Chapter Text
Time was ever of the essence, but curiously she found that she could not yet bring herself to leave, nor will her feet to move at all. Her comrades meandered away from the clearing one by one, headed in the direction of Slitherbough and none glanced back. The crunching of fallen leaves beneath their boots along with their elated chatter soon dwindled, subdued wholly by Rak’tika’s earthy hum, and by the odd atmosphere that fizzled about the two who remained; preserved in a moment that for everyone else had long since passed.
The cry of many-hued birds, the whisper of ancient, knowing trees and the incessant buzz of insects, urged them both to grant rationale to their lingering, the time beginning to stretch away from them, accusingly. Yet still silence persisted betwixt them, like a pretty silver thread each held an end of.
A vigorous breeze seized their surroundings, tugging at their coattails, and sending the vast carpet of leaves dancing in spirals about their feet. The forget me nots shivered, the canopy swayed, and the silver thread buckled like a spiders web. The Warrior of Darkness sighed and dropped the end she held.
“I ought to return this to you” she stated emptily, raising his aetherial lamp, and doing absolutely nothing to satisfy her true purpose in staying behind. For a heartbeat he did not answer and she looked squarely at Emet Selch for the first time since they were left alone together. Upon doing so, an unwelcome twinge of sorrow took hold of her, at the sight of him. He wasn’t looking at her at all, but away to his left, at the beds of dainty blue flowers encircling them. And he looked… fatigued. His shoulders were slouched, and his angular brows were knitted in that way of his; so often used to convey his utter distaste for everyone and everything around him. However, here in this moment, lost in his thoughts, she saw for the first time that he was deeply, desperately sad.
She had garnered multiple impressions of his nature over the past weeks spent in his company. She’d taken him to be chiefly mischievous, doggedly intent on antagonising the scions at every opportunity. Meanwhile, he was prickly, and rather prone to exasperation himself. Guarded, secretive, arrogant. Disdainful of all that crossed his path, as though everything was doomed to disappointed him in the end. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d glanced at him brooding like this. And yet, she had never once perceived him as sad til this unsettling instance, and now that she had noticed it, she could not fathom how she had ever missed it before.
It produced in her the reckless, uncanny urge to reach out for his hand that hung lonely at his side. She did not do so, however, and when he slanted his gaze towards her, she felt acutely as though she had intruded upon something. Borne witness to a dark and tragic secret she was never invited to know. She blinked away the thought as his eyes flickered down at the lamp in her outstretched hand, and back up to her eyes, his melancholic expression instantly morphing into one of wry amusement.
He smiled, eyes taunting as he lifted his right hand languidly above his head. Without breaking eye contact and not giving so much as a syllable in reply, he snapped his fingers, and in an instant the lamp she held dissolved into amethyst smoke. Smoke that swiftly dissipated as Emet Selch turned to face her, raising a decidedly unconvinced eyebrow in her direction.
She swallowed. Of course he never needed it returned , she cursed herself inwardly. He can conjure whatsoever he pleases out of thin air, why in hells did I stay behind…
“Ah, yes…well,” she began, defensive and desperate to fill the new and excruciating silence he had also conjured, at her expense. “I suppose…I suppose I also wanted….to…”
“ Hmm?” He prompted mercilessly, aware of and clearly entertained by her discomfort.
“To give you my thanks, Ascian,” she interjected, irritably. He grinned at that, and she felt her temper melting too quickly, as well as that treacherous tug at the corners of her mouth. She pursed her lips to keep from returning his smile, closing her eyes and exhaling sharply through her nose.
As soon as she was once again master of her own expression, she looked back at him, ready to cut him with her tongue. But when her eyes met his golden gaze again, she found that she could not. Though he maintained the same haughty, smirk intended to mock her, she saw that his eyes were still fathomlessly woeful. The dark circles beneath them spoke of a ponderous burden he had no intention of revealing. She stepped a fulm towards him, but no closer.
“Truly. It was a wondrous thing you did for us. The kindest.”
“For you.” Emet Selch corrected, his eyes dark, and his voice soft and deeper than she had heard it before. Her eyes widened at his unanticipated remark and he broke eye contact for an instant, gazing back towards the little blue blossoms. Then he flashed her a grin.
“After all, you are nothing if not endearingly predictable, my dear. Grief would have distracted you from your tasks ahead, sentimental creature that you are.” He paused then, adopting a condescending, singsong quality, as if explaining something simple to a child, “I had merely to remedy that before your moping and stumbling about grew tedious to watch. In other words, I spared myself from the inevitable boredom you would have inflicted upon me.” He drawled, drama abound. “A win win for us both!” He concluded, a saccharine flourish to his tone.
She should have recoiled at his obnoxious performance, choicely crafted solely to rile her. To embarrass her for having ever thanked him at all. Any other time it would have hit it’s mark.
But ‘twas all a show. His method of concealment. She could not unsee the loneliness in his eyes and neither did he seem capable of hiding it within them. It was there even now…but what it had to do with herself or his recent favour to her, she could not guess. He had done them all a great kindness, one that benefitted him naught. Yet he would rather have her believe he did it out of a callous, selfishness. She realised then that he must have carried a terrible secret indeed, and for a second she too stole a glance at the forget me nots. Their soothing earnest faces, blue as the summer sky in Costa del Sol, grounded her. Then she did the kindest thing she could think to at that juncture.
She scowled at him.
She stepped forward three more fulms until she was right in front of him, craning her neck slightly to maintain their eye contact. She performed a mock courtesy, smiling menacingly sweet, hand on heart, eyes still narrowed. Then she spoke, punctuating every consonant, voice dripping like poisoned honeycomb.
“Then I’d best be about it, so as not to bore you after all your gracious efforts, Your Radiance .” She rose back to her full height and made to turn on her heel. But he caught her by the chin with his gloved hand, forcing her to meet his eyes.
The action startled her and she said not a word, but merely regarded him anxiously, awaiting his next move. His hand was warm, even through the glove, and his grip was gentle, enforced more by his intimidating air of authority, than anything else. Dappled sunlight and leafy shadows kissed both of their faces as each regarded the other. He leaned down towards her, then, close enough to whisper a secret, but just shy of anything more intimate. He smelled pleasantly of rich, expensive leather, and freshly snuffed candle smoke. Just as the tension between them began to mount, his brows knitted again wistfully, and he spoke.
“You’re quite welcome, Hero. I…” he paused for a beat, as if reviewing his chosen words but thinking better of them. He sighed wearily, then smiled at her, “I so long for you not to disappoint me, my dear.” His eyes were soft, his smile genuine and she got the sense he didn’t mean it to be a jibe.
She swallowed nervously, and after a few more moments, when it was clear she would say naught, he reluctantly released his grip on her jaw, and his eyes grew cold once more. Straightening back up, he folded his arms dismissively.
“Fear not. Doubtless we will see each other again, ere long. But off with you now, my dear; I haven’t the energy to entertain you all afternoon!” He said, voice back to its usual taunting lilt, his arms flailing in feigned exasperation before he turned and sauntered off, one hand waving her away lethargically.
With no desire to prolong this strange interaction, nor have to answer too many questions should her friends reach camp without her, she huffed and stomped briskly away, slinging her bow over her shoulder and kicking leaves as she went.
She did not see him stop and turn to watch her go until she was fully out of sight. Did not see him look once more to the bed of forget me nots. Did not see his grimace, or hear the clean snap of his fingers before he disappeared into a portal of darkness.
Another gust shook the clearing in the wake of his departure. The ancient canopy of trees whispering as they collected more secrets, more memories to haunt the Greatwood.
***
When the warrior returned to camp she found herself drained and depleted. Much had passed since the day had dawned, and she was in no mood for company or food. She merely wished to sleep - to forget about how dangerously close she had come to losing her friend. How the light she had absorbed was apparently having ill affects she could not yet detect, but no one dared to explain. Most of all, she wanted to forget how lonesome Emet Selch had looked, and how she wished she was actually as brave as everyone proclaimed her to be. If she were, mayhap she might have taken his hand. Asked him more questions. Instead, it had frightened her, and so she played her silly part and kept her coward’s peace.
She heaved a sigh, and slung her water skin, bow, quiver, and knapsack beside her sleeping mat, bending down to untie her boots as well. Upon doing so she froze, spying something unexpected that was wound daintily around her left wrist. She gasped and lifted her arm, carefully rolling back her sleeve to see it better.
Twisted about her wrist was a spindly woven bangle, made entirely of forget me not flowers. Each one was twined together by their stems in a complex knot, akin to elaborately braided hair. It was impossible…far too fiddly to be real. Yet here it was on her own wrist. Emotion swelled in her breast, unbidden. It was lovely. Surely the most beautiful thing she’d ever beheld. Forlornly so. And the first thought that struck her next was of how soon it would certainly die. Her throat felt tight and she had to brush her eyes with her other sleeve before they spilled over.
She crept out of her tent, breathing in the aroma of damp moss and woodsmoke, and looked through the trees at the camp. Urianger was still sitting by the fire with Minfilia and Thancred and the others. Satisfied, she made her way over to the tent adjacent to hers and slipped inside. The tent was neatly cluttered, arranged just so, yet crammed with tomes, scrolls, quills, and various tea caddies and a few porcelain cups and plates. She hunted until she happened upon a heavy enough tome, and one that she couldn’t imagine containing anything useful pertaining to their present dilemma. It would do.
She tucked it under her arm, ignoring the faint pang of guilt about taking it without asking. But she didn’t want to explain her need for it, and of all the scions, Urianger should understand her position good and well. And if not, he was least positioned to protest, having kept far more of import to himself before, and even now she knew he was hiding something drastic from her. She’d take the book, she didn’t need it forever and he’d get it back when she was done and be content with it. Her mind made up, she then snaffled one of the chocolate biscuits from the silver filigree caddy by the oil lamp, for good measure.
Skulking back to her tent, munching on her stolen fare, she froze, noticing the fire was smouldering low and the others were beginning to stand and stretch, ready to retire for the evening. With no shadow of night to cloak her, she crouched like a common thief and hurried her pace so as not to be seen, slinking back into her own tent with a sigh of relief.
She set the book down with a light thump, and opened it right to the middle. Then she opened her medicine pouch and rummaged though her healing materials, glass potion flasks and phials clinking as she went, until her fingers grasped a gossamer thin gauze, used for dressing wounds. She tore off a square, sat down and laid it carefully upon the open page of Urianger’s tome. Frowning deeply with concentration, she slid the bracelet of tiny meadow blossoms off of her wrist, laying it reverently atop the gauze. She leaned down to look at it, before tutting with frustration, drawing her candle a little closer for better illumination and leaned down once more.
Her heart hammered as she examined the tiny flower chain, checking each braid, and each petal was laying flat and would not be bent out of shape. Everything had to remain perfect, not one sweet detail destroyed or altered. She gingerly laid a second square of gauze over the top. Then, once she was as satisfied as she’d ever be, she released a shaky breath and closed the book, pressing it down firmly.
She felt an ache in her chest that she could not look at it again, at least not for a while…And it would never be the same. But the fragile, frivolous little thing caused something in her very soul to stir, something that screamed it’s precious importance, and she knew she needed to preserve it. T’would not do to allow it to wilt away.
She shrouded the large volume in one of the many blankets strewn about her makeshift quarters, setting it beside her pillow, and eased herself into her sleeping sack. She blew out the candle at last, pulled her feathered cap over her eyes and sunk down, falling into a sound slumber, enwreathed by the familiar and comforting scent of candle smoke.