Aftermath Chapter One
Aug. 15th, 2010 10:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Good evening!
I meant to post this yesterday but ran out of time.
This is the redited version of "Aftermath". Whose details I will now share with you.
Title: Aftermath
Genre: Fantasy, Action, Drama, Gen (aka no focus on romance, either het or slash)
Size: approximately 81K words
Warnings: some graphic images, memories of past torture, violence, strong language
Summary: Seven heroes try to pick up the pieces after vanquishing evil and protecting what is most important to them. But nightmares haunt the night, and restless stirrings keep them wandering. The real battle begins as they struggle to remember what it means to have a normal life.
Rai is one of these heroes, and he constantly questions himself: "why?" He wanders, observing the changes that have wrought his world, and wonders if the numbness inside himself is a consequence or a symptom. He has neither moved on, nor regressed, remaining stagnant, trapped between the future he doesn't care to anticipate, and the past he tries to forget.
Sometimes, surviving victory is the hardest part of all.
I'd love to get some feedback on this piece. I'd love to know it's weaknesses. This is an experimental kind of fic since it takes place AFTER. Not to mention I'm rather fond of the main character here.
On to chapter one!
Aftermath
Chapter One
The sickening crunch that splits the air makes S'raiya -- called Rai by those who know him best -- grimace despite giving the killing blow. He glances down at his kill with disgust, the thin body of the lone Ruhin tiharire little more than a crumpled mass of thick bone and blood. The dark blue spatters the ground, looking more like a paint spill. These Ruhin remain alien to Rai, especially in death.
Crouching, he begins the arduous task of collecting the proof of the kill. A hand is usually all it takes, sometimes more depending on the particularities of the bountyman. Rai once held dealings with a man that demanded not only both hands, but the head of the kill as well.
The tiharire doesn't twitch as Rai methodically completes the grisly task. He has to make a living after all, and with the kingdom in its current state, there are few occupations to go around. Hunting down the remaining Ruhin is one of the more lucrative professions, and Rai happens to be damn good at it. All of his experience helps, not that he goes around shouting his deeds or anything. In fact, he prefers no one know.
Standing up straight, bones creaking in his back, Rai turns away from the corpse and picks his way back across the ground to his horse. He will leave the rest for the carrion-eaters, let the Ruhin's existence serve as something useful to another creature.
Flynt – his stallion – waits patiently behind a swell in the land, chewing on sparse grass that populates the road between K'gakma and Weirth. It had once flourished as a trade route between the two cities. No one really travels it now; most are too afraid to do so.
Rai's right shoulder aches, and as he walks, he digs a thumb into the muscle, soothing away the cramps. He still hasn't accustomed himself to the occasional twinges of pain. Loka told him it would never completely mend and he would be forever bothered by the stiffness, especially when the seasons changed. At the time, Rai wasn't angered by the prognosis, since it was several steps away from death. He still had another arm, and he used it to swing his blade. That was all that mattered.
Flynt nickers as he nears, but doesn't stop crunching. The stallion is probably hungry and Rai lets him munch as he finds the leather-lined pouch he keeps for the purpose of carrying his bounties. Holding his breath, he flips up the flap and drops the appendage inside before quickly closing it. The smell is terrible, as always, but so long as he doesn't inhale, he can handle it.
Cargo secured, Rai returns his sword to the sheath that he keeps attached to the saddle, taking a moment to wipe the pale blade clean of blood. His fingers track briefly over the blade, not steel or iron, but bone. The hilt itself looks as if it has been crafted from the knobby knuckles of some large, fantastical creature. Unusual perhaps, for a human, but the sword was made by Bonelord hands. Rai doesn't know what magic they claim, but it is powerful.
The wind kicks up, sending his dark red hair into a flurry around his face. He impatiently tucks it behind his ears, fingers catching on one of the rings piercing the cartilage. The wind carries a chill to it, reminding him that the sun will be falling soon. A quick glance to the sky shows him an array of oranges and reds darkening the horizon, confirming his suspicions. And Rai doesn’t plan to spend another night camping out.
Patting Flynt on the shoulder, he heaves himself into the saddle and contemplates his bearings. It is a shorter ride to Weirth, but he really has no desire to ever return to the capital city. Not if he can help it. Even six months later, the taste of blood and death is all too weighty on his tongue. Not that other towns are completely without memories. But in Weirth, the nightmares are worse ... stronger. He doesn't know how Haiden handles it.
His decision finalized, Rai urges Flynt toward the east and K'gakma with a cluck of his tongue. The ale is better there anyway, and Rai's tongue feels parched. He wants nothing more than a warm meal, a cold drink, and a bed at the end of the night.
Funny that his ambitions are much the same as they were before he helped a group of strangers destroy the Ruhin determined to make ruin of their kingdom of Umbra. Rai's desires from life have remained the same and if they are shallow and lackluster, they are his choices to make.
Rai keeps his eyes and ears open as he rides through the open countryside, the shifting colors of the leaves as the seasons change into late autumn only half-noticed.
The Ruhin are still a major force within the kingdom, attacking singly or in large groups. Some have taken to hiding, the weaker, light-winged ones such as the mazzikim and the lilin, but the rest are bold... dangerous. They have no qualms about attacking lone riders.
Rai is not particularly worried. After defeating their leader, he's pretty certain he can handle whatever they throw at him. Still, it pays to be alert. He can defend face to face easily enough; a knife in the back is slightly harder to see coming.
It is just past sunset by the time he makes it to K'gakma. Rai melds into the thin stream of populace entering the town, which closes its gate the moment night becomes firm and the sky turns black. As he passes by the guardhouse -- manned by locals who have banded themselves into a defensive militia -- he hears the bell dong its final call. He is lucky he hasn't missed the gate entirely.
The guard lets no one enter once they have closed the gate, for the sake of those within the high walls. Some of the Ruhin are capable of flying over the ramparts true, but it is much easier to set a watch upon a fence then it is to leave the town open to anything walking upon the ground.
Rai understands their paranoia; the Ruhin are a very vicious and bloodthirsty race. And that ferocity has no outlet but the humans who have trapped the Ruhin in a world they despise, lacking the necessary magic to return home.
Rai picks up the pace once he is out of the immediate crowd. He turns away from K'gakma's main thoroughfare and heads to the left, where he can find someone to pay the bounty for his full sack. His eyes do not miss the remnants of the Before, where the Ruhin had indiscriminately attacked and killed.
Destroyed buildings. Charred homes. Places where they haven't bothered to rebuild because right now they are all simply trying to find their feet again.
Rai remembers his mother's fairy tales in these moments, because they are all nonsense. The happy ending that the conclusion always boasts never reveals the truth of the aftermath. When the magic fades and the evil is vanquished, it doesn't immediately become a celebration. No, there is far too much work to be done for parties and dancing and banquets of food.
Rai wonders how many decades it will take before Umbra is close to where it was before. Or at least halfway stable. At this point, Rai will settle for an end to the drought and the squabbling amongst the remaining members of the royal court.
The bountyman's building is tucked into one of the darker corners of K'gakma, and the light burning in the window is all the proof Rai needs that she's available. Though, it isn't the kind of profession that closes immediately after dark.
Rai rides around the back and dismounts, tethering Flynt to a post thrust into the ground for that very purpose. Patting the horse reassuringly on a meaty shoulder, Rai unhitches his pack from the saddle and slings it over one shoulder. It bumps against his back, and a foul odor briefly wafts out. He wrinkles his nose; Ruhin smell little better dead than they do alive.
He circles around the front and pushes open the door, a thick cow bell jangling. The bountyman's office is empty of other patrons, and the giant counter set up to the right is unmanned.
Nevertheless, Rai's entrance is noticed.
“Coming!” A female voice sing-songs from an open doorway beyond the counter. Her approach is marked by the sound of heavy boots against the thick, wooden floorboards.
Rai moves to the counter, and lets the door slam shut behind him, cutting off the chilly breeze. It is almost unbearably hot in the building, the fire in the hearth behind him crackling loudly. The faint scent of incense -- sandalwood and amber -- tickles his nose.
He slings the pack onto the cracked counter with a heavy thump as Cilva appears in the doorway, copper curls pouring over her shoulders and around her heart-shaped face. Dressed in a plain robe gathered to accentuate every curve of her body, Cilva is one of the few females that have managed to garner Rai's respect.
Tough as nails with a mouth that put many men to shame, Cilva is the first female bountyman that Rai has met. Her network of information is vast, and it is often because of her that he finds the best places to hunt. For her age, a scant few years more than Rai's own, she is an enigma. A mystery, and were he a more interested man, he would find himself dipping fingers into her secrets.
“I should have known it would be you,” Cilva purrs, her pale eyes sparkling as a grin stretches her painted lips.
Rai's fingers work quickly at the clasps. “Surely I'm not your only hunter,” he says, perfectly bland as he upends the pack and dumps it onto the counter.
Cilva doesn't even blink as the hands drop into a soggy, decaying clump in front of her. The smell must be nauseating, even Rai feels a need to take a step back. She, however, simply leans against the counter, elbows on the wood, and eyes him with interest.
“No, but you are my favorite,” she says suggestively before looking down at his catch. One finely-plucked brow arches. “Quite a haul this week.”
Rai shrugs, dropping the empty pack to the floor. “They're getting bolder.”
“Makes your job easier, though.” Cilva pokes at one of the hands with a scarlet fingernail before grasping the claw and lifting it for a closer look. “A zafrire even. These are notoriously difficult to kill. Once again, I am impressed.”
His fingers drum the countertop, unmoved by her smooth praise. Rais knows he is one of her better hunters, and while he is proud of that fact, he doesn't need to be reminded. It is almost pathetic how easily he can see beneath her approval to the true meaning of the words.
“How much?” Rai asks, mentally calculating what he thinks will be an appropriate figure. He knows he has enough for thirty gold coins, possibly more considering that he has managed to slay several of the rarer Ruhin.
Cilva hums as she pokes through the gathered appendages, her chin propped up on her palm as her elbow balances on the counter. “There's what... a good twenty kill here?” she murmurs to herself, eyes calculating efficiently. “And several of them are zafrire. And shedim. A fine haul indeed.”
His patience has always served him well, but it has been a long day for Rai and he is more interested in finding that warm meal and bed. “How much?”
She clucks her tongue and straightens. “Is it truly so bad to spend a few extra minutes here, Rai?” Cilva questions, her voice coy as she props one hand on her hip, a clear invitation. “It's been a while. A girl gets lonely.”
There was a time when Rai was interested; he had taken Cilva to bed on several occasions before, when the mood struck him. By her invitation first, of course. And she had been good for a tumble, but it wasn't really an experience he cared to seek at the moment.
Raking a hand through his tousled hair, in desperate need of washing, Rai rolls his neck and hears the bones crack. “Another time perhaps,” he evades.
She rolls her eyes, full lips pulling into a disappointed pout. It is a look that serves her well in the bedroom, sultry and inviting. He remembers the feel of those lips on his flesh, and her pliant body shuddering against his. And for a moment, Rai reconsiders her offer. The pleasure of a woman's company is another thing he has done without recently.
Cilva is an attractive woman, and her skills are enough that no man would leave her bed unsatisfied. But she is also voracious, and demands the same rapt attention from her lovers that she herself gives. Rai is simply too tired to handle her appetite.
“Thirty-five gold,” Cilva abruptly offers, one hand making a vague gesture. “And perhaps a couple of silver.”
It is more than Rai estimated, and more than he will require to fill his current needs. It is enough to last him for several weeks, as well as paying for Flynt to be reshod.
Rai inclines his head. “As much as I expected.”
Their hands clasp to seal the deal.
A ruby-painted fingernail taps the counter. “Wait here. I'll be right back,” Cilva says airily, already breezing into the back room.
As she disappears, Rai distances himself from the decaying appendages. Why has he chosen this profession, he wonders? He doesn't exactly enjoy hunting the Ruhin, but he doesn't dislike it either. It is simply something to occupy his time while he watches Umbra struggle to put itself back together. A task that will take some time.
Half of Umbra's cities, especially those directly surrounding the capital, lie in shambles. Many of the smaller, outlying villages are nothing more than shattered buildings covered in smears of blood. A drought has dried up even the widest rivers, leaving them sluggishly crawling through their banks. The crops fail for reasons unknown to the farmers, and much of the game has vanished.
The Ruhin had been only steps away from destroying Umbra completely. Rai still wonders if perhaps he and his companions had been too late in destroying the possessed-king. If they had been too late to save Umbra from its end.
“Heard any rumors from the capital?” Cilva calls to him, her voice floating from the back room.
“No,” Rai answers, moving closer to the fire despite the stifling heat, and admiring the blade that hangs above the hearth. “It's been weeks since I've been near Weirth.”
“Avoiding it, as usual,” she replies, and he knows that she is only teasing. Cilva knows nothing of his exploits in Weirth or against the Ruhin king. She only knows that he seems to always skirt around Weirth, and find reason to avoid the capital whenever possible. “You know, someday you will have to return.”
He snorts, considering if his hands are even large enough for the wickedly curved sabre. “Not this day,” Rai retorts. “Whose weapon is this?”
“That old thing?” Cilva asks, emerging from the back room and circling the end of the counter. A small brown sack clinks invitingly in her hand. “It was my father's. I finally pulled it from the chest. You like it?”
Rai turns back towards her, taking the leather satchel from her hands. “Not enough to trade in my coin for it,” he says, saluting her with the small pouch before tucking it safely in his pocket.
“Too bad.” Cilva pouts playfully, sashaying back behind the counter. “I think he would've liked you, Rai. It's almost scary how much you are alike.”
“Almost,” he concedes, though he has no knowledge of her father. It is faintly disturbing that she compares him to her sire, when they have been intimate together.
Shaking off the odd thoughts, Rai turns towards the doorway. “Thanks for the gold. I should be back again in a couple weeks.”
“I know,” she calls back to him, already beginning to sort out the evidence of his kills. They will need to be delivered to the main bounty office in Weirth at some point and Rai doesn't envy the man who carries that duty. “You'll breeze in whenever you feel like it. I'm wiser than to actually believe you'll commit to anything, Rai.” There is a touch of bitterness of her words.
Rai pauses in the threshold, one hand already holding the door open for him and spilling cold air into the room. He ponders her words, thinking to say something, perhaps deny her insinuations. But he knows she is right. He has done nothing but wander since that battle six months prior. He hasn't even made himself a home, merely flitting from inn to inn, always on the move and on the hunt. Rai has done nothing in his life to inspire permanence. He half-wonders if that has been intentional on his part.
He frowns, the action pulling deeply at his lips. “Commitment is overrated,” Rai retorts, and then he slips into the crisp night, letting the door bang shut behind him.
Unsurprisingly, the streets are deserted on this edge of K'gakma. He tugs his cloak tighter around him, the chill all the more apparent now that the fire isn't flaring at his back.
Autumn always falls swiftly and with a vengeance in this region of Umbra, as though angry it is only an afterthought and a prelude to the viciousness of winter. The air has a faint, clammy sense to it and Rai knows that a storm is heading in. The sky is graying over, clouds shifting to cover the pinpricks of light that serve as stars.
He retrieves Flynt, leading the stallion alongside him and heading back into the main portion of K'gakma. He looks for the main thoroughfare and his favorite inn, The Lumbering Bear.
Rai finds himself in the middle of a crowd once he returns to the main streets, surrounded by the press of strangers who are out in the open despite the bitter taste of fear that lingers over them like a bad smell. They are laughing and joking with one another, but their eyes constantly shift from side to side. Pretending at confidence. The chatter is a dull roar on the edge of Rai’s senses and he only half-eavesdrops, his attention caught by key words.
Haiden has been mentioned more than once, as has Ryn – better known as Rynneth now. But he hasn't managed to hear the whole story yet. Rai suspects the rumors will be just as rampant at the Lumbering Bear. He will wait until he is seated at the bar, mug and meal in hand, before asking questions.
The king has also been mentioned, hand in hand with the fall of Weirth. He hears whispers of the current monarchy, and how it is lucky that the prince is safe from the fate that had befallen Weirth. But the prince is too young, and all of Umbra knows it. Which leaves the leadership up to the winner of the currently squabbling factions.
Rai keeps what knowledge he has gleaned on the edge of his thoughts as he arrives at the Lumbering Bear, and leads Flynt to the stables. A young boy moves to greet him, taking the reins and offering the stallion a cupful of soft oats. Flynt is all too eager to gobble them up and after leaving strict instructions for the kid, Rai gathers the only saddlebag he'll need and leaves the horse in the boy's hands.
Stepping into the Lumbering Bear, Rai is greeted by a wash of warm air, the murmur of conversation, and the smell of fresh meat pies. His mouth waters at the thought of real food and not travel rations, while in the corner, a group of men laugh amongst themselves.
Rai shifts his saddle bag and weaves through the large crowd, the Lumbering Bear popular thanks to its ability the weather the Ruhin incursion relatively intact. Conversation floats to Rai's ears in snatches.
“... Lord Tennyson has managed to sway the council, or so I hear. Not that it isn't to be expected.”
Rai drops his saddlebag at his foot and climbs onto the last stool at the bar. He waves one of the busy barmaids his direction, casually eavesdropping.
“Not that it really matters,” the other man in the conversation retorts. “One lord is as good as another. Umbra seems due for destruction.”
“Aye, so it seems. Though Tennyson has one good thing going for him.”
“What? His daughter?” This is said with a lecherous scoff.
“Evenin', Rai.”
The barmaid's arrival distracts him, her gentle voice cutting through the talk of rumors, and Rai glances up. Large, golden curls are the first thing he notices about her, as well as a smile that has yet to be tainted by her occupation. She is still young, and even though Rai probably only has a few years ahead of her, they are years he hopes she will never see.
“Back again this month, I see,” the barmaid – whose name he can never remember -- continues with a pleasant smile, one hand occupied by a full pitcher and the other carefully balancing dirtied plates. “You want the usual?”
Rai loosens his cloak, the warmth in the room making it unnecessary. “Yes,” he answers, dropping the thick fabric down onto his saddle bag, though he is careful to keep the pouch containing his earnings close at hand. The thieves have become even more prevalent now and he doesn't have any interest in losing his coin. It is another consequence of the fallen monarchy and scattered guards.
She shifts position as one of her plates rattles ominously, the grace of a barmaid one of the first things learned. “Be out in a few minutes. We're a bit packed tonight.”
He waves her off. “Not like that's different from usual.”
The barmaid chuckles. “How very true.” She melds back into the crowd as surreptitiously as she had arrived, pausing to drop the pitcher off at a table before weaving towards the kitchens.
Left to his own devices once more, Rai casually listens in on the conversations around him. He has found that the best way to gather information is to frequent all the best inns and taverns in any city. And sometimes, to sneak into the worst, if one wants to know specifics in anything. In this manner, he can usually find where the hunting is best.
“--and Violine's the worst. It might as well be inhabited by ghosts for--”
“--they call themselves the Marauders, like they need to advertise their--”
“--foolish. As if anyone cares about a wedding in this day and age. Tennyson is just as bad as the king--”
Hearing Tennyson again perks his interest and Rai chooses to follow that conversation. He should have known that Rynneth's father would have been the one to gain control over the remnants of the monarchy. Like father, like daughter, after all. And while he doesn't know much of the man himself, having only met Lord Tennyson for the span of a minute before leaving Weirth, he knows the daughter all too well. If there is anything as frivolous as a marriage in the works, it is most likely her doing.
Their declaration of war against the Ruhin all those months ago had never fazed Ryn. She had joined them, merging into their group, but never fully understood what they were doing. Even at the final strike against the king, she didn't comprehend the danger. She wasn't prepared to risk her life, treating it as some sort of game, with a prize to be won in the end. And her silly habit of wanting to be rescued, just like the princesses in Rai's mother's stories, had been aggravating.
Unfortunately, Haiden had always stepped up to the task. While Rai would have been satisfied with letting her save herself, Haiden jumped to the rescue. Usually with Suerte at his side. The young boy's hero complex had been worse than Haiden's, and it was further tainted by the cowardice he had hidden so well.
A mug drops to the table in front of Rai. “It'll be a few more minutes for the food,” the barmaid explains lightly.
He nods, curling his fingers around the tankard and pulling it to his lips. The rich brew is smooth and cold, just as he likes. Sensing he is satisfied, the blonde turns to leave.
“Wait.” Rai pauses until he has her attention before continuing, waving demonstratively towards the other patrons. “Rumors are strong tonight. What's this about Tennyson?”
She rolls the question around in her head for a moment before brightening, her blue eyes shining with thrill. “Oh, you mean the announcement! We got the missive this morning and it's been all the talk. Tennyson's been chosen as the proxy for the prince.”
“I understood that much,” Rai replies dryly, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. “I meant the casual mention of marriage.”
Momentarily distracted by one of her tables calling her, the barmaid rushes to explain. “It's Tennyson's eldest daughter. Hearsay claims she's marrying that mercenary. The one everyone believes took down the Ruhin false-king.”
“Haiden?” The name slips from his mouth out of sheer surprise before he can stop himself. It betrays his connection to them, a fact he has been carefully hiding to avoid the prominence of hero, but luckily, the barmaid doesn't realize the significance of his slip-up.
She purses her lips. “Yeah, I think that was his name.”
Rai blinks. Haiden plans to marry Rynneth? Has the world truly lost all semblance of sanity? Is that what a six months absence from his friend's life does? Makes him lose all sense of rationality and reason? Rai hadn't even known that Haiden liked Rynneth, much less desired marriage from her.
The knowledge sends a twisting knife through his gut and for a moment, he feels nauseated. It disturbs him, thinking of the two of them wed. Rai hadn't even realized that he disliked Rynneth to that extent. But the unpleasant churning in his stomach can't be ignored.
An impatient call from across the room gives the barmaid another start. “Sorry, Rai. I have to go help them. I'll bring your meal by soon, okay?” She leaves quickly, but Rai scarcely notices, his drink all but forgotten in his shock.
He is aware that Haiden remained in Weirth after they defeated the Ruhin-possessed king. Everyone else had gone their separate ways. Maro to her own country. Trahern to his home town and the wife waiting for him. Loka and Gaelin to the guild. Rynneth to her father and Rai to his wandering. Yet, he never thought that Haiden had any interest in Ryn. It baffles him.
Six months. A mere six months. And yet this has happened? Rai remembers the day he left all too clearly. He remembers that it had been raining like it had been in the entire two weeks since the possessed-king had been destroyed. From the moment the barrier surrounding Weirth had been shattered by Loka's magic, rain had fallen on Weirth.
Rai had thought he died in that battle. He last recalled falling to darkness and pain, and expected to open his eyes to the afterlife. Either the shining throng of Elysion or the long road to reincarnation. Or, if He-That-Ruled felt particularly vindictive, the dank dark of the abyss. He certainly hadn't expected to wake lying on an uncommonly soft bed, the smell of freshly baked bread yeasty in his nostrils.
Rynneth later told him the whole story. How Loka, Gaelin, Trahern, and Maro had found their unconscious bodies – his own, Haiden, and Ryn – after destroying the barrier. It had been Rynneth's suggestion to seek refuge at her childhood home, a place mostly untouched by the clawed hands of the Ruhin. Her father and his servants returned not long after, providing the care that the so-called heroes needed.
Rai had been the last to learn of Suerte's death.
The two weeks he spent in the Tennysons tender care had been two weeks too long in Rai's opinion. Especially when subjected to Rynneth's attempts at nursemaiding. Rai hoped to heal as quickly as possible, and envied Maro for her quick departure, only a few days after the possessed-king's demise. Trahern was soon to follow, with Loka a few days after, Gaelin on her heels.
And on the fourteenth day, Rai, too, had packed his bags, despite his injuries. The broken ribs ached, but didn't impede his movement so long as he breathed shallowly. He hadn't wanted to stay under Tennyson's thumb any longer, not with the ambitious lord's desires clear in every action. Rai felt trapped in Weirth, trapped by the evidence of their deeds and trapped by the reminder of the Ruhin invasion. He had sought escape and since then, Rai had not looked back. He had left Haiden behind, thinking that Haiden would leave soon as well.
What had happened between then and now?
How did Ryn manage to hook her claws into Haiden? And why, for that matter? They'd nothing in common and surely Haiden wouldn't be happy being her dress-up doll. What the hell was Haiden thinking?
Rai is more than bothered by this. It disturbs him. Rynneth is not the bravest of souls, or the most underhanded, but then, could Rai be underestimating her? Is Haiden even thinking clearly? Rai isn't sure, but he's not about to let his best friend walk blind into a mistake, if indeed the marriage is truly occurring and not mere rumor.
Haiden had not sounded like a man desperately in love when last they spoke. He hadn't seemed like someone chasing after a piece of his heart. In fact, Haiden better resembled the discomfort of someone seeking answers and unsure where to find them. A resemblance that surely had shown in Rai's face as well.
Saddling a horse one-handed is not the easiest of tasks, Rai has come to learn. He curses under his breath as his fingers fumble over the buckles, slippery with the rain. It's cold, chilly enough to see his breath. And there's a leak in the shoulder of his cloak, sending a slither of icy water down his back. Even so, Rai plans to leave this day.
“You're really leaving,” Haiden says from where he stands, watching Rai secure his belongings and tug viciously on a leather strap.
Haiden's dark hair is plastered to his scalp thanks to the rain, and grey eyes match the clouded sky above them, stormy as they observe. In the dim of the evening, the tattoos that snake up the side of Haiden's neck are obscured, but Rai doesn't need to see them with his eyes to know what they look like. He has been friends with Haiden too long for that.
Rai grunts, frustrated. “Yes. And I don't see why you aren't either.”
He can't see Haiden's face, but he knows that the other man is treating him to look of disbelief. “You've three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder that's still healing, and multiple slashes all over your body, barely held together by stitches. And I'm in no better shape. It doesn't take a wizard to see why I'm staying.”
“I'm mobile,” Rai reminds him sharply “And that's all that's necessary. I'm not staying here any longer.”
He won't explain his desperate desire to be gone from here. His nightmares are his and his alone. His to bear and his to suffer. Not to be shared with Haiden, no matter how close they had been before he had left Lathe all those years ago.
A muttered curse escapes his lips as his fingers slip on a buckle and threaten to send his whole carefully-strapped pile careening. Rai quickly shifts, pressing his aching shoulder against the bundle in an attempt to slow the inevitable tumble.
Another hand joins him, Haiden ceasing his observation to offer help. He elbows Rai out of the way, short, jerky movements fixing the buckle with relative ease.
“Stubborn mule,” Haiden mutters, though not out of anger “Ryn doesn't mind your presence, you know.”
“Rynneth,” Rai feels it necessary to correct as he steps out of the way, letting Haiden help him. His pride can handle that sort of beating, he supposes, considering it's taking all his effort to stand and prove his strength. “And it's not her feelings on the matter that I particularly care about.”
Rai grimaces as his right shoulder aches and lifts an arm, fingers digging into the muscle before he fully comprehends what he is doing. It will be weeks before he can use the arm properly again. That damned Ruhin had really fucked him up. Rai still can't believe that he'd done nothing more than lie there while Haiden had taken the creature out himself.
Haiden rolls his eyes, and cinches the last strap with a grunt. He pats the leather with a gloved hand, performs a quick check of the buckles and declares it finished to his satisfaction. He turns to towards Rai who makes no effort to hide his actions. A noise of exasperation escapes Haiden's lips.
“And you're still hurting,” he points out.
Rai drops his hand. “And you're starting to sound like someone's mother,” he says, patting Flynt gently on the nose.
The stallion nickers, pawing at the muddy ground. Flynt is eager to be on the road again, unappreciative of his two-week confinement in the Tennyson stables, though fine they were.
Satisfied, Rai grasps the saddle, taking a deep breath before forcing himself into it with a great heave. The action pulls at his bruised ribs and a sharp stab of pain echoes in his chest, but he stifles the cry with a grunt. He isn't going to show weakness, otherwise Haiden will badger him into staying and that, Rai can't do.
Rai shifts to get comfortable, and then looks down at Haiden, who has moved to stand at Flynt's head where he is more visible. “You don't need to worry about me,” Rai says, confirming that his sword is near with a brief brush of his fingers; he will likely need it. “These wounds are nothing.”
Haiden snorts, petting Flynt fondly. “And just where do you think you're going? Back home?”
“To Lathe? Not likely.” He just barely keeps the derision from his tone. Rai doesn't plan on ever returning to that tiny village.
Lathe is a hole he had crawled out of before; Rai refuses to get trapped in the mire again.
He tips his head back, enjoying the sprinkle of rain on his face, and eyes the dim edge of brightness behind the grey clouds. Midday, Rai guesses. If he hurries, he can make Outhern by evenfall. In his current state, he doesn't dare risk camping out of doors.
Grey eyes, nearly the same shade as his own, flicker with a vague emotion, one that Rai can't quite name. And for a second, he has the brief thought that he really should stay. Wait long enough for Haiden to heal and then the two of them can leave together. Just like old times, wandering the countryside, sparring, cleaning up the Ruhin remnants.
Haiden looks as though he has something dancing on the tip of his tongue, but a shake of his head clears those words and what comes past his lips doesn't match his expression. “Just don't get yourself killed,” he says. “Lord Tennyson--”
“Do me a favor,” Rai interrupts, holding little interest in anything regarding Lord Tennyson and his daughter by proxy. “Don't let him use my name. I don't want to be a hero.”
Haiden frowns, but nods agreeably, the rain giving him the faint look of a drowned dog. Ironic, since he holds all the qualities of one in Rai's opinion. Loyal. Responsible. Protective.
“He'll be disappointed he can't claim the names of more saviors.” Haiden's tone is bland, but there is sarcasm in his words. Perhaps Haiden is not as enamored of Lord Tennyson as his actions seem to prove.
Reaching for the reins with his uninjured hand, Flynt shifting impatiently beneath him, Rai snorts. “He'll get over it. How long are you going to stay?”
“I don't know. I haven't really thought about it.” Haiden eyes him, glancing critically at Rai's right arm, bound tightly to his body. The hint of bandages peek from beneath Rai's clothing.
Rai drags the hood of his cloak over his own head. No use in cultivating a sickness on top of his injuries. He doesn't need to give Haiden further reason to mother him. Rai's mother has been dead for fifteen years and he needs no replacement.
“Don't get caught up in Tennyson's politics,” Rai warns, knowing that the lord planned to use their endeavors to push himself into high esteem. Someone needs to take control of the monarchy after all, and Lord Tennyson contrives to be that someone.
“I know,” Haiden replies, and with a final pat to Flynt's head, he steps back. He has given up on arguing then.
One of Haiden's hands motion for the soldiers – Tennyson's personal guard – to open the massive gate. They do so immediately, lowering the portcullis so that Rai can cross quickly.
Lifting the reins in hand, Rai clucks his tongue and urges Flynt forward, the stallion eagerly responding to his command. There is no goodbye between him and Haiden, none necessary.
This is the second time Haiden has watched him ride away. And the second time Rai knows Haiden would have asked him to stay. How cruel that the past should repeat itself. How cruel of Rai to repeat that past.
Rai knows that Haiden is watching him go. Why does it matter so much to him that Haiden watches? Rai doesn't know. He does, however, breathe better the moment he steps beyond Tennyson's tender care, the feeling of being stifled lightening with every yard he puts between himself and the ambitious lord.
He rides further and further away, and yet Rai feels as if he has left something important behind. He remembers packing carefully, and Maro's unnamed sword is belted at his side. But perhaps it is that Rai knows he has thrown Haiden to the proverbial wolves and yet dares call himself Haiden's friend. But then, Haiden has never needed his protection.
Rai rides into the distance and never looks back. It is only later that he thinks he probably should have.
Frowning, Rai slips out of the past and stares down at his empty plate, having consumed the entire dish during his reminiscing and tasting none of it. Both mugs of ale have nothing but foam in the bottom; he doesn't remember their sweet flavor either.
Nothing in that encounter speaks of Haiden wanting to marry Rynneth. Nothing in Haiden's behavior claims a desire to walk hand in hand with any Tennyson. What has changed between now and then? What is Rai missing?
* * *
a/n: Well, that's chapter one. There's fourteen more to go! I look forward to your comments!
On to chapter two!
I meant to post this yesterday but ran out of time.
This is the redited version of "Aftermath". Whose details I will now share with you.
Title: Aftermath
Genre: Fantasy, Action, Drama, Gen (aka no focus on romance, either het or slash)
Size: approximately 81K words
Warnings: some graphic images, memories of past torture, violence, strong language
Summary: Seven heroes try to pick up the pieces after vanquishing evil and protecting what is most important to them. But nightmares haunt the night, and restless stirrings keep them wandering. The real battle begins as they struggle to remember what it means to have a normal life.
Rai is one of these heroes, and he constantly questions himself: "why?" He wanders, observing the changes that have wrought his world, and wonders if the numbness inside himself is a consequence or a symptom. He has neither moved on, nor regressed, remaining stagnant, trapped between the future he doesn't care to anticipate, and the past he tries to forget.
Sometimes, surviving victory is the hardest part of all.
I'd love to get some feedback on this piece. I'd love to know it's weaknesses. This is an experimental kind of fic since it takes place AFTER. Not to mention I'm rather fond of the main character here.
On to chapter one!
Chapter One
The sickening crunch that splits the air makes S'raiya -- called Rai by those who know him best -- grimace despite giving the killing blow. He glances down at his kill with disgust, the thin body of the lone Ruhin tiharire little more than a crumpled mass of thick bone and blood. The dark blue spatters the ground, looking more like a paint spill. These Ruhin remain alien to Rai, especially in death.
Crouching, he begins the arduous task of collecting the proof of the kill. A hand is usually all it takes, sometimes more depending on the particularities of the bountyman. Rai once held dealings with a man that demanded not only both hands, but the head of the kill as well.
The tiharire doesn't twitch as Rai methodically completes the grisly task. He has to make a living after all, and with the kingdom in its current state, there are few occupations to go around. Hunting down the remaining Ruhin is one of the more lucrative professions, and Rai happens to be damn good at it. All of his experience helps, not that he goes around shouting his deeds or anything. In fact, he prefers no one know.
Standing up straight, bones creaking in his back, Rai turns away from the corpse and picks his way back across the ground to his horse. He will leave the rest for the carrion-eaters, let the Ruhin's existence serve as something useful to another creature.
Flynt – his stallion – waits patiently behind a swell in the land, chewing on sparse grass that populates the road between K'gakma and Weirth. It had once flourished as a trade route between the two cities. No one really travels it now; most are too afraid to do so.
Rai's right shoulder aches, and as he walks, he digs a thumb into the muscle, soothing away the cramps. He still hasn't accustomed himself to the occasional twinges of pain. Loka told him it would never completely mend and he would be forever bothered by the stiffness, especially when the seasons changed. At the time, Rai wasn't angered by the prognosis, since it was several steps away from death. He still had another arm, and he used it to swing his blade. That was all that mattered.
Flynt nickers as he nears, but doesn't stop crunching. The stallion is probably hungry and Rai lets him munch as he finds the leather-lined pouch he keeps for the purpose of carrying his bounties. Holding his breath, he flips up the flap and drops the appendage inside before quickly closing it. The smell is terrible, as always, but so long as he doesn't inhale, he can handle it.
Cargo secured, Rai returns his sword to the sheath that he keeps attached to the saddle, taking a moment to wipe the pale blade clean of blood. His fingers track briefly over the blade, not steel or iron, but bone. The hilt itself looks as if it has been crafted from the knobby knuckles of some large, fantastical creature. Unusual perhaps, for a human, but the sword was made by Bonelord hands. Rai doesn't know what magic they claim, but it is powerful.
The wind kicks up, sending his dark red hair into a flurry around his face. He impatiently tucks it behind his ears, fingers catching on one of the rings piercing the cartilage. The wind carries a chill to it, reminding him that the sun will be falling soon. A quick glance to the sky shows him an array of oranges and reds darkening the horizon, confirming his suspicions. And Rai doesn’t plan to spend another night camping out.
Patting Flynt on the shoulder, he heaves himself into the saddle and contemplates his bearings. It is a shorter ride to Weirth, but he really has no desire to ever return to the capital city. Not if he can help it. Even six months later, the taste of blood and death is all too weighty on his tongue. Not that other towns are completely without memories. But in Weirth, the nightmares are worse ... stronger. He doesn't know how Haiden handles it.
His decision finalized, Rai urges Flynt toward the east and K'gakma with a cluck of his tongue. The ale is better there anyway, and Rai's tongue feels parched. He wants nothing more than a warm meal, a cold drink, and a bed at the end of the night.
Funny that his ambitions are much the same as they were before he helped a group of strangers destroy the Ruhin determined to make ruin of their kingdom of Umbra. Rai's desires from life have remained the same and if they are shallow and lackluster, they are his choices to make.
Rai keeps his eyes and ears open as he rides through the open countryside, the shifting colors of the leaves as the seasons change into late autumn only half-noticed.
The Ruhin are still a major force within the kingdom, attacking singly or in large groups. Some have taken to hiding, the weaker, light-winged ones such as the mazzikim and the lilin, but the rest are bold... dangerous. They have no qualms about attacking lone riders.
Rai is not particularly worried. After defeating their leader, he's pretty certain he can handle whatever they throw at him. Still, it pays to be alert. He can defend face to face easily enough; a knife in the back is slightly harder to see coming.
It is just past sunset by the time he makes it to K'gakma. Rai melds into the thin stream of populace entering the town, which closes its gate the moment night becomes firm and the sky turns black. As he passes by the guardhouse -- manned by locals who have banded themselves into a defensive militia -- he hears the bell dong its final call. He is lucky he hasn't missed the gate entirely.
The guard lets no one enter once they have closed the gate, for the sake of those within the high walls. Some of the Ruhin are capable of flying over the ramparts true, but it is much easier to set a watch upon a fence then it is to leave the town open to anything walking upon the ground.
Rai understands their paranoia; the Ruhin are a very vicious and bloodthirsty race. And that ferocity has no outlet but the humans who have trapped the Ruhin in a world they despise, lacking the necessary magic to return home.
Rai picks up the pace once he is out of the immediate crowd. He turns away from K'gakma's main thoroughfare and heads to the left, where he can find someone to pay the bounty for his full sack. His eyes do not miss the remnants of the Before, where the Ruhin had indiscriminately attacked and killed.
Destroyed buildings. Charred homes. Places where they haven't bothered to rebuild because right now they are all simply trying to find their feet again.
Rai remembers his mother's fairy tales in these moments, because they are all nonsense. The happy ending that the conclusion always boasts never reveals the truth of the aftermath. When the magic fades and the evil is vanquished, it doesn't immediately become a celebration. No, there is far too much work to be done for parties and dancing and banquets of food.
Rai wonders how many decades it will take before Umbra is close to where it was before. Or at least halfway stable. At this point, Rai will settle for an end to the drought and the squabbling amongst the remaining members of the royal court.
The bountyman's building is tucked into one of the darker corners of K'gakma, and the light burning in the window is all the proof Rai needs that she's available. Though, it isn't the kind of profession that closes immediately after dark.
Rai rides around the back and dismounts, tethering Flynt to a post thrust into the ground for that very purpose. Patting the horse reassuringly on a meaty shoulder, Rai unhitches his pack from the saddle and slings it over one shoulder. It bumps against his back, and a foul odor briefly wafts out. He wrinkles his nose; Ruhin smell little better dead than they do alive.
He circles around the front and pushes open the door, a thick cow bell jangling. The bountyman's office is empty of other patrons, and the giant counter set up to the right is unmanned.
Nevertheless, Rai's entrance is noticed.
“Coming!” A female voice sing-songs from an open doorway beyond the counter. Her approach is marked by the sound of heavy boots against the thick, wooden floorboards.
Rai moves to the counter, and lets the door slam shut behind him, cutting off the chilly breeze. It is almost unbearably hot in the building, the fire in the hearth behind him crackling loudly. The faint scent of incense -- sandalwood and amber -- tickles his nose.
He slings the pack onto the cracked counter with a heavy thump as Cilva appears in the doorway, copper curls pouring over her shoulders and around her heart-shaped face. Dressed in a plain robe gathered to accentuate every curve of her body, Cilva is one of the few females that have managed to garner Rai's respect.
Tough as nails with a mouth that put many men to shame, Cilva is the first female bountyman that Rai has met. Her network of information is vast, and it is often because of her that he finds the best places to hunt. For her age, a scant few years more than Rai's own, she is an enigma. A mystery, and were he a more interested man, he would find himself dipping fingers into her secrets.
“I should have known it would be you,” Cilva purrs, her pale eyes sparkling as a grin stretches her painted lips.
Rai's fingers work quickly at the clasps. “Surely I'm not your only hunter,” he says, perfectly bland as he upends the pack and dumps it onto the counter.
Cilva doesn't even blink as the hands drop into a soggy, decaying clump in front of her. The smell must be nauseating, even Rai feels a need to take a step back. She, however, simply leans against the counter, elbows on the wood, and eyes him with interest.
“No, but you are my favorite,” she says suggestively before looking down at his catch. One finely-plucked brow arches. “Quite a haul this week.”
Rai shrugs, dropping the empty pack to the floor. “They're getting bolder.”
“Makes your job easier, though.” Cilva pokes at one of the hands with a scarlet fingernail before grasping the claw and lifting it for a closer look. “A zafrire even. These are notoriously difficult to kill. Once again, I am impressed.”
His fingers drum the countertop, unmoved by her smooth praise. Rais knows he is one of her better hunters, and while he is proud of that fact, he doesn't need to be reminded. It is almost pathetic how easily he can see beneath her approval to the true meaning of the words.
“How much?” Rai asks, mentally calculating what he thinks will be an appropriate figure. He knows he has enough for thirty gold coins, possibly more considering that he has managed to slay several of the rarer Ruhin.
Cilva hums as she pokes through the gathered appendages, her chin propped up on her palm as her elbow balances on the counter. “There's what... a good twenty kill here?” she murmurs to herself, eyes calculating efficiently. “And several of them are zafrire. And shedim. A fine haul indeed.”
His patience has always served him well, but it has been a long day for Rai and he is more interested in finding that warm meal and bed. “How much?”
She clucks her tongue and straightens. “Is it truly so bad to spend a few extra minutes here, Rai?” Cilva questions, her voice coy as she props one hand on her hip, a clear invitation. “It's been a while. A girl gets lonely.”
There was a time when Rai was interested; he had taken Cilva to bed on several occasions before, when the mood struck him. By her invitation first, of course. And she had been good for a tumble, but it wasn't really an experience he cared to seek at the moment.
Raking a hand through his tousled hair, in desperate need of washing, Rai rolls his neck and hears the bones crack. “Another time perhaps,” he evades.
She rolls her eyes, full lips pulling into a disappointed pout. It is a look that serves her well in the bedroom, sultry and inviting. He remembers the feel of those lips on his flesh, and her pliant body shuddering against his. And for a moment, Rai reconsiders her offer. The pleasure of a woman's company is another thing he has done without recently.
Cilva is an attractive woman, and her skills are enough that no man would leave her bed unsatisfied. But she is also voracious, and demands the same rapt attention from her lovers that she herself gives. Rai is simply too tired to handle her appetite.
“Thirty-five gold,” Cilva abruptly offers, one hand making a vague gesture. “And perhaps a couple of silver.”
It is more than Rai estimated, and more than he will require to fill his current needs. It is enough to last him for several weeks, as well as paying for Flynt to be reshod.
Rai inclines his head. “As much as I expected.”
Their hands clasp to seal the deal.
A ruby-painted fingernail taps the counter. “Wait here. I'll be right back,” Cilva says airily, already breezing into the back room.
As she disappears, Rai distances himself from the decaying appendages. Why has he chosen this profession, he wonders? He doesn't exactly enjoy hunting the Ruhin, but he doesn't dislike it either. It is simply something to occupy his time while he watches Umbra struggle to put itself back together. A task that will take some time.
Half of Umbra's cities, especially those directly surrounding the capital, lie in shambles. Many of the smaller, outlying villages are nothing more than shattered buildings covered in smears of blood. A drought has dried up even the widest rivers, leaving them sluggishly crawling through their banks. The crops fail for reasons unknown to the farmers, and much of the game has vanished.
The Ruhin had been only steps away from destroying Umbra completely. Rai still wonders if perhaps he and his companions had been too late in destroying the possessed-king. If they had been too late to save Umbra from its end.
“Heard any rumors from the capital?” Cilva calls to him, her voice floating from the back room.
“No,” Rai answers, moving closer to the fire despite the stifling heat, and admiring the blade that hangs above the hearth. “It's been weeks since I've been near Weirth.”
“Avoiding it, as usual,” she replies, and he knows that she is only teasing. Cilva knows nothing of his exploits in Weirth or against the Ruhin king. She only knows that he seems to always skirt around Weirth, and find reason to avoid the capital whenever possible. “You know, someday you will have to return.”
He snorts, considering if his hands are even large enough for the wickedly curved sabre. “Not this day,” Rai retorts. “Whose weapon is this?”
“That old thing?” Cilva asks, emerging from the back room and circling the end of the counter. A small brown sack clinks invitingly in her hand. “It was my father's. I finally pulled it from the chest. You like it?”
Rai turns back towards her, taking the leather satchel from her hands. “Not enough to trade in my coin for it,” he says, saluting her with the small pouch before tucking it safely in his pocket.
“Too bad.” Cilva pouts playfully, sashaying back behind the counter. “I think he would've liked you, Rai. It's almost scary how much you are alike.”
“Almost,” he concedes, though he has no knowledge of her father. It is faintly disturbing that she compares him to her sire, when they have been intimate together.
Shaking off the odd thoughts, Rai turns towards the doorway. “Thanks for the gold. I should be back again in a couple weeks.”
“I know,” she calls back to him, already beginning to sort out the evidence of his kills. They will need to be delivered to the main bounty office in Weirth at some point and Rai doesn't envy the man who carries that duty. “You'll breeze in whenever you feel like it. I'm wiser than to actually believe you'll commit to anything, Rai.” There is a touch of bitterness of her words.
Rai pauses in the threshold, one hand already holding the door open for him and spilling cold air into the room. He ponders her words, thinking to say something, perhaps deny her insinuations. But he knows she is right. He has done nothing but wander since that battle six months prior. He hasn't even made himself a home, merely flitting from inn to inn, always on the move and on the hunt. Rai has done nothing in his life to inspire permanence. He half-wonders if that has been intentional on his part.
He frowns, the action pulling deeply at his lips. “Commitment is overrated,” Rai retorts, and then he slips into the crisp night, letting the door bang shut behind him.
Unsurprisingly, the streets are deserted on this edge of K'gakma. He tugs his cloak tighter around him, the chill all the more apparent now that the fire isn't flaring at his back.
Autumn always falls swiftly and with a vengeance in this region of Umbra, as though angry it is only an afterthought and a prelude to the viciousness of winter. The air has a faint, clammy sense to it and Rai knows that a storm is heading in. The sky is graying over, clouds shifting to cover the pinpricks of light that serve as stars.
He retrieves Flynt, leading the stallion alongside him and heading back into the main portion of K'gakma. He looks for the main thoroughfare and his favorite inn, The Lumbering Bear.
Rai finds himself in the middle of a crowd once he returns to the main streets, surrounded by the press of strangers who are out in the open despite the bitter taste of fear that lingers over them like a bad smell. They are laughing and joking with one another, but their eyes constantly shift from side to side. Pretending at confidence. The chatter is a dull roar on the edge of Rai’s senses and he only half-eavesdrops, his attention caught by key words.
Haiden has been mentioned more than once, as has Ryn – better known as Rynneth now. But he hasn't managed to hear the whole story yet. Rai suspects the rumors will be just as rampant at the Lumbering Bear. He will wait until he is seated at the bar, mug and meal in hand, before asking questions.
The king has also been mentioned, hand in hand with the fall of Weirth. He hears whispers of the current monarchy, and how it is lucky that the prince is safe from the fate that had befallen Weirth. But the prince is too young, and all of Umbra knows it. Which leaves the leadership up to the winner of the currently squabbling factions.
Rai keeps what knowledge he has gleaned on the edge of his thoughts as he arrives at the Lumbering Bear, and leads Flynt to the stables. A young boy moves to greet him, taking the reins and offering the stallion a cupful of soft oats. Flynt is all too eager to gobble them up and after leaving strict instructions for the kid, Rai gathers the only saddlebag he'll need and leaves the horse in the boy's hands.
Stepping into the Lumbering Bear, Rai is greeted by a wash of warm air, the murmur of conversation, and the smell of fresh meat pies. His mouth waters at the thought of real food and not travel rations, while in the corner, a group of men laugh amongst themselves.
Rai shifts his saddle bag and weaves through the large crowd, the Lumbering Bear popular thanks to its ability the weather the Ruhin incursion relatively intact. Conversation floats to Rai's ears in snatches.
“... Lord Tennyson has managed to sway the council, or so I hear. Not that it isn't to be expected.”
Rai drops his saddlebag at his foot and climbs onto the last stool at the bar. He waves one of the busy barmaids his direction, casually eavesdropping.
“Not that it really matters,” the other man in the conversation retorts. “One lord is as good as another. Umbra seems due for destruction.”
“Aye, so it seems. Though Tennyson has one good thing going for him.”
“What? His daughter?” This is said with a lecherous scoff.
“Evenin', Rai.”
The barmaid's arrival distracts him, her gentle voice cutting through the talk of rumors, and Rai glances up. Large, golden curls are the first thing he notices about her, as well as a smile that has yet to be tainted by her occupation. She is still young, and even though Rai probably only has a few years ahead of her, they are years he hopes she will never see.
“Back again this month, I see,” the barmaid – whose name he can never remember -- continues with a pleasant smile, one hand occupied by a full pitcher and the other carefully balancing dirtied plates. “You want the usual?”
Rai loosens his cloak, the warmth in the room making it unnecessary. “Yes,” he answers, dropping the thick fabric down onto his saddle bag, though he is careful to keep the pouch containing his earnings close at hand. The thieves have become even more prevalent now and he doesn't have any interest in losing his coin. It is another consequence of the fallen monarchy and scattered guards.
She shifts position as one of her plates rattles ominously, the grace of a barmaid one of the first things learned. “Be out in a few minutes. We're a bit packed tonight.”
He waves her off. “Not like that's different from usual.”
The barmaid chuckles. “How very true.” She melds back into the crowd as surreptitiously as she had arrived, pausing to drop the pitcher off at a table before weaving towards the kitchens.
Left to his own devices once more, Rai casually listens in on the conversations around him. He has found that the best way to gather information is to frequent all the best inns and taverns in any city. And sometimes, to sneak into the worst, if one wants to know specifics in anything. In this manner, he can usually find where the hunting is best.
“--and Violine's the worst. It might as well be inhabited by ghosts for--”
“--they call themselves the Marauders, like they need to advertise their--”
“--foolish. As if anyone cares about a wedding in this day and age. Tennyson is just as bad as the king--”
Hearing Tennyson again perks his interest and Rai chooses to follow that conversation. He should have known that Rynneth's father would have been the one to gain control over the remnants of the monarchy. Like father, like daughter, after all. And while he doesn't know much of the man himself, having only met Lord Tennyson for the span of a minute before leaving Weirth, he knows the daughter all too well. If there is anything as frivolous as a marriage in the works, it is most likely her doing.
Their declaration of war against the Ruhin all those months ago had never fazed Ryn. She had joined them, merging into their group, but never fully understood what they were doing. Even at the final strike against the king, she didn't comprehend the danger. She wasn't prepared to risk her life, treating it as some sort of game, with a prize to be won in the end. And her silly habit of wanting to be rescued, just like the princesses in Rai's mother's stories, had been aggravating.
Unfortunately, Haiden had always stepped up to the task. While Rai would have been satisfied with letting her save herself, Haiden jumped to the rescue. Usually with Suerte at his side. The young boy's hero complex had been worse than Haiden's, and it was further tainted by the cowardice he had hidden so well.
A mug drops to the table in front of Rai. “It'll be a few more minutes for the food,” the barmaid explains lightly.
He nods, curling his fingers around the tankard and pulling it to his lips. The rich brew is smooth and cold, just as he likes. Sensing he is satisfied, the blonde turns to leave.
“Wait.” Rai pauses until he has her attention before continuing, waving demonstratively towards the other patrons. “Rumors are strong tonight. What's this about Tennyson?”
She rolls the question around in her head for a moment before brightening, her blue eyes shining with thrill. “Oh, you mean the announcement! We got the missive this morning and it's been all the talk. Tennyson's been chosen as the proxy for the prince.”
“I understood that much,” Rai replies dryly, a hint of amusement tugging at his lips. “I meant the casual mention of marriage.”
Momentarily distracted by one of her tables calling her, the barmaid rushes to explain. “It's Tennyson's eldest daughter. Hearsay claims she's marrying that mercenary. The one everyone believes took down the Ruhin false-king.”
“Haiden?” The name slips from his mouth out of sheer surprise before he can stop himself. It betrays his connection to them, a fact he has been carefully hiding to avoid the prominence of hero, but luckily, the barmaid doesn't realize the significance of his slip-up.
She purses her lips. “Yeah, I think that was his name.”
Rai blinks. Haiden plans to marry Rynneth? Has the world truly lost all semblance of sanity? Is that what a six months absence from his friend's life does? Makes him lose all sense of rationality and reason? Rai hadn't even known that Haiden liked Rynneth, much less desired marriage from her.
The knowledge sends a twisting knife through his gut and for a moment, he feels nauseated. It disturbs him, thinking of the two of them wed. Rai hadn't even realized that he disliked Rynneth to that extent. But the unpleasant churning in his stomach can't be ignored.
An impatient call from across the room gives the barmaid another start. “Sorry, Rai. I have to go help them. I'll bring your meal by soon, okay?” She leaves quickly, but Rai scarcely notices, his drink all but forgotten in his shock.
He is aware that Haiden remained in Weirth after they defeated the Ruhin-possessed king. Everyone else had gone their separate ways. Maro to her own country. Trahern to his home town and the wife waiting for him. Loka and Gaelin to the guild. Rynneth to her father and Rai to his wandering. Yet, he never thought that Haiden had any interest in Ryn. It baffles him.
Six months. A mere six months. And yet this has happened? Rai remembers the day he left all too clearly. He remembers that it had been raining like it had been in the entire two weeks since the possessed-king had been destroyed. From the moment the barrier surrounding Weirth had been shattered by Loka's magic, rain had fallen on Weirth.
Rai had thought he died in that battle. He last recalled falling to darkness and pain, and expected to open his eyes to the afterlife. Either the shining throng of Elysion or the long road to reincarnation. Or, if He-That-Ruled felt particularly vindictive, the dank dark of the abyss. He certainly hadn't expected to wake lying on an uncommonly soft bed, the smell of freshly baked bread yeasty in his nostrils.
Rynneth later told him the whole story. How Loka, Gaelin, Trahern, and Maro had found their unconscious bodies – his own, Haiden, and Ryn – after destroying the barrier. It had been Rynneth's suggestion to seek refuge at her childhood home, a place mostly untouched by the clawed hands of the Ruhin. Her father and his servants returned not long after, providing the care that the so-called heroes needed.
Rai had been the last to learn of Suerte's death.
The two weeks he spent in the Tennysons tender care had been two weeks too long in Rai's opinion. Especially when subjected to Rynneth's attempts at nursemaiding. Rai hoped to heal as quickly as possible, and envied Maro for her quick departure, only a few days after the possessed-king's demise. Trahern was soon to follow, with Loka a few days after, Gaelin on her heels.
And on the fourteenth day, Rai, too, had packed his bags, despite his injuries. The broken ribs ached, but didn't impede his movement so long as he breathed shallowly. He hadn't wanted to stay under Tennyson's thumb any longer, not with the ambitious lord's desires clear in every action. Rai felt trapped in Weirth, trapped by the evidence of their deeds and trapped by the reminder of the Ruhin invasion. He had sought escape and since then, Rai had not looked back. He had left Haiden behind, thinking that Haiden would leave soon as well.
What had happened between then and now?
How did Ryn manage to hook her claws into Haiden? And why, for that matter? They'd nothing in common and surely Haiden wouldn't be happy being her dress-up doll. What the hell was Haiden thinking?
Rai is more than bothered by this. It disturbs him. Rynneth is not the bravest of souls, or the most underhanded, but then, could Rai be underestimating her? Is Haiden even thinking clearly? Rai isn't sure, but he's not about to let his best friend walk blind into a mistake, if indeed the marriage is truly occurring and not mere rumor.
Haiden had not sounded like a man desperately in love when last they spoke. He hadn't seemed like someone chasing after a piece of his heart. In fact, Haiden better resembled the discomfort of someone seeking answers and unsure where to find them. A resemblance that surely had shown in Rai's face as well.
Saddling a horse one-handed is not the easiest of tasks, Rai has come to learn. He curses under his breath as his fingers fumble over the buckles, slippery with the rain. It's cold, chilly enough to see his breath. And there's a leak in the shoulder of his cloak, sending a slither of icy water down his back. Even so, Rai plans to leave this day.
“You're really leaving,” Haiden says from where he stands, watching Rai secure his belongings and tug viciously on a leather strap.
Haiden's dark hair is plastered to his scalp thanks to the rain, and grey eyes match the clouded sky above them, stormy as they observe. In the dim of the evening, the tattoos that snake up the side of Haiden's neck are obscured, but Rai doesn't need to see them with his eyes to know what they look like. He has been friends with Haiden too long for that.
Rai grunts, frustrated. “Yes. And I don't see why you aren't either.”
He can't see Haiden's face, but he knows that the other man is treating him to look of disbelief. “You've three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder that's still healing, and multiple slashes all over your body, barely held together by stitches. And I'm in no better shape. It doesn't take a wizard to see why I'm staying.”
“I'm mobile,” Rai reminds him sharply “And that's all that's necessary. I'm not staying here any longer.”
He won't explain his desperate desire to be gone from here. His nightmares are his and his alone. His to bear and his to suffer. Not to be shared with Haiden, no matter how close they had been before he had left Lathe all those years ago.
A muttered curse escapes his lips as his fingers slip on a buckle and threaten to send his whole carefully-strapped pile careening. Rai quickly shifts, pressing his aching shoulder against the bundle in an attempt to slow the inevitable tumble.
Another hand joins him, Haiden ceasing his observation to offer help. He elbows Rai out of the way, short, jerky movements fixing the buckle with relative ease.
“Stubborn mule,” Haiden mutters, though not out of anger “Ryn doesn't mind your presence, you know.”
“Rynneth,” Rai feels it necessary to correct as he steps out of the way, letting Haiden help him. His pride can handle that sort of beating, he supposes, considering it's taking all his effort to stand and prove his strength. “And it's not her feelings on the matter that I particularly care about.”
Rai grimaces as his right shoulder aches and lifts an arm, fingers digging into the muscle before he fully comprehends what he is doing. It will be weeks before he can use the arm properly again. That damned Ruhin had really fucked him up. Rai still can't believe that he'd done nothing more than lie there while Haiden had taken the creature out himself.
Haiden rolls his eyes, and cinches the last strap with a grunt. He pats the leather with a gloved hand, performs a quick check of the buckles and declares it finished to his satisfaction. He turns to towards Rai who makes no effort to hide his actions. A noise of exasperation escapes Haiden's lips.
“And you're still hurting,” he points out.
Rai drops his hand. “And you're starting to sound like someone's mother,” he says, patting Flynt gently on the nose.
The stallion nickers, pawing at the muddy ground. Flynt is eager to be on the road again, unappreciative of his two-week confinement in the Tennyson stables, though fine they were.
Satisfied, Rai grasps the saddle, taking a deep breath before forcing himself into it with a great heave. The action pulls at his bruised ribs and a sharp stab of pain echoes in his chest, but he stifles the cry with a grunt. He isn't going to show weakness, otherwise Haiden will badger him into staying and that, Rai can't do.
Rai shifts to get comfortable, and then looks down at Haiden, who has moved to stand at Flynt's head where he is more visible. “You don't need to worry about me,” Rai says, confirming that his sword is near with a brief brush of his fingers; he will likely need it. “These wounds are nothing.”
Haiden snorts, petting Flynt fondly. “And just where do you think you're going? Back home?”
“To Lathe? Not likely.” He just barely keeps the derision from his tone. Rai doesn't plan on ever returning to that tiny village.
Lathe is a hole he had crawled out of before; Rai refuses to get trapped in the mire again.
He tips his head back, enjoying the sprinkle of rain on his face, and eyes the dim edge of brightness behind the grey clouds. Midday, Rai guesses. If he hurries, he can make Outhern by evenfall. In his current state, he doesn't dare risk camping out of doors.
Grey eyes, nearly the same shade as his own, flicker with a vague emotion, one that Rai can't quite name. And for a second, he has the brief thought that he really should stay. Wait long enough for Haiden to heal and then the two of them can leave together. Just like old times, wandering the countryside, sparring, cleaning up the Ruhin remnants.
Haiden looks as though he has something dancing on the tip of his tongue, but a shake of his head clears those words and what comes past his lips doesn't match his expression. “Just don't get yourself killed,” he says. “Lord Tennyson--”
“Do me a favor,” Rai interrupts, holding little interest in anything regarding Lord Tennyson and his daughter by proxy. “Don't let him use my name. I don't want to be a hero.”
Haiden frowns, but nods agreeably, the rain giving him the faint look of a drowned dog. Ironic, since he holds all the qualities of one in Rai's opinion. Loyal. Responsible. Protective.
“He'll be disappointed he can't claim the names of more saviors.” Haiden's tone is bland, but there is sarcasm in his words. Perhaps Haiden is not as enamored of Lord Tennyson as his actions seem to prove.
Reaching for the reins with his uninjured hand, Flynt shifting impatiently beneath him, Rai snorts. “He'll get over it. How long are you going to stay?”
“I don't know. I haven't really thought about it.” Haiden eyes him, glancing critically at Rai's right arm, bound tightly to his body. The hint of bandages peek from beneath Rai's clothing.
Rai drags the hood of his cloak over his own head. No use in cultivating a sickness on top of his injuries. He doesn't need to give Haiden further reason to mother him. Rai's mother has been dead for fifteen years and he needs no replacement.
“Don't get caught up in Tennyson's politics,” Rai warns, knowing that the lord planned to use their endeavors to push himself into high esteem. Someone needs to take control of the monarchy after all, and Lord Tennyson contrives to be that someone.
“I know,” Haiden replies, and with a final pat to Flynt's head, he steps back. He has given up on arguing then.
One of Haiden's hands motion for the soldiers – Tennyson's personal guard – to open the massive gate. They do so immediately, lowering the portcullis so that Rai can cross quickly.
Lifting the reins in hand, Rai clucks his tongue and urges Flynt forward, the stallion eagerly responding to his command. There is no goodbye between him and Haiden, none necessary.
This is the second time Haiden has watched him ride away. And the second time Rai knows Haiden would have asked him to stay. How cruel that the past should repeat itself. How cruel of Rai to repeat that past.
Rai knows that Haiden is watching him go. Why does it matter so much to him that Haiden watches? Rai doesn't know. He does, however, breathe better the moment he steps beyond Tennyson's tender care, the feeling of being stifled lightening with every yard he puts between himself and the ambitious lord.
He rides further and further away, and yet Rai feels as if he has left something important behind. He remembers packing carefully, and Maro's unnamed sword is belted at his side. But perhaps it is that Rai knows he has thrown Haiden to the proverbial wolves and yet dares call himself Haiden's friend. But then, Haiden has never needed his protection.
Rai rides into the distance and never looks back. It is only later that he thinks he probably should have.
Frowning, Rai slips out of the past and stares down at his empty plate, having consumed the entire dish during his reminiscing and tasting none of it. Both mugs of ale have nothing but foam in the bottom; he doesn't remember their sweet flavor either.
Nothing in that encounter speaks of Haiden wanting to marry Rynneth. Nothing in Haiden's behavior claims a desire to walk hand in hand with any Tennyson. What has changed between now and then? What is Rai missing?
a/n: Well, that's chapter one. There's fourteen more to go! I look forward to your comments!
On to chapter two!
