Lixander had not expected Salea to speak her mind. The girl, although brave in ways that mystified grown men, was not one to voice her thoughts and issues, especially when it came to matters which she found trivial. It had been breathed into her by Jaledar, he knew, and a part of him could not help but blame the man for not allowing her to part her lips whenever she felt the need to. For having forced her to remain shut and suffer in silence.
Although, an answer did come to his question, one that he would not have otherwise thought sufficient. He understood, for he had endured failure before and knew the struggle of it far too well. He had feared it in his youth, had feared failing his father that had already lost his pride in his three sons. And with his death had come times in which he even doubted his own integrity and ambition, or at least what had been left of those. He doubted himself, and his nights were not serene, but plagued by such thoughts that he then found returning to his mind like a cloud of rain.
A smile curled on his lips; it was not one of amusement, but of sympathy for the girl. Despite not having said much, he had guessed correctly that it had been his father whom she had dreamt of. Without thinking, he let himself fall back, allowing for the girl to regain her composure in a slight privacy, as much as could be given in a place as small as a medical tent. He knew himself, and how he had enjoyed solitude after having had his mind plagued by dreams of his broken family.
It was not required for him to speak for the silence to be broken. Soon enough, the flaps of the tent opened, allowing in a gust of wind and the dim light of the morning sun. Only moments after, a pair of figures entered the room, one after the other, and it did not take much thinking for the both of them to realise who they were, in spite of the blinding light that made it difficult for their morning eyes to discern features.
It was then that Lixander, after a salute from the slight bow of his head, secluded himself once again from his surroundings and returned his mind to analysing the pain in his back and that which lay ahead lf him that day. With Rondulin’s reminder that they ought to eat, he knew that time of departure was soon enough, perhaps too soon for him to have the chance to gather his strengths, yet he knew that Saela would be by his side until the end.
The face of Lilith Varhart, Lixader could see from the corners of his eyes like a ghost. He knew he had heart her speak and fret the night before, yet the woman that presented herself before him was nothing like the wailing girl that had disturbed his sleep and Rondulin’s peace. It appeared that the day had brought a certain pallor to her flesh, which inspired a sort of arrogance and dominance which he had not seen in her eyes and posture ever since their first days after having met.
She had allowed weakness to seep through the cracks, just as he had, yet the bear had no intention to steel himself in moments when his strength was not mandatory. A part of him, a part which was selfish and vain, still longed for the affection he had gotten in his time of need and hoped that, for the rest of his short recovery, he would enjoy a similar treatment, if only to remind him of home and soothe the thoughts of war.
It took a few tries for the mountain to raise from his nest. Standing up, it was impossible for Lixander not to touch the top of the tent unless he bent, and the motion of leaning in stretched the skin around his wound painfully. The pain itself was enough of an impetus for him to almost shoot out of the tent as soon as the bowls of grits and sausage were left empty, with gnarly steps and broken balance. His feet were strangers to the ground; it felt as though he had not walked in weeks, rather than a day, and it was all the opium at work.
With each step, he felt like letting himself fall down onto the soft ground, but the thought of breathing in fresh air, no longer imbued with warm water and sweat, kept him on his feet. Judging by the light that fell from the sky and touched the top of his head, it was already a late time for them to depart; most men had already finished readying their horses, some had mounted their steeds, whilst the rest were still struggling to bring down the tents that had been propped around the small houses in the hamlet.
It was the first time he was seeing the house of the witch from the outside before they set to ride North. It was only two nights before that he recalled stepping over its threshold for the first time and taking in the overwhelmingly heavy scent of jasmine and herbal concoctions. Now, it was naught but another decrepit building of patched wood and stone, which held but a cursed heart within in, who would never once see the light of day again, thanks to him.
And he knew he should have felt some sort of remorse, but he did not. Saela’s and the Princess’s dreams had been enough for him to know that he did not regret a thing. A part of him had tried to convince himself that it had been Saela who had put a spear through the woman’s heart, yet he knew that his dagger had committed the sin, even if Razavia had been a sin herself.
No longer did he care that she was a women. No longer did he care that his hands were tainted with the blood of slaughter.
Blinking slowly, Lixander turned his eyes back towards the tent and waited for the knight who had sworn to watch over him until he healed. No matter what horse they were to ride on, he wanted to know her near, if his wound opened again and he found himself bleeding to unconciousness. Whether King Rondulin himself chose to follow or ride by Lilith Varhart’s side, it was Saela whom he wanted to see by his.
From then on, they would have to conceal the Princess if they wanted to avoid any attacks and loss in numbers. The mountains of Ashpyke were a safe place for a heir of the House of Varhart, yet until they reached their destination, until they knew that Rogerus Moirne had not gained any adepts and followers farther away from his homeland in the South, they ought to take certain precautions.
Although, an answer did come to his question, one that he would not have otherwise thought sufficient. He understood, for he had endured failure before and knew the struggle of it far too well. He had feared it in his youth, had feared failing his father that had already lost his pride in his three sons. And with his death had come times in which he even doubted his own integrity and ambition, or at least what had been left of those. He doubted himself, and his nights were not serene, but plagued by such thoughts that he then found returning to his mind like a cloud of rain.
A smile curled on his lips; it was not one of amusement, but of sympathy for the girl. Despite not having said much, he had guessed correctly that it had been his father whom she had dreamt of. Without thinking, he let himself fall back, allowing for the girl to regain her composure in a slight privacy, as much as could be given in a place as small as a medical tent. He knew himself, and how he had enjoyed solitude after having had his mind plagued by dreams of his broken family.
It was not required for him to speak for the silence to be broken. Soon enough, the flaps of the tent opened, allowing in a gust of wind and the dim light of the morning sun. Only moments after, a pair of figures entered the room, one after the other, and it did not take much thinking for the both of them to realise who they were, in spite of the blinding light that made it difficult for their morning eyes to discern features.
It was then that Lixander, after a salute from the slight bow of his head, secluded himself once again from his surroundings and returned his mind to analysing the pain in his back and that which lay ahead lf him that day. With Rondulin’s reminder that they ought to eat, he knew that time of departure was soon enough, perhaps too soon for him to have the chance to gather his strengths, yet he knew that Saela would be by his side until the end.
The face of Lilith Varhart, Lixader could see from the corners of his eyes like a ghost. He knew he had heart her speak and fret the night before, yet the woman that presented herself before him was nothing like the wailing girl that had disturbed his sleep and Rondulin’s peace. It appeared that the day had brought a certain pallor to her flesh, which inspired a sort of arrogance and dominance which he had not seen in her eyes and posture ever since their first days after having met.
She had allowed weakness to seep through the cracks, just as he had, yet the bear had no intention to steel himself in moments when his strength was not mandatory. A part of him, a part which was selfish and vain, still longed for the affection he had gotten in his time of need and hoped that, for the rest of his short recovery, he would enjoy a similar treatment, if only to remind him of home and soothe the thoughts of war.
It took a few tries for the mountain to raise from his nest. Standing up, it was impossible for Lixander not to touch the top of the tent unless he bent, and the motion of leaning in stretched the skin around his wound painfully. The pain itself was enough of an impetus for him to almost shoot out of the tent as soon as the bowls of grits and sausage were left empty, with gnarly steps and broken balance. His feet were strangers to the ground; it felt as though he had not walked in weeks, rather than a day, and it was all the opium at work.
With each step, he felt like letting himself fall down onto the soft ground, but the thought of breathing in fresh air, no longer imbued with warm water and sweat, kept him on his feet. Judging by the light that fell from the sky and touched the top of his head, it was already a late time for them to depart; most men had already finished readying their horses, some had mounted their steeds, whilst the rest were still struggling to bring down the tents that had been propped around the small houses in the hamlet.
It was the first time he was seeing the house of the witch from the outside before they set to ride North. It was only two nights before that he recalled stepping over its threshold for the first time and taking in the overwhelmingly heavy scent of jasmine and herbal concoctions. Now, it was naught but another decrepit building of patched wood and stone, which held but a cursed heart within in, who would never once see the light of day again, thanks to him.
And he knew he should have felt some sort of remorse, but he did not. Saela’s and the Princess’s dreams had been enough for him to know that he did not regret a thing. A part of him had tried to convince himself that it had been Saela who had put a spear through the woman’s heart, yet he knew that his dagger had committed the sin, even if Razavia had been a sin herself.
No longer did he care that she was a women. No longer did he care that his hands were tainted with the blood of slaughter.
Blinking slowly, Lixander turned his eyes back towards the tent and waited for the knight who had sworn to watch over him until he healed. No matter what horse they were to ride on, he wanted to know her near, if his wound opened again and he found himself bleeding to unconciousness. Whether King Rondulin himself chose to follow or ride by Lilith Varhart’s side, it was Saela whom he wanted to see by his.
From then on, they would have to conceal the Princess if they wanted to avoid any attacks and loss in numbers. The mountains of Ashpyke were a safe place for a heir of the House of Varhart, yet until they reached their destination, until they knew that Rogerus Moirne had not gained any adepts and followers farther away from his homeland in the South, they ought to take certain precautions.