Name: Tomlyn
Wherein Tomlyn reflects on a perilous job with Sylf.
Tomlyn stared at Sylf's resting figure in his bed. The sheet was tucked under her arm as she laid on her side, exposing the top curve of her breasts up to her collarbone, her neck, and down her shoulders to her outstretched arms. When Tomlyn's gaze fell on the traitors brand, he wanted to look away but he couldn't.
The brand was placed in the middle of her right forearm, slightly raised on her skin. It looked like she was lucky and the brand healed properly—it could easily have gotten infected and killed her. Of course, with the mark of a traitor, and her known status in Ephraim's rebellion, it was likely her captors wanted to keep her alive for questioning.
Tomlyn shivered, trying to erase the rough feeling of her scars from his fingertips but it was impossible. At first, he thought Sylf's distanced demeanor was a way to protect herself after all the years apart. It wasn't as though they parted on good terms, so it made sense to Tomlyn. He was thankful for it, even. He was glad that Sylf had opted to sleep with him first before talking, which made sense since Sylf usually preferred to conduct pleasure before business. It wasn't until they finished when Tomlyn noticed the brand on her arm, and he put the horrific events together.
He felt another wave of nausea come over him. He drank more ale, hoping to wash the feeling down. It worked, but he didn't feel any better. As if the realization and understanding that she had endured and escaped imprisonment and torture for who knows how long wasn't enough, she didn't remember anything. Her memories were just…gone.
She didn't remember their first job together, where she assassinated everyone in the party but spared Tomlyn because she wasn't paid enough to kill him too. She didn't remember the time he ran into her in a tavern, and, over dice, he bet her for a dance. He won and though she was grumpy and sour the whole time, she glided effortlessly in his arms. It was the first time they danced together, but by no means the last.
His favorite dances were by the blue row house on the corner, where Agnes and her husband played with other musicians in the lit up square. She didn't remember the row house either; the lazy days snatched between jobs, pretending to live someone else's wonderful, blissful life. He'd give anything to go back to those happy, peaceful days.
Of course, she also didn't remember the way he hurt her, "shattered" her, to use Ephraim's phrasing. He was stupid then, so incredibly stupid and blind. And scared. Scared to promise her more than he knew he could give her. Scared to die and leave her alone. But he was too full of the lies he told himself, and his cowardice had cost him.
He'd never forget how his first sight of her without the black diamond ring would leave him gutted. It hurt more than he thought it would, but he deserved the pain. It was less than he deserved and paled in comparison to what she endured.
Tomlyn poured himself another mug of ale and raised it into a toast to himself. To the Cowardly Prince. No matter what he did, or how he lived his life, he was a coward, until the end. He downed the ale and threw the mug across the room when he was done. The mug slammed against the wall and Sylf's eyes snapped open. The sheet fell and his eyes found the thin pale scar under her breast. He traced it after he pulled her shirt off, but she didn't seem to notice the ritualistic gesture. Now he knew why.
She looked around briefly and then frowned at him. He couldn't help but grin at her achingly familiar annoyed expression before she rolled over to go back into her trance, her back facing him. His grin faded. Out of everything he learned that night, the thing that hurt the most seemed inconsequential in comparison to everything else. But… his name.
She didn't remember his name.
~* Thirty-Four Years Ago *~
Tomlyn grinned cockily at the wood elf in front of him, who was glaring back at him sourly. So, nothing out of the ordinary for their usual interactions.
"I don't do suicide runs," she said coolly. He expected this response. But, to get Atrea Silverleaf onto this job, he knew he had to hook her the right way. Tomlyn knew how to charm and win his way into almost any room, with any person, and, with the right angle, into their beds. Atrea was immune to his charms, for the most part, but everyone had something that made them tick. Atrea's usually seemed to be money, but he might need a bit more than that tonight. Fortunately, he knew her just well enough to cast his line just so.
Tomlyn sighed dramatically. "How much does a high-risk mission cost you?" He left out "suicide". Just calling it that was sure to raise her price substantially.
"Not anything you could afford," she snorted.
"Try me," he grinned. She considered him for a moment and asked for more details. Who else was in on the job? Did they have the tower schematics? What was the plan to get in and out? Then Plan B? Then C? Then D? He gave her all the details she wanted, knowing that the more he told her, the more she would be interested. Sure enough, when she was finished her line of questioning, she stared at him blankly. It was a good sign, one that usually meant she was thinking.
"It's not enough," she said finally. "It's still basically suicide. You want to go into a highly guarded tower, in hostile gang territory—as if that isn't peculiar enough— but you don't even know what you're looking for or what's inside the tower."
"I'm not really surprised I don't know. But I am surprised, A., that you don't." The look that crossed her face was a mix of a snarl and indignation. She was likely outraged that Tomlyn had said it so plainly, but also frustrated with herself for not knowing when she believed she knew everything. All that meant was that Tomlyn had her hooked. Now, he just needed to reel her in.
He made a show of sighing dejectedly and seeming disappointed. "Ah, well, I thought you were perfect for the job, but I guess with all that simple work you've been doing lately I can understand why you wouldn't want to give that up."
Her peridot-colored eyes narrowed at him. Tomlyn continued the act and rose from the table. "Wait," she said. He turned to her, feigning curiosity.
She sucked in a breath and asked, "What does the job pay?"
Grinning Tomlyn sat back down and they began to negotiate payment. By the time they finished she was getting a modest sum upfront and a huge payout at the end. All in all, it was absurdly high, but Tomlyn had warned his new benefactor that the job would require deep pockets if he wanted it to be successful. The Prince merely grinned and told him that he only wanted the best anyway.
"You have a deal, A.," he grinned. He handed her the upfront installment and he watched her count the coins, checking the amount. When she was done, the coin purse disappeared behind her cloak.
She sat back in the chair, staring at him blankly. Tomlyn didn't mind the scrutiny. Though they both ran in similar circles for several decades now, they weren't particularly close. But, lately, he seemed to run into her more than usual. He suspected the change with his patronage and her move towards information as opposed to assassination left them both available at the same times. Against his better judgment he started approaching her at the taverns or on the streets. Atrea always claimed to dislike him, but she still gambled and drank with him when she was in a good mood. And, if he was lucky in his dice, they danced together too (Never cards though; her slight of hand was too good and he never won.).
It was an odd sort of relationship where they had become cordial acquaintances. However, Tomlyn was under no illusion that if she was paid well enough, she would also slit his throat.
Her blank expression broke into a small smirk. "That's all, McDanna? No additional bet?" she asked. Her light, mischievous tone encouraged Tomlyn to lean in towards her.
"Well, A., I can add one, if you'd like. Shall we say, if the job goes sideways on our way out, I'll treat you to a very nice evening uptown."
She chuckled darkly. "Why propose a losing bet, McDanna?"
"A man can dare to dream."
"After shit hits the fan once we're inside the tower, I'll take that abalone jewel set from Dent you procured," she proposed.
"Regrettably, I already sold it. But I have some really nice rubies that I think you'd like."
"Done."
~*0*~
Tomlyn should have known better than to think everything would go off without a problem for most of the job. It probably would have, if the heavily guarded tower wasn't, you know, also crawling with undead. How was he supposed to anticipate that?
Tomlyn, Atrea, a half-orc named Virna, and two of Virna's comrades rappelled up the side of the tower and entered from a blind spot midway up. Once inside, they noticed the few undead milling about the room and were able to kill them off again without making too much noise. Just in case, they quickly barricaded the room from one side and were now arguing in hushed tones.
"This was not the plan," Virna hissed. The half-orc clutched his axes and glared at Tomlyn. Behind him, the other two thugs-for-hire, a human sorcerer and a half-elf thief nodded in agreement.
"V., come on. You really think I knew about the undead?" Tomlyn protested. "We're already halfway up. We can still get in and out quickly if we move fast enough."
"No way, McDanna. There isn't going to be anything worth our time here!"
"You don't know that. Besides, I'm giving you a generous payout when the job is done."
Virna seemed to consider this for a moment. Tomlyn wasn't particularly close to Virna, but he was good spirited and had a knack for moving quietly while providing good muscle. He thought the unusual combination would be a benefit to the job, but it seemed he underestimated Virna's resolve.
Tomlyn cast a glance at Atrea who kept her eyes trained on the perimeter, her bow slightly slacked, but ready to be drawn in an instant if necessary. He brought his attention back to Virna as he shook his head.
"Can't get paid if I'm dead. I'm out."
Frustrated, Tomlyn grit his teeth. "If you leave now, there's a higher chance that we all end up dead anyway!" But it was too late. Virna and the other two were already heading towards the window and back down the ropes.
He suppressed a groan and intended to turn towards Atrea, but she was suddenly at his side. "If I stay I want whatever you were going to pay them after."
He was surprised by her comment. Atrea's survival skills were unparalleled and he thought she was for sure going to try and talk him out of the job. Maybe Tomlyn rubbing her lack of knowledge in her face paid off more than he realized.
In his silence, she stared at him impatiently. "Do I get their money?"
"Yeah, sure."
Wordlessly she turned and walked towards the ledge. She started pulling up the ropes she and Tomlyn used and he helped her. The other three were almost to the ground now, taking their time to stealthily move down. He watched her pull out a small makeshift grenade from her pocket.
"Atrea, what are-"
But he got his answer as she pulled the pin, held the grenade for a few seconds that seemed to stretch into eternity, and then dropped it. The other three mercs had no time to react, even if they saw it. Tomlyn jerked back from the window as the explosion sounded. He heard screams and a few seconds later, the town bell sounded loudly. Carefully, he looked out the window. Undead were starting to come out of the tower as guards frantically yelled to each other.
"Now, we have a distraction. Our chances of survival have gone up significantly," she stated. She might as well have recited the tavern menu from the Gal and Goose with her matter of fact tone. Tomlyn stared down at the chaos below them and exhaled a deep breath.
"Well, that's one way to do it, I guess."
She gathered the ropes back into her pack. "No joke or useless quip?"
"A., you just blew up the side of a building, killed the other members of our party, and unleashed the undead in this tower for a distraction. I'm just glad you're on my side."
She cocked her head and her eyes glinted dangerously at him. "For tonight."
They waited near the door, quiet and listening. Undead scurried by, attracted to the explosion and so they waited for the passage to fall quiet before making their way up the tower. Tomlyn took the front with his daggers and Atrea supported from behind him with her bow, picking off any undead stragglers. She always carried it, but this was the first time he saw her use it over her daggers. She moved with ease on the bow, as if it was a mere extension of her arm. He wondered where she learned to shoot, but logged the question for another day, when they were in their cups. If they made it to another day.
They managed to make their way to the top and, after picking the door, the curling scent of rot was unmistakable. The circular room was a mess with sprawled bodies, blood, candles, and loose papers. In the center of the ritual circle was a charred book on a dais. Hesitantly they entered the room, checking for traps just in case. Atrea set her bow back under her cloak, but kept a dagger in hand as she began to prowl around the room. Tomlyn put up one of his daggers as well, staying alert as he rummaged around.
He hoped they found something useful soon. The sight of the ritual made his skin crawl and between that, the bodies, the rot, and the scent of something else he couldn't place, he just wanted to get the hell out. He said a silent prayer to the Flame and worked quickly.
"See anything?" Tomlyn called.
"There isn't anything useful," she snipped back.
"Just because there's no jewels here, doesn't mean there isn't anything of value," he jibed lightly.
"There are far more valuable things to me than mere jewels," she snorted. He cast a glace at her to see her looking at him, her lips quirked into smirk, "But they are quite nice."
He flashed her his trademark, swoon-inducing grin. "Blessed Vanity. She'll do us all in, one day."
Atrea chuckled, an unusual response from her. Usually she glared at him or rolled her eyes, neither of which he minded, but he definitely liked making her laugh. Maybe he would make another serious pass at her considering it had been years since he seriously hit on her. He felt a bit disappointed that he didn't have his bet to use as leverage anymore. Undead and cultists. He should have known. Maybe he could use delivering the rubies to her as an excuse?
Tomlyn held onto the thought of Atrea in bed, the ruby pendant resting just at the crevice of her breasts, as a way to stave off the gnawing, unsettling feeling creeping over him. The longer he spent in the room finding nothing of use, it was harder to ignore his unease. So, instead, he wondered if Atrea would lie in his bed wearing lingerie or if she would be naked. Or if she was a masochist or sweet and subdued in the bedroom. Hah! Atrea, sweet and subdued? No way. Some partners did swing opposite of their personality but Atrea? Of the two options, she was definitely a masochist.
"What are you smiling about?" Atrea snapped. He turned to her, but the sight of her only made his smile broaden into a wolfish grin. She scowled at him. "I found a chest."
He strode over to her, relieved to nearly be done with the room. Atrea was already kneeling and in the process of picking the lock. He leaned over her from behind, his hands resting on his knees.
"Traps?"
The mechanism clicked and she smiled, satisfied. As she opened the chest she responded, "None that I-"
Tomlyn heard another click and he didn't think as he yanked her away from the chest. They toppled backwards and Tomlyn fell on his rear while clutching Atrea to his chest as the lid fell back. Blades shot up from the frame of the chest, sharp and thin. They stared at the chest in a shocked silence. It took him a moment to shake off the surprise, but he didn't move. His arm was across Atrea's chest, and he could feel the adrenaline-fueled pounding of her heart and the heavy raise and fall of her chest. They stayed like that for a long moment, their breathing falling into sync.
Atrea almost died, Tomlyn realized. The blades would have killed her on impact or pierced her enough so she bled out. The idea of Atrea dying didn't sit well with him and he instinctively tightened his hold on her. But that was what she needed to snap out of her own shock. She gently pushed against his grip and he released her.
They brushed themselves off and made their way back to the chest, Tomlyn struggling to focus on the task at hand. They were in a room from demonic hell and they needed to get whatever was in the chest and out ASAP. He did not need to be focused on Atrea's near-death, even if she looked positively furious at the chest that nearly bested her.
Inside the chest was some gold, but it was mostly papers and notes. After some shuffling around, they also found a leather bound notebook that Tomlyn stuffed into his sack. Atrea handed him some sheafs of paper, but also kept some for herself. After sticking with him on this hellish job, he wasn't about to argue. They shuffled through most of the papers, keeping what seemed important. When the chest was nearly empty, a piercing scream echoed up the stairs. They froze and Tomlyn looked at the door frame and then back at Atrea, her lips pursed and her face set.
"We need to move," Atrea said. As always, she was calm and cool.
"We need a new way out," Tomlyn said pointedly.
"Bar the doors," Atrea commanded. It was as if she already knew this was a possible outcome. Tomlyn wanted to protest but she was already tying the two ropes from earlier together. Sighing, Tomlyn obliged. He closed the doors and hauled over some upturned furniture to prevent anything from opening the doors easily.
"You do realize that rope isn't going to be long enough," he sighed.
"It will be long enough to keep us from dying," she paused. "Well, at least from the falling height. I supposed the guards could still get in our way."
"Great," Tomlyn replied dryly.
Atrea was in full-on work mode and apparently had little time for quips. He helped her fasten the rope to some upturned furniture they pushed against the wall. Tomlyn looked down at the height briefly and then pulled away, the sight making him queasy. There was a banging noise at the doors and they looked at each other briefly before Atrea climbed out the window and started repelling down the rope.
Tomlyn said a small prayer and followed after her. The rope did end some distance above the ground, but it was better than the alternative. They couldn't rappel down from where they had come in, and they didn't have the ability to deal with a lot of undead to find a better window. While the guards were busy, this was their chance. They made their way down slowly, and Tomlyn was thankful the ground below them wasn't full of guards and undead. Yet.
About halfway down, Tomlyn heard the whizzing sound before the pain bloomed in his shoulder. He cried out, almost losing his grip and the rope swayed. His arms burned as he gripped the rope tightly. Another arrow flew by, narrowly missing his side. Atrea called up to him but as he looked down, another arrow caught him in the leg. His leg gave out and his hold on the rope slipped. Time seemed to slow as he fell. He was still too high up. He would die from the fall.
Then, he felt his body jerk back up and the unmistakable pain of his good shoulder popping out its socket. He howled in pain and he vaguely realized Atrea was holding onto his wrist. Her face was scrunched, trying to bear his weight. Why didn't she just let him go? Why was she bothering to try and save him anyway? With him wounded, she could easily get away. He didn't understand what her ploy was. Surely this wasn't about the gold, was it?
More arrows came flying at them and Atrea swayed, her grip on his wrist slipping. With a cry she pushed off the wall and then let go of the rope. Tomlyn didn't have time to register the odd sensation of the free fall before he slammed hard into the ground. His body screamed in terrible pain, but he was still alive. He tried to pull himself up, but between his dislocated shoulder and the two arrows protruding from him, it was impossible. Suddenly, there was someone next to him and he felt the arrow shaft snap in his shoulder, then the other in his leg.
Atrea hauled him up over her shoulders, second grenade in hand. She tossed it in the direction of the guards and began dragging him away. Each step brought a fresh sting of pain from everywhere in his body.
"Leave me," he said, gritting his teeth. Dying like this was embarrassing, but it was what it was. In the end, we are all nothing but dust, his father would say.
"Shut up, McDanna," she snarled back.
He groaned. "Periti's Balls this hurts."
"If you can swear, you can make it to Doc's," she snapped. She led him down side alleys towards the Undercity. They were in Fang territory, but the commotion of the guards seemed to send everyone in the streets scattering. Tomlyn wasn't exactly on good terms with the Fangs after they tried picking a fight with him on his last job. He knew Virna was in debt to them and were looking to collect soon, but that didn't matter anymore. He wasn't sure if Atrea had managed to piss them off yet, but knowing Atrea, it was highly likely.
They managed to make their way through the Fangs territory miraculously unseen. But, his vision was blurring now and his whole body felt like fire.
"I'm not worth the money," he wheezed. "Just go, Atrea."
"I told you to shut it, McDanna!"
"My name—" He struggled for the energy to finish his words, "is Tomlyn." He didn't know why he expended the energy to tell her his name, but it felt important. Like something he should do before he died. With the knowledge that someone knew his real name, he felt peaceful and ready. But Atrea still lumbered on with him anyway. When the familiar entryway to Doc's Clinic was in sight, Tomlyn gave in and let darkness overtake him, ready for Her embrace.
~*0*~
When he woke, he was staring at a cracked ugly ceiling. That was how he knew he was still alive. No afterlife would have such a shitty ceiling. Then, the pain came, dulled, but present.
"Ah, you're finally awake."
Tomlyn blinked and then slightly turned his head to see Doc standing next to the bed he was laying on. The half-orc doctor was the Undercity's go-to for any medical treatment. Well known for neutrality and servicing anyone who could pay, the Doc was a safe haven.
"You've been out for a few days now," Doc complained, his deep gravely voice sounding thoroughly annoyed. Tomlyn's senses came back quickly. Doc's catch was that you had to pay him upfront. Who could possibly afford the life-saving treatment he needed as well as in-office care for days?
As if sensing Tomlyn's question, Doc added, "Silverleaf paid for you." Doc gave Tomlyn a menacing grin, his lower tusks protruding out from behind his lips. Tomlyn wasn't sure he wanted to know how much Atrea paid for his recovery. Tomlyn doubted he was worth it the exorbitant cost.
Doc did one final, quick, inspection of his wounds, made him take a potion, and then tossed him out onto the streets. Tomlyn desperately needed food and drink. Figuring out how to contract Atrea came next. His body protested as he walked, but his did his best to minimize the limp. The last thing he needed was to get his ass handed to him because he looked like an easy mark. He found his way into the nearest tavern, and it was already bustling with people and music.
He hobbled towards the bar and noticed a striking wood elf with dark hair nursing a goblet of wine. There was a human trying to chat her up, but the elf looked forward, a blank expression on her face. Then, she turned and her peridot-colored eyes locked onto him. Her gaze made him feel…he wasn't sure. It was a nice, comforting feeling, but he didn't know how to place it.
For a moment, it looked like Atrea was going to leap out of the chair to greet him. Instead, she whirled onto the human and said something that made him instantly pale and run off. Tomlyn grinned at her as he slid into the seat next to her at the bar, hiding the pain in his shoulder where the arrow hit.
"It's about time you got up," she snorted. "Doc's been giving me shit any chance he can get." She ordered Tomlyn an ale but he didn't drink it right away. He just stared at her, not sure what to make of Atrea anymore. But, he wasn't quite sure what to ask. So, he sat at the bar with her, eating and drinking for a time. Fortunately, the tavern was loud and rowdy, so as long as they didn't draw attention to themselves, they could talk freely. After a bit of small talk about the terrible bard in the back, he sighed,
"I can't believe we made it out of there. Did you really have to, you know, blow up V.?"
"I didn't realize you were so attached," Atrea replied.
"I mean, we weren't friends, but he was fun to gamble with. And he was alright in bed. Better drunk than sober though."
Atrea rolled her eyes. "That means he was terrible in bed."
"I bet you'd be good in bed," Tomlyn replied, not missing a beat. Atrea gave him the answer he anticipated: one of her infamous glares. He grinned at her.
"Well, to V. and the others I guess," he said, raising his mug. He held it out intending for Atrea to toast with him, but she didn't touch her goblet.
After a long, awkward pause, Tomlyn drank his ale and set it back down. Evidently, Atrea didn't think it was worth toasting the dead. Which made him wonder yet again, why was he alive?
"Why?" he asked her softly. He didn't know what "why" he wanted answered, but any would do: why did she drag him away from the fight? Why pay the Doc's very expensive fees for very expensive care? Why did she stay in the tower instead of bailing with the others?
She paused and stared at him appraisingly for a moment. Then, she smirked. "I'll roll you for it."
Tomlyn grinned and they found some dice. They made a simple bet of higher or lower than 7. Tomlyn bet higher, and the dice came out to 10. Atrea frowned and insisted on playing a best of 3. So, they rolled again, but Tomlyn still ended up winning 3 to 1. Finally, she sighed and took a sip of her wine. Then, she leaned close so no one could overhear them.
"After all that effort, I wasn't going to just let you die, Tomlyn." He sucked in a painful breath at the hushed whisper of his name. It fluttered by him like a whisper on the wind that only he could hear. He had a vague recollection of telling Atrea his name, but he didn't think much of it. Now, he just wanted to hear her say it again.
"It would have been easy to do. You would have let anyone else die," he countered, his voice just as low.
She stared at him evenly and said nothing for a moment. Then, she said, "You owe me a lot of gold and a set of rubies. What good are you to me dead?"
It wasn't the real answer, but it was good enough. He drew back and took a swig of his ale "Mm, is that all I'm good for, A.?" He asked lightly.
She sipped on her wine, her eyes locked on his. "For now," she said consideringly. Then she leaned close again. Real close. Her lips hovered just above the skin of his ear and he could feel her warm breath on his neck. His hairs stood on end. She was too close. Too close for a tavern, too close to be anything but intimate. But before he could pull away, her breathy words caught in his ear.
"My name is Sylf."
Then, just like that, she drew away and went back to her wine, as though nothing had happened between them at all. But something had. Something important that Tomlyn hadn't felt in a long time, but he didn't know quite what it was. Only that it was familiar and he didn't know how much he missed it until he had it again.
They made more small talk and he let Atrea—no. He let Sylf talk him into a game of Gavant. At this moment, he felt she could ask him to do anything for her and he would. But he didn't think it was something a silly as being lovestruck or awed. Something deeper. Something more important. Stronger.
With a start, he finally realized what it the feeling was. The shock made him jump a bit as he was in the middle of playing his hand. It wasn't enough to fall out of the barstool, but it was enough to hit his mug of ale and send it spilling over the mean looking halfling next to him. Tomlyn knew what was about to come next and he leaned back to dodge the punch, wincing under the sudden movement.
Then, the bar broke loose into a fight. Tomlyn would normally have participated, but Sylf was dragging him out of the tavern and into the streets. She led him down a series of alleyways he was familiar with until they moved away from the bar fight and into a relatively quiet alleyway, not far from the center of the Undercity. There were semi-decent homes here and the alley was safe, for now at least.
"What was that all about?" she snapped irritably.
"Well," he grinned, "I had to do something to stop your cheating."
She glowered at him but he only grinned more. His shoulder was throbbing and pain was shooting up his leg, but he felt better than ever.
"You able to get home?" she asked.
"Yeah, don't worry, I won't let your money go to waste."
"We'll need to meet for the handoff. Somewhere private."
"In private, eh? Shall I procure a bottle of wine and maybe a hot bath for two while I'm at it?"
"Madame Eldvi's. Tomorrow. You'll know which room. Make sure you're not followed."
"A brothel's fine too. Planning on spending some of that gold after?"
"Until tomorrow, Tomlyn." Even in her curt, annoyed tone, his name sounded like music in his ears.
"I'll see you around, Sylf," he grinned lightly. She turned to leave and he added, "Thanks."
She paused and looked back at him. "I didn't want to owe you a favor," she said softly. Then, she was gone.
Tomlyn left the alleyway whistling. He would gladly meet the one person in this damnable city that he knew he could trust tonight, tomorrow night, and the next. Whenever, wherever she wanted, when she asked him to come, he would be there. After this near-disaster of a job, he walked away with something more precious than the mound of gold the Prince promised him.
There was nothing more precious, nothing more meaningful than knowing her name and that she knew his. Nothing more precious than knowing he could, and would, place his faith and trust in Sylf.
~* Present Day *~
"Come, Tommy. We have a throne to take."
Tomlyn didn't move as Ephraim turned to head back into the tavern. Instead, his gaze was fixated on the small boat and Sylf, leaving him again. Thinking all the way back to the start of their relationship, shaped in small encounters through decades, forged in near-death, and sealed in life made his heart ache. He didn't realize how much they had grown and changed together as their circumstances shifted and the stakes became higher and higher.
They became closer, almost inseparable. When he came back from jobs the first thing he used to do was see her. And, after she invited him into her bed, he stopped going to the brothels. No one could come close to the way the way she taunted him, the way she held him, and the way she gasped his name.
Sylf knew him in and out. He thought he knew her like that too. Everything with her was easy and natural as if their paths were always intended to intertwine. Until…it wasn't. He didn't know when it started, but by the time he realized what had happened, and what he lost, he had no one to blame but himself.
But, even after it was too late, she never strayed far from him. She still called on him to watch her back, to watch Ephraim's back. He hurt her dearly, he could see it so plainly in her distanced and cold demeanor, but when she called, he came.
But now, Sylf didn't remember his name. If she was lucky, she wouldn't remember anything else either.
A painful ache of longing, sorrow, and regret stabbed him as he decided the next time she called, he would not come.
"Tommy?"
Ephraim was looking at him, his handsome face glowing with conviction. His Prince's warmth was usually infectious, but today, it just didn't quite reach.
"I'm coming, E." He plastered a smile on his face and followed his Prince inside, saying a silent prayer and hoping his goddess would keep Sylf alive and her painful memories tucked away, never to be found again.