Chapter TWs: N/A
The sun rises, another day come and gone so quickly one might briefly wonder if there had been any previous days at all. How strange it is that at one's most busy, things seem to muddle together until it is nearly impossible to distinguish the passing hours altogether. They have not slept and he begins to realize he cannot remember the last time he has been graced with a real meal. It is one of the realities of battle – pains Sargon had long grown used to and ones he had become familiar with in turn. Despite the familiar pangs, the ebbing of his mind distracts him and catches him off-guard at the most inopportune moments.
Human bodies, he is once more reminded, are most inconvenient. They require so much in order to survive: food, water, sleep, and bathing. All things he knows and yet does not – the unfortunate result of having lived through someone else for so long. It must be his own stubborn refusal to die that keeps him going at this point, or maybe The Empress.
The least the woman could have done is brought him back in a proper body: his own body. How could she possibly expect him to take down this replacement of hers without the proper equipment? If she had done such a thing, they would not be in this ridiculous mess. With his body and the Daggertail, he could have slain Eudocia where she stood – sliced her head from her shoulders before she had been able to even raise a finger in their direction.
He hates her. He hates them – all of them.
"Another brooding moment of silence?" Azar comes to his side, careful to stay out of his reach. The tone of her voice holds a playfulness to it, but it does little to hide the way she studies his infected skin with careful apprehension. "Come now, surely you have something to share?"
"Your voice is like screeching bats." He sneers, casting his eyes out onto the rooftops of the city. Their destination lies before them, somewhere within the city. He has an inkling of where, though he hesitates to make a journey so far from their final destination.
"I have never heard such a thing." She says, somehow remaining calm despite his insult. It must be the time they had spent in one another's company, he tells himself. He will have to be more creative if he wishes to irritate her. "And where might you have been graced by such a sound?"
Azad. How long has it been now?
He motions ahead, his arm sweeping past her as he arcs it forward, "Sargon will not risk heading back. Not when we so clearly need to rethink our attack."
"What shelter is to be found within a war torn city?"
"When one knows where to look? All around." He says before taking the leap forward, his body soaring quickly across the gap separating the next building from them. He lands with a grunt, his boots sliding against the rooftop for a brief moment before coming to a stop. "We would be wise to do the same. Eudocia is still hunting for us and separated as we are, her advantage grows."
Azar nods, her eyes carefully meeting his before she begins to examine the jump he has just made. She shakes her head, "I cannot make it."
He sighs, heavy and annoyed, but knowing she is probably right. Looking around, he searches, trying to find another path in which she might take only to find nothing. He extends an arm to her before shouting, "Azar, jump!"
Again, she meets his eyes. Conflict stirs in her – the knowledge that she must trust him, or be left behind. He can practically hear her thoughts. What if he lets her fall? Could she survive such a drop? Of course not and at best, both of her legs would shatter the moment she hit the dirt. It leaves her with one option: she must trust him. He had not let her fall before after all, so what reason would he have to do so now?
She jumps.
At the last moment, he catches her arm and pulls forward. She stumbles, collapsing against his chest and sending them both to the surface below their feet. With a disgruntled huff of air, he shoves her away, freeing himself of her added weight. She responds with her own groans, using her legs to kick at him in protest.
"You told me to jump!"
"Yes, jump! I thought you might have some sense to land on your feet."
They stay sprawled on the stones, basking quietly in the sun as it heats their weary muscles. They need to rest – to sleep and eat and tend to their bodies. But time moves forward and with each second they waste, their enemy grows stronger. Who knows what powers she holds? She is young, but already clearly has some grasp of the power in which she has been granted. They cannot afford to give her more time to learn, more time to grow stronger.
Even now, who knows what she is plotting? She might have found Sargon and Farah – might have ended them herself if the water had not. They need to push forward. They need to keep fighting.
"Do you still have the medallion?"
Her head turns towards him, hair falling into her face as she nods, "Yes."
He sighs and pushes himself up, his muscles screaming in protest as the warm stone leaves his flesh, "Let us keep moving then. Our journey will take all day and drift into the night."
"Where is it you are taking us?" She finally asks, using her hands to shove back the wild strands of hair that stick about her face. "You lead as if you know where they are, yet you say nothing of our destination."
It takes him some time to decide to share the information. It is not precious to him and yet he finds himself hesitating, as if he fears she might use it to escape him. She is no prisoner, he reminds himself, so why is it he worries of such things? He answers, "An old friend. He will be able to help them and answer questions we did not know we had."
She snorts, "You have friends?"
"Oh, har har." He starts, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingertips. Her amusement grows with his frustrations, snorts turning into quiet giggles that she attempts to silence behind her hand. "You really are just so full of wit. Please, pay no mind for my feelings."
The smile on her face does not falter, only grows as she comes to stand at his side, "If I thought such a thing would insult you, I would be more cautious. As it stands, I am lead to believe you care little for what I think. Or that such a mild insult would wound you even if you did."
"How thoughtful of you."
"Consider it revenge."
Making a point to visibly roll his eyes, he says, "Not your strong suit."
With a click of her tongue and a shrug of her shoulders, the conversation comes to an end. He finds a trickle of amusement work its way through his chest, the corners of his eyes creasing as it spreads to his lips. He takes a moment to watch the horizon before turning his attention back to his companion, his cheer suddenly faltering (as it always does). She is staring now, her gaze compelling him to speak, "You are right. I do not have friends – though that fact does not upset me as it might others. Desires such as that are foreign to me."
The warmth of her eyes shifts, removing itself from its sights on his infected arm. She finds something to watch on ahead, her smile finally falling and replacing itself with something akin to a frown, though the corners of her mouth do not fall completely. Instead she opts to reply, her tone almost sad as she says, "I imagine it is for those reasons you hold so much hatred inside."
"I was born of hatred." He says, tension flooding his muscles and tightening his shoulders. He moves forward, hoping the movements will free him from the prison his own body creates. She follows. "I feel only fury and hatred. Where you seek peace and understanding, I look only for domination and bloodshed."
He leaps down to another rooftop before offering her his hand. There is a pause in her movements as she considers his offer before she grasps hold, taking the short drop down. He is careful to help her to her feet, not wanting another repeat of before. He continues, "Would you ask any other creature why the continue on with their lives as they do? It is not a choice – we all act as we are driven to and I am not human."
"I am not asking for an explanation for your behavior." She comments, looking down to their hands still intertwined. He is quick to pull himself free, only just noticing how close she has come to him. Swallowing back his embarrassment, he steps back from her. She frowns. "All creatures desire understanding though… and I do not believe we are so different."
"You are wrong about me."
He leaves her then, moving forward to their destination without another word. This conversation has become too much, he decides – she thinks she knows him. Thinks she can solve some sort of puzzle when there is nothing there to solve. She cannot possibly begin to understand and he does not want her to. There is nothing more to discuss and he finds he regrets being so open with her on the beach. All it has done is make her think, made her try to worm her way into his mind as if she can fix the problems surrounding him. It makes anger pour from him.
She struggles to keep pace with him, though she says nothing. He can tell by her body language – the way she watches him without ever looking directly at him, or how she bites at the side of her lip – that she senses the way his mood has soured. It only serves to make him more irritable and to push him forward.
It is dark by the time a rush of coldness washes over him, leaving his anger as only embers sparking weakly in the pit of his stomach. It is only in that moment he also begins to feel the aching in his feet, a sure sign that he has pushed himself for too hard and for too long. He can only imagine how the girl aches behind him as she tries to hide the heaving of her chest and silence her rapid intakes of air. He refuses to look at her, instead letting the newly forming blisters on his palms distract him from outside discomforts.
"Our destination is just up ahead." His voice is dry and he coughs, hoping to clear it of the strange croaking noise that plagues him. It helps, even if his throat still burns and pleads for a drink. "We should not stop."
She says nothing, but nods – slowly meeting his gaze as she senses the end of his foul mood. Again, he coughs bringing his hand to the tangle of hair at around his mouth. It is more of an attempt to break the awkward barrier between them and once more establish something of a partnership instead of whatever they have now fallen into, but after only a moment more of silence he decides it best to leave be. It will repair in time; with both rest and nourishment they will fall back into their routine of questions and bickering. After all, the girl should have known better than to provoke his anger by now anyway.
He offers his hand to her again, though this time he is slower in his reach. The strange and unpleasant feeling in his chest compels him to do something, even though the action makes him feel ridiculous and vulnerable. He hates the feeling, but finds he hates the silence that has fallen between them more in that moment.
She hesitates before placing her small hand into his.
It only takes them a short time to reach their destination after that. The lone tent stands out like a beacon amongst the desert sand, even in the falling darkness of the night. He is ready to collapse as they reach the entrance, Azar doing her best to keep them both standing despite the aching of the bodies. As luck would have it, they do not need to announce their presence.
"I was beginning to wonder if you would ever arrive."
The strange resident of the abode greets them like a grandfather. His arms open and quick to take them both inside, to the warmth of a fire and the smell of freshly cooked food. His voice soft and firm as he chides them for pushing themselves in both the burning of the sun and the freezing night of the desert.
Sargon and Farah both rest nearby, their bodies taking in heat provided by the flames and skin bandaged after having been littered with cuts and bruises. A gash upon the sleeping man's face, trailing from beneath his right eye and across his nose, tells him that their journey had not been easy either.
"Eat. Rest. Warm yourselves." The Old Man commands, motioning for them to sit as he takes a shaking and unstable seat to the ground. "Questions can be saved for the morning, after you have taken care of yourselves."
"We have no time for waiting around." He comments, ignoring the way the elder holds up his hand to silence him. "Our enemy needs no sleep. Needs no time to recover as we do. The only answer we have is to push forward."
He expects to be the man to remain silent, maybe even to ignore him, and finds himself surprised when instead laughter fills the very fabric of the walls. Beside him, Azar grips his arm – her body slumps and he is quick to reach out. She falls against him, eyes hardly remaining open as exhaustion overtakes her. He knows he has pushed her too hard; after all, she is only a mortal woman.
"In your youth, you believe you have the answers to everything. A wiser man does not push himself to do the impossible." The man comments, motioning for him to sit. He hesitates, wanting to resist the temptation to comply. After only a few more moments on his feet, the burning and tearing inside him becomes too much. He slowly sinks to the ground, helping Azar along with him. She murmurs, though he does not hear her words – only notices the pathetic pained noises that slip past her lips a moment later. The man finishes, his milky eyes upon them, "What you seek to do is impossible."
"I have done it before."
"Not in this condition and not alone." A wrinkled hand rises, and sweeps towards Sargon in a slow arc. "Even as one, desperation did not drive you to ruin your body. Only made you seek solutions. Do not leap so willingly towards death now for simple revenge, my young prince."
His breath hitches in something of disbelief at the title. The man smiles, again laughter working its way into the air, "It is as I said, we shall discuss it when the sun rises. For now, you must do as I have said. Take care of yourself and I will see to it that the young lady falls into a peaceful slumber."
The Old Man slowly rises to his feet again as he searches for the words to protest, not wanting the object of his desires, still residing somewhere on her person, to be too far from him. Instead Azar slips from him, the man taking her to rest nearby. She is quick to collapse into the pile of furs, taking in their warmth and comfort like a child might, and curling up until she appears so small that he wonders if she might vanish into the air.
"Eat." The man orders once more, his back is still to him as he places a container brimming with water next to Azar's already sleeping form. After a moment, The Dark Prince reaches forward, grasping onto one of the bowls in front of him with unsteady hands. The food is steaming hot and welcome, he is quick to take in mouthfuls of the broth and meats, savoring their taste as they fill his empty stomach with a heavy weight. He has not eaten so well in months.
He takes more from the pot in front of him, greedily accepting every morsel and savoring the way the liquid coats his parched throat. He feels ravenous and desperate, only slowing when he is satisfied with the pains of fullness that replace the painfulness of hunger.
It is then that he feels the true burden created by his heavy eyelids, or the way he can barely continue to sit up properly. It is one thing to be tired within the body of another man and another thing entirely to feel the aches and weakness for yourself he determines as his body shudders.
"And now you see how right I am." His host says, stepping forward. The amusement from before has vanished, instead being replaced with the voice of a father – of a man raising a child who refuses to listen to reason. "Stubborn men are often the creator of their own demise, Merikh. So do well to listen to the needs of this body."
He means to make a remark, to say something biting and show the man just how stubborn he can be. Instead his eyes shut, throwing him into sudden darkness that is warm and welcome. He falls, his decent stopped by the softness of the bedding beneath him; for the first time since he was a younger man, or rather since Sargon was, he feels safe and fully at rest.
He does not dream that night.