âIf I can give you any advice, Syranis, itâs not to grow too attached. Whether I agree with the stupidity of it or not, heâs still enwrapped in his ghost. I doubt heâll ever let her go. Youâd just be setting yourself up for heartache.â
Her last few weeks aboard the Kraken were tumultuous to say the least, but none so much as the final night. It was one that would be burned in her brain until the end of her days, she was certain. She would never unsee the candles alight in his cabin, ones she had set out herself. She would never unfeel his hands on her body, or unhear the words shared by either of them. Worst, she would never forget the feeling in the pit of her stomach when she crept out of his ship and disappeared into the harbor for the final time. She couldnât forget it; to the day it remained there, lying dormant until it decided she needed a quick reminder of her failures. She couldnât keep him safe. She couldnât contend with his lifestyle forever, nor could she hold his interest forever and she knew it. Eventually, his ghosts would catch up with him, and she wouldnât be able to fight them back. Eventually, both of their ghosts would catch up to them, and Cerothyn would turn from her. He needed something, someone, more, more than she could ever provide. Rather than waiting for such a time to come around, for him to decide to leave her and bestow upon her the same heartache she had carried for Ranalin, she cut the ties herself. She left him with a kiss to his unconscious lips and naught more and didnât look back as she made it to the shoreline.
However, she kept his bracelet tight around her wrist like a well-guarded secret, a quiet reminder of the man who had accidentally lifted her up out of the darkest pits of her own hell and sent her heart soaring. A reminder of the man who she had willfully left behind, though she wasnât sure if it was out of fear, ignorance, or selfishness. She knew that she would likely always be sorry.
Perhaps Camsyn had been right all along.
It had been no trouble to find her way back to the Dâathion estate, where Baelios welcomed her back with little question and a sour expression. Life as she had previously known it had returned to normal. She did not practice with the eldest Lord in the courtyards any longer. She did not celebrate when Hellscream was struck dead. She did not offer up her services to heal when news of the Legionâs invasion made its way to Quelâthalas. For a year, Syranis donned her pretty formalwear and moved through the droves of the estateâs patrons like water: effortlessly, seamlessly, invisible. She became a ghost once more to the lot of them. Every so often she would catch wind of a new connection made, or one that had expired. Sometimes, Baelios would choose to notice her, and the two would talk long into the night until they were sick of one another.and their talks turned to arguments. When he disappeared to the front lines, she found herself missing those arguments. But she never feared for a lack of his return. Something told her that no matter what, Baelios would always find his way out of dire situations and back home. Unlike his twin, he just seemed that hard to kill.
But everything changed before Baelios returned. Someone beat him back home.
The matron of house Dâathion, the evil witch that had brought her into this world and forced her to marry her eldest son, Xrystiana Dâathion-Bloodsinger, was alive and well. She had not perished the afternoon that Syranis had walked past her prone form with a swarm of attendants trying to resuscitate her. She wasnât sure if it was trick, mistake, or intentional, but she had not died. Xrystiana was still breathing, and she swooped back into the estate and took hold of everything like she had never left. The house fell back into debauchery in no time: one couldnât turn the corner without finding someone partaking in some sort of substance abuse or trying to repopulate the whole of Silvermoon. It wasnât as shocking to her as it had been in the past, and she attributed her dulled response to her time spent with the Zeddicus brothers. Perhaps not the brothers, just the eldest. PerhapsâŚ
Syranis could no longer float about the house freely. It was no secret to anyone in the family that Lady Xrystiana hated her. She only tolerated her because of her marriage to Ranalin, which had been arranged. Through her House Dâathion gained access to all of House Corâthirâs assets, particularly their gold fundage, but⌠That had dried up long ago, just like her marriage to the late, eldest Bloodsinger son. In truth, she had no business still being in the house. She was there only of Baeliosâ generosity and good will. So rather than wandering, Syranis kept herself locked away tight, hidden, and when she ventured out made sure to dress the part of the most loose Dâathion women. No one ever batted an eye at her beyond herself, and that was only when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.
When Baelios returned, they did not speak as frequently, and certainly did not speak of Syranisâ fate should she be discovered. In fact, their meetings were quite rare. At least, until the night that the warrior burst into her quarters unannounced. Lucky for her, she had been sitting fireside drinking her tea and scribbling away into an unmarked tome. He hadnât knocked nor apologized for his lack of knocking. He only slammed the door shut and stepped into the center of her room.
âBaelios? What are you-â
âIâm leaving the house. Soon. You need to leave, too. Youâre not safe here. I canât protect you anymore.â He interrupted her.
Syranis stared at him over the top of her steaming hot tea -- chamomile; sleep didnât come easy these nights for her -- and blinked wide, green eyes at him. âYouâre joking, right?â
Baelios shook his head. âNo, not even a little bit. I canât contend with what my mother has wrought here, or what she plans to do. She knows of my discontent. It will be no time before she finds a way to get rid of me.â
âWhat? She wouldnât get rid of you. The next child in line is Pamina, and Pamina-â
âDoesnât want to run the house, no. But sheâs powerful, as are her children. My mother plans to use them all, though I donât know how or to what ends. I just know that whatever she plans to do involves Aelen, and I canât assume itâs âsafeâ given she drugged Nostariel to bring her here. Itâs a small miracle she hasnât gone after Aela as well. I canât sit back and condone that, Syranis. I canât watch it happen. I canât let it happen. I have to get out of here, I have to make sure my sisters and their children are safe.â
Syranis lowered her mug and looked into her lap. It wasnât until he continued speaking that he gained her attention. âShe has no use for you. You were a pawn, a tool, an asset in marrying my brother. Your house is dried up, youâve nothing to your name, and Ranalin is dead, as best we know. Iâve seen her kill more useful people for fun, but you donât mean anything to her. Youâre useless to her and you know too much. If she realizes that youâre still here, sheâll kill you.â
The blonde frowned and placed her cup and book on the table near the fireplace. She stood and began to slowly pace the floor of her quarters, her head swimming. She had been careful, so very careful, in her occupancy, but she had never thought about what it would mean if the day came that Xrystiana did find her still in the estate. Despite knowing what Xrystiana was capable of and the horrors that she thrived on, it never occurred to her that she might see her former daughter-in-law as a threat. She never thought that she might kill her.
âWhat am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?â She stopped in front of Baelios and stared up at him, looking mostly terrified. She had managed to bite back the tears stinging her eyes, but she couldnât mask the crack in her voice. âLee, House Corâthir has been gone for years and I havenât done anything useful to...Light, anybody, since taking the job with Camsyn Zeddicus. What am I supposed to do?â
Baelios stepped forward and drew Syranis into an embrace, one that caused those tears to threaten to spill all over again. She could take a lot of things, but actual comfort, sympathy⌠She wasnât so sure. âWeâll figure something out. Donât panic. Iâve every intention of withdrawing as much of the money here that is mine that I can without drawing suspicion. From there, weâll⌠I donât know. Weâll find someplace. Someplace where I can hide you and my sisters.â
As if on queue, the door to Syranisâ quarters burst open again. In the doorframe stood Lady Xrystiana herself, dressed from head to toe in a deep, royal purple gown, embellished with enough gemstones and sequins to make her a walking fiend made of glitter. Her bright, cherry red lips curved into the cruelest smile the blonde had ever seen as she set heavily shaded eyes on the two of them. âYou know, in all of the affairs I have attended to since my return, I always thought that there was something missing, something that I was forgetting. Now, I remember. The Corâthir girl. Tell me, girl. How is a pesky, mousy little thing like you still breathing?â
Syranis gripped the front of Baeliosâ shirt so tightly she feared that it might tear. Her gaze was locked on the Dâathion matron and she knew that her terror showed on her face. She couldnât help it. Baelios was eerily calm. She caught his gaze before he turned around to face his mother.
âWeâre to be married,â Baelios said to her, and Syranis was certain the surprise in Xrystianaâs eyes matched her own. âHer marriage to Ranalin was dissolved long before he was stated as deceased. Sheâs stayed around for me.â
âReally,â Spoke Xrystiana. She crossed her arms and leaned into the doorframe with her shoulder and hip, an amused smirk crossing her features. âAnd Myriela was what, a clever distraction? Weâve not all forgotten her, Baelios.â
âNo,â Baelios said, shaking his head. He reached back to grasp Syranisâ hand. âShe stayed to help me get over the pain of losing Myriela. It wasnât until very recently I realized, and accepted, that I had fallen in love with her. True, she hasnât an asset to her name, but she still is of noble blood. Between us, we should produce a suitable heir for your line.â
Syranis felt Baeliosâ form stiffen with every word. It was a lie, all of it. She hadnât stayed for Myriela, not at all. When Myriela had been slain, she was still awaiting Ranalinâs return in vain. She hadnât even liked Myriela, though everyone else had. Something about her rubbed her the wrong way and made her skin crawl, the same way that being around Analeil did for her. When it was later revealed that Myriela and Analeilâs older sister, Ilanthia, had actually been the same person, it all made sense. Something in that bloodline was very, very wrong.
Xrystiana gave a slow nod, then pushed herself off of the doorframe. âFine. I donât like it, but I can think of worse courses you could take. If you two are truly to be married, I want it done within the month. I will set the planning for it into motion, and it will be a traditional Dâathion wedding. I refuse to allow it to become the circus that the wedding she and Ranalin had became.â
Syranis was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when Xrystiana fixed her eyes on her, causing her to bristle all over again. âDonât thinkt hat Iâm not watching you, girl. Youâve overstayed your welcome for someone who isnât contributing a thing to my family. I expect an heir. Within the year.â
Neither Baelios nor Syranis had time to protest or even speak. Xrystiana had left the room, slamming the heavy, cherrywood door behind her as soon as she had given her warning. Baelios waited until he could no longer hear the clacking of her heels on the stone floors out in the halls before he spun around to face Syranis.
âA month. We have less than a month. I will train you so that you will be able to defend yourself, but you have to work with me. Syranis, we have to get out of here. Sooner than later.â
Syranis blinked up at him. âI..- Gallaria. You told your mother we were to be married. Surely sheâll spread the word. If Gallaria hears th-â
âI will deal with Gallaria. Syranis, you have to stay focused, do you hear me? I bought us time, not safety. We have to get out of here.â
He released her and went for the door. âStart thinking about the things you want to bring with you. We can only take what we can carry. I can try to smuggle some of it out over the next few weeks on my ventures into the city, but there are no guarantees. Get used to the idea of leaving this life, Syranis, and get some sleep. Iâm having you fitted for armor in the morning,â
Like always, she didnât have time to respond. Baelios pulled her bedroom door open, checked the hallways, and was gone within an instant. She stared at the door long after he had left, silent and unmoving, before she collapsed into the chair by the fireplace in tears. There were a lot of things in life that she was equipped for, but this? This was not one of them. She had made a horrible mistake. She never should have returned. She was prone to making mistakes, but she wasnât sure that this was one that she would come back from.
(( @cerothyn @baelios @the-shadows-queen ))
(( @quelloras @camsyn @sunwhisper @arcane-fire @analeil for mentions ))
â I canât believe weâre talking about this right now. â - Cero
âYou canât believe it? Youâre the one who brought it up. Now, weâre going to talk about it.â Gallaria scowled slightly, downing the rest of her drink. It was rum and it was all his fault. This whole damned conversation was his fault.
âSo tell me, my dear Pirate, did you enjoy kissing me? You know...before I tried to bite your lip off?â
â once, I drank a whole bottle by myself. â - Cero
Gallaria lifted an eyebrow, swaying slightly to the rocking of his ship. She was pleasantly tipsy, the promise of more alcohol a small one, for she had never quite got the appeal of rum. And it gave her a massive hangover as well, so she was tapped out.
She finally responded to the Pirateâs boast, reaching over and patting his hand. âI think ...itâs time to hang it up for the night. When you boast about something as simple as finishing off a bottle of rum, youâve run out of bluster.â The Paladin stood and took his arm, tugging on it a bit. âCome on now.â
VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: đđđđđ(purely aesthetic appreciation of looks)
FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: đđđđđ(how close a friend they consider them)
SEXUAL DESIRE:Â đ(wanting to have sex with them)
As it stands, Gallaria considers Cero to be family and she doesnât go around wanting to shag her family. That being said, her subconscious is an evil demon and there was a time when she had a crush on the pirate so in the past sheâs had dreams of a risque nature, but sheâd deny it to her grave if asked about it.
ROMANTIC INTENT: đ(hoping for a romantic relationship)
Once upon a time, when she was younger, Gallaria had a bit of a crush on Cero. He was one of the first people to treat her like an actual person, aside from her uncle and the attention he gave her had her adolescent heart in a tizzy.
đ Non-existentđ Very lowđđ A littleđđđ Hopefulđđđđ Highđđđđđ Maximum
Gallaria looked at the collection of envelopes on her desk, eyebrow twitching. Some were marked, some werenât. With a sigh, the paladin picked up the first envelope. It smelled of the salt and the sea.
âThatâs my first clue on who sent it.â She took the picture out of the envelope and breathed a small sigh of relief. At least he wasnât half naked. Those types she had vowed to torch on sight.
âI really need to go out and see him one of these days.â She slid the picture to the top of her ever growing pile of things to do.
đ for what my muse would say upon hearing about your museâs death. - Cero
You could hear her heart shatter into a million pieces when she read the missive sent to her. It crackled in the parchment of the scroll as she destroyed the evidence of such a heinous lie.
She glared at the messenger who wore the colors of the Zeddicus family.
âItâs a lie. And someoneâs going to pay in blood for saying such a thing.â
Needless to say, the return message was a very beaten and bloody courier.
Fading to Dust - Cero because I'm too lazy to switch blogs
It was just supposed to be a fun night of drinking andsinging and all the crazy shit that being drunk brought along. Gallaria wasalready halfway to becoming completely shit-faced when she protested a bathroombreak. Cero let her go, pulling over her half empty mug of ale to sneak ataste.
The paladin made her way to the ladiesâ room, her progress abit slow since she was still walking around with a cane. She didnât notice theeyes following her path or the subsequent stalking this entailed. A brawnyhuman pirate, age indeterminate, pounced on her as soon as they were out of theway of most of the prying eyes of the tavern.
âHey, pretty cripple, care to spread em for me?â The pirateslammed Gallaria against the wall, taking advantage of her inebriation and herbad leg. The paladin cried out, only to find a dirty hand in her mouth,preventing her from screaming. Her eyes bulged as the pirate pulled her shirtup, getting a handful of her chest.
âNot a bad chest fer a traitor.â He chuckled and fumbledwith his belt. Gallaria struggled but all it earned her was a smack to thehead. âStop yer squirming. Yer gonna like it. They allâŚâ The manâs words endedin a yelp as he was tossed off the paladin. Cero didnât wait until the oaf hadrecovered, pulling a dagger and throwing himself at the other pirate.
Unfortunately, the human had the same idea and for awhile,the two struggled. Gallaria backed away, stumbling back against the wall.Shaken up from the assault, she shook her head, trying to clear it from thefog. Just as soon as she started to try and help, the human let out atriumphant grunt, tossing Cero aside. The manâs dagger was plunged straightinto Ceroâs stomach.
The human set his sights on his âprizeâ, but she was readyfor him this time. Dangerous rage lit her eyes and she got a hold of her cane,pulling the hidden sword out. He didnât stand a chance as Gallaria steppedforward, slashing the oaf diagonally from gut to shoulder. She pushed him downand away from Cero, her focus on her friend even before the oafâs body hit thefloor.
Her sword clattered to the ground as she lost her balance,kneeling next to Cero. His gaze was foggy, breath ragged and gurgling. Thepaladin stilled a keening cry in the back of her throat and tried to call uponher Light to heal him. Cero didnât help matters when he pulled the dagger out.
âNO! Stop!â Gallaria sobbed and poured magic into him, but aline of blood and froth leaked out of her friendâs mouth. âNoâŚno, this isnâthappening. Cero, WAKE UP!â She shrieked and poured more Light into him. It wastoo late.
Whether it was from poison or from Ceroâs own desires tostay down, Gallaria couldnât bring him back. The Light failed her. It failedhim. Grasping for the last vestiges of her faith, the paladin murmured adesperate prayer, reaching out for the pirateâs soul.
He was hard to catch even in death and her grip on his soulwas lost. A hollow feeling filled her, one that enraged her. Â Gallaria continued to beat her fists againstCeroâs body, refusing to believe he was gone. She poured Light into him untilher exhausted body failed her.
She didnât think sheâd ever forgive herself for losing him.
I have a lot to catch up on, I know. I've been terribly busy the last few weeks, and for the last week I haven't exactly been close enough to my journal to pick up a pen and write. For once, he's asleep in my bed instead of the other way around. Even so this is difficult. Crawling out from beneath him without waking him is a feat in itself-
That feels so strange to write, even stranger to read. I really should start from the beginning, I think.
My stint working solely under Camsyn was short-lived. Part of my contract entailed also caring after his brother, Cerothyn, should he find himself in need of healing. It didn't take long to realize that he needed a babysitter AND a healer, and that is exactly what I became. There has been little time that I have spent NOT at his side, either healing the results of him irritating someone into violence with mere words or...worse.
I don't quite know the details. I've thought to ask, and have not, but Cerothyn was captured. We had a tiff, if you want to call it that, one night in the city and he walked away from me. The next I knew, several of us were receiving letters, threats, and pieces of his jewelry from an anonymous sender. It took a good number of us to reach him, but there were more injuries than I care to think about that incurred to do so. Not all of them were physical. After seeing the look on his nephew's face at the illusion of his deceased father, I have to wonder how he's coping. That can't be something that simply passes. I have to wonder what horrors Cerothyn had to go through while he was held captive, though at the same time I'm hesitant to ask. I have a hard enough time stomaching smaller wounds when I'm healing someone. Imagining whatever he went through...
I know I walked away from that night with scars of my own, nightmares that refuse to let me rest some nights. To say that I don't feel guilt over his kidnapping would be a bold-faced lie. In truth, I feel entirely responsible even if he has insisted otherwise. Had I swallowed my pride, perhaps not been so sensitive to a comment so stupid, he wouldn't have walked away from me. He wouldn't have been alone, they wouldn't have found him, he wouldn't have been captured. It's a chain reaction that is undeniable no matter what anyone says. When I close my eyes, I still see the image of him sagging in his chains, lifeless. It was just an illusion, and yet it felt so real. I felt my heart stop right alongside his, right about the same time I hit my knees.
Maybe that's when I started to realize that I was in trouble. I'm not sure.
Cerothyn is safe now, relatively speaking. He's still...Cerothyn. He's trouble in his own right. His personality is downright volatile in the right situation, but a lot of it is a mask I've little trouble seeing past. Maybe that's why I kissed him that night, outside of his ship after telling him that I wanted to transfer under his command. Perhaps I was frightened. Perhaps I was both scared, and delighted, that the threat of the loss of the one person I have been able to call a friend in years was no longer imminent. Maybe I was just drunk. Maybe...
It's hard to deny much, now. I've shared things with him about myself that I am hesitant to share with anyone else. I know what he tastes like, and the feel of his heartbeat racing under my hands. I know what it is to fall asleep in his arms and have those fears silenced, if only for a night. I hold no illusions to whatever...this is, which is quite funny, given Nikklaus and Camsyn are quite keen on telling everyone and their relatives how reserved I am and how this is a far cry from my personality or anything I would ever do. I was in a loveless marriage for fifteen years out of sheer good will. I can see that now, even if it stings. ...Off track again, aren't we, Syranis?
I hold no illusions to whatever this is. I'm not expecting rose petals at my feet. I'm not expecting rainbows, sunshine, and...I don't know, whatever other silly, fairytale thing one might have come to mind when they think of romance. I'm not calling this romance. I'm not calling it anything, because I don't know what it is. I don't know how to respond to Camsyn and Nikklaus' quips, nor Kythaila's. I don't know how to explain to them that no, it's not the same as the things that Camsyn and Kythaila share because I don't do that nor believe in it, yet at the same time it is. How do you explain to someone that something means something, yet does not? It's a silly notion to even write, let alone think or try to explain to anyone else.
What I know is that he is damaged. We both are. What I know is that I've seen the cracked shell of his heart in the few times he's let his guard down and opened his ribs to reveal everything that lies beneath. Iâve seen the raw pain in his eyes when he speaks, even if heâs quick to shield it soon after. I also know that when he finds me in the dark, he's whole. I am whole. And if I can give him that brief window of happiness, where he's no longer burdened by sirens and ghosts of his past...so be it. Better me than someone else. Better someone who actually cares about him rather than
I'm in trouble, I think. Perhaps thinking is exactly the problem. But undeniably, I'm in trouble.
