RIBBONS – PART IV
Rain sat tucked away in her refuge, in the narrow gap between two old, neighbouring estate walls. She watched the slow, steady inching of the sunlight down into the deep crack, illuminating the worn stone, the crumbling mortar. There was a wild tangle of crimson roses spilling along the top of the walls, sending out long, creeping vines studded with tiny, sharp thorns. The thin strip of emerald grass beneath Rain's cloak and boots remained masked in shadow.
She swallowed tightly, feeling her tears drying on her pale cheeks. She lowered her chin and stared down at her bent knees, at her heavy pack lying on the grass beside her. Silence was in her now. It was the still, grave quiet that follows a storm of grief; the time when a grim, implacable knowledge presses down and down, weighing on the mind and heart like a stone.
Arvanaith.
It was a terrible burden for Rain to bear. She sat there, her back to the rough wall, and absorbed Kivan's revelation, coming to terms with it. The truth of it settled deep within her. He wanted vengeance, and he wanted his wife, and he wanted nothing more than to finish this last task, to destroy Tazok. And then he would go back, back to the mists and shadows of his home, and let them swallow and cover him, just as he had said.
Rain closed her eyes sorrowfully, and accepted it.
There was nothing else she could do. She would not argue with him, or try to change his mind. She could not plead with him to stay. That would only make it harder on him, and begin to dissolve the precious, fledgling trust that was crystallising between them. What Kivan had confided today was something so intensely personal, so profoundly moving, that Rain did not want to disappoint him. So she would not. She would go back to him soon, and raise her eyes to his, and apologise and seek his forgiveness for her weakness. Then she would hold his confidence in silence. She would keep it close, locked carefully away inside her grieving heart, and she would walk on, down their darkening path.
Rain respected Kivan in every way, everything about him. She was going to respect his decisions, too.
Even if it meant that she had to remain strong and steadfast and silent when finally, he turned away to die.
She blinked back the fresh tears that stung her eyes, finding she was not yet as strong as she needed to be. They formed, welled, but did not seep past her long lashes. She wiped them away.
Perhaps this was what it meant to be an elf. To age in some fundamental but insubstantial way, earning an understanding of life and death and the world beyond this one that was different from how humans viewed things, from the perspective of their shorter lives. That was part of the utter tragedy of this. Kivan was old in terms of human years, and he had lived through a perpetual nightmare that had ground his spirit down into dust and sharpened his soul into a knife, but he was still relatively young for an elf, with many years ahead of him. Perhaps centuries. To cut his life so irrevocably short was the saddest and most difficult thing for Rain to grapple with.
Though right now, he was hardly living.
His heart had died with his lost wife.
Rain sighed, heavy and resigned, but she suddenly felt more sure of herself. She knew what she must do. She would continue to love him from afar, and support and aid him. He would make his own choices, and she would not gainsay them. Such was the responsibility of a friend.
Filled with quiet purpose, she straightened her back and unhooked her water flask from her belt, uncapping it. Carefully, she poured a stream of cool, clear liquid into her cupped palm and splashed it over her face, and then another handful, trying to rinse away the film of her tears. There was nothing she could do about her red, raw eyes. She capped her flask and clipped it to her belt again.
She fingered the tangled mess of her hair. Reaching into her pack, Rain rummaged around for her brush and combed out her locks, trying to put herself to rights. It would do. She stood, a little stiffly, her scabbards pulling down at both sides, and smoothed the long, creased folds of her thick cloak.
A scarlet rose unfurled on the stone wall before her, catching her eye. It was level with her face. The flower was vivid and perfect in its deep, velvet beauty, the petals fragrant and sweet-scented in the sun. The shaft of golden light fell just below it, creating a solid black line than ran distinctly across the hewn manor wall and tumbling vines, delineating light from shadow. It struck Rain suddenly how very beautiful that rose was, lying in the margins, glistening red in the deep heart of the crevasse. She lifted a hand and gently brushed the soft whorls of its petals with a fingertip.
Rain made a promise to herself.
Her time with Kivan was borrowed. She was going to steady her shoulders and be calm and strong, and treasure each small moment she had left with him. No false hopes. No regrets. She would simply be.
A tiny, grave smile passed over her lips. Reaching for the small knife she wore at her belt, she pulled the blade free of its sheath and carefully cut the scarlet rose from its twisting vine, freeing it. She nicked the thorns from the stem with the tip of her knife. When she was finished, and her blade put away, she contemplated the rose and firmed her promise squarely in her mind. She slid the stem of the flower behind her tight leather sword-belt. It was a small gem of colour beneath the opening of her dark cloak, a hint of ruby against her tunic, and she lifted her pack and turned away, carrying her promise with her.
She stepped cautiously to the edge of the narrow gap and surveyed the street.
There were not as many city-folk here as there had been at the market, but there were enough. People walked this wealthier quarter of Baldur's Gate, striding about their business. Horses clattered over the cobblestones, their iron-shod hooves ringing on the road, and closed carriages rolled past, their polished doors inked with the golds, silvers, blues and onyx of important family crests. Rain looked past them to the far side of the street. A familiar figure waited at the very corner of another grand estate, cloaked in deep forest green, his back to the brick wall and his arms crossed over his chest. His jet eyes were trained intently on Rain. He straightened, alert, and the world passed through and between them, folk moving on and heedless and by.
Kivan.
He must have followed her from the market. She shouldn't have been surprised, but it threw her askew, making her new sureness unravel, misting away into coils of smoke.
Rain stilled, unable to move. She hadn't expected to face him so soon.
Taking a deep breath, she collected herself as the ranger cut across the road towards her, slipping easily in-and-out between the horses and foot-traffic, moving with that light, uncanny grace he had. He reached her in seconds. He looked down at her, worried, and he searched her face very carefully, flitting his dark gaze over her eyes and cheeks, to the strain in her mouth. Kivan hesitated, concerned. In that moment, Rain saw nothing but care in his worn, anxious expression, nothing but worry for her welfare.
There was no scorn, condescension or derision. No reproach for the childish thing she had done. Just the hint of his relief as he studied her closely, and his subtle relaxing as she consciously raised her eyes to his.
It made her love him even more, his quiet sincerity and concern. And it made her hurt all over again.
"Rain?" he questioned uncertainly. "Are you… Are you alright?"
She nodded, feeling her throat tighten up again. "I will be." She said it steadily, as calmly as she had told herself she would, and Kivan gazed back at her, his black eyes softening. "I am sorry," she said remorsefully. "I should never have behaved the way I did. I was so foolish, running off like that, and I –"
Kivan shook his head swiftly, cutting off her awkward but heartfelt apology. "No, mellonamin," he said soberly. "Do not second-guess yourself. You acted as any true friend would to my news, and it is to my great shame that I did not anticipate it. I am sorry, Rain. I should have considered the impact of my words more carefully."
He was so grave, so genuine, that Rain suddenly saw the absurdity of it, the two of them standing there so tentatively and apologising profusely to the other for what had been said in faith, in trust. She found herself smiling ruefully, and she let out a quiet laugh. "Then let's both agree that we are sorry, and put it behind us." Her smile faded, and she looked up into his eyes, as earnest and grave as he was. "Thank you," she said softly, "for telling me. I am glad you did."
He smiled at her, more gently than he ever had before. Turning, he fell in beside her and ushered her forward with a light arm behind her back, his fingertips resting on her pack. "Walk with me, mellonamin." His tone was fond.
She glanced up at him, neither of them rushing back to the market, and Kivan slid his hand from her pack and curled his scarred fingers around her far shoulder. He squeezed her arm briefly through her cloak, comforting and affectionate.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked her again, not yet ready to relinquish his concern. His arm was still tentatively around her, consoling and protective.
Rain forced herself to nod. The terrible irony that it was him comforting her about his impending death gripped claws in her soul. She struggled with it, but then remembered her resolve.
This was one of those rare moments she would cherish.
His frank regard for her.
He was wounded and beautiful and grim and stubborn, and he cared for her, as much as he could. And for that, Rain would be grateful.
"There is something you must understand, Kivan," she said carefully, her brow knotting as she tried to express a simple truth to him in the right words. "Myself, the rest of us… We care for you, mellonamin. Anything that hurts you hurts us. And the same goes for the future, whatever path we find ourselves walking. Do not forget these small things, that we only wish to see you well."
Kivan looked down at her. There was a new respect in his rugged, painted face, a dark light in his cutting, ranger's eyes.
"Perhaps I have been on my own too long," he mused, thoughtful. "Gone my own way too long. I have almost forgotten what it is like to share such things, to give and take in return." He nodded, firm. "I will remember this, Rain, and thank you." He tightened his fingers in her shoulder one last time and let his hand fall away, back to his side.
After that, their silence was deep and comfortable, as it should be. But Rain's skin still burned from his touch, from the very nearness of him, and she gritted her teeth and bore it.
She would never tell him.
The rose pressed into the curve of her hip, a stark reminder of her vow.
xxxx xxxx
Late in the afternoon, as the sun began its blazing, golden descent into the ocean, bronzing the Sea of Swords, the party turned their backs on the busy docks and headed for the Elfsong, leaving with more questions than they had answers. Kivan briefly touched Rain's arm with his hand and slipped away into the gathering shadows, a blur of green in a cross-secting alley until he vanished from sight. She was not overly concerned. She was used to him coming and going at different times, and she knew he would return when he was ready.
At the tavern, Rain slid onto the padded bench of the same booth she had used only this morning, in the corner where she could watch the taproom and threshold, see who was arriving and leaving. She waited alone. The casements were still open, and the flowers in the wide, blue-painted box outside her window ruffled gently in the early evening breeze, stirring and whispering. The draft wafted in, making the tiny flame in the lantern on Rain's table flicker energetically, pulsing warm, leaping light over Rain's hands and face.
A serving maid came by her booth, looking impatient and harassed. The taproom was now as crowded as it had been last night. The maid set down the flagon of wine Coran had ordered, and two goblets made of a thin, dented metal – pewter, Rain thought – and bustled away as impatiently as she had arrived. But Coran himself did not return. The thief was nowhere in sight.
Rain eyed the wine rather grimly and poured herself a glass from the flagon. She cupped the large goblet in both slender hands and lifted it to her lips, taking a swallow. The wine was good. A deep, earthy vintage, flooding rich and spicy over her tongue.
She took another swallow and watched Imoen at her game of cards with a number of men, already warming up to a night of drinking and bluffing and swindling. Her friend caught Rain's eye and flashed her a cheeky, shameless grin. Rain smiled back, a glint of amusement in her eyes.
"So, lovely lady," drawled a voice above her head. "What's a fine lass like you doing on your own in here?"
Rain glanced up at the man hovering over her table, silently bracing herself for the usual drunken attention she received in taverns. She had wondered when this one was finally going to make his move. He looked like a labourer, with his brown leather vest pulled over a dingy shirt, but his tanned face seemed amiable enough, and he didn't strike Rain as being a thug. He offered her a lazy smile and leaned casually against the end of her bench.
"I am waiting for someone," she replied calmly, not inviting his further advances. "As you can see." She gestured at the empty goblet.
"Waiting for me, my lovely lass, and make no mistake. Your days of silent pining for the man of your dreams are over, pretty elf." The man raised his brows and grinned down at her hopefully. Behind him, his drinking companions jostled and joked at his expense, jeering at his woeful attempts to woo her. For her part, Rain laughed and shook her head, amused. He did not seem like the type to try to overpower her. More frequently than she liked, Rain had to take stern, defensive action in situations like this, but it was easier to let someone down with a small smile and a firm refusal.
"I'm afraid not," she said dryly. "I am waiting for someone. But thank you," she added, seeing that she had judged him correctly, and he was a decent enough man for the Elfsong's usual, bawdy crowd.
"Ah, that's alright love. Just thought I'd give it a shot. I'm over here if you change your mind."
The labourer backed away sheepishly, and Rain scanned the taproom again, wondering if the next time she was disturbed, she would need to part the folds of her cloak and reveal her blades. She lifted her wine to her mouth again and took a discerning swallow.
There was movement at the doorway. A new patron slipped into the crowd, shrouded in a very familiar, ragged green cloak, and Rain felt a warm rush of relief as Kivan headed directly for her. She looked up at him, smiling, and he smiled back. It reached his dark, lantern-lit eyes.
"Mellonamin," he greeted her easily. Drawing his wife's bow over his head, he propped it against the edge of her booth and slid onto the leather seat beside her, wool rustling. He settled himself and nodded towards Rain's wine flagon. "You're resorting to drinking alone now, Rain?" he asked her, and there was a suspicious hint of suppressed laughter in his voice.
Rain's lips quirked into an amused grin. "Not now, ranger." She cocked a brow at him and pointedly poured wine into the second goblet. "Now you're drinking with me."
He laughed, softly, and it was a warm, relaxed sound, almost mellow. She pushed the tarnished goblet towards him across the battered table-top. Kivan took it with a nod of thanks, but did not bring it to his mouth, not yet. Instead, he reached beneath his cloak and hunted for something in his leather belt-pouch, pulling out a small object. Rain watched, bemused, as he carefully set a creased package down in front of her, the nearly-flat bundle wrapped in crinkled brown paper. She looked at the coarse string neatly tying it closed, and glanced back to him, her brows raised in question.
"This is for you," he told her, and slid the tiny packet closer to her with a long, calloused forefinger.
Her puzzlement deepened. "What is it?" she asked as she picked it up, feeling how light it was. Aside from the paper itself, there was no weight to whatever lay inside.
His mouth softened. She could feel him watching her in the flamelight, carefully observing her response. "A gift for a friend," he said quietly.
Startled, Rain jerked her eyes to his. Kivan smiled at her again, apparently amused by her surprise, and he tilted his chin towards the packet in her hands.
"Go on," he said. He leaned back against the timber booth and lounged there beside her, lifting his goblet and idly swirling the wine in small, graceful circles.
She dropped her eyes to the brown package, quizzical, and began to unwrap it, pulling off the string. The paper rustled in her hands. Turning it over, she opened up the neat, creased folds, and drew in a quick, sharp breath, amazed.
A pair of beautiful silk ribbons gleamed in the candlelight, shimmering with an enchanting fiery-red copper. Rain laughed in delight and held them up, her eyes shining.
"Oh, you didn't!" she exclaimed, bringing her laughing eyes back to Kivan. He grinned at her, pleased with himself, and studied her over the rim of his goblet.
"Do you like them?" he asked, though he knew full well that she did.
"You know I do." Smiling at him, she took up one long ribbon and lifted her shining fall of russet hair in her hands, gathering the tresses into a neat tail at her nape. The evening air brushed over her bare skin. She tied the ribbon into a double bow, so it would not work loose, and reached for the other streamer of copper silk, musing about what to do with it. Giving Kivan a quick grin, she looped the ribbon around her left wrist and tied it, letting the long, silken ends dangle from her hand like the daggered sleeves of a lady's fine gown. She lifted her wrist and admired the silk in the lantern-light.
"Very nice," Kivan remarked, satisfied.
Rain turned to him, beginning to thank him, but her grateful words stopped in her throat as Coran appeared in the noisy throng, cutting towards her with single-minded purpose. There was a furious spark in his eyes. He drew up abruptly at Rain's table, fixing her with a hard, proprietary glare, and she felt her blood run cold at the black jealously in his face.
"You wear another man's favours," he snapped. "Who gave them to you?"
She stared at him. Under that piercing, possessive glare, she felt her own anger awaken, bright and hot. I am not yours, she thought furiously to him.
"Who do you think?" She was cool, calm and deliberately evasive. Unless the thief guessed otherwise, she didn't want him to know the ribbons had come from Kivan. She didn't want her precious gift ruined.
Coran's mouth worked, sour and scornful. "Ajantis," he hissed. "If that fool boy thinks he can win you over with a pretty bit of silk, then he's about to learn that he is wrong." He shifted his angry gaze to Kivan, gave him a tight nod, and turned on his heel, stalking from the tavern.
Rain frowned after him a long, uncertain moment, not quite sure what to say. Then she sighed, her good mood dispersing. She leaned back against the wall beside Kivan, wearily, and reached for her goblet. "I think I might have just made things worse for myself," she murmured, very softly.
She sensed Kivan angling his head to regard her. He said nothing at first, just contemplated her soberly, and Rain stared down into her dark ruby wine. Finally, she tilted her face and met his gaze. He was watching her, his head resting against the dark timber, attentive despite his casual pose. His raven hair was blacker than midnight, glinting with copper in the firelight. Long, thick curls framed his angular face. The dusk stole in from outside, drawing around them both, and Rain paused at the deep, dark look in the ranger's eyes, the distant but close-held knowledge.
"Be careful who you choose," he whispered. His voice was dry, soft and melancholy. Fleeting. "We elves… We love long in the Spirit, and without respite. Be careful, Rain. Make sure that when you do give your heart, you are certain, and you do not come to grief later."
His quiet words fell away, into their thoughtful silence, and Rain sipped her wine and stared at the bright, twisting lantern-flame. "Do I have to choose either of them?" she mused after a time, more to herself than him. She thought of the prickly, jealous rivalry springing up between Coran and Ajantis, and was troubled again.
Kivan halted the goblet before his mouth and stilled. He sent her a long, searching look, and reassessed her. "When did you become so wise?" he breathed out, slowly.
Rain lifted her head and smiled at him. It was warm, soft and gentle, and her blue eyes were teasing and fond. "When did you become so talkative?"
He opened his mouth to reply. He caught himself, unsure, but then laughed very lightly, seeing the humour in it. Kivan smiled and turned his onyx eyes upon her, his dark irises reflecting the candle-flame glowing on the table between them. "I don't know," he said ruefully. "When did I?"
Rain tipped her head back and laughed. "I don't think it matters," she assured him. She shifted her wine into her off-hand and raised the pewter cup to her eyes, gazing at the new ribbon twirling from her wrist, the russet silk glinting and eddying in the faint breeze.
"No," Kivan agreed, but he sounded mystified. "It does not."