A/N: I'm not really sure where this came from, except to say that I am inexplicably drawn to this seemingly hopeless pairing. This was also inspired by my Bitter Regrets piece about Merric. I 'm stuck on the idea of his honor being constantly crushed by Kel always rescuing him. I think it makes for a lot of drama. Anyway, read, review, rinse, repeat...just kidding! You know what to do!
P.S. If you haven't already done it, please go check out "Eldorne's Atonement," the chain story I'm co-writing with a bunch of great authors, (under the name Group Askew) including Confusedknight, Lady Muck, Cry of the Wolf Child, and a whole bunch of other cool authors. It's pretty much a story that combines the best of TP fanfics. It won't dissapoint. I've written chapter two. Go check it out!!
Sometimes, Merric thought, it was astounding how much of a hypocrite he could be. Just a few hours ago, he had been urging Kel to leave, that they would be all right, but now, he was definitely not fine. He had taken Sergeant Yvengar's squad out on patrol today, and it took everything in him not to abandon his duties and chase after her, to make sure that she was okay. She was in his thoughts now, a constant presence, filling him with such warm, nervous, strange emotion that all he could do was stare down at his saddle horn, lost in thought.
He nearly jumped when a scout ahead spotted Scanrans farther down the path; there they were; tall and broad, savagely dresses, with unkempt blonde hair that fell past their shoulders in dirty locks. Immediately he seized upon the opportunity, and spurred his men after them. Here was a chance to show Kel that he could do his job, here was a chance to fight without Kel there to rescue him like he was a damsel in distress, here was a chance to, maybe, take his mind off of Kel.
With a shout, he tuned off the path and followed the men farther into the trees. He wheeled around a boulder, pulling his horse into a large clearing, and gave a hoarse shout. The Scanrans' numbers had increased at least fourfold. Thirty Scanrans waited for them, weapons raised. Merric and his ten men were no match for the fighters.
At first, it seemed like they might be able to hold their own enough to escape. They sounded the horns, but through the fray, Merric was just able to make out the distant clatter of weapons coming from the direction of Haven. No, he thought frantically, they can't have Haven!
With a yell, he surged back into the battle with a fierce new energy. He drove his sword through a man's neck and whirled, catching another on one great, hairy arm. But it was no use. He watched the first of his men, Leithan, stagger and fall, a Scanran's axe lodged in his skull. The Qafi, the Bazhir convict, leapt in front of his, as a huge Scanran aimed a sword blow at his waist while he stood, distracted. He crumpled to the ground, already dead. Merric was filled with dread. It was hopeless.
Yvengar gave a cry as he crumpled to the ground, a huge dent in his helm where the enemy's axe had struck. Merric turned to see him, but as he did, he felt a brand of fire open on his left thigh. He stumbled and sank to the ground, still clutching his sword, trying to desperately keep the Scanrans away. His head spun with pain and blood loss, and the sword slipped from his grasp, as another Scanran slid a knife through the slit in his armor, stabbing his side.
Suddenly, all was quiet again. He heard a few muffled moans, but the fighting was over. He realized with a sickening feeling that all of his men were down. A Scanran walked over to him, and kicked him in the side with a booted foot. He groaned. Merric had never been good at it, but he knew enough Scanran to understand what the man said next.
"Hey! This one's still alive! What should I do with it, kill it?" he barked hoarsely to his commander.
"No, leave it to the Stormwings! Perhaps they'll get more pleasure out of a living victim! And if they've already gorged themselves on these fat peasants, then at least its' death will still be long and painful!" They laughed, a long, grating sound issuing from their throats.
Merric choked as blood rose in his throat. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to die with that horrible laugh ringing in his ears. He didn't want to die without Kel at his side. He didn't want to die.
His last thought, before he fell into a feverous unconsciousness, was, Kel, I'm so sorry, I failed. His muscles went limp, and her name died away from his pale lips.
The next thing he knew, green fire was searing his eyelids. He opened them slowly, groaning, and saw Neal sitting next to him on a stool, holding his hand as his green Gift washed over the red-haired knight's body. Merric could not even feel where Neal's hand touched his own. His whole body burned with pain.
He looked around; this was her room. The wall hangings had been slashed, the shelves broken, but it was undeniably Kel's. He was lying on her bed. If only he could be here, in this room, under any other circumstances. He inhaled, and smelled her scent of cedar and cinnamon and steel. Soft and sharp and deadly.
The sound of hurried steps made him look up. There she was; the object of his visions, pale with concern. Her eyes were almost frantic. They met his for a hot, breathless second, and he could swear that she breathed his name.
Then a new stab of pain washed through him, and he remembered why he was here. He tried to give her a smile. Her face was so filled with worry. For me, he thought with misplaced joy.
She wanted to know what had happened. He had known her long enough to tell that much. Her Yamani mask was long gone, slowly erased by years in the Eastern lands, shattered by the horrors she had just witnessed.
Slowly, reluctantly, he began to speak. She'll know how I failed her… He thought sadly. "Thirty of them. They caught us at the southern part of the sweep. Not that we chased thirty, mind." He was trying to sound as normal as possible, even though his wounds still throbbed with fiery pain, and her nearness cooked his brain and heart. "The sparrows fetched us. I should have waited for their count, they've gotten so good at counting, but we saw only seven, so we followed. I swear the sparrows called us ten kinds of idiot when we did it. Stupid thing…" She probably thinks I'm an idiot, too. It's my fault that her people are gone. All that I cared about was impressing her.
She walked over to the bed, and crouched beside him. "How were you to know more would be waiting?" Her voice was quiet, almost wavering, with…concern? Or disappointment?
"You would have been suspicious. You'd have waited for the sparrows." He had wanted to impress her. He had wanted to impress her. Now, all he could do was point out what an idiot he was in comparison to her. Why was he such a fool?
"Neither of us can know that. I might have done the same thing. So stop torturing yourself." She didn't allow he voice to sound patronizing-at least she respected him that much, as a friend- but what he had said, that was a fact. It was sweet of her to try and assuage his conscience, but that didn't take away the pain of his injuries and humiliation. Once again, she was the warrior, and he the one who needed rescuing. Why, for once, couldn't it be the other way around? But no, the universe was determined to stomp out his pride, and all of his chances at true love. For the gods only knew how much of a romantic he had been- how he had believed in all of those fairy tales. But now, he had seen war, seen death, and knew all of those stories to be a lie. That didn't keep him from wishing that things could be like in the stories.
"What next?" she said, and all at once, he could see it: what was on her mind the most were her people. Yes, she was concerned about him, but only because she was his friend, and he was right there in front of her. Of course she would think of those people first, they're out in Stenmun's clutches and you're safe here, some distant part of his mind thought. Even if she loved you, she would think of them first. But it wasn't true. He had seen in that brief moment, when he had looked into her eyes, that her concern for the people of Haven was deeper and far truer than her concern for him.
She loves those people, he thought. And I am destined to be nothing more than a friend to her. This was it, this was finality, this was the closure of his dreams. It shot through him like a wave of black sickness, stamping out all other thoughts, even his pain. It was over.
Somehow, he answered her, though inside, his soul was howling in anguish.