Don't mistake me for a hero, love. Unfortunately for you, I'm the bad guy here.
If you have the coin, I might have the time.
[This is a RP blog for LoZRP and Telma's Interdimensional Tavern.]
As Azrael left his line of sight, Rhey’lu absently looked around the room, his gaze eventually falling on Vahari’s necklace here it sat on the bedside table. With some minor difficulty he reached for it, cradling the tarnished metal in his hands as his thoughts drifted back to her. What had become of her, he wondered.. Had Azrael buried her perhaps? If so, then where? He would have to ask him about it; once he was better, Rhey’lu had every intention of finding her, if only to properly say goodbye.
He flinched suddenly, a clinking noise from beside him causing his heart to skip a beat in alarm. Rhey’lu sighed, settling quickly once he saw it was only Azrael, having returned from elsewhere in the cabin with the drink and and armful of fresh bandages. He rummaged around in a drawer for a moment, producing a small bottle of unknown contents. Rhey’lu blinked up at the other man, regarding him curiously he spoke. It was evidently harmless, perhaps medicine of some sort..
Nodding in understanding, he managed a soft, “Thank you..”
His attention then fell on the strips of clean cloth that had been set on the bed, absently thumbing the necklace in his hands. The idea of irritating his injuries further when they were already causing him a great deal of discomfort was not a fond one, but they needed tending to if he was going to heal properly. His mouth set in a muted scowl, he nodded once more, mentally preparing himself for what his bandages concealed.
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He could tell the young man was in pain, despite his best efforts to conceal his anguish, and Azrael felt a tug in the pit of his stomach every time he vocalized his discomfort. Still, he persisted in his task of changing the stranger’s bandages, noting that though they still looked quite raw and bloody, Rhey’lu was in better shape than he had found him in. The young man sighed, presumably as the ointment took effect, and Azrael allowed himself to relax, his shoulders sagging.
As he tended to the wound on Rhey’lu’s forehead, he was aware of the stranger’s crimson-flecked eyes falling on his face. In response, he felt his face grow hot, and he was grateful his work on the bandages gave him an excuse not to look back at the strange young man’s eyes.
There was a break in the silence, the man’s soft voice asking a question, it seemed. His long, pale fingers gestured to Azrael’s collar, and for a moment Azrael was not entirely certain of what he was referring to -- the thick, inked black lines, or the angry violet ones? Instinctively he tugged upwards on his collar, not knowing if it helped his situation at all. He was leaning over the bed, hunched as he dabbed at Rhey’lu’s forehead with ointment.
“It is a long story,” Azrael murmured thoughtfully, placing a new layer of gauze on the injury. “Perhaps I’ll tell you one day, when you’re feeling better.” Tying the last bandage around the young man’s head, securing the gauze in place, Azrael took a moment to look over his work.
“That should do you for now,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They... you’re healing well, so I imagine we won’t need quite so many next time. You should get some rest. That will help,” he added, gesturing to the mug on the bedside table. Nodding slowly to himself, Azrael took his leave, rubbing his collar anxiously as he limped through the cabin towards the door.
His regretful reply caused Rhey’lu’s hold on Azrael to grow slack, and slowly he released his arm, shoulders sagging as he sat numbly with the mirror in his lap. Somehow, he understood.. Not so much the words themselves, but the meaning of them. His rescuer, while trying to be reassuring, had no idea what was happening to him either.
With trembling hands, the injured young man held the mirror up, peering at his reflection once more. The discoloring of his eyes and hair aside, he looked positively ghastly… Never in all his years had he ever known himself to look so physically worn. Rhey’lu scowled softly, his heart heavy in his chest as his thoughts drifted to Vahari. Was this happening to her as well, he wondered. He bit his lip, his grip on the mirror tightening; he would never know the answer.
Azrael took the mirror from him then, careful as he coaxed the object from his grasp. Rhey’lu turned his head away from him as he hurriedly rubbed at his eyes with the back of a bandaged hand. He was asking him something, checking the bandages on his arm.
“I.. I am.. okay,” he replied, displeased with how brittle his voice sounded around the unfamiliar words. He coughed as he cleared his throat, wincing as the action irritated the burns along his neck and shoulder, the fractures in his ribs. The longer he was conscious, the more his body rejected any sort of movement, and his injuries flared and throbbed painfully beneath their wrappings. With shaky sigh, he wearily met Azrael’s gaze again, instinctively clutching his side as he exhaled.
“I am okay,” he repeated. He knew what those words meant now, but he was unsure how to articulate the rest of what he wanted to say just yet. Instead, he simply nodded, gesturing to the bandages. “There is pain, but… I can manage for now.”
The stranger seemed perturbed by his appearance, a reaction Azrael was all too familiar with. His voice was fragile, barely above a whisper, and yet he fought to be heard, to be understood. Azrael nodded solemnly, regarding Rhey’lu where he sat in his bed, each pained cough agitating his injuries. “I’ll be back,” he promised, standing up with some difficulty. “I’ll bring... new bandages. And medicine.”
As he limped out the room, he sighed, exhaling a lungful of frustrations as he made his way to the cabin’s humble kitchen. He’d spent much of the last few days cleaning up, and the bandages he’d washed the other night were still hanging from every reachable object, quite clean and dry now. He grabbed several of them, draping them over his arm as he wandered the cabin.
Azrael had boiled water for tea before going into the bedroom to check on Rhey’lu, and he was satisfied to see it was still quite hot. With some difficulty, he managed to drop a muslin satchel of herbs into an old mug, pouring the steaming water over them. It wasn’t much, but hopefully it would help with the pain.
As he reentered the room, Azrael carefully placed the mug on the bedside table whilst he juggled the batch of bandages in one arm. Opening the drawer of the table, he withdrew a small bottle, which he showed to Rhey’lu now. “It’s safe,” Azrael assured him as he set the bandages down on the bed, opening the bottle to reveal a small dropper. As if to demonstrate its harmlessness, he opened his mouth to drop some onto his tongue. “It will make you feel better, and... hopefully you’ll be able to get some more sleep.” He paused, gauging the young man’s reaction before he added it to the mug.
“Right then, while that cools down... we’d best get started on these bandages.”
He exhaled a lungful of frustrations as he sat at the bar counter, Azrael’s shoulders sagging as he buried his head in his hands. He felt more exhausted than he had in decades, but there was the irritating undercurrent of neurotic energy in his veins -- he was drained, but unable to sleep. The tavern was deserted at this hour, but the dutiful barkeep was still awake, drying the last of the freshly washed glasses before setting them aside in their cabinets. She eyed Azrael warily from where she stood, and he could see the question that formed in her eyes before it made its way to her lips.
“So... you know I don’t make a habit of prying, but I’m curious,” Telma began slowly. “Do you have some sort of reputation for leaving glowing bite marks on your companions? I have to admit, I’ve heard a lot of things... but that’s a new one for me, honey.”
Azrael glanced up from his hands, meeting her expression with weary eyes. Louise hopped onto the counter at that moment, and seemed to find it very appropriate to rub herself against his arm during the silence that followed Telma’s question. He sighed again, reaching to stroke the cat half-heartedly before turning his attention back towards the bartender.
“For the sake of my reputation, I feel I should assure you that I do not, in fact, leave glowing marks on anyone,” Azrael replied bitterly. “But I’m sure that’s not what you meant.”
Telma only smiled, crossing her arms over her chest as she returned the last mug to the cabinet. “Az, I’m not trying to catch you out here,” she assured him. “I’m not one to judge the people who come into my tavern. You’re a good kid, I’m only asking because... well, you’ve been coming here more than a few years now. And you look exactly the same as you did the day I met you.”
Being referred to as a “kid” caused Azrael to wrinkle his nose, laughing in spite of himself. Even if Telma had aged where he hadn’t, he was fairly certain he was still several hundred years older than she was. “I suppose you could say I age gracefully,” he offered dryly, gently scratching behind Louise’s ears as she flopped down on the counter in front of him.
“Or not at all,” Telma returned softly, a sad smile on her face. For this, Azrael had no immediate response. The back of his neck had started to prickle the way it often did when he’d been caught, and yet he did not feel as if he were in any particular danger with Telma. He just felt ... exposed. And he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
“Or not at all,” he agreed finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been... careless. I’ve lingered here longer than I should have. Even the most unobservant begin to notice when the world changes and you... don’t.”
She nodded carefully, leaning against the wall behind the bar counter. He was acutely aware of the distance she was placing between the pair of them, but whether it was for his benefit or her own, he couldn’t be sure. “For a while, I figured it was just something that made you different from the average Hylian,” Telma admitted. “I knew you weren’t from around here. I thought maybe you were like a Zora or something, that you had a sort of longevity that us folk haven’t mastered just yet. But you’re special, aren’t you?”
Azrael couldn’t help the forced bark of a laughter that escaped him then. Louise glared up at him reproachfully, having been about to fall asleep on him. “Hardly,” he retorted. “Just a notoriously unlucky sod who made some poor life decisions with lasting ramifications. My... people are rather long-lived, truthfully. But not this long.”
“Ah,” was all she said for a while. As the silence lingered, the only sound in the lonely tavern the continuous rumbling purr emanating from the cat on the counter, Telma stepped forward to grab something from one of the bottom shelves behind the bar. He could almost picture the familiar bottle of rum before she’d placed it in front of him, turning away to grab two of the glasses she had just finished cleaning.
“Are your friends still at each other’s throats?” she asked teasingly, pouring a glass for him. He took it gratefully, taking a careful swig with one hand while Louise slept on the other.
“For now, no,” he replied. “Thankfully. Though I imagine between the two of them, they’ll find something to fight about sooner or later.”
Telma nodded, her gaze uncomfortably intense on Azrael’s face. “Do they know?” she asked gently.
He nodded slowly. “Haeyin moreso than Cien,” he explained. “I... Telma, I didn’t withhold this from you out of spite, or any sort of distrust in your loyalty or your reliability, I assure you.”
To his surprise, the bartender laughed quietly, shaking her head. “Oh, Az -- I’m not mad at you, hon,” she assured him, gently touching his free hand. “You don’t have to explain why you didn’t tell me. I’m not entitled to your secrets.”
Azrael found his face growing hot, chewing on his lip as he reached for his glass, mostly looking for an excuse to break the contact. “It’s... easier, the fewer people I tell.”
“It sounds lonely.”
He paused for a moment, nodding halfheartedly. “Loneliness is part of the package, really,” he said after taking another sip of his drink. “Even Haeyin... well, one of the side effects of immortality is the acknowledgement that you will eventually outlive all of your friends. Some sooner than others.”
Telma nodded, that sad smile still on her face. She rested her chin on her hands as she leaned on the counter, regarding his face with a strange mix of ... not pity, but a similar emotion that Azrael couldn’t identify. “I take it you’re used to it by now?”
He paused again. “No,” he admitted.
“Somehow, I didn’t think so,” Telma replied. She took a hearty sip of her own glass while apparently mulling over some unvoiced concern. He could see in the set of her brow she was trying to figure out how to ask him something.
“I don’t remember how it happened,” he offered. “Haeyin might know, if I’d told him before I...”
Her gaze flickered back towards him, and Azrael felt it come to a rest on the left side of his face. “I had a feeling that wasn’t superficial,” she admitted, a twinkle in her eye.
“Quite the opposite,” Azrael assured her, laughter leaking into his voice. “I died. Sort of.” At Telma’s resulting bamboozled expression, he struggled to explain. “I can’t die -- at this point, I figure that’s sort of obvious -- but I came close that day. And based on what I’ve been told, had it been anyone else in that situation, they wouldn’t have survived.”
Telma nodded, her brow furrowed as her gaze remained on his face. “I have to admit, it looks pretty good for a wound that should’ve put you in the grave, honey.”
Biting his lip, Azrael debated with himself for a moment before reaching for his face, gently undoing the clasp on his eyepatch. He admittedly felt a sort of instant relief from removing it, feeling air against his skin and his scalp for the first time in several hours. His relief was short-lived, however, as he could feel his glamour slipping. Telma’s expression remained stony for a time as she watched the changes in his face, and he knew her eyes were settling on the pitted lines dragged through his skin, his unseeing left eye.
“See, now I can believe what you just told me,” she pointed out. “I... Wow. That’s pretty gnarly.”
“You can see why I go to such efforts to hide it,” Azrael offered, smiling. He felt vulnerable, but he didn’t have the energy to conceal himself. And what harm could it do, when Telma already knew the worst of it?
She took a swig from her glass, gazing into it as if searching for words within the rum she’d poured. “I mean... I figured there was a reason you wore an eyepatch. But why the glamour?”
He shrugged his shoulders, reaching for his own glass. “Easier to pass it off as a ‘superficial’ injury when it doesn’t look like my face split in half.”
She made a noise in the back of her throat. “That’s fair,” she replied. “Though I don’t think it looks that bad.”
He stared at her for a long time.
“I mean it,” Telma said seriously, holding his gaze. “You’re not the first young man who’s had a war wound that put him out of action, you know. Just looks like you’ve seen some combat. Which I figure you have.”
“I have,” Azrael agreed, nodding slowly. “Mia’s grimy talons aside, I have actually been in a few scuffles.”
Rubbing her chin, Telma tilted her head, as if lost in thought for a moment. “I’d almost forgotten about that,” she mused. “Time flies here, new missions all the time... easy to forget the ones that were just up last week. She roughed you up pretty badly, huh? What was that girl’s name, the one who stitched your face for you?”
The mention of the “girl” caused his face to heat up. “Elenika,” he offered. As Telma held his gaze, he shook his head. “She doesn’t know. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“How well does that usually work? Keeping people in the dark?”
Azrael felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile. “Well, we’re having this conversation, so... you tell me.”
She smiled sympathetically, leaning on her elbows. “What are you going to do? You’re a smart kid, you know she’s going to find out one way or another. Or are you already planning around that?”
Frowning into his glass, Azrael pondered the question for a moment before answering. “The only plan I’ve ever really had has been to avoid the eventuality for as long as I can, and then... deal with it accordingly, I suppose.”
“Hm,” Telma said, her eyebrows threatening to fly off her forehead. “You don’t think she has a right to know?”
He made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “She deserves to live a long and happy life without my ... particular brand of complications,” he offered sternly. “What can I possibly offer her, other than a life of pain and bitter inevitability? What could I offer anyone that would pay the price for that?”
Her smile remained in spite of his words, and she shook her head slowly. “Don’t sell yourself short, Az,” Telma replied, almost chidingly, but with a warm, sweet tone that somehow set his mind at ease. “The people in your life, they stick with you for a reason. I’m sure Haeyin doesn’t see you the way you apparently see yourself. Maybe she won’t either.”
For this, Azrael had no immediate response. Frowning, he sipped on his drink as Telma gently scratched behind Louise’s ears. In response, the cat seemed to snuggle closer against Azrael’s arm, much to the barkeep’s amusement. For a long time, it seemed, the three of them were content to sit in silence, content to pretend the weight of their conversation could not touch them here.
Eventually Telma sighed, picking her glass up as she crossed the bar counter, standing beside him. “Unfortunately, I’m not nearly as well preserved as you are, and I’m about ready to pass out at this counter,” she admitted with a touch of laughter. She paused, regarding him where he sat for a moment, her cat still quite content to sleep on his arm. “Don’t stay up too late, hon.”
She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze as she walked away towards the staircase. At a loss for words, Azrael could only nod weakly as he reached for a swig of his rum, Louise still purring against his arm. The uncomfortable energy he had felt after such a long day had faded, but unfortunately so had his exhaustion.
Rhey’lu eyed the stranger with muted curiosity as he quickly moved away. He was apologizing, rather sheepishly at that, but there was something in the uncertain way he was looking at him that made Rhey’lu uncomfortable. He watched as Azrael retrieved a mirror, wiping it clean with his sleeve before holding it out to him. His eyes flickered warily between the two, wondering what exactly the reasoning for this could possibly be. It was then that Azrael spoke up again, his tone mostly reassuring despite the careful look on his face.
Mustering what little strength he had, Rhey’lu grit his teeth, wincing heavily as he struggled to lift himself into a sitting position. His wounds protested in his movement, the bandages irritating his burnt flesh, bruised muscle and fractured bone causing spasms of pain to shoot through his arm and bloom across his rib cage. Silver locks of hair spilled over his shoulders and hung loosely around his face as Rhey’lu finally managed to sit upright, and he took a moment to catch his breath before looking to the mirror Azrael had presented him.
He was surprised by how heavy it was, the mirror nearly slipping from his grasp as it passed from Azrael’s hand to his own. Clutching it tightly, Rhey’lu hesitantly lifted it to his face to peer into the reflective surface.. and nearly dropped it again in shock.
There were a few minor nicks and scratches on his cheeks, a bandage wrapped around his head to secure the gauze at his temple, but it was his eyes that had startled him so severely. Where he had once known them to be a pale silver, his irises were now splotched with bright red. He brought a shaking hand to his face, fingertips resting just at the corner of his right eye as he stared at his reflection. What in the name of… It was then that he noticed his hair, and he turned his head just enough to get a better view at a patch of red that bled out from beneath the otherwise white strands. The mirror fell to his lap and Rhey’lu reached for the scarlet locks, his eyes wide with alarm as he examined the ends.
After a brief pause, his attention fell on Azrael once more, and at once he understood why he had seemed so uncertain before.
“What is this?” he asked, forgetting himself as he reached for the other man. He gripped his arm tightly, searching his face as the words tumbled forth in a panicked stream. “What happened to my eyes? My hair? Is this normal on this world? Azrael, please, what is happening to me?”
The moment Rhey’lu exhibited distress at attempting to sit up, Azrael’s immediate response was to stop him, to prevent him from injuring himself. Instead, he ended up hovering nervously, unsure of where best to touch the strange young man in order to assist him. By the time he decided on a safe place to position his hands, the young man was more or less sitting upright in bed. He continued to hover there, gently holding the mirror, hoping he might account for the bulk of the weight.
It was abnormal, unexpected. Had there been any hope that perhaps Rhey’lu knew what was happening to him, it had been dashed by the startled expression in his eyes. Azrael sighed, biting his lip as the stranger spoke, his panicked words entirely foreign to him. He could guess their meaning... and his name, of course. But what could he possibly attempt to explain to him, this phenomenon of which he had no knowledge?
Shaking his head, Azrael sighed again. “I don’t know,” he admitted, holding Rhey’lu’s gaze. “You’re okay -- you’re safe here. But... I don’t know. I’ve never seen this before, I don’t know why this is happening.” He didn’t like not knowing. He didn’t like not having an answer for this poor young stranger. Answers were the very least he could give him, after all he had lost.
Gesturing towards the bandages, Azrael gently pried the mirror from Rhey’lu’s hands. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly. “Good? Bad? Are you in pain? I ... expect your bandages will need changing soon.” He touched the edge of the fabric on the young man’s arm, feeling it was slightly damp against his fingers.
Caraid. A single word, and yet Azrael could remember the depth of emotion tied to it. Linguistically it had its own assortment of interpretations, but in that moment he remembered the singular meaning that he himself had bestowed upon it -- and, in connection, bestowed upon Haeyin.
Something changed within him as he recalled the word, the connection he felt to the red-haired man he had considered to be so stoic towards him in the passing months. He remembered now how careful Haeyin was, and he recognized his stone-faced expressions for what they were; the cautious and considerate masks of a doctor, carefully chosen so as not to betray his emotions. What turmoil he must have felt, having watched Azrael struggle all this time... and what sadness, as someone he had known so dearly stumbled over his own name.
They had been married, he remembered that now. He remembered the ceremony, how he had guided Haeyin and Nayru through the process, and how they had cared for one another’s brands long after they were healed. A simple ceremony, they had worn circlets of wildflowers, gemstones braided into Nayru’s hair.
But he had not called her caraid... no, there had been another term he had given her, a name in another forgotten tongue he had been raised on. “Caraid...” he murmured, his arms tightening around Nayru where she stood. “Yes, I remember now. My caraid and my ionmhainn. By the gods, how could I have forgotten you both? I am so sorry.”
Haeyin seemed startled, and Nayru looked up at him with a shocked expression on her face. Haeyin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you actually apologizing for having amnesia, Azrael?”
He rolled his eyes in response -- it felt odd, and he realized it was likely because only one half of his face had responded to his whims. “Please, let me apologize,” he responded. “I can only imagine how hard this has been for you, both of you. And I put you in this position... for that, I am sorry, yes.”
Nayru released him then, stepping backwards to meet his gaze more easily. “We’re happy you’re okay,” she assured him.
Azrael’s eyes were still on Haeyin. “Then why are you standing so far away?” he asked quietly, trying to smile. Part of him worried there was some other part he had failed to remember, some reason that Haeyin would avoid him so... but what could it be?
The other man tentatively walked towards him, until he was merely inches away. His red eyes seemed tired and he was paler than usual, and as he searched Azrael’s expression he seemed to be at war with himself.
He reached for Haeyin’s hand, not knowing what to expect. To his immense surprise and pleasure, he did not recoil from Azrael’s touch this time. The moment he intertwined their fingers, Haeyin’s stony mask finally broke. For the first time since he’d awoken that one dismal morning, Haeyin’s eyes began to tear up.
“Come here, it’s okay,” Azrael said softly, pulling Haeyin closer. “It’s okay.” He embraced him slowly, wary of his distance, but Haeyin did not resist. He buried his face against Azrael’s collarbone, his shoulders beginning to shake as he struggled to contain himself. Azrael did his best to help him stay together, holding him tightly in his arms. It didn’t seem to help very much.
It was not a reunion they had imagined, clearly. It was tense, and there were still so many questions left unanswered, so many holes in his memory that he had no way of knowing how to fill. But for the first time, he felt grounded in who he was, and who his friends were. He felt hopeful that he might learn about himself once more with the people he loved.
It was a voice that woke him, frantic and colorfully accented. He had heard it before… Who did it belong to? Rhey’lu groaned softly as he was jostled, brow creasing as something touched his head, combed through his hair. It took him a moment to register that they were hands, fingers brushing against his scalp. Why? Who was touching him?
Dazed and vaguely confused, he drew in a deep, shaking breath. The weight on his chest had lessened a bit, the burning sensation in his lungs now a stinging irritation, and he was relieved to find that he could breathe a little easier now. As he gradually became more alert, Rhey’lu slowly opened his eyes, blinking groggily as he turned his head. He winced in the action, the burns along his neck and collarbones twinging painfully beneath their bandages.
“Wh…” He frowned softly, searching the face of the stranger at his side. His name.. What was his name again? “Az..rial? What a-re you.. doing?”
The stranger’s eyes opened slowly, and Azrael could see the visible energy it took to look up at him. He forced his expression to remain neutral, even as Rhey’lu’s eyes were also victim to this strange phenomenon, crimson patches blooming in his irises, the first impossible flowers of spring. He had no answer to offer, no explanation amidst the knowledge he had collected over the years that could attempt to understand what was at play here.
Blinking, Azrael realized with some embarrassment the close proximity he kept with the strange young man. Clearing his throat, he leaned back quickly. “Sorry--I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said slowly, carefully enunciating his words. He was only too aware of the fact that his accent likely made it difficult to learn from him. “I was... here, perhaps you should see this.”
Reaching for the first drawer in the bedside table, Azrael withdrew an old looking glass, dusty with misuse. Cursing quietly under his breath, he quickly rubbed at the filthy surface with the edge of his sleeve, the fabric dragging against the dirt and grime. Taking a deep breath, Azrael offered the stranger the mirror, gauging his expression.
“It’s okay,” he assured him. “There’s no blood, no wound... I don’t know what’s happening, but... you seem to be fine.” But whatever could be causing it?
Gingerly lifting his head from the pillow, Rhey’lu held the glass to his mouth, but in his eagerness to quell the horrible burning in his throat, he choked. He pushed the glass - and Azrael’s hands - away, water sputtering from his lips and dribbling down his chin as he coughed. The action caused him far more pain than he had imagined possible, his injuries flaring angrily in response to the way his body convulsed as he struggled to breathe again.
He clutched at his chest, gasping painfully as Azrael continued to speak to him. Rhey’lu’s brow furrowed, his eyes glossy as he struggled to focus on the stranger’s face in an effort to comprehend what he was saying as the room began to spin. His voice was deeper than his own and colorfully accented, the sound of it soothing despite the unfamiliarity. The more he spoke, however, the easier it was for Rhey’lu to decipher his words. If only they brought him such comfort as well.
The tears flowed freely and silently from his eyes now as he lie there, the pain of loss gripping him tightly. His friend was gone… and he was alone now, burned and broken and alone, and the tragedy of it hardly seemed fair at all. They had come to this strange new world together… Why her, and not him?
Disoriented and overwhelmed, Rhey’lu swallowed hard. A gnawing sense of panic crept over him as his vision darkened around the edges, and he opened his mouth to speak, to question Azrael further, but no words formed. His white-knuckle hold on Vahari’s necklace grew slack, and soon it, and consciousness itself, slipped from his grasp.
After his brief period of consciousness, the stranger did not wake for many days afterwards. At times, he would murmur in his sleep, causing Azrael some alarm, but otherwise he remained quite still. Occasionally, Azrael found himself checking to ensure the young man was still breathing, still alive in spite of the horrific tragedy he had endured. Every time, Rhey’lu surprised him, assuring him that he was very much alive, somehow.
He had ventured out once or twice to examine the grave he had dug for Vahari; he couldn’t remember how many times, truthfully. Both times, he had found her grave undisturbed, tiny flowers beginning to blossom from the damp earth. The crater itself was filling with water and moss and the beginning buds of new growth. Soon, he wondered if it would be visible at all.
Some time later, he had the shock of his life when he went in to check on Rhey’lu and found the young men’s hair was turning red. He had thought he was bleeding out at first, and immediately Azrael was at his side, trying to find the wound beneath his silvery hair. “Damn it all, Rhey’lu -- don’t you die on me, not you too.”
As he frantically searched for a bleed, Azrael became aware that there was no blood at all... no wound to be seen. In fact, it seemed Rhey’lu’s hair was merely turning red of its own volition, silvery strands fading into vermillion. Azrael paused, his hands still in the stranger’s hair. How very curious. He wondered, for perhaps the umpteenth time that month, just who Rhey’lu was... and why Vahari had been so adamant that he survive.
An unspeakable dread bloomed within him as Azrael’s expression changed then, carefully standing from his seat and closing the distance between him and the bed. He reached into his pocket, and Rhey’lu felt his heart stutter behind his ribs. He barely registered the other man’s words as he stared at the necklace he had retrieved.
Numbly, Rhey’lu reached for it, trembling pale fingers brushing against the calloused skin of Azrael’s palm. Upon inspection, the once pristine metal was scorched, the chain broken at the clasp.. but there was no mistaking the swirling yet simple design of the golden pendant. It had been a gift, a token bestowed upon his childhood friend the day she had been granted the title of knight. Why did he have this?
“I… I do not–” Rheylu swallowed hard, his throat dry as he struggled to speak. Azrael.. He had said it earlier. His temple throbbed as he tried to make sense of the words that now came to him, sluggishly shaking his head. “I do not… understand.”
“Where.. i-s Vahari?” he asked again, though in his heart, he feared he already knew the answer. The injuries he had sustained were heavily taking their toll on him, and Rhey’lu gasped raggedly, sweat dripping down the side of his ashen face with exerted effort to breathe, to remain conscious. Gripping the necklace as tightly as he was able, he looked up at Azrael, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes.
“She.. she was with me, and.. S-She can’t be– Vahari–”
There was a lump in his throat, a pain in the young man’s eyes that Azrael could not swallow, could not ignore. The stranger struggled to speak, and half of what he said Azrael was able to understand. He was unable to marvel at how quickly he learned, when the first conversation Rhey’lu was having in this language was the news of the death of his friend.
As the injured stranger’s thin, pale fingers clutched the necklace, as if he were still grasping for dear life. There were tears in his eyes as he evidently struggled to breathe, and for a moment Azrael could ignore his emotional distress as he became concerned for the integrity of his bandages. For a moment.
He picked up the glass of water, offering it to the young man. He seemed to have some understanding, so he spoke slowly, hopeful of Rhey’lu’s ability to interpret the foreign words he spoke to him. “You were badly injured,” Azrael explained. “Please, I know you are upset... but I must ask you to be gentle with yourself. You mustn’t pull your stitches, it will take time to recover your strength.”
Sighing, Azrael pinched the bridge of his nose once more. The lump in his throat remained still. “Vahari... she...” He could not bring himself to say it. Why? “She was the one who told me your name. But her injuries were... much worse than yours.” His voice waned and died in his throat, and he coughed nonchalantly in an attempt to clear it.
Rhey’lu scowled softly as the stranger spoke again, finding he was unable to understand anything he had said. From his tone and expression, he seemed frustrated, uncertain.. Was he asking if he was Rhey’lu?
After a moment, the broken prince nodded, watching as the man pulled up a chair. His vision burred, shifting in and out of focus as Rhey’lu struggled to comprehend what he was saying. He had gestured to himself… An introduction?
“As.. rial?” he asked, attempting to repeat the name. No. “Az.. Azrael.”
Rhey’lu felt a new question forming on his tongue as he searched his weary face. Gesturing weakly to Azrael, and then to the bandages that now covered his body, he asked, “Did you.. do this? Did you find us?”
Us. That’s right he, wasn’t alone. Rhey’lu swallowed hard, sweat starting to form along his brow as he glanced around the room once more. His eyes settled on the door way. How had Azrael known his name at all?
“Vahari…” he rasped, his throat tight as he looked to his apparent rescuer in feverish alarm. He motioned to himself, shakily tapping his chest. “The one who was with me.. Her name is Vahari. Where.. where is she?”
He almost smiled as the young man in the bed tested his name on his tongue, succeeding on only his second attempt. Perhaps he might be able to teach him this language as he healed, to help better prepare him for this wild and strange landscape.
The stranger, Rhey’lu, gestured to the bandages, his tone a questioning one. Azrael nodded slowly, wary of answering a question he only partially understood. “You... suffered many injuries,” he explained, gesturing to the bandages. “I...” I was worried you wouldn’t pull through.
It was as if, at the same moment, they had both remembered that Rhey’lu had not been alone in the crater. Azrael’s heart sank at the small, almost whispered, “Vahari”. He knew almost instantly who the name referred to; there was only really one who it could refer to.
Sighing, he stood with some effort, slowly approaching the bedside once more. The necklace felt heavier than the sky itself as he withdrew it from his pocket, hating himself for the news he was about to give.
“Vahari... I am sorry, Rhey’lu,” he said quietly, gently offering the little necklace to the bandaged young man. “I am so, so sorry.”
“Well, we can’t let that stop us, now, can we?” Haeyin beamed, leaning back in his seat to reach behind Azrael in order to shake Din’s hand. His grin widened a bit then, eyes crinkling at the corners as he proceeded to teasingly nudge Azrael with his elbow. “It’s one time too many, in my opinion. And for all we know, Lori would have succeeded, being the friendliest drake to ever grace the earth. Or.. ocean, as it were.”
He folded his arms over one another and leaned against the counter, resting his head atop them as he stifled a yawn. Mornings had never quite agreed with him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as of late to remain alert during the day. His nights were longer now, unable to sleep during the hours he once had. Sighing, he let his eyes drift close for a moment, idly listening as Azrael mulled over the mission notice, and Din’s offer to tag along. Manipulate the winds, she’d said? Haeyin hummed quietly, knowing full well she was capable of far more than just that. Or at least she had been, once.
He opened one eye, glancing up at Azrael as he addressed him now. Sitting up right again, he smiled gently. “I would be glad to. I’ve quite missed the sea, and the crew. It’s been a while since I visited last…”
Haeyin chuckled then, “Besides, I could use a vacation.”
Din laughed as Haeyin leaned back, shaking his hand. “I have to say Haeyin, and I hope it won’t be too out of place, but your hair and eyes? Great color.”
She wasn’t sure who Lori was, and was grateful that the question was answered before she could open her mouth again. A drake? “So were you ‘lightly chewed’?” She said with a grin, hoping that they might have been exaggerating the encounter a little. “If she’s friendly enough to try to make friends with a shark, I can’t wait to meet her.”
It was pleasant to listen to the two of them talk to each other, they clearly had history, and Din didn’t feel too much like an outsider looking in a window. “It’s been awhile since I’ve sailed in a boat, I’ll do everything in my power to help.” She promised, feeling a lump develop in her throat. Arriving at the place would probably trigger a trap but up until that point, it’d just be sailing peacefully on the ocean.
“Well, a vacation until the woman who’s so concerned about this ship pulls a knife out of her bodice and starts swinging.” Din said, glancing towards the paper again. “How do you handle guests aboard your ship who probably aren’t good people?”
Shaking his head, Azrael laughed quietly. “Friendly, or hopelessly naive. I fear my raising her may be the reason she has little ability to determine friend from foe,” he muttered. “So long as you don’t mind an overbearing animal bounding towards you, I’m sure you’ll get along just fine.” He decided against mentioning that having to run after his drake to rescue her was not an isolated incident.
Din’s question left him without an immediate answer. He realized, without much joy, that she had made the assumption he was among the “good people”. Sighing, he rubbed his chin. “There’ll be no need to worry too much about that, I’d wager,” Azrael explained, a hint of self-deprecating laughter in his tone. “It wouldn’t be the first time a dishonest pirate boarded my ship. The good thing is that my crew is ... generally distrusting of ‘outsiders’. So long as we follow suit and keep our client at arm’s reach, I imagine we’ll be all right.”
After a moment’s pause, he stood up. “On that note, I’d best be advising them that the pair of you will be joining us,” he thought aloud, nodding towards Telma and shooting Haeyin a wink as he made his exit from the tavern.
Finding he was unable to move without causing himself pain, Rhey’lu stared vacantly out the window as he struggled to breathe evenly. It was raining… He’d never seen rain before.
Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and slowly he turned his gaze to see what it had been, only to find that there was nothing there at all. A shadow, perhaps? He didn’t know how long he had closed his eyes for, but the sound of knocking caused him to open them again.
A man entered the room, heavily favoring his left leg, and Rhey’lu regarded him with a cautious stare as he approached. He was a bit dirty and his clothes were damp, appearing to have just been outside not long ago, and exhaustion was clear on his face. He set a glass of water down next to him and Rhey’lu’s eyes widened when he finally spoke.
“How do.. you know my name?” he wheezed, his voice alarmingly brittle to his own ears. He searched his face, trying to focus through the disorienting haze that muddled his thoughts. “Who are you?”
The stranger attempted to speak to him, but the words flew by Azrael as quickly as his companion’s had. Some words sounded almost familiar to him, a half-known word he could connect to another, equally foreign language, but he could not understand most of what had flowed so eloquently from the man’s tongue. He could gather from the tone the young man took that he was confused, and understandably so. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, unsure of how to respond. Was there even an appropriate response, one this young man would understand?
“I don’t understand,” Azrael offered simply, hoping his notably different dialect would communicate his ignorance of the language. “I’m sorry. I... I only know that--Rhey’lu, that is you, isn’t it?” He gestured towards the stranger as he repeated the name, hoping his body language might convey some meaning where his words could not.
He sighed again, feeling frustrated by his own inability to converse with the stranger he had rescued. Feeling the strain on his knee, Azrael pulled the wooden chair from the nearby desk and sat down near the end of the bed, regarding the young man in the bandages. “Azrael,” he said, gesturing to himself. “My name is Azrael.”
As they sat by the fire, Azrael clutched the mug of tea that Nayru had brewed for him. He was not particularly fond of this concoction, but he knew it was part of the process she and Haeyin had dedicated themselves to, in the hopes that it would help Azrael heal faster. The least he could do was drink it.
They had not spoken about the names on their chests since the rain had started, and still now it thundered outside quite violently. Azrael’s hair was still somewhat damp from the rain, but he was too preoccupied by his thoughts to care very much at all. He frowned as he sipped gingerly at the tea in his mug.
Haeyin was reading something, though he had been on the same page for what felt like hours now. Nayru was brushing out her hair, freshly washed and still beginning to curl at the ends. The pair of them seemed distracted, and yet Azrael felt entirely comfortable in the room with them. He had grown to enjoy their company immensely -- the only two people he knew in this terribly small and sheltered world he now lived in.
The wind picked up suddenly, and the kitchen window opened with a loud bang. Nayru and Haeyin both jolted in their seats, quite alarmed by the sound. Gathering her skirts, Nayru hurried towards the window, struggling to close the shutters. He stood as if to help her, but by the time he was on his feet she had already succeeded.
“Blasted shutters, they’ve been on their last legs for ages,” Nayru muttered under her breath. “Haeyin, please, please remind me to fix those tomorrow, you know I’ll forget otherwise... Azrael, is something the matter?”
He was not there. The scent of the summer rain had been all he could think about, but another smell had overcome him then as Nayru had stood up. Was that... was that her hair that smelled so? What was it? He stood there, struggling to place it. Ah, but of course -- wildflowers, the rare and radiant sort that could never be sustained by modern pottery and gardening tools. The smell of the earth after a rainstorm, the dew that collected on petals in the early morning.
She was shaking him then, grasping his forearms roughly as if to wake him from his reverie. Had she always been so petite, he wondered. “Azrael, talk to me!” she insisted, her voice beginning to betray her anxiety.
“Nayru,” he said softly. The name had changed for him. It meant something now that it had lacked before, a familiarity he had hoped for but never found.
“Yes? I’m here, what do you need?” Nayru said, her eyes wide with concern. She seemed surprised by what he did next; tentatively, as if afraid she might recoil from his touch, Azrael gently cupped her face in his hands. Her skin was soft where he had come to understand his own was calloused. She was not crying this time; he could feel the warmth of her skin against his hands.
Gently stroking her cheek, he nodded slowly to no one in particular. “I know your face,” he said quietly. “I know you, I... yes, I remember. The flowers, in the glen. You hung them to dry in your study, and whenever it rained the windows were always wide open to let in the fresh air.”
She stared up at him, seemingly shocked. “You remember that?” she whispered. Her hands grew slack where she held his arms, and Azrael took one of her hands, placing it over his heart.
“This is your name, isn’t it?” he asked her, searching her face. “Yours... and Haeyin’s.” He looked over to where Haeyin had been sitting, but to his surprise he was now standing beside them in the kitchen. His expression was carefully guarded, as it so often was. Azrael desperately wanted to know what he was thinking.
He turned to look at Nayru, and there were tears in her eyes once more. How often had he made her cry in these past months? It was enough to cause his throat to feel swollen and ungainly as he regarded her now. “I’m sorry,” he said, instinctively regretting having hurt her. “I--I’ve said something wrong again, haven’t I?”
She shook her head, and for the first time she smiled genuinely. The tears brimming her eyes spilled over, but she was laughing. “No, don’t be daft,” she chided him. With her free hand, she reached to touch his face, and this time it was Azrael’s turn to find himself surprised by the gesture. Her hands were so warm...
He pulled her closer towards him, embracing her tightly. She was sobbing, and yet she was smiling as she buried her face in his shirt. He turned to face Haeyin once more as the scent of Nayru’s hair continued to spark the tattered holes in his memory. Haeyin was silent still, watching from afar with a pained curiosity in his eyes.
“It was... it was raining, when I met you,” Azrael realized. “Both of you. The fire, the flowers... I remember now.” In truth, he only remembered bits and pieces, and yet still the realization thrilled him. For the first time, Azrael could look upon the faces of his friends and recognize them as that -- his friends, his companions, his... His cheeks coloured darkly, and he found himself turning away out of modesty.
“Forgive me, I... I fear this may be rather forward of me,” he began. Nayru looked up at him from where she stood, her eyes still quite wet. “It is hard for me to determine what is remembered and what is imagined, I... we knew each other, that much is certain. But you still have not told me who I was to you, either of you.”
Haeyin sighed as he turned away, and Nayru seemed to hesitate where she stood, conflicted between some unknown debate inside of her. Where his arms were still draped around her, Azrael squeezed her shoulders gently. “I think I know,” he encouraged her. “But I... I would not want to overstep my boundaries.”
“There are none,” Nayru insisted. “Not for us.”
“Then... we were close, once?” Azrael replied, gauging hers and Haeyin’s reactions.
Haeyin cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“How close?” he said. When neither of them gave any immediate response, he continued. “Please... I want to know. I need to know.”
The answer he received was not what he expected, but unbeknownst to him, it was exactly what Azrael had needed to hear. Haeyin uttered but a single word, one that resonated with him the moment it left his lips. “Caraid.”
It was the weight on his chest that eventually woke him. Rhey’lu struggled to take a breath, rasping softly as his eyelids fluttered and then cracked open. Why did he feel so heavy? Why did his lungs ache so? It wasn’t just his lungs, he soon found, but a pain that had set into his very skin, spanning most of his body. He felt hot, feverish, gasping weakly as he slowly attempted to lift his arm to rid himself whatever was preventing his ability to take deeper breaths. But there was nothing there. Nothing but bandages and gauze.
Rhey’lu’s brow furrowed and he winced with the action, a new pain shooting across the right side of his forehead. His chest felt so horribly tight as he struggled to take another breath, and another, light headed and confused as he blearily looked around.
Where.. Where was he? He was in bed, he soon realized, but he didn’t recognize the room around him. It was small, scarcely furnished, a single window just over the bed next to him. There was a table covered in papers and books and bottles and rolls of bandages nearby, and a chair with a bowl of water and a rag on the seat. He was otherwise alone.
And it was this fact troubled him most of all.
After he had finished washing and bandaging the stranger, Azrael was exhausted. With every tattered scrap of clothing he removed, he found more burnt and blackened flesh, more blood and more debris. Eventually, after what had felt like a week of medical aid, the strange young man slept soundly in Azrael’s bed, much of him covered in linen and ointment.
He hadn’t rested yet. Only once he was certain the man he had rescued was no longer in immediate danger did he venture outside again. A passing storm had extinguished the flames, and the pit Azrael had found him and his companion in was reduced to an inky, muddy mess. The young woman lay quite still amongst the ashes, almost too stiff for Azrael to close her eyes as he gently pulled her from the wreckage.
She was so very small, burying her hadn’t taken much time at all. There was little on her person to salvage, but Azrael had retained a simple golden necklace. Whoever this young woman was, she and the man he had rescued had obviously been close. Once he broke the news to him... perhaps he might find solace in having something of his friend. Perhaps.
As he slumped against the wall of his cabin now, Azrael finally allowed himself to close his eyes, feeling the weight of that small necklace in his pocket. His heart felt heavy and his leg ached, and he was grateful for the moment of reprieve... until he heard a soft rustling noise from his bedchambers. He perked up immediately, slowly making his way to investigate.
The young man was indeed awake, it seemed. Azrael backed away slowly, heading towards the kitchen to grab the pitcher of water he’d set out earlier. He’d have to make something for the poor sod to eat later, but this would do for now. Making his way back to the bedroom, he knocked gently on the door frame before he entered.
It was the first time he had seen the young man’s eyes, and it was the first time it registered for Azrael that both he and the young woman in the flames had had startlingly silver eyes with white hair. Wherever they came from, they weren’t from around here. It certainly explained the language he’d never heard before.
He only knew one word. “Rhey’lu?” he asked gently, setting the cup of water on the bedside table for the stranger.
“Damn it all,” Haeyin grumbled, clicking his tongue against his teeth as Cien emerged from the shadows.
Stepping closer to his companions, Haeyin’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he watched Cien withdraw a mask the he instantly recognized. Evidently, Azrael was as familiar with it as he was, tensing out of the corner of his eye as the sheikah donned the mask.
“A Mask of Truth… Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Haeyin mused, leaning back against the cool stone wall of the alley. “I have one myself, interestingly enough.”
He nodded absently as Cien informed them of the lack of additional security measures besides the guards posted out front. That certainly made things a bit easier.
“Our Sir Gala is a knight after all,” he said quietly, peering at the guards in question. “With influence such as his, there’s bound to be a few who would defend him. Whether that influence is loyalty or coin, however, I suppose we will have to see.”
Azrael’s tense words earned him a careful glance from Haeyin, but after a moment of searching his face, he nodded.
“Don’t I always?” Pushing away from the wall, he positioned himself just out of sight at the mouth of the alleyway and placed the stone mask back on his face. “Do not move, nor make a sound.”
Keep reading
Cien watched in quite amazed silence as Haeyin toyed, somewhat wickedly, with the minds of the knights outside the home. To be perfectly honest, he was a bit jealous. That had been…. quite hilarious. He wished he could do things like that, but perhaps it was well enough with the abbilities he had now.
Once the guards were well and gone, he gave Az a pat on the shoulder and a hushed “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”
It was a two step process.
First, a quick shadowstep next to the window, taking a quick peek inside to see if Mr. Gala had noticed anything. A candle was lit and there were dirty plate on the table, a discarded armor next to the bed, an empty bottle near the couch…. But their target, nowhere to be seen, at least on the lower floor. That’d make things easier.
Secondly, a quick slip under the door. The race earlier had been all excitement, but now he was a little spent… Shadowstepping under the door was not an easy thing to do. As he apeared on the other side of the door, he felt his right arm twitch and all his fingers straighten out for a split second. 'No more of that today, no sir…’
A quick look over. Gala wasn’t around. There was quiet shuffling upstairs in one of the rooms, but nothing too concerning. Cien pulled out delicate tools, worked the lock in complete silence and very slowly opened the door for his companions. A masked face looked through a gap of the door.
Go time.
He merely shrugged his shoulders at Cien’s comment, though the corners of his mouth were beginning to pull into a half-hearted smile. Azrael knew Haeyin was special -- it was the unique nature of his brilliance that also caused him to worry.
After Haeyin had made quick work of the guards, Cien slipped inside the house to open the door for the three of them. He was a master at his craft; almost immediately after he’d vanished, Azrael watched the knight’s front door open slowly, inviting them inside.
He crossed the street in silence, carefully making his way towards Cien within the house. He trusted his companion to have already established that their target was not on the main floor... which meant he must have been upstairs. Azrael was admittedly curious as to why.
Once they were all inside, Azrael glanced around, his hand coming to a rest on the hilt of his blade once more. He gestured towards the ceiling, indicating for his companions to lead the way once they were ready themselves.
Unable to understand the stranger, she continued swat and shove at him, “No, stop! Leave me, can’t you see he’s–”
She called out to her friend once more, her own words forced and nearly drowned out by the crackling of flames around them, “Rhey’lu, wake up! Rhey’lu! Rhey’lu, please, can you hear me? Rhey–”
She gasped, wheezing and coughing with the effort her lungs simply couldn’t expend as she cradled her broken arm against her chest. Vahari growled from the pain of her injuries, spitting a mouthful of blood and saliva into the dirt.
The stranger spoke again, a single word, a name - her prince’s name - and she looked up at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. Uncertainty gripped her tightly as she searched his face, and again he spoke. His tone was soft, resolute as he once more said Rhey’lu’s name and… She didn’t understand the words, but somehow, somehow she knew his meaning, and Vahari allowed herself to feel a momentary sense of relief.
She closed her eyes as he reached to touch her face, murmuring what she could only assume was a prayer before he drew away again. When she opened them again, the edges of her vision were blurred more than ever, and with a heavy heart she watched the stranger struggle to his feet and turn away from her.
Several feet away, Rhey’lu continued to lie motionless, burned and bleeding from the impact of their fall.
“Please,” Vahari whispered, blinking back tears. “Rhey’lu.. you h-have.. to live.”
Every fibre of his being protested as he left the woman to die -- it felt wrong, he felt wrong as he turned away from her, yet still he urged himself forward. The young man was in poor condition himself, but despite being unconscious he seemed to have suffered less physical damage than his friend had. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
Azrael knelt behind him, pulling the stranger into a sitting position and reaching beneath his arms to support him, holding the young man tightly against his chest. An odd numbness in his knee protested, a pain that felt only partially connected to him, but Azrael persisted, dragging himself and the injured stranger from the blaze. The other man’s still-burning hair was smothered by Azrael’s cloak, and the scent and the smoke made his eyes water.
As he dragged the man’s limp body out of the fires, he reached out around him for shade, for anything large enough to slip inside and bring him back to the safety of his cabin. The longer he dawdled, the greater risk of infection... Azrael found shelter in the shadow of a tree and, still gripping the stranger tightly against him, slipped inside it, away from the roaring flames and the falling ashes.
It was then that Vahari heard it, the muffled sound of uneven footsteps and shifting earth quickly approaching. Clenching her fist, she braced herself in the event she would have to somehow defend herself, only to be mildly surprised when a rather tall man knelt beside her, hurriedly shielding her from the heat and flames around them with his cloak. He said something to her, the words foreign and strange as they reached her ears, and she scowled in confusion - and then hissed from the pain it caused her. As his hands hovered over her, something behind him caught her attention, and Vahari turned her head.
Her clouded gaze finally fell on a familiar form lying a short distance from her, and through the haze and flickering flames she recognized him instantly as her childhood friend, her prince. Rhey’lu.. Her eyes widened, seeing that he was in just as bad a shape as she was. While she couldn’t see his face, his clothes were dirty and burnt and bloodstained as he lie broken in the pit they shared. He wasn’t moving, he.. Was he..?
The stranger at Vahari’s side reached to support her neck, preparing to lift her off the ground, and she swung at him, angry tears brimming at the corners of her eyes as she shouted, “No!”
No, no - Vahari struggled to lift herself as she fought through the pain that wracked her body. She would not leave him, not here. She just had to get to him, she had to– She collapsed once more, coughing wetly as her shattered ribs continued to restrict her ability to breathe. The scorching heat of the air didn’t help, but more than that, Vahari felt heavy.. So unbearably heavy, as if there was an unseen force keeping her weighed to the ground.
A grating sound tore from her throat in her frustration as she looked to her fallen prince once more, anxiety and rage bubbling in her gut. Her voice was hoarse and cracked as she called out to him, “Rhey’lu!”
Her wailing cry halted him, and he hovered above her once more. He had no way of knowing what she was attempting to say to him; these words were foreign, their intentions unknown to him. As the injured woman attempted to swat him, however, Azrael had a feeling he could gauge her meaning well enough.
“Hey! Easy, easy--enough of that,” he hissed, easily avoiding her limp attacks. “You will die here if I don’t get you to safety.” He decided against adding that, given her condition, she would die anyway. He hadn’t quite accepted that reality himself yet.
She was not looking at him. She was looking beyond him, and for a moment Azrael feared she was already gone. However, as he turned around, he caught the object of her attention; the other fallen figure, forgotten in his attempts to save the young woman. Still unmoving... though in significantly better condition, now that he had assessed the woman’s injuries.
Rhey’lu... He wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was clear from the despair in her eyes that whoever the stranger was, he was important to her. If he couldn’t save both of them...
He froze for half a second. Everything he knew, everything he was trained in, told him to save the person who was conscious... but in his heart, Azrael knew she could not be saved. The longer he waited, the more likely the possibility he would be burying two bodies that evening. He bit his lip.
“Rhey’lu,” he repeated softly, hoping that whatever meaning it held for the young woman might bring her solace. “Rhey’lu. I will save your friend.” He touched her uninjured temple, whispering the softest of uttered prayers for her sake. Azrael stood as quickly as his body would allow, making his way through the flames to the other injured stranger. He owed it to the young woman, and to himself, to save this one.
The first thing Vahari was aware of was the pain; never in her life had she ever experienced an agony such as this. She felt raw, exposed, every nerve set aflame as she lie in the cold, jagged earth. What..? Slowly, she opened her eyes - or tried to, as only her left seemed to do her bidding. The other side of her face stung white hot. She groaned, soon realizing that most of her body felt that way. It only worsened when she tried to move. What happened?
I have to do this.
Vahari winced heavily, a strangled cry leaking out as she rolled onto her back as pain shot through her body. Her legs, her arm, several ribs.. she didn’t have to look to know they were certainly broken. Her head pounded, the pressure building behind her right eye as pain spread across the side of her face, down her neck.
Then I’m going with you.
No, Vahari, you-
Where you go, I go, remember?
Where was…
What’s happening?
I can’t keep this up..!
She gasped raggedly, choking as her lungs burned with effort, a searing heat piercing through her side with every labored breath. It hurt, it hurt to move, to breathe, as if every gulp of air was scorching flame that coated her throat and lungs. The scent of burning flesh and dirt and iron washed over her in nauseating waves. Carefully, she opened her eye again and through the fog she saw the moon against a darkened sky.
Hold onto me!
Fire. It had swallowed them whole as they rapidly descended towards the earth below. She trembled as the lie there in the dirt, the fear and confusion distorting her thoughts as she struggled to turn her head. Had.. had they crashed? There was fire and embers, ash and smoke, blackened and crumbling trees and.. a crater. She was in a crater but where… Vahari grit her teeth, the taste of blood on her tongue nearly making her gag.
Where was he? Where was the prince?
Where was Rhey’lu?
Against his better nature, against all notions of self-preservation and distrust of strangers and strange situations, Azrael found himself moving forward. Gripping his staff with a white-knuckled hand, he forced his way through the raw earth, the blistering air. His free arm lifted to shield his eyes, he struggled to assess the view before him.
They were humanoid, whomever they were. It seemed one of them was moving, and instinctively Azrael prioritized her in his mind; the other one was motionless.
As he approached her, he could see she was in poor condition. What was left of her was broken, bleeding, and burnt by the ranging fires, and yet still she struggled to move, grasping for dear life. Dropping to his knees, he pulled his cloak around her, shielding her from the still-roaring flames around them.
“Can you hear me?” Azrael asked her, his voice very nearly drowned out with the sound around them. “I’m going to try to get you out of here.”
He realized the nigh impossibility of the task the moment the words left his lips. His hand hovered over her, unsure of where best to hold her, to carry her to safety. He eventually decided she had to be moved, regardless of the pain he might cause her in doing so... but as he reached to support the back of her neck, Azrael noticed the blood collecting at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” he said quietly, far less certain in his decision than he was before.
