Eterna: Chapter 11 -- Hard Road
The incline was just steep enough to set the muscles of her calves burning, but Melia pressed on. She was unwilling to be outpaced by Dwen, who was not yet breathing hard, even with the added weight of supplies she was toting up the hill. Melia suspected that underneath that timid exterior beat the heart of a She-Coeurl.
Melia breathed a sigh of relief when they finally topped the rise and the dilapidated cabin came into full view. "Whew! That's some workout."
"Oh, Melia... look," Dwen said, tugging on Melia's sleeve and inclining her head behind them.
"What?" Melia answered spinning around, then felt her jaw unhinge at the sight of the incredible panorama spread out below.
"Fuf!"
Dwen had no idea what Melia had just said, but the inflection indicated she agreed with her about the view. Exchanging broad smiles the two women then turned as one and headed for the run-down building.
---------------------------------
A shadowy figure crouched in the northwest corner of the room, arms draped across kneecaps. It had not moved or made a sound for a long time. Its only purpose: to keep watch over the pale figure propped up by the same bend of two walls meeting on the opposite side of the room. Every shuddering breath, every loose-necked roll of the head or disjointed utterance was registered and catalogued in a torturous inventory of sorrow.
Then sounds from outside impelled the eyes of the sentinel to leave their charge and pan slowly across the dust motes floating in the shafts of sunlight at the front window, finally coming to rest on the entrance door. Those approaching female voices engaged in sisterly conversation -- their friendly banter unobstructed and bright angered him. The irrational offense was embraced and acted on when the figure rose swiftly and strode to the door. He didn't know how they had found him or why they were here and he didn't care. He only wanted to be left in peace.
---------------------------------
The house looked thoroughly deserted, and Melia thought that Grahl must have been wrong about Auron hiding out here. She was reaching for the latch when the door was suddenly jerked open in a shriek of rusty hinges.
"Begone!" Auron boomed, scowling down at the two women in an intimidating mass of lean muscle.
Dwen jumped and then shrank back, grabbing for the container of shampoo that threatened to tumble from atop her armload -- suddenly sure she was about to become violently incontinent.
The sister of Cid however, was having none of it -- unimpressed by the shouted command. "No," Melia said, her foot stamping against the ground. "We're here to help whether you like it or not. Let us in."
Auron's response said go away with every tersely enunciated syllable. "There is nothing you can do for me."
"Then let us do something for her," Melia said in a calm anger, "or would that be too much of a bother."
Auron's eyes flickered over the top of his glasses, Dwen seeing pain and guilt in that flash of emotion before it died. She herself had known both in full measure and felt a keen stab of pity for the man.
Without speaking, Auron stepped back from the door.
Melia wrinkled her nose and Dwen suppressed a gasp as they entered and took in the condition of the place.
"I think you'd better count on us being here for the day," Melia stated decisively, her hands coming to her hips as she inspected the dingy quarters.
Auron said nothing in response, his rigid stance and crossed arms speaking for him.
Deciding to just ignore the Taciturn Tower of Auron, Melia and Dwen walked over to the corner and sank down in front of Isabo. "Let's get her cleaned up first, then we'll start on the rest."
Dwen nodded and supported Isabo with a hand on her waist, while Melia started to strip Auron's robe from her. Hearing no movement from behind them, the women exchanged a meaningful glance.
Melia looked back over her shoulder. "Unless you want to watch, I suggest you take a walk or something."
Rosy color bloomed across Auron's cheeks, blending down into his beard. It was the first time Dwen had ever seen Auron blush, and thought how out of place it looked on his austere features. It seemed to her to reveal an appealing vulnerability -- a side of the man she would never in a million years have guessed existed.
Auron roughly cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up, then whirled and headed for the door -- his back as straight as a board.
Melia caught him before he was gone, her voice retreating from its earlier harshness. "We'll come back. As long as... as long as we need to."
There was no answer forthcoming from the stiff wall of black leather as Auron left.
---------------------------------
The walk down the hill had cleared his head to some extent and Auron looked right and then left, briefly indecisive. He raised his hand and stroked at his beard several times before the unconscious act made up his mind for him. Melia and Dwen's mercy visit had him contemplating the value of making an effort to be normal. And like them, he realized there might be some comfort in that -- however delusive it may be.
---------------------------------
"Morning," The woman said with good cheer. If ever there was someone in need of her wares, it was this man. He had been eyeing the straight razors with a discerning gaze for some time -- his face a study of sober evaluation. Her greeting brought his head up, and a flash of reflected light bounced off his sunglasses and straight into her eyes, momentarily blinding her.
"What would you consider a fair trade for this?" The man enquired without returning the pleasantry, pointing at his selection.
The razor he indicated was the simplest in design, but the workmanship of the metal was the best her brother could produce. "What do you have to offer?" She asked pleasantly enough.
"Very little," He replied woodenly, the gesture of his arms rising from his sides indicating all he had was on his person.
Her first inclination was to ask for the shades. The young man she had been seeing of late would look quite sexy in them -- the thought bringing a subtle leer to her angular features. But they seemed to be a part of the man in a way that went beyond a simple accessory -- and she couldn't bring herself to take them from him.
"Tell you what, if you'll make a delivery for me on the far side of the village, we'll call it even on the razor and I'll throw in some soap and a brush. How's that sound?"
"Comparatively generous," He answered, his sensuously full lower lip moving upward in a charming quirk.
She decided right then and there that despite his overly rugged appearance, this guy was downright scrumptious. An inward shiver ran through her and she smiled, enjoying it. "Wait right here and I'll put you... um I mean take your... get the stuff." She finished lamely.
---------------------------------
Thanks to his willingness to make several more deliveries or otherwise help himself, Auron had obtained everything he felt he needed for the time being: two work shirts and a pair of pants, bread, fruit, a round of cheese, and a large Bluefin Tuna. All but the latter were slung over his shoulder in a makeshift rucksack -- the fish he held by the tail, its length swinging at his side like a bludgeon at the ready.
---------------------------------
"I doubt that's for me," Tanar said in a sly mockery.
Auron's reply returned the derision. "An astute observation."
"The warrior's armament includes a sharp tongue."
"Your lack of good manners obliges one to wield that weapon."
Tanar threw his head back and had a good laugh at that. It had been a long time since he had traded barbs with a worthy opponent.
"Just don't stand there, come on in."
Auron crossed the threshold and held the fish up. "Is he here?"
"Afraid not. He went north again, said something about a missed visit with his brothers."
"I see."
Tanar reversed his chair and pointed down the hallway. "Feel free to stow his pungent gift in the larder, you'll find a small freezer unit near the back." Then Tanar had a thought and smiled. "And while you're at it, grab the cask. I think we could both do with a taste."
"Sake?" Auron asked, his attention fully captured.
"Correct," Tanar answered, the word barely out of his mouth before Auron was heading down the hallway.
---------------------------------
"Well?"
Auron looked at the bottom of his cup and then up at Tanar, a smile playing briefly at the corners of his mouth. "Excellent."
Grinning, Tanar lifted the decanter. "More?"
---------------------------------
The two men weren't exactly drunk, as that was not possible, but they were definitely relaxed. They had been companionably sharing their favorite beverage in relative silence -- Tanar leaning loosely against the back of his chair, Auron with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
"Damned mosquitoes," Tanar suddenly proclaimed with a frown, slapping at his thigh just above the knee -- his fingernails scratching at the skin. Then he looked over at Auron to see him glancing at the withered flesh of his legs, his eyes discreetly moving away a second later.
Tanar chuckled. "Go ahead, ask."
"Forgive me, but I find it... curious that the Farplane chose not to restore your limbs to you."
"As it did your eye?"
"How do you know my eye was restored?"
"Not sure. I just do... I've been here a very long time."
"Do you have any sense of just how long?"
"Long enough to witness Spira's inhabitants destroy themselves several times over, along with the world around them. We never cease behaving like fools."
"You'll get no argument from me."
"A sake man and a fellow cynic... I think I've found a soul mate."
"Don't start picking out furniture just yet," Auron said with a smirk, extending his arm.
Tanar cackled and refilled Auron's cup. "Yeah, we're going to get along just fine, you and I."
Auron unceremoniously threw back the sake and then looked out the door, checking the angle of the sun. "I should be going soon."
The way Auron had spoken just then compelled Tanar to offer something he often felt, but rarely expressed -- compassion. "You do realize she's not coming back don't you? Not until you figure things out."
Auron was no longer amused. This man was full of surprises and he had grown weary of being on the receiving end. Tanar obviously had insights he wasn't sharing. "Would you care to enlighten me?"
"Has it ever occurred to you that all this has been made to happen for your benefit?" Tanar said, throwing another bone.
Auron's eyes narrowed. "Elucidate."
"I think I've said enough."
His patience gone, Auron reached across the table and gathered the front of Tanar's shirt in one hand. "Tell me what you know."
Tanar laughed in his face. "And if I refuse? What will you do? Sorry to break it to you, but there's nothing you can do to me that has not already been done, so save your threats for someone who cares."
His eyes darkened in anger and frustration, Auron released his hold on Tanar, but he didn't do it gently. Then Auron pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, his sword-hand clenching into a fist at his side. "What is it you want from me? Do you wish me to beg for your counsel? Will that satisfy you?"
Tanar jerked his shirt back into place. "No."
Auron stood silent and unmoving, his gaze burning into the flesh of Tanar's wizened face.
"All right, all right. I'll tell you what needs be done, but I warn you, you may not find it an easy task," Tanar said, then pointed at the vacated chair, waiting until Auron reluctantly returned to it.
"What you seek cannot be attained by fighting or by magic, and there's nothing arcane about it. But it will require you to open that which you keep locked away. It will take a type of courage that you have not owned for a long time." Tanar leaned forward, his dark eyes penetrating through Auron's facade to what lay beneath -- his next words drawing a flinch from the man seated across from him.
"It's really quite simple... all you have to do is love."
---------------------------------
The first thing Auron noticed was his robe, now clean and hanging from a wooden peg beside the door. Then he saw that the unpretentious lodge had been swept free of dust and cobwebs -- the distinct odor of citrus that had been used as a cleanser a pleasant change from the formerly musty smell. An upholstered armchair had been relocated from somewhere and placed just in front of the stone fireplace.
Isabo was arranged in the lone seat like a storefront mannequin -- freshly scrubbed and dressed in the natural homespun of a shin-length linen dress, her hair woven into a single thick braid and draped over one shoulder. The sight of her changed Auron's opinion from the one he had formed that morning. The sad pretense of normalcy in her appearance cut savagely deep -- the blade of hurt that twisted within enough to bring a soft groan from him.
Auron stood quietly with his forehead cradled in his hand until he felt in control of himself again. Then he opened his eyes and watched the broken shadows that had begun to creep across the floor. The sun had nearly set. Looking up to survey the vaulted ceiling, he found several light fixtures suspended from its drooping beams.
His initial attempt at activating the lights yielded no results -- the room remaining shrouded in gloom. Obviously, this needed a firmer effort. Auron extended his arm and raised his palm, his mind honing his thought to a sharper edge. The cabin suddenly came to life in a fierce display of reddish fireworks. Not only did the lights come on in a glaring burst -- water began gushing from every faucet, and several other household devices both apparent and unseen hummed noisily into operation.
"Slight overkill," Auron mumbled, dropping his arm.
He went outside first -- following the sounds around back to a ramshackle shed adjacent to the east side of the building. He lifted the wrought iron flush latch by its large knob and pulled, the door abruptly separating from its hinges and yanking his arm straight with the unexpected lurch of weight. Auron irritably released his grasp on the handle allowing the door to fall to the ground, and then tramped across it to enter the lean-to while waving a hand in front of his face to dismiss the cloud of dust he was inhaling.
A single droplight spilled illumination over a waist-high counter, the wall above it covered with pegs where a group of various hand tools hung. One corner was filled with an unkempt pile of kindling and split firewood. The bothersome sound was coming from something that resembled a crude table-saw, its circular blade hurriedly buzzing at one end of the workbench. Auron did a better job of focusing this time, managing to turn the saw off without simultaneously turning off the light. He grunted and turned, the light winking out as he left to complete his tasks.
The front room and kitchen under control, Auron finished his tour of duty through the house with the bathroom. Compared to the rusticity elsewhere, this space was sumptuous. He had expected something the size of a closet, surprised by the sight of a huge walk-in shower wrapped in terra-cotta tile. A thick burl of burnished wood made up the basin surround, the sink itself a hand thrown raku bowl -- the carbonized colors of the raw firing quite beautiful against the warm tones of the wood. The architect of this dwelling had clearly taken their hygienic pursuits seriously, and Auron thought perhaps it was time for him to do the same.
A steaming hot shower and shave later, Auron almost felt like a new man. Melia and Dwen had been thoughtful enough to provide a towel and he buffed himself dry before heading for the front room -- his soiled clothes left behind to be washed later, his boots dangling from one hand, and his glasses perched on top of his head. He placed his boots by the front door and untied the bundle of clothes and food he had left there earlier. The broadcloth pants felt a little scratchy in their newness, but they fit well enough. Courtesy of Tanar, his jug was now full of fine sake, and he detached it from his overbelt before re-threading the top strap and hooking the belt on a vacant peg along with the shirts. Those little chores finished, he propped his sword against the wall and reached for his robe. Faint traces of Isabo's scent lingered in the garment, and Auron unconsciously pressed his face into the fabric before letting the robe settle to his back.
Auron conveyed the food and sake to the kitchen and dropped them on the counter top, then proceeded to pull open all the drawers and cupboards -- taking stock of the cooking space. There was not a single dish or utensil to be found, and Auron decided the former occupant had either been a confirmed bachelor, or competently dead.
Considerably experienced at making do, Auron retrieved his dirk and went about preparing a section of cheese and a chunk of bread, using the cheesecloth to transport the humble meal to the motionless figure seated by the fireplace.
He was uncertain for a moment if Isabo was going to swallow the morsel of bread he had gently forced between her lips. He was readying his finger to scoop it back out when her throat worked spontaneously -- the food going down. Auron continued to hand-feed her until she finally indicated she'd had enough by clamping her lips closed in a tight line. The refusal revealed a hint of self-awareness and Auron dropped the bread in his hand to reach for her shoulders.
"Isabo? Can you hear me?"
Nothing.
Auron closed his eyes.
What he wouldn't give for her voice in conversation, or to hear the engaging sound of her laughter again. Auron sank dejectedly to the floor and reached for the old comfort -- propping the sake jug on his forearm to take a deep draught before lowering it to his knee and pressing the back of his hand against his lips. His mind replayed the afternoon's conversation with Tanar -- what he would give was at the crux of the matter. He must decide.
---------------------------------
Full dark had long since fallen, the deep night outside nearing its hushed apex. Within the cabin, loose floorboards creaked beneath the tread of Auron's bare feet, his introspective pacing taking him from one side of the room to the other -- that systematic movement a disparity to the fingers that roamed at random through his hair.
It was almost dawn before his despondent reflection finally led him to a conclusion -- that this was unacceptable.
He had lost his youth, his faith, his life, and most of his soul. And he was damned tired of losing things -- even if their demise had been of his own doing -- the result of his own short sightedness. None of that mattered now. It all stopped here. He would reclaim Isabo. He didn't care how long it took or what it cost him -- he had all the time in the universe and nothing left to lose. But it would mean attempting what he was no longer sure he was capable of. It would require him to be vulnerable in a way he had not been willing to allow since he had been bereft of all those precious possessions.
An emotion swelled in him then that he was unfamiliar with, and he halted his repetitive march to press his hand against the six-pack of his stomach in puzzlement. Then it suddenly came to him what it was that gnawed at his insides and agitated his heartbeat -- Tanar had been right.
He was afraid.
Nevertheless, if he truly wanted this, he would have to try.
Maybe one last time -- he could try.
The incline was just steep enough to set the muscles of her calves burning, but Melia pressed on. She was unwilling to be outpaced by Dwen, who was not yet breathing hard, even with the added weight of supplies she was toting up the hill. Melia suspected that underneath that timid exterior beat the heart of a She-Coeurl.
Melia breathed a sigh of relief when they finally topped the rise and the dilapidated cabin came into full view. "Whew! That's some workout."
"Oh, Melia... look," Dwen said, tugging on Melia's sleeve and inclining her head behind them.
"What?" Melia answered spinning around, then felt her jaw unhinge at the sight of the incredible panorama spread out below.
"Fuf!"
Dwen had no idea what Melia had just said, but the inflection indicated she agreed with her about the view. Exchanging broad smiles the two women then turned as one and headed for the run-down building.
---------------------------------
A shadowy figure crouched in the northwest corner of the room, arms draped across kneecaps. It had not moved or made a sound for a long time. Its only purpose: to keep watch over the pale figure propped up by the same bend of two walls meeting on the opposite side of the room. Every shuddering breath, every loose-necked roll of the head or disjointed utterance was registered and catalogued in a torturous inventory of sorrow.
Then sounds from outside impelled the eyes of the sentinel to leave their charge and pan slowly across the dust motes floating in the shafts of sunlight at the front window, finally coming to rest on the entrance door. Those approaching female voices engaged in sisterly conversation -- their friendly banter unobstructed and bright angered him. The irrational offense was embraced and acted on when the figure rose swiftly and strode to the door. He didn't know how they had found him or why they were here and he didn't care. He only wanted to be left in peace.
---------------------------------
The house looked thoroughly deserted, and Melia thought that Grahl must have been wrong about Auron hiding out here. She was reaching for the latch when the door was suddenly jerked open in a shriek of rusty hinges.
"Begone!" Auron boomed, scowling down at the two women in an intimidating mass of lean muscle.
Dwen jumped and then shrank back, grabbing for the container of shampoo that threatened to tumble from atop her armload -- suddenly sure she was about to become violently incontinent.
The sister of Cid however, was having none of it -- unimpressed by the shouted command. "No," Melia said, her foot stamping against the ground. "We're here to help whether you like it or not. Let us in."
Auron's response said go away with every tersely enunciated syllable. "There is nothing you can do for me."
"Then let us do something for her," Melia said in a calm anger, "or would that be too much of a bother."
Auron's eyes flickered over the top of his glasses, Dwen seeing pain and guilt in that flash of emotion before it died. She herself had known both in full measure and felt a keen stab of pity for the man.
Without speaking, Auron stepped back from the door.
Melia wrinkled her nose and Dwen suppressed a gasp as they entered and took in the condition of the place.
"I think you'd better count on us being here for the day," Melia stated decisively, her hands coming to her hips as she inspected the dingy quarters.
Auron said nothing in response, his rigid stance and crossed arms speaking for him.
Deciding to just ignore the Taciturn Tower of Auron, Melia and Dwen walked over to the corner and sank down in front of Isabo. "Let's get her cleaned up first, then we'll start on the rest."
Dwen nodded and supported Isabo with a hand on her waist, while Melia started to strip Auron's robe from her. Hearing no movement from behind them, the women exchanged a meaningful glance.
Melia looked back over her shoulder. "Unless you want to watch, I suggest you take a walk or something."
Rosy color bloomed across Auron's cheeks, blending down into his beard. It was the first time Dwen had ever seen Auron blush, and thought how out of place it looked on his austere features. It seemed to her to reveal an appealing vulnerability -- a side of the man she would never in a million years have guessed existed.
Auron roughly cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up, then whirled and headed for the door -- his back as straight as a board.
Melia caught him before he was gone, her voice retreating from its earlier harshness. "We'll come back. As long as... as long as we need to."
There was no answer forthcoming from the stiff wall of black leather as Auron left.
---------------------------------
The walk down the hill had cleared his head to some extent and Auron looked right and then left, briefly indecisive. He raised his hand and stroked at his beard several times before the unconscious act made up his mind for him. Melia and Dwen's mercy visit had him contemplating the value of making an effort to be normal. And like them, he realized there might be some comfort in that -- however delusive it may be.
---------------------------------
"Morning," The woman said with good cheer. If ever there was someone in need of her wares, it was this man. He had been eyeing the straight razors with a discerning gaze for some time -- his face a study of sober evaluation. Her greeting brought his head up, and a flash of reflected light bounced off his sunglasses and straight into her eyes, momentarily blinding her.
"What would you consider a fair trade for this?" The man enquired without returning the pleasantry, pointing at his selection.
The razor he indicated was the simplest in design, but the workmanship of the metal was the best her brother could produce. "What do you have to offer?" She asked pleasantly enough.
"Very little," He replied woodenly, the gesture of his arms rising from his sides indicating all he had was on his person.
Her first inclination was to ask for the shades. The young man she had been seeing of late would look quite sexy in them -- the thought bringing a subtle leer to her angular features. But they seemed to be a part of the man in a way that went beyond a simple accessory -- and she couldn't bring herself to take them from him.
"Tell you what, if you'll make a delivery for me on the far side of the village, we'll call it even on the razor and I'll throw in some soap and a brush. How's that sound?"
"Comparatively generous," He answered, his sensuously full lower lip moving upward in a charming quirk.
She decided right then and there that despite his overly rugged appearance, this guy was downright scrumptious. An inward shiver ran through her and she smiled, enjoying it. "Wait right here and I'll put you... um I mean take your... get the stuff." She finished lamely.
---------------------------------
Thanks to his willingness to make several more deliveries or otherwise help himself, Auron had obtained everything he felt he needed for the time being: two work shirts and a pair of pants, bread, fruit, a round of cheese, and a large Bluefin Tuna. All but the latter were slung over his shoulder in a makeshift rucksack -- the fish he held by the tail, its length swinging at his side like a bludgeon at the ready.
---------------------------------
"I doubt that's for me," Tanar said in a sly mockery.
Auron's reply returned the derision. "An astute observation."
"The warrior's armament includes a sharp tongue."
"Your lack of good manners obliges one to wield that weapon."
Tanar threw his head back and had a good laugh at that. It had been a long time since he had traded barbs with a worthy opponent.
"Just don't stand there, come on in."
Auron crossed the threshold and held the fish up. "Is he here?"
"Afraid not. He went north again, said something about a missed visit with his brothers."
"I see."
Tanar reversed his chair and pointed down the hallway. "Feel free to stow his pungent gift in the larder, you'll find a small freezer unit near the back." Then Tanar had a thought and smiled. "And while you're at it, grab the cask. I think we could both do with a taste."
"Sake?" Auron asked, his attention fully captured.
"Correct," Tanar answered, the word barely out of his mouth before Auron was heading down the hallway.
---------------------------------
"Well?"
Auron looked at the bottom of his cup and then up at Tanar, a smile playing briefly at the corners of his mouth. "Excellent."
Grinning, Tanar lifted the decanter. "More?"
---------------------------------
The two men weren't exactly drunk, as that was not possible, but they were definitely relaxed. They had been companionably sharing their favorite beverage in relative silence -- Tanar leaning loosely against the back of his chair, Auron with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
"Damned mosquitoes," Tanar suddenly proclaimed with a frown, slapping at his thigh just above the knee -- his fingernails scratching at the skin. Then he looked over at Auron to see him glancing at the withered flesh of his legs, his eyes discreetly moving away a second later.
Tanar chuckled. "Go ahead, ask."
"Forgive me, but I find it... curious that the Farplane chose not to restore your limbs to you."
"As it did your eye?"
"How do you know my eye was restored?"
"Not sure. I just do... I've been here a very long time."
"Do you have any sense of just how long?"
"Long enough to witness Spira's inhabitants destroy themselves several times over, along with the world around them. We never cease behaving like fools."
"You'll get no argument from me."
"A sake man and a fellow cynic... I think I've found a soul mate."
"Don't start picking out furniture just yet," Auron said with a smirk, extending his arm.
Tanar cackled and refilled Auron's cup. "Yeah, we're going to get along just fine, you and I."
Auron unceremoniously threw back the sake and then looked out the door, checking the angle of the sun. "I should be going soon."
The way Auron had spoken just then compelled Tanar to offer something he often felt, but rarely expressed -- compassion. "You do realize she's not coming back don't you? Not until you figure things out."
Auron was no longer amused. This man was full of surprises and he had grown weary of being on the receiving end. Tanar obviously had insights he wasn't sharing. "Would you care to enlighten me?"
"Has it ever occurred to you that all this has been made to happen for your benefit?" Tanar said, throwing another bone.
Auron's eyes narrowed. "Elucidate."
"I think I've said enough."
His patience gone, Auron reached across the table and gathered the front of Tanar's shirt in one hand. "Tell me what you know."
Tanar laughed in his face. "And if I refuse? What will you do? Sorry to break it to you, but there's nothing you can do to me that has not already been done, so save your threats for someone who cares."
His eyes darkened in anger and frustration, Auron released his hold on Tanar, but he didn't do it gently. Then Auron pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, his sword-hand clenching into a fist at his side. "What is it you want from me? Do you wish me to beg for your counsel? Will that satisfy you?"
Tanar jerked his shirt back into place. "No."
Auron stood silent and unmoving, his gaze burning into the flesh of Tanar's wizened face.
"All right, all right. I'll tell you what needs be done, but I warn you, you may not find it an easy task," Tanar said, then pointed at the vacated chair, waiting until Auron reluctantly returned to it.
"What you seek cannot be attained by fighting or by magic, and there's nothing arcane about it. But it will require you to open that which you keep locked away. It will take a type of courage that you have not owned for a long time." Tanar leaned forward, his dark eyes penetrating through Auron's facade to what lay beneath -- his next words drawing a flinch from the man seated across from him.
"It's really quite simple... all you have to do is love."
---------------------------------
The first thing Auron noticed was his robe, now clean and hanging from a wooden peg beside the door. Then he saw that the unpretentious lodge had been swept free of dust and cobwebs -- the distinct odor of citrus that had been used as a cleanser a pleasant change from the formerly musty smell. An upholstered armchair had been relocated from somewhere and placed just in front of the stone fireplace.
Isabo was arranged in the lone seat like a storefront mannequin -- freshly scrubbed and dressed in the natural homespun of a shin-length linen dress, her hair woven into a single thick braid and draped over one shoulder. The sight of her changed Auron's opinion from the one he had formed that morning. The sad pretense of normalcy in her appearance cut savagely deep -- the blade of hurt that twisted within enough to bring a soft groan from him.
Auron stood quietly with his forehead cradled in his hand until he felt in control of himself again. Then he opened his eyes and watched the broken shadows that had begun to creep across the floor. The sun had nearly set. Looking up to survey the vaulted ceiling, he found several light fixtures suspended from its drooping beams.
His initial attempt at activating the lights yielded no results -- the room remaining shrouded in gloom. Obviously, this needed a firmer effort. Auron extended his arm and raised his palm, his mind honing his thought to a sharper edge. The cabin suddenly came to life in a fierce display of reddish fireworks. Not only did the lights come on in a glaring burst -- water began gushing from every faucet, and several other household devices both apparent and unseen hummed noisily into operation.
"Slight overkill," Auron mumbled, dropping his arm.
He went outside first -- following the sounds around back to a ramshackle shed adjacent to the east side of the building. He lifted the wrought iron flush latch by its large knob and pulled, the door abruptly separating from its hinges and yanking his arm straight with the unexpected lurch of weight. Auron irritably released his grasp on the handle allowing the door to fall to the ground, and then tramped across it to enter the lean-to while waving a hand in front of his face to dismiss the cloud of dust he was inhaling.
A single droplight spilled illumination over a waist-high counter, the wall above it covered with pegs where a group of various hand tools hung. One corner was filled with an unkempt pile of kindling and split firewood. The bothersome sound was coming from something that resembled a crude table-saw, its circular blade hurriedly buzzing at one end of the workbench. Auron did a better job of focusing this time, managing to turn the saw off without simultaneously turning off the light. He grunted and turned, the light winking out as he left to complete his tasks.
The front room and kitchen under control, Auron finished his tour of duty through the house with the bathroom. Compared to the rusticity elsewhere, this space was sumptuous. He had expected something the size of a closet, surprised by the sight of a huge walk-in shower wrapped in terra-cotta tile. A thick burl of burnished wood made up the basin surround, the sink itself a hand thrown raku bowl -- the carbonized colors of the raw firing quite beautiful against the warm tones of the wood. The architect of this dwelling had clearly taken their hygienic pursuits seriously, and Auron thought perhaps it was time for him to do the same.
A steaming hot shower and shave later, Auron almost felt like a new man. Melia and Dwen had been thoughtful enough to provide a towel and he buffed himself dry before heading for the front room -- his soiled clothes left behind to be washed later, his boots dangling from one hand, and his glasses perched on top of his head. He placed his boots by the front door and untied the bundle of clothes and food he had left there earlier. The broadcloth pants felt a little scratchy in their newness, but they fit well enough. Courtesy of Tanar, his jug was now full of fine sake, and he detached it from his overbelt before re-threading the top strap and hooking the belt on a vacant peg along with the shirts. Those little chores finished, he propped his sword against the wall and reached for his robe. Faint traces of Isabo's scent lingered in the garment, and Auron unconsciously pressed his face into the fabric before letting the robe settle to his back.
Auron conveyed the food and sake to the kitchen and dropped them on the counter top, then proceeded to pull open all the drawers and cupboards -- taking stock of the cooking space. There was not a single dish or utensil to be found, and Auron decided the former occupant had either been a confirmed bachelor, or competently dead.
Considerably experienced at making do, Auron retrieved his dirk and went about preparing a section of cheese and a chunk of bread, using the cheesecloth to transport the humble meal to the motionless figure seated by the fireplace.
He was uncertain for a moment if Isabo was going to swallow the morsel of bread he had gently forced between her lips. He was readying his finger to scoop it back out when her throat worked spontaneously -- the food going down. Auron continued to hand-feed her until she finally indicated she'd had enough by clamping her lips closed in a tight line. The refusal revealed a hint of self-awareness and Auron dropped the bread in his hand to reach for her shoulders.
"Isabo? Can you hear me?"
Nothing.
Auron closed his eyes.
What he wouldn't give for her voice in conversation, or to hear the engaging sound of her laughter again. Auron sank dejectedly to the floor and reached for the old comfort -- propping the sake jug on his forearm to take a deep draught before lowering it to his knee and pressing the back of his hand against his lips. His mind replayed the afternoon's conversation with Tanar -- what he would give was at the crux of the matter. He must decide.
---------------------------------
Full dark had long since fallen, the deep night outside nearing its hushed apex. Within the cabin, loose floorboards creaked beneath the tread of Auron's bare feet, his introspective pacing taking him from one side of the room to the other -- that systematic movement a disparity to the fingers that roamed at random through his hair.
It was almost dawn before his despondent reflection finally led him to a conclusion -- that this was unacceptable.
He had lost his youth, his faith, his life, and most of his soul. And he was damned tired of losing things -- even if their demise had been of his own doing -- the result of his own short sightedness. None of that mattered now. It all stopped here. He would reclaim Isabo. He didn't care how long it took or what it cost him -- he had all the time in the universe and nothing left to lose. But it would mean attempting what he was no longer sure he was capable of. It would require him to be vulnerable in a way he had not been willing to allow since he had been bereft of all those precious possessions.
An emotion swelled in him then that he was unfamiliar with, and he halted his repetitive march to press his hand against the six-pack of his stomach in puzzlement. Then it suddenly came to him what it was that gnawed at his insides and agitated his heartbeat -- Tanar had been right.
He was afraid.
Nevertheless, if he truly wanted this, he would have to try.
Maybe one last time -- he could try.