what I have really become."

He bites the inside of his lower lip, not knowing how to gently put something as big as his magical abilities out in the open. Breathing a big breath, his chest rises and falls. "Ranir locked me up, using you to lure me into his dungeons. I looked for you too, Zaria. How could I not?" Tell her you love her. A quick flash of thought runs through his head, immediately followed by the thunder of reason. Do not do that. The poor girl won't know what to do with herself. So Arean makes a decision, clutching to the very hope that Zaria loves him enough to understand. "I know you will be mad," he repeats, trying to set up his words as gently as he can, "but Ranir used the cube we brought to him, a magical artifact, to siphon the magic from my body and use it for his own gain. His own purposes. His own destruction."

Forcing his eyes open, Arean dreads her reaction.
 
"Save it, mage. Where is Arean? I know he's here. I saw his room." Zaira stops pacing long enough to glare at Ranir. The mages eyes had already been traveling along her body, but now they're sparked with amusement as he gazes back. His hands are clasped behind his back, giving off the appearance of an innocent child.

"He's gone." He smiles at Zaira's flinch, her expression turning to anger and disgust. "He took his money and left. Why he left his armor and weapons, I don't know. He clearly doesn't need them, what with the magic in his blood."

Zaira blinks and shakes her head. "Arean doesn't have magic. He told me himself. He used magic in the fight against the dragon but it belonged to his brother."

A sharp laugh escapes Ranir and Zaira nearly jumps at the sound. "Is that what he told you? He lied to you then. He's full of magic, just as I am." As Zaira starts to shake her head, Ranir holds up a hand to stop her. "We gave each other what we wanted, and now he's left my home. If you leave now, you might catch him. Unless, of course, you're scared of his magic."

"I'm not scared. You're not telling me the truth. Arean would never lie to me about that. He's here, and I'm going to find him."

The memory is enough to shock her and she flinches. Arean's words line up with Ranir's, but Zaira refuses to believe that the mage knows Arean better than she does. Her hands move from their caresses of Arean's neck before she rubs her own face. "You know I'm going to kill that man, don't you?" she asks, brown eyes opening to barely-veiled fury. "For everything he did to me and now to you." She drops her hands down to her knees and glances to Arean's face. He's tired, but somehow, his features are still handsome even when lined with exhaustion. She takes a moment to study him in silence before her fingers go back to running along his cheeks and jaw.

"Arean, I can't... I don't think I can be mad. I don't know," she adds, rolling the words on her tongue. "Ranir... He said you had magic and I didn't believe him. I told him you would never lie to me about that. But I remember feeling something under me when the dragon dropped me. You saved me from falling too hard with magic, didn't you?" She pauses, realizing one of her thumbs has trailed along Arean's chin and brushed his lip. He doesn't seem to mind her ministrations too much, but rather than focusing on where her hands want to go, Zaira continues speaking.

"If... If Ranir pulled the magic out of your body, then... then it's yours, isn't it. I don't know how magic works but if you were channeling Cerin's magic, then something might have gone wrong. Worse than you already are." Zaira closes her eyes and turns her head away, biting the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood. "I have been a fool, haven't I? I should have known something was off when you asked me how I felt about it. I called it... a necessary evil." She finds the strength to look him in the eye, but her gaze reflects pain and some sorrow, if only for herself. "You saved my life with that, Arean. Part of me wants to be... furious. But I'm tired. Being upset before took a lot out of me. All I can say is that I'm... angrily grateful." Despite everything, her lips curve into the slightest of smiles. "I should be thanking you, really. You did something for me that no one else would have, even if you did so with means I don't approve of." Her hands swipe a few stray, sweaty locks of hair from his forehead. Her head bends and her mouth touches his brow in a gentle kiss.

"Enough talk. You need to rest now. I'll be here when you wake," she promises. "We can talk more about this when you can actually stand." She halts her speech long enough to untie something from her belt. "I took your sword when I thought you were gone. I never used it, but it still belongs to you." She rests the falchion against the cot carefully. "I hoped one day I might find you and give it back to you. It's yours again now."
 
When her lips touch his forehead, Arean can't help the breath of relief that comes spilling out of his lungs. He listens to her all the way through, not missing a word despite the low pitched buzzing in his ears. When she finishes, before telling him to rest, all he can think about is telling her how much he loves her. How he would never abandon her for anything in the world, not even if he were king of the realms. She is all he needs right now. She is all he will ever need. "Yes… it's my magic. But… but…" Arean's eyes close again, the soothing shapes she traces along his face, or at least did, don't help him come back into focus. They only make the words of love creep closer and closer to his lips. "Do not beat yourself… up. I should… have told you but… I could not. Not when you fear… it."

"Even I don't… understand it, Zaria. It came out of… nowhere. Spontaneously erupting… like an elm tree up… in flames." Arean breathes, his heart rate slow and steady for now, "I didn't want to lie to you. It… it hurt me to do that to you." He looks down at the purple wrappings around the hilt of his falchion blade and Arean can't help but smile stupidly. His eyes flutter close then open, his entire face almost drooping from exhaustion. "Trust is what kept you… by my side, Zaria. Without it… we would… have both died in… the dragon's lair. We would have never made it that far… without it." His eyes turn down to focus on the new weight that has been added to his cot, the shimmer of steel he has known too well catching his dull eyes.

This blade yields for Arean Ibanell, one of the few to survive the fires
- The Surelloanak

That is the inscription on his sword, the very one Zaria has placed next to him on the bed. She tells him that he should get some rest and that they will talk when he is better but Arean needs to talk now. The weight in his chest needs to be lifted. Both of their pain requires an antidote. She might just think him high off the drugs he is taking, the scent of burning oil from the lamp beside his bed table messing with his head but at least Arean will have said it. So he doesn't let her leave, a hand resting on the hands that returned his sword to him. After licking his lips and swallowing so that his speech would not be gritty, Arean speaks.

"I told you... told you about the fires. But not… who the Surelloanak… is. Was. My Queen. She was my queen. I said… a man to you when… we first met to save her identity. But I served her… well. And this is what she gave me in… in the Heartlands. But the fires she mentions are not… the ones who destroyed my home. They are the trials that every… knight must face. Every person must face. When they come face to… face with what they fear the most. And they win." A slow smile comes across his lips, a glint that is hardly distinguishable from him speaking. "And when you are ready… Zaria. This sword will be yours. When you… face your worst fears… and conquer them like I know you will."
 
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