Ifan awoke first, regaining consciousness just as dawns' first pink light crept through the thick velvet curtains. The illuminated dust motes danced in the chink of sunshine. His eyes fluttered open, then closed again, as he infinitesimally tightened his hold on Sebille. He deeply inhaled the fresh, loamy smell of her hair, nuzzling into the warmth of her neck as she stirred slightly at his movement. They lay there for a long moment, Ifan cracking his eyes open reluctantly as the light outside intensified by degrees, inching across the sheets towards their naked entwined bodies.
As the first finger of sun touched Sebille's alabaster skin her eyes opened, and she turned over to face him. As she did so Ifan took the opportunity to pull her face towards his, enveloping her in a deep kiss, feeling a tugging need arising in him again. She pulled away ruefully, making motions towards leaving the bed.
"Dear one," Ifan pleaded, voice husky, "it is just gone dawn, surely we have an hour or two yet to...uh...wrap things up here."
His large, warm hands moved to her waist, sliding to her abdomen and pulling her close again. Sebille pushed against his chest, swatting his hands away, but began to smile despite herself. She allowed herself to be drawn back into his embrace, and Ifan wrapped himself around her body like a spoon, his rough chin nuzzling her neck, hands stroking her shoulders, gradually moving down her body as his breathing deepened.
Sebille could feel his mounting excitement as he began to buck slightly against her, low whines and hisses emitting from him as he hoarsely moaned out her name in a delicious whisper. His fingers moved to her centre, tracing gentle circles as their bodies began to move together, small gasps and moans drawn from their ravenous mouths as they retraced their steps from the night before. Just as they were reaching the height of pleasure, a horrified scream ripped through the tavern, located from the door to the now-breached hideaway.
Ifan rolled aside rapidly and threw Sebille the sheet, standing proud & erect before Effie the appalled Innkeeper and the two well-to-do dwarvern guests behind her, who were peering with prurient interest at the scene before them.
"What in Lucian's name is going on here? This suite has been reserved for Lord & Lady Aberlon - how in the Void did you get in?"
Ifan, naked as the day he was born, was not in a position to play for time, but he had to try. He was pretty sure Sebille still had Effie's keys, though Void knows how the dwarf hadn't missed them yet.
"Excuse us, my, uh, my wife," Ifan gestured to Sebille's silent form beneath the sheets "was taken ill, and we were assured by someone, I've forgotten their name, that no-one would be in need of this room. We will, of course, see ourselves out if that is no longer the case."
At the mention of sickness, and surveying Ifan's flushed and sweaty countenance, all of the newcomers faces shifted to a uniform vague suspicion, and they noticeably recoiled. Effie harrumphed and began making excuses to the well-heeled guests as she ushered them away, before shooting Ifan a look that said, 'I'll deal with you later.' As she closed the door, a mite more firmly than strictly necessary, she finally went to check the clink of her keys in her pocket.
"The keys!" he realised with a start. He hasn't seen Sebille put them back...but she had her ways. A 'chink-chink' could be heard as she strode away, apologising to the guests effusively.
Ifan spun to face the bed, where Sebille had emerged, unseen, from the cocoon of bedclothes.
He raised an eyebrow at her inquiringly. She mimed Effie's gesture, waggling her hand as if holding invisible keys, then smiled reassuringly, spreading her hands before her, indicating 'nothing to see here,' before she giggled naughtily.
Relief, heady after the burst of adrenaline brought on by the untimely intrusion, flooded him, and he gleefully launched himself back to the bed. Sebille, openly laughing now, rebuffed his attempts at a continuation of their caresses. She swiftly pulled her clothes on and dragged her hair back into a ponytail as she hauled on her sleek, light armour, strapping her knives to her thighs and waist.
Shooting him a long, lingering look over her shoulder as she left, Sebille loped out of the room silently, leaving him alone, naked & aching for her, nothing remaining of her presence except the light musk of her fragrant sweat still perfuming the bedclothes upon which he lay.
Ifan, sighing deeply, tentatively tugged his underclothes on, wincing at their rough texture against his still-sensitive skin. Rubbing his fists against his gritty eyes before stretching widely, his thoughts turned to the day ahead.
There was always more distance to be covered, and usually he relished the life of a wayfarer, but lately it'd been leaving him cold. He found his thoughts pulled more frequently these days to the possibility of retirement. He'd go somewhere and settle down for good, develop a taste for a favourite bar, get to know his neighbours. It was a nice vision. 'Still,' he reasoned, hauling himself from the bed and dressing quickly, 'there's time yet, and before that, questions that need answers.'
Sebille headed immediately to Meistr Sieva's Source Fountain, quickly filling herself brimful with the glistening turquoise liquid, sparks of it crackling across her skin as it sank into her as if into a vacuum and settled into her deep recesses. It was something, but not nearly enough. She ardently longed to feel truly powerful again.
Last night had been...she wanted to write the experience off, to scornfully dismiss the oeuvres of human courtship and laugh cruelly. But with whom was there to do such a thing? Her stumbling words to Ifan had been honest in a way in which she was unaccustomed to speaking. She truly had no community, no family. Even amongst her travelling companions, only Ifan seemed to understand her with anything approaching compassion or empathy. Sebille suspected it was because he knew; knew what it was to live amongst elves, to honour the memories of their flesh. Knew what it was like to be a traitor, a puppet, at the beck and call of a demanding master. Knew the taste of true regret and shame.
He had touched her in ways that she had not expected a human capable of, seen things in her that she had kept from the others. As her thoughts raced, her psyche swollen with Source, Sebille headed North into the fields of Paradise Downs, beyond the travelling musician by the old windmill with her wagon of lutes and flutes, to whom she politely nodded as she passed by. Latterly, she roamed across to the centre of a golden field of corn, laid out her cloak and extended herself across it, enjoying the sensation of the warm sunlight on her skin. The sounds of the buzzing insects and rustling corn in the gentle breeze gradually pulled her into a trance-like state, completely tuned into the rhythm of the surrounding world. She didn't even notice Ifan's thumping boots behind her until he crouched beside her and blocked out the sun with his muscular, grizzled body.
"There you are. The rest of us were waiting in the tavern; turns out the elf cook has been serving Magisters to the whole of Driftwood! I'll imagine the Whites'll be keen to hush that up. They've taken her away, Void knows what'll happen next, but at least..."
"Why are you here?" Sebille demanded, cutting him off with an impatient jerk of her chin.
"Come to tell me about how you bested yet another cannibal elf? Rub it in my face that your kind -" these words she hissed viciously "-have always and will always be at our throats? I ask again, ben-Mezd, why are you here?"
His scarred face, just moments ago full of joviality and good cheer, darkened over like a summer sky before a thunderstorm. At his sides, his hands clenched to fists, and Sebille could see a muscle jump in his jaw as he grit his teeth. He opened and closed his mouth a few times without any sound, before managing a throaty, "maybe see you later, then" and turned to leave, the set of his shoulders belying the hurt he felt where his words failed to do so.
Sebille laid back in the corn, but her immersion had been broken now, and try as she might she couldn't tune back into the same feeling she'd had mere moments before. She felt threads of remorse encircle her heart, and made to catch up with Ifan. He'd already walked halfway back to town by the time she caught up with him, striding past the Paladin bridge with a stiff salute to the sentry in the distance. She called out to him from a few feet away, and as he turned to her the expression on his face made her stomach tense up. Displayed on his features, just for a moment, was an expression of purest love and forgiveness, an expression of such warmth and sweetness that it was deeply incongruous with her usual image of the drudanae-stoned soldier. Then he gathered himself and the look was gone, replaced by his usual reserved-yet-affable smile and a friendly nod. He paused to allow her to catch up, and together they walked back to the Undertaven in silence, side by side in lock-step synchronicity, not daring to look at each other and risk breaking this delicate and unspoken entente.