It Could Be Worse (3rd Season)
Episode 21: Lost Horizon
By Sulia Serafine
[A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me. Any other copyrighted things that don't belong to me in here in fact belong to other very businesslike people. Could you believe that? I guess that's why I'm broke.
E-mail me at silverwlng@aol.com okay? And you know the drill: titles or subjects of emails are fanfiction.net, s.serafine, or icbw.
Note: I'm still accepting people into the mailing list. That means you'll be told when the next episode is posted, as well as other tidbits of information about the series whenever I put them online. ALSO: Every now and then, as a pledge, I'll send everyone bonus material, such as drawings of ICBW characters and little random facts about ICBW.
Rating of this episode: R for cursing, grief, alcohol (don't drink it, kiddies!), and drrrrama (yes, roll that R!)
~~
Liam rolled his head to the side, massaging the tender muscles in his neck with his left hand. He was strolling down the hall with his eyes closed. He had walked the same path so many times that he had no doubt as to how many steps his body could take on autopilot before he reached his destination.
When he finally halted and opened his eyes, he was slightly surprised to see someone else had beaten him there.
"Shouldn't you be in the infirmary?"
"I should ask the same thing of you. By the way, nice scar tissue. If I didn't know any better, I would have assumed you'd been wounded weeks ago rather than yesterday," Joren commented dryly. He was seated on the floor, elbows on his bent knees and back against the wall.
"Same to you, cripple," Liam retorted.
Exchanging mutually menacing sneers, the two men knew that they were silently hissing to each other, fuck off. The last few days of civil courtesy disappeared into the backwash of history. The old animosity had returned, restoring the precarious balance between hatred and jealousy.
Liam took his position on the opposite side of the large doors leading to the king's chambers. He leaned against the wall, arms folded stiffly across his chest.
"You look terrified," he noted casually.
Joren turned his head and glared. "And you need an eye examination."
"Oh yeah? Got a real reason why you're here and not comforting your girlfriend?" He received no response. Liam continued. "As I said: you're scared."
"Why would I be scared?" Joren muttered, turning his head away. His tone had dropped, hinting to Liam that perhaps he was starting to consider the accusation as truth.
The hit man slowly slid down the wall until he, too, was seated on the floor of the hallway. He idly brushed specks of dirt off the thighs of his trousers. "You're scared because you believed him when he told you he was a god."
Joren snorted. He spat sarcastically, "Isn't he?"
"You saw him, didn't you? He's lying there in a coma." Liam exhaled deeply and leaned his head back against the wall. "It's hard. Seeing someone you thought was invincible… brought to his knees in a few seconds." He stared vacantly into space. "It makes you wonder if everything else you ever believed in was really as strong as you thought it was. Even yourself."
The blond got to his feet. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. "I'm going to the infirmary. Don't come and get me until he's dead."
Liam chose not to reply. At that moment, the doors to the king's chambers opened. A small head of unruly white hair poked out. When Yahiko saw who was there, he grinned immediately and launched himself at the DJPF officer.
Joren stumbled when the young prince's suddenly attached himself around Joren's waist, rambling dozens of things that he could not make heads or tails of. At last, he loosened the vise-like grip of the royal youth and bent down to address him.
"Slow down, Yahiko. The battle's over now. You can relax."
"I've been waiting for you and Mr. Queenscove to get back! You rescued all those guys and Cousin Selirithel told me that Mr. Kennan killed the bad guy! Is it true?" The boy's eyes brightened. "You all saved the kingdom! Didn't you?"
"Yes and no," Joren answered evasively. He could never consider himself a hero, not with so many dead and with a monarch that might never wake. He rested his hand on the prince's head and ruffled his hair. "Your uncle… That is…" He swore under his breath. "I have to go."
He turned heel and strode away without another word. Yahiko frowned, troubled by his hastily appointed role model and his coldness. He turned to Liam with a distraught expression. His shoulders trembled. "What about Uncle? He's going to wake up really soon, isn't he?"
Liam's eyes softened. "Come here."
Yahiko ran and curled up beside his uncle's head servant. The prince had apparently forgotten that he disliked the man who was always breaking custom to scold Yahiko like any other peasant child. He looked up dolefully at Liam. "Uncle is going to get up any second, isn't he? I mean, if he doesn't, that means I have to be…" He shook his head vehemently. "I'm not ready to be king! I don't want to be king yet! Can't you make Uncle wake up?"
"We just have to wait," he told the prince, putting an arm around the youth's shoulders. The boy laid his head on Liam's shoulders. He fought to act like an adult. Tears were springing to his eyes, but Yahiko wanted to be grown up. Adults didn't cry. If he was going to be king, he had to be stronger than that.
"I'm not ready for this yet," he sniffled.
Liam crooned to him gently, stroking the boy's soft hair. "None of us are."
~~
Joren could hardly believe it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Then he gazed at the man across the aisle. "Alright. Say that one more time."
"I'm not going back. Neither of us will." Cleon gestured helplessly to the drawn curtains around Faleron's bed. "Haven't you seen him? He's still just as sick as when we arrived here."
The blond combed his hands through his hair and approached. He carefully parted the curtains a few inches. Then he pulled his hand back. He looked down at the redhead seated on the bed next to him. There was a resigned expression of hopelessness on the usually optimistic face. Joren moved to sit beside him.
He rubbed his Adam's apple, clearing his throat. What he wouldn't give for a glass of whiskey at that very moment. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would calm his nerves at least.
Cleon glanced at him knowingly from the corner of his eyes. "There's a hip flask in Fal's pack."
Almost reflexively, Joren reached under the bed for the ill man's pack. "You losers have been around me for too long if you know me that well." He paused when his hand closed around the sought item. "What the hell was he doing with this anyway?"
"He's always been a man of many surprises," Cleon admitted.
Joren rolled his eyes and took a swig from the flask. He gulped and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. He elbowed the redhead hard in the side.
"Ow!"
"Hey, you. This thing's almost empty."
Cleon shrugged. "What can I say? I was thirsty."
"Hmm," Joren considered. He elbowed the sharpshooter again, just as hard as the first time. Cleon looked at him, thoroughly confused. "That's for drinking under-aged, Kennan. But otherwise, good for you.."
"Under-age? I'm not under-age!"
"Oh. Right." Joren took another swig from the flask. "I forget sometimes, considering the childish way you act all the time." He shoved the flask toward Cleon, striking him in the belly and knocking the breath out of the other man. While Cleon was rubbing his abdomen and grimacing, Joren stood up and smirked. "So it's decided. You're both staying behind."
"Yeah," Cleon managed with a cough. "If that's alright with you."
He watched Joren leave the infirmary with a more comfortable swagger than when he had entered. It unnerved him to see someone he considered to be so mean-spirited and serious to act almost normal. He chalked it up to being in a foreign country, surrounded by things of myth and magic, rather than any real personality change.
But then again, they had all changed in their own ways. Cleon fell back against the bed, spreading his arms and legs out haphazardly. The flask fell from his fingers to the floor. It made a loud sound. He turned his head toward the bed partitions. The patient inside went undisturbed.
For the first time in days, he began thinking of home. Not just the idea of going home, but of the furniture in his apartment, the clothes in his wardrobe, and even the movies stacked by his DVD player. He thought of Kalasin and her dark raven hair. She would sit on his couch very primly, almost as if she were in the waiting room of a stranger. But when he would sit down beside her, that aura faded to something much friendlier.
Cleon turned on his side and hugged a pillow to his chest. Burying his face underneath it, he took a deep breath and shut his eyes. He missed her. And he would have to continue missing her. Because though he was sure he loved Kalasin as much as he was capable of loving anyone, he would not—could not—abandon his best friend.
The healing process would be a long arduous one, the healers had said. Now that the battle was over, all the healers were traveling around the kingdom, the soldiers' barracks, and even the Black City trying to tend to the more seriously wounded. They had left some simple potions and treatments for Faleron to take while they were gone. Cleon would basically be in charge of him until the healers returned. He hoped it wouldn't take more than a few days for the army to be treated. As much as he respected their sacrifice in war, he still wanted all the medical attention on Faleron.
It was selfish, but Cleon reasoned that he had been selfless long enough to be allowed some selfishness at last. It was all for a good cause. On the other side of that muslin curtain was a young man who had suffered enough in life. There did not deserve to be any more pain. Not for him.
Cleon sat up. He decided he would go to the kitchens. Maybe he could find something sickeningly sweet for Faleron to snack on when the ill man awoke. After all, the poker king's sweet tooth could never be fully satisfied.
~~
Her surviving brother was sleeping in a guest room. She'd asked someone to give him a draught that would put him to sleep. It was better, she'd decided, than letting him torture himself with dark thoughts of their brother's demise.
Keladry herself had chosen to stay awake in her own guest room, packing for the trip home. She did not have much left. Most of the things she'd brought to the mountains were lost around the area where they'd been captured by the Black City. She had no desire to return there.
In fact, as far as she knew, a contingent of Enishijirou's army was already on its way to the Black City to neutralize any further threat. The remaining soldiers of the Black Army had been under lock and key since the battle had ended. Many of these men had confessed and repented for their war crimes, seeking lighter punishment. And the people of Enishijirou had been willing to give it to them.
She could already envision the fall of the Black City. All the evil would be flushed out of the other kingdom and it would come under domain of the king of Enishijirou. Two kingdoms on either side of a lost continent, united by the ravages of war. Keladry could hardly wait to see the harsh appearance of the black castle and its poverty stricken streets become clean and bright with progress. Many of the peasants and commoners of the Black City were good people. It had been their leaders who had been corrupt.
They won't be a problem anymore, she thought victoriously to herself.
It suddenly occurred to her that one of these corrupt people had been Conal. She sighed and put down the clothing she had been folding. Yes, her brother had forsaken his own kin and pursued his own ill begotten glory on the heads of other. Keladry still had a hard time believing that the once sweet but odd brother of hers would ever stoop so low.
Her new belief, she decided, was to never underestimate the capacity for betrayal from anyone. The door opened. Keladry whirled around.
Except for one. There was one who could not betray her.
"Were you injured?" Joren asked. Within the last hour he'd been from the king's bedchambers, the infirmary, and now to the guest wing. Faleron's liquor had made the pit of his stomach very warm and his head very tired. He'd traveled nearly the whole length of the castle by this time and was actually looking forward to lying down on Keladry's bed. Unfortunately, it appeared to be strewn with random items.
He walked over and pushed these things aside, lying down anyway. She smiled at him. It brought peace of mind to her to see him act so typical, despite all the past week's events.
She flexed her leg. "I was, but this is nothing more than a flesh wound. You?"
"Not a scratch," he lied. He reasoned that in twenty-four more hours, it would be as good as true.
She shoved her belongings aside as well and laid herself down beside him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. Keladry shut her eyes and placed her head on his shoulder.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
"I said I was, didn't I?"
"No, not that. About… your brother."
It was hard to say. She exhaled deeply and shifted closer to him. "I feel more hurt by his rejection of me and of Inness than of his passing. Does… does that make me a bad person?"
Joren's eyes widened slightly. "I didn't think you would actually admit it. Of course not, you stupid girl."
She punched him playfully in the side. He swatted her hand away and turned his head toward the window. Keladry frowned. She sat up.
"Is that the dagger you gave me? Where did you find it?"
His hand reached for the dagger hilt. He looked at her reluctantly. His mouth was dry again and he licked his lips, wishing for a drink of water. "I found it in the back of a poor unfortunate bastard near the valley while I was looking for you. A good throw, by the way. I thought you were trained for glaive work and guns rather than knife-throwing."
"Oh. Um, thanks."
He suddenly sat up and hopped off the bed. "I'm going to get a drink. A real drink. Do you want one?"
"No thanks," she whispered, suddenly smelling the alcohol that was already on his breath. And here she'd thought he'd stopped drinking. It had been quite a long time since he'd last allowed himself to visit a bar when they were back in Tortall.
Cursing his tactlessness, Joren leaned across the bed and cupped her face in his hands. "I'm going to get you that sleeping draught that they gave Inness. You need it. I'll finish your packing and I'll take care of the rest of the details."
She grabbed his wrists with her hands. "You're coming home with us, aren't you?"
He stared at her. "Of course I am. Why would you ask that?"
"I…" she shook her head. "I don't know. I just thought for a second that…"
Joren drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. The very thought of not returning home had never occurred to him. No, that was a lie. It had crossed his mind once. Just once, when Liam was approaching him in the hall, while Joren was seated outside of Enishi's bedroom. He briefly imagined staying in Enishijirou, but for what reason, he had never discovered.
He could hear Keladry sigh into his chest. He tightened his hold on her, suddenly disgusted with himself. It had happened after all. He felt the same twisted aversion to comforting her that he had felt with Inness.
I'm such a lying asshole, he thought. Joren kissed her head again and kept hugging her against his worse impulses.
"Joren?" she called softly.
"Yes?"
"I love you."
He shut his eyes against his own indifference. "I… know." And he would have only said those two words if he had been truthful with himself. "I love you, too."
At least she seemed happier for it.
~~
Cleon, Yahiko, and Liam saw them off. They traveled to the First District together and stopped in the marketplace to say goodbye. It was early morning. The place was near empty, save for a few ambitious merchants setting up shop. Beside them, Neal found it quiet and almost like being in a ghost town.
He leaned against his wolf, the same wolf that had been with him since the beginning of their rescue mission to the Black City. He'd started calling him pet names. It was a bit pointless to get so attached to the animal since Neal would be leaving. He almost wished he could stay behind just a few more weeks.
After all, what did he have waiting for him back home? His job? He'd been resenting his job since his "car accident", so he would not weep if he had to quit his job. There wasn't any object in his apartment that he couldn't live without. Again, he asked himself why he didn't stay.
Then he saw Keladry again. His best friend. She'd surely altered the course of his life since they were teenagers at the Academy. Part of him screamed that it hadn't been a good thing, this interfering, but she'd cared enough to take an active interest in his life. Never mind his dissatisfaction. It was selfish.
He ran his free hand through the wolf's white mane. "Here, boy. Come here, I want you to meet someone," he murmured. He guided the giant wolf toward Cleon. "You remember Cleon, don't you? From the caves?"
"Dude?" the redhead squeaked. He understood that the wolf was not going to hurt him. That didn't stop him from being intimidated by the large creature.
Neal grabbed Cleon's hand and held it in front of the wolf's muzzle. "I have to leave, but you're staying. When he returns, watch out for him, won't you?"
Cleon gulped. "Um, sure."
"Good boy," Neal cooed. "That's my Lucky…" He frowned. He looked over at Borealize, who was leading them back to the Western coast of the continent. The royal wolf herder looked impatient, and maybe even a bit annoyed that Neal had become so attached to the wolf beast.
"Time to go," Joren announced. He let Yahiko embrace him and even allowed Cleon to playfully slug him in the shoulder. Keladry stared at him unbelievingly, however, when he shook Liam's hand.
The former rival seemed strangely calm. Perhaps he was happy that Joren was leaving and would break out into a musical number when they were gone from the city. What surprised Joren the most was that Liam had not even acknowledged Keladry's presence. She'd said hello to him, but he had not answered back.
She continued to watch, stupefied, as Liam leaned toward Joren to whisper something in his ear.
"Time to get out of here," Neal announced. "Come on, Stone. You said so yourself. And besides, I need help getting up. Not a cowboy, you know. Can't do this one-handed."
Keladry hugged Cleon. The redhead was a little misty eyed. She cupped his face and gave him an encouraging smile.
"I'd appreciate a letter every now and again. A real letter made of paper and ink, since there are obviously no electronic mail terminals around here," she told him, a bit subdued by the moment.
"Yes, ma'am," he grinned and did a mock salute. A single tear clung to his eyelashes.
Neal mounted his wolf with Borealize's aid. "He'll be fine." He looked down at his arm, still in a sling. "He'd better be. I still have to come visit and pay him back for this, don't I, Hotshot?"
"Heheh…"
Borealize started toward the First Gate. "It is time."
Keladry got onto her wolf in front of Inness. She waved to Cleon, whose tears were multiplying the further away they got.
"Take care of Fal for us!" she called.
"Take care of Mr. Grumpy-head!" he called back.
Joren turned and gave him the finger.
And thus the great journey from the lost kingdom of Enishijirou to modern civilization began. The traveling party was somber for the most part. The Mindelan siblings grieved together on the back of their wolf while Neal, Joren, and Borealize remained respectfully distant. The way back home was much less troubling than the first. Relying on the navigational skills of Borealize rather than the malfunctioning electronics of the Mithrans, they were making much better time than expected.
During the nights, they built a large fire, which Borealize kept going throughout the night using the power of a strange red crystal from his kingdom. Neal and Joren decided that there was no small task for these people that could not be performed with magic, so they rested easy. They'd become so familiar with the mysterious objects that the no longer questioned any of it. Keladry and Inness, despite all their exposure to such magic, were still a bit reluctant to trust in it.
"Stay close. The wind won't be able to blow this special fire toward anyone, so there is no fear of singe or burn," Borealize informed them the second night. Neal had already curled up against the flank of his wolf and was fast asleep. Joren likewise settled down close to the fire.
Keladry gazed at him from the other side of the fire. Their eyes met for a short time before Joren turned away to lay his head down. They had not spoken since they had left the city. Though it hurt, she supposed he was simply giving her space to share herself with Inness. It was true that her brother was most unstable emotionally. Keladry couldn't just push him aside to share herself with Joren as well. Not then, anyway.
Inness slept close beside his younger sister, reaching out to touch her with his hand every now and then, just to be sure she was still there. Though the physical danger had disappeared, it still ran amuck in his fragile mind. Images of the battle and the suffocating fog warped his thinking until he didn't know which way was up. It was frightening, and only seemed to be getting worse with time.
The fourth night, Keladry woke up to the sound of Inness crying. She crawled out of her bedroll and gathered him into her arms. Her older brother wept until he had not a tear left inside of him and finally fell back into slumber. Keladry, however, stayed awake for nearly the rest of the night. It was almost New Moon, and the sky was a wide sheet of onyx.
When they reached the outpost where the trade master Samuel Higgins resided, Borealize stopped a hundred yards out and bid them farewell. He nodded to Joren reverently. Each man had earned each other's respect during the mission to the Black City, but it was in neither of their countenances to say so aloud. Keladry thanked the royal wolf herder profusely while Inness remained mute and red-eyed.
Neal engrossed himself in saying farewell to Lucky, his informally adopted wolf-steed. He stared face to face with the creature, stroking its ears as if saying goodbye to a very old companion. The wolf in turn licked his face, eliciting a mirthful chuckle from the injured DJPF officer. At last he patted it soundly on the side and stepped back.
"I'll be back someday," he told Borealize. He glanced at Lucky again. "You can count on it."
"I do not doubt it," Borealize replied. He reached into his pack and pulled out two parcels wrapped in red velvet cloth. "This is from His Highness, the Prince on behalf of the kingdom and his uncle, who as you are aware was not able to participate in selection of such trinkets. A parting gift for you and Master Stone."
Joren approached to stand beside his partner. Neal accepted the gifts, thanking him. He handed Joren the one labeled for him. They quickly unfolded the smooth cloths. Keladry's attention perked when Neal gasped.
"A diamond studded golden slingshot," Neal breathed incredulously. He grinned and examined the precious treasure. "Oh man, am I going to have fun with this!"
"And another dagger," Joren sighed, slightly annoyed by the turn of events. He reluctantly unsheathed the sharp blade. His eyebrows rose in surprise. He held the blade up to the light. Its serrated edge was flawless. He plucked a hair from Neal, eliciting a yelp from the other man, and rested it on the blade's edge. Sure enough, sharp enough to split a hair. He turned it over in his hands and was even more pleasantly stunned to see a pattern embossed in the black leather of the hilt. It was a jackal head, accented with a tiny red gem in the eye.
"His Highness thanks you for all that you have done for our kingdom. Good health and blessings for you, my lords and lady," Borealize intoned, bowing deeply from the waist. With one quick movement, he swept onto the back of his wolf mount and rode away. The other wolves followed in a heartbeat. Before long, they were only specks in the distance.
Joren sheathed the dagger and tucked it into his belt. An ironic gift, but a heartfelt one, at least. He turned to Keladry and spoke to her for the first time in days. "Come on. Let's go home."
~~
During the plane ride home, Joren waited until Keladry fell asleep to leave her side and join Neal at the front of the cabin. He picked up Neal's pack and tossed it across the aisle. Sitting down beside the slightly bemused man, he fixed him a suspicious stare.
"What did I do now?" Neal yawned, making very little effort to cover his mouth. He looked out the window. It was nighttime, but he still pretended to be able to see something.
Joren folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. "What took you so long?"
"What are you talking about?"
"In the caverns," he clarified.
Neal nodded. He scratched his head drowsily and chuckled. He gave Joren a lazy grin and reached toward his partner's vest. Joren stayed still, eyes still trained on him as Neal slipped a smallish bottle from one of Joren's larger pockets.
"I see Higgins gave you a farewell gift, too," he observed, screwing off the lid and taking a sip. He exhaled loudly when he took the bottle from his lips. "We should go out to a bar sometime, you and I." He glanced behind him a couple of rows to where Keladry slumbered. "We'll have to be careful, of course. She'd have both our hides."
Joren took the bottle back and returned it to his vest pocket. "Answer the question, Queenscove."
"Have a drink with me and I'll tell you," Neal replied, the humorous expression disappearing from his face to be replaced with one of absolute seriousness.
The blond narrowed his eyes at him before retrieving the small bottle again and drinking a mouthful. He waited for him to continue. Neal got up and shimmied awkwardly past Joren to retrieve the pack that had been thrown across the aisle. Coming back again, he flashed a larger bottle and a pair of shot glasses to the seated officer.
"Pull down the tray table. Higgins left me with a parting gift, too. Stronger proof," Neal said, showing Joren the label. As he set up one glass for Joren and one for himself, he hummed a light tune. "How many days was I gone? Was it that long?"
"I can't remember anymore," Joren answered truthfully. "The army's trek across the mountains took about a week. By yourself, the journey would have taken less. So maybe you were only in the caves a few days."
They both took shots at the same time. Then there was a few seconds of silence before Neal continued. "I see. Well, as you already knew, I had a thing for Shinko."
"Typically," Joren muttered. He poured the next round that time. He was starting to feel a little warmer in his chest than a few moments ago, and was grateful that he was not alone in this meaningless gesture of numbing pain. He clinked glasses with Neal again before downing the next mouthful.
Neal emitted a low whistle. "Man, does that thing burn a path down to the bottom of your gut."
"Get back to your story, Queenscove."
"Well, sorry. Unlike some blond freakish people, when I get wasted, I tend to get unfocused."
Joren glared at him. "Are you done?"
"Yeah, yeah. So, anyway, you knew I had a thing for her. I acted like I always did—like a dumb idiot with the figurative roses in hand, yadda, yadda." He shrugged helplessly. "When I usually start seeing a girl and I decide to stop seeing her, it's not the end for her. I know when I walk away, her life goes on—just not connected to mine anymore, right? But this time… Man, I had no intention of walking away for as long as I could help it. But then…"
"She died and when you walked away, you knew that her life wouldn't go on," Joren finished.
Another round. The amber liquid was leaving the bottle in record time. Neal stared at his drink for a bit, swirling it around in the shot glass. He chuckled and butted his shoulder against his partner's. "It was the most surreal thing that had ever happened in my life. I couldn't walk away." He closed his eyes and yawned again. "So I buried her in the caverns, piled rocks on top to make a… whaddya call it?"
"A pyre?" Joren supplied.
"Yeah. That thing. Hmm. Lucky and I stayed." He threw his head back as he took the next shot. Joren followed suit. "We stayed… I don't know how long. I stayed until I could hear nothing but death around me. And I suppose the smell was getting to Lucky's sensitive nose, because he nudged me out of it. I was weak from lack of food, so I ate a little. And we left." He yawned again. "We saw the army's tracks. Figured where you guys were headed. I mean, it's not like there's a grocery super store out in the middle of nowhere, right? Had to be headed for Enishi-gigi or whatever."
Joren snickered in spite of himself. "How much of this bottle did you have before I got up here? Give me that," he commanded as he snatched the bottle away from Neal and tucked it under his arm. "Sleep it off, Queenscove. You're done for the night."
Neal laughed again. He calmed down right after. "Hey, Stone."
"Yeah?"
"We're friends, right?"
The blond growled softly. "What is it with you Queenscoves? First Dom, now you."
"Hey, he's not a Queenscove. He wishes. Nah, he's just my godbrother." Neal scratched his belly and slumped further down into his seat. His eyes were already closed. "So come on, man. We're friends, aren't we? After all that bullshit we put up with together? The… the wolves and the weird city—that was cool, though. I mean, crystal powered automatic toilets—I tell ya, that was awesome. Even those blood sucking Elvira's lurking all over that creepy black castle!"
Joren shook his head. "You definitely need to sleep."
"Hey, now who's not answering questions?" Neal taunted.
"Alright, alright. We're friends, you big dumb idiot. Get some sleep. And I'm taking this with me." He shook the bottle in front of Neal for emphasis. "So don't get any big ideas. Sheesh, you're pathetic."
Neal snickered. "Not any more pathetic than you, Stone."
Joren decided not to argue with that statement. He got up and stretched, hiding the bottle under his vest. He made his way back to his original seat beside Keladry. He looked down at her peaceful face and decided that she ought not to be rewarded by waking up to his stinking breath. He spied Inness across the aisle, curled up in the fetal position on the two seats. Joren sighed and sat in the row in front of that one, stashing the bottle underneath the seat and also deciding to prop himself against the window for a bit of shut-eye.
He closed his eyes and thought to himself, It could always be a lot worse.
~~
They had reported the events of the last few weeks with as much accuracy they could afford to have without seeming crazy. Of course, they had twisted a few details around so as to leave out the bit about wizards, dragons, and hidden kingdoms. They did, however, include Cleon's bumbling inadvertently into ancient prophecy (of a local Yamani clan that they did not name), Faleron's unfortunate injury, and Conal's accidental death.
Even more amazing than their ability to cover up was Flyndon's capacity for patience. He did not comment about the fact that Cleon did not return with them. They had explained to him that Cleon would uphold his DJPF duty of protecting all Mithrans by staying in the foreign country with Faleron. But still, it might not have been enough. If that was the case, the captain did not say anything on the topic.
"Well, the crew that initially crashed into the mountains is safe. As is the crew that was sent with you. I hope Ms. Sarrasri is not too disappointed or saddened by the turn of events for her emissaries to the East, but that cannot be helped." Flyndon tapped his desk with his pen. "I suppose the best thing to do now is to have you personally travel to HQ in Tortall to file an official report with Wyldon, himself. You were originally all under his command, so anything the DJPF does in response to the incident—such as informing Kennan's family of his absence from the country—will be handled correctly."
Keladry nodded. "I'll make preparations to leave right away."
Flyndon returned the gesture. "Alright then. Dismissed."
Keladry and Neal saluted, while Joren marched out ahead of them. They stood outside the opaque office for a few moments, looking at each other. None of them had anything good to say. But they couldn't let themselves part without saying something.
"Someone should tell Fia and Kalasin," Keladry suggested.
Neal glanced at Joren. "I wonder—"
"Don't even think about it. I'm getting out of here," Joren scowled. He stalked away without so much as a goodbye to either of them. Keladry watched him go, a little concerned.
A large warm hand came down upon her shoulder. "Don't worry about him. He just hates the lying we had to do. All that lying." He paused and colored slightly. "Well, I know you know. You would know more than anybody what's going on with him." He coughed. "I'll go find Fia and Kalasin."
"I hear she's staying at Roald's right now. Another visit," she mentioned. Keladry sighed. She smoothed down the front of her uniform and checked her watch pager for the time. "I'd better go home. I need to repack. And I need to call Inness. I should have accompanied him home."
Neal shook his head. "No, you need to take a break, even just for a little bit. I'm sure he made it back to Irontown in one piece. Go home and just relax for a few hours. You don't have to set out for Tortall right away. Maybe in a day or two."
"Right. A day or two," Keladry murmured. She patted Neal on the shoulder before walking away. Her nerves were more than frazzled. She wouldn't be at all surprised if smoke was coming out of her ears from all the stress that was wearing her down.
A day or two. I need that. I don't want to go crazy, now do I?
~~
Neal ended up back at the apartment complex a few minutes after Joren. The blond biker shut himself up in a corner of the garage where Qasim usually tinkered with his own mechanical endeavors. Neal supposed that Joren didn't want to talk to anyone at this point. He took the elevator up and attempted to plan out what he was going to say his best friends' girlfriends.
He couldn't prepare anything sincere enough and felt very guilty for it. By the time he reached the floor that the Rider's Own lived on, he was more than just a little miserable. When the doors slid open, he stepped out and came face to face with Yuki Daimoru.
He blushed slightly. "Hey, Yuki."
"Hi. You're back," Yuki noted with some semblance of enthusiasm. "I was wondering how you were doing. I was kind of worried, to be honest."
She looks a little like Shinko, doesn't she? he thought.
"You were worried?" He smiled shyly.
"Well, yeah. Lerant and I talked about it every day," she confessed with a small laugh. She looked down at his arm, still in a sling. "Oh, no. You were hurt? Did you fall or something?"
Neal tried to ignore his disappointment when Lerant's name turned up. He shook his head and averted his gaze toward the floor. "Uh, no, not a fall. A misfired bullet from a high power rifle ripped clean through my forearm."
She winced. "Ouch. But you'll have a full recovery, right?"
"Oh, yeah. Definitely. If I go to physical therapy, I should have full use of my arm again—no sweat," he replied. He smiled because he did not know what else to do and it hurt to look at her. He pointed past her. "I, uh, have to deliver a message to Fia. Do you know if she's in?"
"Yeah, she's in her apartment. You'd better pound on the door loudly, though. She's got her music on."
"Okay. Um, thanks."
"No problem. Hope you feel better soon," she told him and stepped into the elevator. Neal waved with his free hand until the doors had closed again.
He figured that he only had himself to blame for the way things turned out. He'd been a smidgen interested in Yuki when they had first met, but he had decided to pursue pointless pleasures in nightclubs rather than in his own apartment building. Now she was with Lerant and he was recovering from a loveless encounter with a wild princess that was now past his reach.
As he approached Fianola's apartment, he could hear the pop music blaring loudly. Neal wondered how Faleron could stand that sort of stuff. Guess I'll never know if he doesn't get well…
First, he rang the doorbell. When he received no response, he pounded as hard as he could on the door and shouted to the resident inside. A few more moments passed before the music was shut off and the youngest Rider opened her door.
"Oh hey! You're back! Oh my gosh, it's so good to see you!" she gushed, ushering him inside. "You hungry? I have some burritos in the fridge. I can warm them up in a jiffy!"
He sat down on her sofa and cleared his throat. "No thanks. I can't stay for long."
She sat down across from him in an armchair. She beamed happily at him. "Well, it's good to see you. How was the trip? Did everything turn out okay?" She spied his arm. "Well, I suppose not. That doesn't look too bad. Well, is Fal still over there with Cleon and Kel?"
"That's what I came to talk about."
Her expression fell. "What do you mean?"
Neal struggled for the right words. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together. "Uh, you see… Fal was injured. Well, he's not really injured anymore as much as he is sick."
"Sick?" Fianola squeaked. "Like, an infection from the wound or something? Because if that's the case, he should be in a hospital in Mithros, shouldn't he?"
His tongue felt thick and unmoving. He lowered his head and shrugged slightly. "Not sick like that. I don't know all the details. All I know is that he can't be moved overseas. He's better off where he is, where he can get treatment for his illness."
The youngest Rider seemed to be absorbing the information very reluctantly. She pouted, her lip quivering. "I… I'll visit him. I'll take a leave of absence from the Riders and I'll go stay with him."
"You can't go where he is."
"Why not?" she demanded, her voice cracking.
"Because," Neal said softly, "none of us can find our way back." He hesitantly raised his eyes to her. "Cleon is there with him. He's looking after Fal. He'll be fine. It just takes time."
He abruptly stood up and headed for the door. It was clear that Fianola was about to break down at any moment, and Neal knew that she did not want someone she did not know so well to comfort her. He considered going next door to one of the other Riders so that they could be there for their teammate. It was the least he could do, wasn't it?
Prosper was home. The first member of the Riders stopped midway during his greeting when he noticed Neal's crestfallen face. Neal quickly told him about the situation and about the sobbing young woman next door. Prosper thanked him and promised to check up on her in a few minutes.
Unfortunately for Neal, he still had to make one more stop at the Jasson residence. He felt like he had no right to be the one delivering this sort of news. If Keladry weren't already fretting about her trip to HQ or if Joren was more sociable, then they would be much better candidates for the ill tidings. They'd known Roald, Kalasin, and Lalasa longer. They'd shared an entire summer depending on one another to stay alive. Neal felt like an interloper.
Lalasa greeted him with open arms and a pinch in the side. He was a little taken aback by her behavior, but as the happy homemaker bustled around the kitchen for a drink despite his protests, Roald whispered in his ear that Lalasa was about two months pregnant. That newsflash threw Neal off his original task for a few moments as he exchanged pleasantries with the married couple.
At last, Kalasin emerged from her guest room, wearing all black as usual. Neal found it morbidly appropriate. He stood up when she entered, and bowed his head to her awkwardly. He wasn't accustomed to gentlemanly gestures, but she did not seem to notice.
"Just the person I wanted to speak to," he said quietly. Lalasa came back from the kitchen and handed him a glass of ice water. He thanked her and took a small sip.
Kalasin sat down on the couch and glared at him. "Well, get on with it. I have better things to do than sit here with you."
"Don't mind her," Roald apologized. "She's just been in a bad mood since you, Cleon, and the rest of them left for the Yamanis."
Neal nodded. He set down his glass on a cork coaster sitting on the coffee table. He laced his fingers together and rested them in his lap. "That's what I came here to talk about. Obviously, since I'm here, we're back. Uh, actually, not all of us are back—no, that's not correct at all."
Her gaze moved imperceptibly from Neal's eyes to his frowning mouth. "Not all of you. What happened then?"
He gnawed on his lower lip. "Well, you see, Fal was injured. He's very ill right now and can't be moved from the place where he's at right now. I can't really say where because even I'm not sure where it is." He forced himself to chuckle. "And good old, Cleon. That boy of yours is one loyal friend. He knew the rest of us had to return to take care of everything… tie up loose ends and make sure everyone that was rescued checked out okay. But he volunteered to stay behind. Just like the great guy that he is."
Lalasa sat down beside Neal. "Fal is going to be alright, isn't he, sugar?"
"It's so bad that he can't travel to get medical attention here in Mithros?" Roald also chimed in. He was loosening his tie as he spoke, almost anxiously as if the information made him physically uncomfortable.
"I'm afraid so." He let out a deep breath. "They'll both be fine. I just wanted to stop by and tell you that it might be a long time before we see our boys come home."
"How long?" Kalasin asked in a low voice. She stared Neal down until he felt the urge to stand up and leave as quickly as possible.
As he headed toward the door, he scratched the back of his head. "None of us are sure. It might be weeks, months… even years… We seriously don't know how long it will take."
"As if we haven't missed them enough," Lalasa murmured.
Roald followed Neal to the door and shook his hand. "Thank you for stopping by. You'll keep us informed on the latest, won't you?"
"Oh, of course," he promised. He waved to Lalasa and Kalasin. Kalasin was still staring at him as if it were Neal's fault those events had unfolded as they had. "It was nice seeing you again. Oh, and congratulations! All the best to you and the baby, 'Lasa."
She nodded and smiled, though it was a trying effort. Neal turned heel and walked out of the apartment, thoroughly shaken to the core. He wondered what it must have been like in past centuries when messengers from the Mithran war department were charged with telling families of soldiers' deaths. He imagined it felt ten times as worse as what he'd just done. And if that was the case, he was glad that he had not reported any deaths at all.
They're just taking a vacation in the Eastern Yamanis. That's all. They'll be back within the year and everything will be just like it used to be. Neal repeated the thought until he believed it to be the absolute truth. And after a while, he knew that no one could talk him into thinking otherwise.
~~
When Keladry stopped by Joren's apartment a couple of hours later, she was surprised to see that Joren had never unpacked. In fact, there were unfolded cardboard boxes leaning against the wall beside his closet. Keladry frowned. She ventured further into the apartment, afraid as to what else she might see.
The bathroom was mostly bare. That wasn't a surprise. He'd never kept many things around in the first place, save for the necessities like toothbrush or shaving cream. While she still leaned on the bathroom counter, she heard the door to the hallway open. He was home.
"Joren?" she called, going back out to the living room.
His head jerked toward her, his brow creased in his curious expression. "What are you doing here?"
Keladry shrugged. "I was going to ask you to come with me to Tortall." She swallowed reflexively. "Why haven't you unpacked?"
He walked past her into his bedroom. He went straight for his closet and began sorting through his clothing. When he didn't answer her, she followed him and stood behind him. Something was terribly amiss, and she'd be damned if she didn't get him to tell her.
She repeated her question, sterner than before. Joren grudgingly turned to face her and offered her an impassive expression. "I'm going somewhere."
"Going somewhere? But we just got back," she stammered. "How can you… where are you going? I'll go with you if you just wait for me to get back from Tortall."
There would be no explaining to her the why and how of his second departure. Joren had a hard enough time explaining it to himself. He didn't know why he was really leaving. He only knew that he had to go. Liam had told him so.
~~
"There will be a private plane waiting for you along the northern coast. It won't be too hard to find, there aren't many private air fields along that coast," Liam whispered, leaning toward Joren's ear so that they were the only ones who could hear. Everyone else was watching them—these two men who supposedly hated each other with every fiber of their beings.
Cleon looked away and pretended to be absorbed in something Yahiko was saying. Neal continued to play with his wolf, muttering nonsensical things to it. Keladry watched. She couldn't turn away from the strange spectacle no matter how much she knew she should.
"Why?" Joren asked.
"You need to be here for him, just like I have to be here. I'm not letting you get off the hook that easily," Liam warned. "Go home with them first. Just for a few days, then come back as soon as you can." He paused. "And don't tell her. She'll follow you if she can, but don't let her. And don't plan on coming back."
"You're asking a lot," Joren replied morosely.
"I'm not asking, I'm telling."
And that was that.
~~
Joren cleared his throat uneasily. He reached out to her and stroked her hair, tucking some of her longer bangs behind her ear. It sent waves of pain through his chest to see that disappointed look in her eyes. Suddenly, he drew her into his arms and hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair.
"I have to go away. I can't stay here," he told her gravely.
Keladry pushed him away so she could look into his eyes. "What do you mean? What's going on? Why won't you tell me anything?"
He rested his hands on her shoulders. Even pulling the trigger and killing Paxton had not been this emotionally painful for him. He tried to conjure up some excuse. But he'd lied to her about Conal. He couldn't lie to her about everything else as well. Could he?
Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly. "I'm leaving. Like Kennan and King, I guess. I don't know if I'll ever come back. I can't even explain it to myself. This is the way it has to be. I have to…" He paused, feeling a revelation as he spoke the next words. "I have to go… home."
"Home! This is your home," Keladry insisted. "Do you mean Gala? Are you going back to Gala?"
"Not that home."
She remained silent after that. He pulled her toward him again. This time, she did not fight it. Her eyes stared blankly at the wall behind him as she rested her chin on his shoulder and tried to make sense of all that was happening to her at that very moment. Rage boiled up inside of her. Hadn't she put up with enough of this in the past? Hadn't she weathered the storm already?
Things had been going so well for them. Up until they had left for the Yamanis, they had finally been getting their lives back together. It had been so peaceful and full of hope for the future. That same future was running further and further away from them until she knew that they would never get it back.
One hand moved her face toward his until he was kissing her deeply, almost desperately. She knew why he was doing it. He was forming a memory. A great, unfading memory that he could keep with him for the rest of his life—when the years had passed and everything had become old and gray, he would have this keepsake. She wanted to cry, but deep down Keladry knew that she would not let herself spoil this for him. He needed this one moment. For all the pain he had suffered during his life, she wouldn't deny him.
His arms tightened around her, almost stealing all the warmth from her body for his own. She gasped slightly, and he took the opportunity to taste her thoroughly through her partially open mouth. Tears were forming in her eyes, but she refused to let them spill over her lashes. It wasn't right. She had to hold on just a little bit longer. Her own arms were wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangled in his wheat blond hair. How would she go on without this? Was it even possible?
After what felt like an eternity, Joren released her. He refused to look her in the eye, said nothing, and returned to sorting the items in his closet. He couldn't look at her anymore, wouldn't dare to dream of it. The moment he did, he knew he would not be able to go through with leaving. He'd debated it during the entire trip home. Last night, when they'd gotten back to their apartments, weary with jet lag, he'd stayed awake, staring at the dagger that Yahiko had given him. Considering his options, so to speak.
This was the way things had to be. There might not have been good reason—good enough anyway. In a twisted sense, Joren rationalized that he was becoming as virtuous as Cleon. This was his version of loyalty. Whatever loyalty was.
Returning to stand vigil for a man you want to worship and destroy at the same time, he thought. He cursed Liam for giving him that order. He cursed himself for obeying.
Keladry left after a time. When she was gone, he left his closet. He went through one of his drawers and searched through a pile of folded white T-shirts for the only possession that he really wanted to take with him into hell. At last, he found a faded photograph, having stayed in the back pocket of his jeans for many days at a time. He stroked the picture of the little baby tenderly, then pocketed it again.
As he started packing up all his other possessions in the cardboard storage boxes, he thought to himself that it was not as disastrous as he'd first thought it would be. The sky wasn't crumbling down. There were no headstones to stand beside and mourn, not yet anyway. At that particular second, he startlingly thought of himself like Neal, his… friend.
"When I usually start seeing a girl and I decide to stop seeing her, it's not the end for her. I know when I walk away, her life goes on… "
Joren stared at the door. After a moment's hesitation, he resumed his packing and brutally commanded himself to ignore the rest of his thoughts. He couldn't be like Neal. Not in this respect.
"It was the most surreal thing that had ever happened in my life. I couldn't walk away."
~~
The next day, Dom knocked on the door, mug of coffee in hand. He knew Neal and the others had come home the night before last, but he hadn't a chance to say hello to all of them yet. He'd seen his godbrother the day before. They had gone out to a bar just to mellow out. He'd visited Kel that very morning, but she seemed to be in a depressed mood that warded him away.
Now as he rang the doorbell of the former secret operative that Dom had known for several years, he wondered what had crawled into Joren's ass and died. No one answered and he was growing increasingly impatient for ten minutes. He considered for a while whether or not he ought to break the lock code for his apartment. Joren had taught him himself years ago before he'd been stationed to Tortall. Now Dom put that knowledge to use.
When he'd broken the code and entered the residence, he halted in his tracks the very second he saw the stack of cardboard boxes and the general emptiness of the apartment. He did not walk any further than those first few steps. He knew no one was home. He knew no one would be home ever again.
He'd arrived to say hello a day too late. It happened, he told himself. Dom didn't blame himself or Joren or whoever else might have been involved. Another apartment was empty, and Stefan would have the chance to rent it out to another officer of the law. The boxes would be put in storage and Qasim would probably take possession of the prized motorcycle parked in the lower garage.
It did not seem like a fitting end at all. Dom didn't put too much thought into it though. In the back of his mind, he knew it was far from the end.
~~
Author's note: And thus ends our season. Hmm. I bet you all hate me right now. S'okay. It happens. Anyway, you know what this means! We're moving into our fourth and final season—but NOT before we have some bloopers! Woo hoo! So hold on tight, because this is going to be one hell of a ride!