So, pardon the lateness, been working on a number of projects recently and I'm pressed for time and Bol's has her exams. This'll be a rather tame chapter in preparation for the next one. Well then, at least this got finished, please do read on.
"Truly my fortunes have changed."
Lanaya looked up, surprised to hear another voice here, and saw a mask looking back at her, and through it two bright, whole and intact eyes that met her's.
"For me to wake up in such pleasant company."
She smirked, "Now when did you find a sense of humor?"
"You are pleasant company," Yurnero stated, groaning as he pushed himself up and propping himself against a stone. "An unfortunate side-effect of my treatment."
The Wards were a dark, wet place, more like a cave than anything else, a low ceiling and walls ground smooth by the countless past residents that had once brooded within the Keep. It was right under the Ancient, underground streams fed glowing blue streams, running thick with Radiant magic like the Fountain, that sprouted from the walls and crisscrossed the floor, dividing the cave up into dozens of islets of dry land where the grievously sick and wounded were laid.
The water, the only source of light in the dim cave, was of the same brand as the Fountain's but much more potent, in its presence one could feel their own flesh repairing, skin reknitting, doing what the Fountain would take weeks to do in mere hours. As such it was reserved for cases of greatest need.
Lanaya had come to the Wards with the intent to just see how Yurnero was doing but she had ended up lying down next to the resting man, somehow possessed of a need to speak to him. "I can't stay for long, and I wasn't sure you'd wake up in time."
"And yet I am awake."
His mask was cracked on the left side, a round hole with a spider web of shattered ivory around his left eyehole. Through the cracks she could see for the first time, with startling realisation, one of his eyes, clear, bright and brown, almost orange like embers. The ivory of his mask, lit with a blue glow from underneath by the light of the blue water, seemed to gleam as he leaned back against his rocky backrest, "So I do not suppose you came to see me out of the goodness of your heart?"
"But of course," Lanaya scoffed.
"You do not fool me, Templar, you came to the House to interrogate someone for something, I assume."
She did not mention her little talk with Sylla.
Lanaya smiled, looking down, but even the sweet magic couldn't keep it there. Her mind was on darker matters that she could not put away. "I… there's no time and I know I should not have come, as things are. I just came for a bit of guidance, I guess."
"Sven?" Yurnero asked.
"Yes. They told you?" She asked, surprised. He nodded affirmation, she felt a bit jealous that Sylla had trusted him but not her with the information.
The Templar Assassin bit her lip, unsure. "You know what I have to do, I can't leave Sven abandoned in the wild for the Dire to hunt him down. I just…"
Yurnero laid a gentle hand on her arm, it seemed strange with how rough his hands were from a lifetime wielding a sword. "Lanaya, I won't ask you to stay, I love Sven as a brother and would see him returned as well. But it will be dangerous, he is powerful and no doubt a prize trophy to be claimed by whichever Dire captain in the field."
"Abaddon," she filled in. She'd heard about him, a warrior and accomplished leader who had achieved victory on countless engagements with Radiant forces. He was responsible for sending many Heroes she knew to the Wards.
"Abaddon, yes, he will seek to capture Sven, even turn him against us if they can." His eyes narrowed, "You cannot allow that to happen. We cannot lose him, if he is drawn to serve the Direstone…"
"I understand," she nodded.
Lanaya shifted around, letting one hand fall into a stream of running underground water, watching her skin begin to ripple and shift as the magic set to work, looking for scars and wounds to repair.
"You'll need a team, and a good one," Yurnero pointed out.
"Mmh, I've got a few names in mind."
Mortred felt strangely light and unburdened without her armour on her shoulders, it felt strange to her. She moved too quickly, the sound of her cape brushing against the ground was gone. When they'd confiscated her belongings they'd been very thorough, they didn't even leave her boots, just dressed her in a thin green gown. After her interrogation they'd gotten a healer, Rhasta, a nice crooked man, who rubbed something soothing into her wounds, bandaging her up and sending her out into the Big House.
So here she was now, walking barefoot through the hallways of the House, looking for all the world like an innocent, lost sheep. A creep bustled past, carrying in his two outstretched hands stacks of scrolls balanced on top of a thick tome, she clung to the wall and looked away as he passed by.
She had gotten a reference from Rhasta, a number, a few rooms this way, another few that way. She didn't know what it was that stirred inside her at the notion of what she was doing, her childhood had been spent honing the skill of hiding her feelings with the Sisters of the Veil, but it didn't change what she felt. She felt aflutter, her heart racing, faster than she thought it could. This was real, she was here now, she wasn't Legion, she wasn't Dire, finally…
Mortred nearly ran into the door in her stupor. She scolded herself in the same way the Sisters taught her to, if someone had seen her slip in composure. Her hand hovered over the door, she smiled, this was it.
Grace, the Phantom chanted. Always remember. She knocked once, then twice, before forcing the door open and stepping inside perhaps a bit too fast, before regaining her composure.
There he was, cloaked in shadow, his room cast in darkness. His figure sat stooped on the side of his bed, he hadn't been sleeping, his head turned sharply towards the door, his voice sounded softly, tired, worn and older than when she'd last heard him. "Who is it there? The hour is late, you know."
Mortred inhaled sharply at the sound of his voice, despite the new scars it bore. She bit her lip, before answering, "Yes, it is very late."
Purist Thunderwrath looked at her for an instant during which they both regarded each other, each still comprehending their situation, before he shot to his feet. "What? How?"
To hell with grace. She ran in, unable to hold back any longer, her bare feet carrying her across the room and closing the little distance that remained between them and Purist found himself in her embrace, a moment later and she was in his as well.
He began, "It's been so long since last we-… How did you get here? If they find you…"
"I'm not with the Legion anymore. Well, I'm also not with the Radiant per se, but look!" She pulled on her gown, green as leaves, illuminated by the dim light from the hallway through the open doorway.
A crystal on the wall flared to life, a soft mellow blue that filled the room with light. She could finally see his face, long golden hair swept back, his intense blue eyes framed with a face that was weathered and older than it should be, weighed down by past sins of a lifetime of war. But the scars and lines had all but disappeared as he smiled down at her.
Mortred reached up and cupped Purist's face, feeling his skin under her fingers, brow furrowing. "You don't look well."
One of his hands, fingers rough, wrapped around her's. "I'm as well as I'll get, better even, now."
"No no, it's not that, I mean-" she raised an eyebrow. "You didn't shave."
"Please," he rolled his eyes, smiling. "I kept it up for a few months after you left, quite nearly broke my heart as well keeping this mane trimmed."
"Cry me a river, I'm sure we can find a razor here somewhere."
Well then, there's that. Next chapter should be up in a day or two, I promise, leave a review on what you think and I'll get back to you in a few days.