Rather than promptly reacting to Fyr's statement, James first rubs his eyes as he yawns, and he turns his gaze on me. His shadowed eyes drift over my bare skin. He delivers to me a sleepy grin, sighs deeply, and squints at the night elf with disinterest.
"Interrupt a man's sleep only to arrest him?" He sits up a little further. "How'd you get my papers, anyway? I keep them...hidden..." he trails off as he sees that his belongings have been discovered and scattered all along the table next to Fyr, everything dug out and disorganized. He grimaces.
I've clutched my blanket over myself, and I swallow down my self-consciousness. "Throw me my clothes, please."
My bra is hooked improperly in the back; I must've tried and failed to put it back on last night. At least I'm wearing it.
Perturbed, Fyr's silver eyes come to rest on me and don't leave, and he holds an air of question to him. I realize that his expression is a product of neither James nor I reacting as intended to his grand entrance, and it makes me feel pretty smug that he's put-off.
"There," I point by his feet, where everything but my underclothes lay in a pile. "Please?"
Remaining where he is, he scoops all of it and tosses the pile onto me. Careful with my sore arm, I tug my red shirt over my head for day three; I'm going to need different clothes as soon as possible. With the movement of donning my top, my head swims, and I feel nauseated. Hello, hangover.
I look around for my sling, but I don't see it.
"I feel like I'll need an hour or two to wake up," I grunt reluctantly, trying to straighten my uncomfortable bra straps through my shirt. I hate sleeping in a bra. I don't know why I did. Drunk me is stupid.
"Right, well, if this room had windows, you'd know that it's high noon," Fyr lectures me as he starts to stack up all the papers and stuff everything into his old backpack. "In any case, I don't know whether to condemn or praise you for serving this man to me on a platter. You don't cease to surprise me, Ava."
I hear a healthy dose of spite in his last sentence, and I prickle, biting my tongue to hold back words that I know won't make a dent.
"A platter? I'm not a piece of meat," James chuckles in mock offense, sneaking me a grin both wicked and charming to boot. He hasn't yet moved from his spot beside me.
"Correct. You're a criminal, and a valuable one. You've got quite a bounty on you, Reid." Fyr folds his arms.
"Hm. Will you take a payoff?" James leans forward, resting an elbow on his knee through the blanket. The dark waistline of his drawers peek out from under the blankets. So, he's at least halfway clothed. I'm mostly relieved.
Fyr still blocks the doorway with his huge frame. "This list I have in here," he points in his bag, "has your name on it, and I intend to do my job. Honest pay, else I end up on there myself."
James swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands up straight. He's wearing those dark pants that hug his legs. "I really don't want to oppose you, but I will, if you force my hand."
Fyr reacts with a humorless, dark sneer, and his silver eyes glint dangerously. "Sounds like an invitation."
Hell, that look in his eyes and the steel in his voice gives me goosebumps. I can't imagine how I'd feel if it were directed toward me.
"Wait!" I bark, heart thumping as I realize they might break into a brawl at any second. This room is way too small for a fight, and I'd be caught in the crossfire. My words spill out of my mouth at full speed. "Wait, Fyr, forget you saw him. Take his payoff. He helped me get what I need. What we need."
Fyr arches his brows sharply, accusingly, and his tone is sarcastic as he looks upon my lack of clothing. "And he received nothing in return, I take it?"
"Well..." I flounder. "I mean, it's not like this was his payment," I point between James and me.
He holds up a hand to stop me. "I care little, regardless," he sighs. "Your involvement ends here."
"Someone's going to get hurt," I argue. "Really hurt." I have a feeling that Fyr's size is the winning factor here. He towers over James by probably a foot, and easily weighs twice as much. And as previously noted, this room is freaking tiny; James has nowhere to go, and neither do I.
"I'll be fine," Fyr keeps his stare latched on James, who hasn't moved yet. James looks like he's sizing him up.
"I know you will," I retort. Like I said, Fyr isn't the one I'm worried about.
"Hey!" James sends a glance my way. "I can handle myself," his tone is laughing, but apparently that did shake him some, because he keeps his disengaged stance. "So, Fyr, is it? Let's take a shot at talking this out."
Fyr sniffs dismissively. "Nothing to talk about. You're a wanted man; you're worth a lot of money; and I want that money."
At that statement, something in my brain snaps that I didn't know could snap, and that unanticipated anger hits me like a train. I had no idea I was this emotionally invested in this place.
"You and your fucking money!" I explode, wrenching myself out of bed and stomping into my pants with major one-handed difficulty as I growl at him, and surprise flits over his eyes for a good couple seconds. "You'll ruin whomever you have to ruin just to get your goddamned payment. You don't actually care about honest work! You don't give a shit about helping me get home, or anything! Everything, EVERYTHING, is about COINS. Well, you and your greed can enjoy a sad, lonely life, Fyr," I flip him my middle finger extravagantly by throwing my entire hand toward him for emphasis, which would've been satisfying, but I used my broken freaking arm to do it. Big mistake.
I think I feel a 'pop', like the swollen muscles and tendons just pulled something out of place. I drop my act and give a strangled yelp as searing pain radiates through my broken elbow.
"Ohh, fuck me," I swear, slumping against the bed, tears stinging my eyes at the sheer pain in my arm. So that was a moronic move if I've ever made one.
It's not letting up; it's worse with every heartbeat that throbs through the limb, and the pain jars into my shoulder, ribs, fingertips, and even my back. My emotions are running wild at this point, and my physical pain is so strong I almost can't breathe. This is way worse than it's ever been, worse than that first night I was here when it initially broke.
I hear Fyr swear under his breath, and he and James both approach me, momentarily forgetting their feud. The elf kneels so that we're eye level and reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I cringe away from him. His finger brushes my shirt, and we both feel an intense snap of static electricity. He yanks his hand away.
"Ava, your magic," he warns.
"Because that's more important," I snap, somehow managing sarcasm despite the extreme horrid pain jazzing up and down my arm.
"What's happening?" James asks curiously from over Fyr's shoulder.
"Get away," Fyr shoves James back by his arm and stares at me intensely. "Ava, you've got to calm down, or it will overwhelm you, same as yesterday." Then he pauses, mouth held open, like he's debating whether or not to say what he says next. "I...have experience in this magic; I know how it can affect you, and that if it's this unstable, you must calm down."
"When in the history of 'calm down' has 'calm down' actually worked?" I hiss, and I hear another snap of static in my clothes. I realize something that I think I've known all along: it is me, this electricity. There's no storm here this time. It's just us in a dark, stone room.
"You don't want yesterday to repeat itself, do you?" Fyr's voice is just as argumentative.
The thought of vanishing and appearing somewhere else all over again, especially after everything I went through last night to get to where I am now, is a weird combo of disappointing and alarming, and I fall into a pain-and-fear-fueled panic. I feel the static in my hands and arms crackle, buzzing around my ears. It's happening. I have to calm down, but the pressure to do so is only scaring me further.
"Is she 'porting again?" James, rather than standing by Fyr, crawls onto the bed beside me, observing me from two feet away. I'm shocked he hasn't bolted; Fyr gave him a free pass.
Fyr turns his attention to James for a brief moment, face pulled in confusion. "What do you know of her teleportation-"
"Fyr, p-please, one of those th-things," I manage to gasp through gritted teeth. Just by talking, I can feel that static electricity fluctuate, charging different parts of my clothes and making my heart beat weird. Fyr was right. This isn't just electricity; it's responding to me. With that realization, I force myself into a reality check: I am in a different world, surrounded by things that can only be described as impossible. Magic isn't out of the question—if anything, it's the explanation. This is magic, not static. It was present when we teleported, and it's here now. Fyr says it is dangerous, and I don't care if this isn't my own world, it's still real life. This is serious. I have some sort of connection to it, and I can't control it? I have to control it.
How do I control it?
It's fueled by distress. I must calm down.
...Easier said than done, in my state.
"Things?" Fyr lifts his brows in question, and my brain bounces back to what I'd just said.
"My arm. I can't c-calm," I gasp. "It, uh...pain. S-sorry."
He digs in an interior pocket of his bag and hands me a corked red cordial. How many of those does he have, I wonder? I'd hate to use all of them up, if they're valuable.
I take it eagerly, but my hand is shaking so hard I can't uncork it, not to mention the buzzing in my fingers is now so strong that they're numb. Letting out a nervous whimper when the electricity—er, magic—and pain double, I grow even more frustrated that I can't open it.
Thanks to the sound I make, Fyr and James realize I'm helpless at the same time, and both of them reach out to assist simultaneously. I fear what'll happen when they touch me. Fyr touched me and it zapped him; I've felt the magic get a lot stronger by this point, and I don't want them hurt. I try to pull away, but I'm given only a quarter-second of warning before their hands touch my fingers.
Sure enough, the magic reacts, and my gut feels like it's pulled from three directions. A booming 'crack' radiates outward, and next I know, I fall for a quarter of a second and land hard onto a familiar-looking forest floor. The potion I'd been holding hits the ground and shatters, its precious red liquid absorbing into the dirt and grass. My face is hit with moist, warm air, and the recognizable sounds of amphibious fauna and wind surrounding me are actually quite loud. My arm now hurts so badly that I genuinely can't breathe, and it makes me sick to my stomach. Extremely sick, so sick I can't think of anything other than the nausea that flows up and heats my ears.
Rain plinks against my face in generously thick droplets from collecting in the tree leaves overhead, and I get about two seconds to look around in mystification before I lean to my left and my stomach retches what little it contains into a clump of ferns. Debilitated, I scoot back and curl up in a fetal position right there on the ground, amidst the verdant plants and the dirt and the loud insects, and try to hold as still as possible to ease the pain in my arm. I've left behind my jacket, socks, boots, and purse, so here I lie with nothing on my person, fully ready to just curl up and give up. Considering everything, I don't think that's too dramatic. I'm failing. Everything I try to do to help my situation just crams me further into hopelessness. I've been sabotaging myself from day one.
Vaguely, I hear the two men interacting, and I can hear their footsteps tromping around the ferns and underbrush of the forest, which I'm sure I've been in before. It's got to be Feralas. The rain from yesterday hasn't let up.
"Bloody hell, she was telling the truth!" It's James. He seems...excited?
"A novel concept for you," Fyr rumbles.
"Where've we ended up, I wonder?"
"Western Feralas," the elf responds without hesitation. I don't think he's really talking to James, but more so to himself. "Right back where we started." A pause. The next sentence is spoken with an edge of concern, "And deep within Blackhand territory."
I hear him heave something over his shoulder, which I assume is his bag. At least he had that on his person when we teleported. Then I hear his feet crunch against twigs and stop right beside me, and his shadow covers my face.
"This is my last potion," he plants a hand on my shoulder. "Can you sit up? That limb needs re-slinging." Despite the intention in his words, he's really not all that gentle in his tone. Mostly just impatient.
I grind my teeth hard together, scrunching my eyes tightly as I swallow down my nausea. I focus on the scent of wet dirt beneath my face; weirdly enough, it's a calming smell, and it helps me to ignore the pain in my arm. He has a potion for me. It's all going to be all right.
I push myself upright by my good elbow and wipe the mud off my face as best I can, but I'm pretty sure it's streaked from the rain and can't be helped. He hands me the potion, uncorked this time, and doesn't let go until I've lifted it to my mouth and drank it.
The effects wash over me like a soft tide, and I breathe a sigh of relief. It even takes the bad taste out of my mouth. I look at Fyr in defeat, my eyes droopy. "I'm sorry. I really do have a problem."
He retrieves an off-white roll of bandage from his bag and begins to unravel it, and his pretty silver eyes analyze mine. "Yeah," he nods pragmatically, bites the strip of wide bandage, and rips off a generous length, "you do. And more than one, at that, Princess." He glances at James through the thick vines and leaves, then back at me, as he ever-so-neatly wraps the strip over my shoulder diagonally, around my elbow, and back. "One of those being your preference in paramour."
We're close enough that James can hear us, I'm sure, but I don't pay attention to that.
I narrow my eyes at the elf. "As if you, in all four-hundred-and-whatever years and with a face like yours, haven't had a one-night stand."
With this, he knots the bandage at my shoulder a little too roughly, and I wince.
"I don't sleep with scoundrels," he gives me a droll, if even comical, look from under his brows, and despite his words, I don't see real judgment in his eyes. But there's something else there I can't place. I really can't tell what to make of him. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was actually jealous.
I open my mouth to speak, but I'm abruptly cut off by James, his voice distressed, and it's accompanied by the sound of struggle.
"Your scoundrel has a problem of his own," his full voice rings out from nearby. I'd forgotten he was still with us. I'd forgotten where we were, for that matter.
Fyr and I both turn our heads and freeze.
James, in his shirtless and unarmed state, is held at knife-point by two people; one of which looks familiar, and I realize it's the same guy who'd tied me up my first night here. Blackhand thugs. Of course. Small world.
Fyr moves to stand, but he's halted by a knife at his own face, held by someone beside us. I startle. I hadn't even freaking seen nor heard these people approach.
"Why, look who it is," the man attached to the knife cracks as he, keeping arm's distance, orbits around Fyr until they're facing each other. I feel anger trickle through me when I recognize him. He's one of the group from that first night, the ones I'd thought had spoken Russian. It wasn't Russian, because his speech is clear as day, now. "I was so hoping we'd meet again, lance-ear." He motions for one of his buddies to grab the bag from Fyr's shoulder. They'd received beatings from Fyr, and I'd guess they're salty about it.
I look to Fyr. He doesn't appear as pissed as he should be. Instead, his eyes are caught on something off in the trees. I look where he does, and from where I'm sitting, I can't quite make it out, but it looks like a person. There's a silver glow just like that of Fyr's eyes. Maybe it's another elf. The thugs don't notice the person, though, and I'm smart enough to look away and keep my mouth shut. If Fyr isn't saying or doing anything, I shouldn't.
Fyr holds entirely still while they take his things, chin lifted an inch. "Sorry to say, Stumpy, I can't offer you the same regards," he returns his lax stare onto the thug. He has that same chilling look in his eye as the one he'd given James, but now it holds a hint of boredom. Still, though, that steely glint is truly daunting. It's clearly well-practiced, and I'm glad I haven't felt it on me.
"Stumpy?" the scruffy human grunts coarsely. "Dare I ask?"
"General term for someone missing his fingers, or possibly his arm."
"You're mistaken," the thug laughs, and his friends join. He lifts his unarmed left hand and wiggles his gloved fingers, "I got mine-"
As soon as he gets one good finger-wiggle in, a burst of bluish light crashes into his hand from somewhere off in the trees, and frost surges down from his fingers to his elbow. He gives a cry of surprise, dropping his knife and gripping his arm. Fyr seizes the blade, swings upward, and shatters the man's fingertips, then chucks the knife into the stomach of one of the thugs holding James. It makes a thick 'thunk' as it cuts through leather armor.
Then Fyr spins around and catches a guy behind us with his elbow, completing the entire combination of moves in a matter of a couple seconds.
I react to the flurry of attacks in wild shock, releasing an undignified squawk and scrambling backward underneath a particularly oversized fern.
The first thug who lost his fingers is caught between fighting back and shouting in agony about his destroyed hand, but Fyr launches out a well-placed left cross with his whole body following through, catches the guy in the cheek, and knocks him flat.
And James, well, in the split second I take to look in his direction, I wish I hadn't. He cuts right through a bandit woman's neck with the knife Fyr threw. So much for 'murder's not my style', I guess.
My stomach curdles at the sight of the gore like it should, but it doesn't strike fear into me, seeing real death. I feel kind of like a creep for thinking that way, but thanks to everything I've experienced lately, it doesn't hit me the right way. The healthy way, that is. It doesn't even alarm me or hit me that that person just died. It's just more of a positive assurance that that person won't hurt anyone anymore. Maybe it's a side effect of the potion, or maybe I'm going numb; but I appreciate it, either way.
I attempt to scoot further backward, but my hand plants itself onto the boot of one bandit I hadn't seen before, and the surprise on his face mirrors mine. He reaches down and grabs me by what can basically be called the scruff of my shirt, and I freak.
I wrench myself around to face him by twisting my whole body, and while he still holds me down, I kick my bare heels out into his shins, the blunt of which forces him to stoop forward and release my shirt. Before he can grab at me again, I swing my right foot up and collide it against his face, crunching into his chin—literally crunching, colliding my poor, frail toes against the hard edge of his jaw.
It feels like I've just stubbed every toe of that foot against an iron wall, and both he and I howl in pain. He clutches his face with one hand and lands a fist against my mouth before I can parry. My bottom lip cuts against my teeth, and I yelp and crumple to the ground as pain blooms and blood fills my mouth. The guy unsheathes a dagger and drops forward to get me while I'm down, but before his punch can reach me, Fyr swings in from the side, kicking him square in the side of the head with the bottom of his heavy boot.
Spitting a mouthful of blood aside, I stumble to my feet, desperate to escape. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, clouding the pain I'm feeling and giving me enough energy to move. I'm so confused, and there's so much going on, but I force myself to start running. I need to at least remove myself from the 'arena'. I still don't know what happened to that first guy's hand, and I mostly just feel the need to save my ass.
"Ava, stop!" Fyr shouts after me, and by now I have enough common sense to not ignore him. I've made it nearly to the obscuring line of trees through this thick underbrush, not yet out of sight. I stumble and turn toward his voice, but end up spinning directly into another person.
I hit her pretty hard, and it not only knocks the wind out of me, but knocks me on my back. Seriously, one violent encounter after the next. I'm going to be a walking bruise.
I lay there gasping for breath as the unaffected woman peers over me. She's a night elf, like Fyr, but she has pallid pink skin and navy hair and a graceful demeanor. Her silver eyes glow like the stars peppering my vision, and I expend my energy into simply focusing my eyes. She's got to be the person in the trees that Fyr had been looking at earlier.
"This is quite an encounter," she comments with a musical yet powerful voice, offering me her hand.
"What are you, made of concrete?" I gasp under my breath as my diaphragm finally functions, and I take her hand. She pulls me up with ease, all the way onto my feet, and it makes me dizzy. The second I'm upright, pain jazzes through my injured foot, and I take the pressure off of it by standing on my other one.
"Ice armor," she begins an explanation, but then apparently decides it's pointless, because she turns to where I'd left Fyr and James and starts walking. I stumble along after her, limping hard on my swelling toes. It also feels like I just destroyed the soles of my feet by sprinting across the forest floor, and this woman's stride is so graceful that she barely bobs her head, making me feel like some sort of misshapen goblin.
Fyr is hunched over one of the unconscious (or possibly dead) thugs besides James and, to my own mild disgust, is taking his things. James is doing the same to a different one. He steals her money pouch and her jewelry. No respect. Or hygiene, for that matter; their things are spattered in blood that's likely still warm.
"This looks enchanted," James holds a necklace with a gaudy pinkish crystal up to show me. "I'll have to get it inspected. Might sell for a steal."
I just throw him a distracted, halfhearted glance as the elf woman beside me saunters over to Fyr, and I watch her. She knows him; I can tell from the way she looks at him.
"The years have changed you," she tilts her head.
Yep, I was right.
"As they do." He doesn't respond quite so warmly in his greeting. "Iyara. Nice timing, with the frosted fingers. I was just planning on disarming him—as in removing his arms from his body—and working from there."
"Partnership always has its benefits, Aerefyr, something you ought to admit," she smiles charmingly, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes, and that last part was more of a murmur. I catch a challenge in what she's just said, some sort of argument or confrontation beneath her words. I have no idea what it means.
She gracefully reaches her hand out for him to take. He studies it as if he isn't going to, but at last he grasps it and stands.
"We were lucky this particular group was inexperienced," James pipes up. "I've heard that encountering this clan is a sure way to dig your grave."
Iyara, which I'm guessing is her name since Fyr called her that, gives James a look, then me, and then back at Fyr. "Curious choice of...company."
Dismissing her, Fyr hoists his bag higher onto his shoulder. It looks so much fuller now than it's ever been, and I wonder what's in it. First thing he does is turn to James, who's stuffing what loot he can into his pockets.
"Reid. You're coming with us."
"And where exactly might that be?" James stands and folds his hands behind his back, like he's mocking the idea of handcuffs. With the action, his bare shoulders and chest flex, and this prompts an uninvited flashback from last night. A very lewd flashback, one I'd previously forgotten, of him lying face-up and humid beneath me with his sculpted chest heaving, both of our bodies illuminated solely by a flame lamp beside us.
Good lord.
I feel my entire face flush hot, and I blink and look away from him to rid my head of the vivid image. This is not the time nor place to relive that. I feel like I was drunk enough last night that before now, it'd felt halfway like a dream. Like we didn't really sleep together. But…we did. We definitely did. And evidently it was hot, despite the drunkenness.
I dart my eyes toward him again. His dark curls fall partway over his eyes as he gives Fyr a wide, innocent grin, awaiting an answer.
Fyr, ignoring his question, looks at Iyara and lifts his brows. "Care to lead the way to the tower?"
"Forgotten these woods already? It's only been decades since your last visit," she teases with a mild chuckle, but she does stride off into the thick trees.
Fyr follows behind her. "No, but I'd like to keep an eye on him," he jerks his head toward James, then motions for James to take a spot in front of him, which he does without argument. James is treating all of this like a walk in the park, as if he isn't under a form of arrest.
I make an attempt to walk after them, but pain surges up from the knuckles of my toes, into my ankle. It really feels like another broken bone.
I hiss and stop in my tracks, "W-wait. I'm pretty sure I cracked a toe, or two." It hurts to talk also; I can feel the deep cut in my lip swelling. I am hurting literally head-to-toe.
They all stop, and Fyr looks at me in exasperation. "Could you be any more breakable?"
I don't have the energy to argue with him. My spirit is finally withering, and I just grit my teeth and look down to the side, using most of my strength to simply stay upright at this point. To add to all of my issues, my stomach in the past minute has started twisting itself in knots; I am starving. I haven't eaten solid food in far too long.
I just wilt and mumble, "I'm sorry."
Fyr doesn't say anything more. He steps through the underbrush and wraps one arm behind my ribs and the other under my knees, and lifts me easily. I wince at what each step of his does to my foot just from impact, but it's so much better than trying to walk on it, and I can't even think about complaining right now. At least my arm is still experiencing effects of the potion.
He glances at my face as he carries me; I can tell he's displeased by the bruising and the fat lip I'm developing, but he says nothing. He returns to the other two, and Iyara silently leads us through the verdant woods. I can hear James's near-constant coaxing for her to chat, but his words are unclear to my ears. The only bits I do catch from Iyara are something about the place we're headed; it's a settlement surrounding a tower under the protection of some bigshot named Estulan, where elf mages train and hone their arcane magic. That's the only information he gets. The conversation sounds pretty one-sided, but he doesn't seem affected by that.
I stare at my own hands as I'm carried, torn between feeling embarrassed that I had to resort to being toted around like a child, or guilty that Fyr's taken it upon himself to drag my useless ass back to civilization when he really isn't expected to. I rest my head against his chest, and I feel his strong arms seem to tighten around me almost possessively. It feels good enough that I feel a slight blush tickle my cheeks.
Fyr isn't as selfish as I called him. I know this; I'll admit it. He really has gone out of his way to help me, even if it started out for his own gain. He doesn't owe me anything at all. He doesn't deserve any of the crap I've involuntarily or voluntarily thrown at him these past couple days. I'm sure this effort he's giving is fifty times worth what he'd have been paid for that teapot. He's been extremely gracious and levelheaded about it, and I have to give him credit for that. Sure, he's got his insults at the ready anytime he opens his mouth, but I'll admit they're halfway well-crafted, at the very least, and never actually hurtful.
Look at me, excusing him based on his ability to insult me.
Fyr's pace is constant, and it feels like he's been plodding through this woodland for ages, each step lulling me deeper into an exhausted daze. I catch myself staring at his face as he walks, if anything to keep me from getting motion-sickness. The huge trees—and I mean huge, as in some trunks are the size of houses—around us tower high, high above, letting the faint light of the rainy evening through their leaves that helps illuminate his face. He didn't get out of that fight unscathed either; he's got bruised cuts on his cheekbone and nose that are developing between them a black eye, making the purple hues in his face even more intense.
I want to say a lot of things to him; mostly just more apologies. But I have no idea how to word them, and I know that if I tried, they'd fall short. So I let my eyes drop to my hands again and mutter, "Thank you."
He tilts his head a single degree to glance down sideways at me, and I look up to meet him. I barely catch the traces of a smile in the corners of his eyes, and then he turns his gaze forward and says nothing.
That's good enough for me. Before long, my head falls against him again, and my lids dip shut.
I dream that same dream again.
The one with Fyr, youthful and innocent, witnessing the murder of a couple before being dragged out by the cloaked figure.
There's one difference this time: Fyr isn't a child. He's older, but he's still painfully young-looking compared to now. Mid-to-late teens, maybe, and wild-eyed. But ultimately, his boost in age does nothing to detract from the shock and morbid horror that latch onto me and sink their claws in deep by the end of the nightmare, and as suddenly as I'm experiencing it, I'm ripped from that reality and forced into my own. It's like, even though I've seen the dream, the feelings are shoved onto me. I have no control over them.
I gasp hard and deep, every muscle in my body tensing violently and simultaneously as I wake.
I give a shudder of shock as my eyes adjust to a dim, calm, bluish light, essentially a glow, which pools in the corners of the room I'm in. The light comes from thin lanterns that hang from the low ceiling. From the way that light catches the grain in the floors, walls, and ceiling, it appears that most of this room is built from unpolished, dark wood. There are rows on rows of bookshelves in here, as well as drawers and desks, but everything is organized well and fits in its place.
I'm alone in the room, lying on a flat, plain, bed-like structure. The cushioning is thin but present, like I'm on a single layer of plush blanket on top of a hard table. Actually, that might be exactly what this is.
A deep, strong ache pulls at my arm and my foot, and I grimace, knowing the potion's effects are wearing off of my elbow.
There's a doorway at one end of the small, cozy room, which I notice just in time to see someone walk past it: a tall, blue-haired elf, but not one I recognize. He glances at me as he passes, sees that I'm awake, and sends me a friendly nod that bobs his long ears before disappearing. At this point, it's not as shocking for me to see these creatures, despite how varied they are in appearance. I'm adjusting to them. I don't know if that is good or bad.
I want to get up and investigate where I am, but I know that if I move, it's gonna open a world of pain that I'm not ready to experience. So I stay put, staring at the doorway, hoping for some form of stimulation to keep me from going mad of boredom.
Minutes tick by slowly—dragging, but still passing. I try closing my eyes, thinking maybe I could sleep, but not only is this table of a bed becoming more and more uncomfortable, I really don't want to revisit my dreams. Plus, when I close my eyes, the only thing I can really concentrate on is the fact that my stomach feels like it's become so empty that it's resorted to digesting itself.
I hear footsteps near my room and open my eyes just in time to see a blue-haired woman enter, with Fyr in tow. I'm relieved to see his familiar face, but before I can greet him, the woman speaks to me.
"I apologize for my lateness; it isn't every day we receive visitors, let alone injured ones. I did not anticipate my skills being required so suddenly this evening."
Without any warning, she begins to strip me of my shirt, and I lean away from her, looking at her like she's grown horns. Which I suspect, in this world, wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen.
She seems impatient, but her words are still serene. "For your arm. Unless you prefer I cut away your shirtsleeve."
I glance at Fyr, who's standing beside her. He speaks up in explanation.
"She's a healer, Ava. Let her do her work."
"Do you have to be here?" I grunt, doing as he says and allowing her to pull my shirt off, with help from my good arm. Simply peeling the long sleeve from the swollen limb triggers a pain so deeply that I grit my teeth together hard enough I'm afraid they might crack. I wait a few beats for the pain to subside, and my eyes meet Fyr's.
I'm physically exposed, but his eyes don't drop below mine for even a second, and I'm pretty sure I catch humor in them when he gauges my expression of discomposure. But then, the humor is replaced with an unmistakable flash of worry that's gone before it resonates. "Actually, I do have to stay," he finally answers. "This won't be painless."
If I'm not wrong, I heard an apology in his words. I feel a little alarmed at that on its own, not considering the threat of the words themselves.
"You've gone three days neglecting this break; you've used the limb under cushion of palliatives, and that foolishness will cost you in pain," the woman says somberly. It sounds like a hybridization of a lecture and a sympathy. "Thankfully the bone has not had time to heal irreparably, but a mild re-positioning may be required. We will see."
"What are you here for?" I croak at the bounty hunter, steeling myself. I have a feeling I know the answer.
He slides around the table and braces his hands onto my shoulders, pinning me to the table. I stare up at him nervously; his face is above mine, upside-down, and still just as pretty to look at. I see the apology in his expression, same as I'd heard it in his words. I have a feeling he's experienced this sort of injury before; there's an empathy there that seems unusual for him.
Just makes me all the more anxious.
"It won't take long," he reassures, his liquid silver eyes lifting to the healer and giving her the go-ahead. I feel my heart pumping hard in my chest. I have absolutely no idea what I'm about to feel.
Her hands glow in white light that snakes out of her fingertips, and I stare in rapt fascination. This isn't what I expected. I was thinking something more along the lines of her manually grabbing my arm, yanking it around every which way, and setting it with a cast, or something.
I didn't expect her to shine finger-flashlights onto my elbow. This is the first time I've genuinely seen a visual proof of the magic that Fyr talks about, and finally, it fully hits. That's magic. Holy shit.
I become even more interested when the little threads of light seep into my skin. I can feel them, like tiny little tickles, or pinpoint air currents. About a minute passes of this, and I begin to relax. This doesn't hurt. If anything, it's a pleasant feeling, like a tingly massage. Finally the light fades, and I clear my throat.
"That wasn't bad at all," I comment, and Fyr's chuckle sounds above me.
"That wasn't it. She had to 'see' into your injury."
The woman nods in confirmation, and then sends Fyr a look. It's not a good look. I glance up at him to see his reaction, and I see the sides of his jaw pulse as he draws his expression taut. His giant, warm hands grip my shoulders a little tighter.
"Bad?" I read his face.
He nods, not making eye contact.
I let out a shaky breath as the healer creates that same white light into her hands, except this time, it's extremely bright, and I can hear it letting off a hum of energy. My heart thuds again, and I look away frantically, hoping that maybe if I ignore it, it won't hurt. I stare up at Fyr's face. He's watching her do the magical spell.
His fingers tighten their grip even more; there's no way I could possibly lift myself from this table against half the strength he's providing.
The light seeps into my elbow, and then, it hits.
The pain rips into my arm at the same time as a definite but subtle 'crack' jolts my limb. I can't help it; I release a shriek that doesn't even feel like it came from me, and Fyr's hands tighten in reaction. My back makes an attempt to arch on its own as the magic unravels all the healing that's taken place in my elbow over the last three days, tearing apart scarred tissue. It's the most pain I've ever felt before. White hot, sickening, unbelievable; though as much as I writhe, I'm still pinned in place by Fyr's steadfast arms. Otherwise I probably would've just flopped onto the floor.
The spell surges through my veins, into the cut on my mouth, into my broken toes and battered feet, and I'm thankful that those weren't painful. Maybe they were, but it was nothing compared to the mess that is my stupid elbow.
I lose track of passing time. I didn't think that was a real thing; I didn't think people could lose their sense of time simply because of pain, but it happened. It could have easily been ten seconds, or ten minutes. It felt like the latter, but the logic remaining in my mind assures me that it wasn't.
But, finally, the pain ebbs, and I feel an immediate exhaustion wash over me, along with an extreme weightlessness. I just dropped from severe, ten-out-of-ten pain, to absolutely nothing in the span of a second, and it's such a drastic, positive change that I let out a groan—sob?—of relief and relax down into the bed, immobile and unseeing.
I lay there with my eyes still streaming tears, chest heaving, and after a few moments of recovery, I notice that I'm glistening in sweat despite the coolness of the room. Fyr carefully, gently peels his hands from my shoulders, leaving behind white finger marks that soon start to fade.
"Rest now, child," the healer says softly, raising her glowing hands toward my face like she's going to do another spell.
Fyr walks around to the side of my bed; I want to talk to him, but the woman's hands touch my head, and the world goes dark.
Something tiny hits my cheek, and I'm pulled out of deep, quiet sleep. I don't open my eyes though. I haven't quite processed what it was.
It happens again, and I flinch, scrunching my eyes. I hear a deep voice whisper the words, 'Stop that,' in a low growl. I think it's Fyr. Thanks, Fyr.
Another pesky tap on my face.
"What is that?" I complain, squinting one eye open. My vision is blurry, but I see someone sitting about five feet from my bed. I'm pretty sure it's James. He lifts an arm and tosses something small and crumpled at me. It's a piece of dirt or a pebble he pulled from the foundation of his boot. It hits my face, and I flinch again.
"Knock it off," I sit up and rub my eyes blearily. It takes me a few seconds to realize I've done it with both hands, and there was no pain. I look at my elbow and bend it, and it works just fine.
"Oh look, she's finally awake!" James cheers happily, and scoots forward in his seat, like he's going to stand. "I'll go fetch the priestess—"
"You'll stay in that seat while I fetch her," Fyr rebukes, rising from his own seat nearby before James gets the chance and shoving the man back down into the chair, then exiting the room.
"Guy hovers worse than a mosquito," James gripes, sending a not-so-friendly look in Fyr's direction, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands behind his head so that his curls splay in all different directions.
"I heard that," Fyr's deep voice is still audible from the hallway as his footsteps fade.
James leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he tends to do. "He knows he can't take me in now. It's too much work for an only moderate reward. Closest bureau to Feralas is all the way up in the elves' capital, and it's only partially functional."
"You sure?" I ask, still vaguely marveling at how well my elbow works. I also notice that I'm wearing a plain, woven shirt. Someone must've dressed me when I passed out. I'm thankful.
"He may've had a chance in Ironforge, I'll admit. But, here? Nah." He shrugs dismissively. This would explain his lax attitude from the moment we stepped foot in the forest.
"He seems pretty intent on taking you in, still," I drape my legs forward over the bed, where my feet don't reach the ground. I swing them. "I wouldn't underestimate that man. I mean, think about it; you're in a tower full of mages, and I hear they can teleport people."
James is unconvinced. "Safe to say your elf's a touch too riveted by you to capably worry about me."
I see a twinkle in his eye, but I shake my head.
"He doesn't give a single shit about me," I start to laugh, but then I catch myself and think again on my words. Back there, with the arm healing, he'd seemed pretty genuine. It was probably the most candid I'd ever seen him, and it was in regards to my well-being. Plus, the whole 'carrying me here' thing happened, too. That, and the fact that he didn't just drop me in Ironforge like he could have and been rid of me.
I should give Fyr more credit, I'm realizing more and more. Even if he doesn't care about me specifically, he does care about my well-being as a person.
James gives a cheeky chuckle at the expression I've been holding. "Never have I witnessed an argument more convincing," he sarcastically says, and then points over his shoulder. "He hadn't left this room until now. Just stayed and brooded in silence."
My brows lift just a hint, despite trying my best to keep my expression neutral.
"Hmm," is all I can say. I want to ask how long I was asleep, but I don't. I don't feel like I've slept very much, and although I feel awake now, I'm still very tired.
James doesn't let the conversation between us die; he just changes the subject, scooting his entire chair forward and pulling something from his pocket to show me. It's the necklace he looted off of that one Blackhand woman.
"Check this out," he holds it out toward me, letting the chain and pendant dangle from one finger. "Not your average amulet, clearly."
"…Clearly," I say cluelessly.
He picks up on that and smirks. "Check out the way the gem catches the light. It's like it doesn't reflect the energy; it absorbs it. This thing deserves far greater a fate than to rest on the breast of a Blackhand bandit."
I stare at the pinkish, pale stone that hangs from the chain. He's right, actually. As I stare at it, I notice that it looks weird, like my eyes aren't seeing it right. I think its edges should reflect the lanterns' blue glow, but they don't.
I reach out to touch it, as James still has it outstretched toward me, but the moment my fingertip touches the small crystal, it flickers as if a light inside of it just experienced a power surge.
I yank my hand away, and James's brows shoot skyward.
"Whoa!" he exclaims, lifting the crystal to look at it. "What was that?"
Before I can answer, Fyr and the healer return, and as I'm seeing she has a habit of doing, the healer interrupts us.
"Where did you get that?"
James and I both freeze and look at her. She's staring at the amulet.
"Looted it."
"You should not have it." She approaches and holds her hand out, "I am sorry, but I can't have that in the hands of the likes of yourself."
James doesn't give it to her; he just tucks it into his hand and leans back in his seat. "And what if I keep it?"
"It is not rightly yours. It belongs to the mages who reside here. It has been missing for far too long."
"Finders, keepers," he gives her a wide, challenging grin.
She holds out her hand, palm-up. She has the look of someone dealing with a petulant child, which I guess isn't far off. "I will have you compensated for its worth, but I need that amulet. Please, hand it over. I will ask you but one final time."
"Ah, no," he pretends to think before declining. "Thank you for the offer, but I'd rather keep it—"
Suddenly, with no explanation, James simply reaches out and drops the amulet in her hand.
I stare at him, surprised at his change of heart, but then I see the look in his eye; he had no intention of doing that. Still, though, he remains in his place, and she thanks him.
Then she turns to me. "I see you are faring better. I will send someone to fetch you a bath and a meal."
"Th-thank you," I say, a little alarmed at the fact that James is still standing there, looking like he's trapped in his own body, but I keep that alarm submerged deeply.
She nods at me, offering me a slight smile, but I can tell she's spent enough time not smiling that this action is foreign for her. "My name is Vestia Moonspear; I hear we may spend some time together here. I look forward to teaching you what I know."
I give her a nod, though I've got about a hundred questions surfacing in my head. I'm staying here? She's my teacher? Is there food anywhere? What's going on with James?
As soon as she exits the room, James exhales as if he's been holding his breath.
"Flaming horror! What I would give for a world without priests and their mind control!" he hisses, but he's not so much angry as he is irritated, or annoyed maybe.
"Mind control?" I balk. That's what that was? What can't happen in this place?
"She wouldn't have had to use it, had you the decency to do as she politely asked," Fyr chides, and I startle. I guess I'd forgotten he was here, he'd been so silent ever since he'd entered with Vestia.
"Politely?" James barks a quick laugh, finally turning on Fyr with an equal combination of incredulous humor and exasperation. He's evidently upset his prize was taken from him, and his tolerance has dipped. "Of all the words, 'polite?' Arrogant, yes. Pretentious, and even downright conceited. But polite?"
Fyr lifts one brow, allowing James to continue.
The human points a finger against his own chest with a laugh, "Behind that 'politeness', you people have one hell of a storm brewing. That doesn't make you better, just harder to trust. An arbitrary, passive-aggressive batch of hens, you all are."
"You're an expert in trust, thief?" Fyr folds his arms, unaffected by the number of slights just thrown in his direction. His stance is relaxed, and his expression one of mild amusement. "I think you're humiliated that you couldn't resist her mind control."
I grit my teeth in frustration. I'm more interested in the freaking mind control, but here they are, puffing out their chests.
James's hazel eyes flash intensely, "Your 'polite' priestess just proved herself a thief as well, but I don't see you putting her in cuffs."
Fyr shakes his head. "Had Vestia a bounty on her name, you two would be equals."
James cocks his head to the left, giving a humorless, resigned laugh. "Oh, I'm beginning to understand Ava's frustration with you."
"Whereas I'll never understand her attraction to a sordid kleptomaniac as yourself," Fyr retorts effortlessly. All the while, he's kept that relaxed, amused attitude in this argument, like all it's doing is fueling him, like he's entirely emotionally confident.
"Ah, you're just jealous I got to her before you did," James smirks.
My face burns red. Why the fuck would they involve me in their petty argument? Before Fyr can even answer, I curl my lip at them both. "And this is where you both shut the fuck up before I rip your balls off. Then we'll see who's bragging."
James realizes he said something he shouldn't have, because he gives me a 'whoops' sort of smile, and backs off. "Sorry, Love."
"Yeah, you're sorry. I'm going to find that bath I was promised," I slide past both of them, and when I notice that they stopped talking to each other, I turn and look at both of them. "Oh, don't stop now. Might as well compare dicks too, once I'm gone."
Hastily, I exit the room, not even taking the time to catch their expressions. I work to clear my mind and expect to enter a hallway or something, but I'm hit instead with a circular room with low lighting, and up above is a massive spiraling stairway that winds upward to a second floor. I'm in a cylindrical building, an actual tower of some sort.
I look around for someone to ask for directions, but the first person I see appears to be searching for me as well. Another elf. This place is crawling with them. She looks young, and her face is cute. When she sees me, she smiles.
"Your bath is prepared, if you'll follow me, please."
I follow her up, past many different rooms and floors, and we come to a stop at the very top of the cylinder. The room up here, although it takes up the entire floor, is much smaller than the one we'd started out on; the building tapers. It is bordered with foggy glass windows, their panes showing that it's nighttime, and in the center of the small room is a large, decorative, wide metal tub. I can see steam rising from it; the water is hot.
I've never seen something more enticing in my life, and it takes all my restraint to not strip my clothes right now in front of this poor girl and leap into the water.
"Towels are available here," she motions her hand to a small stack, and then points to a short, round stand next to the bathtub. "Soap is there. Mineral salts are there," she points at a small, shallow bowl by the water, "Which I've already mixed into the bathwater for deodorant. Oil is in the jar beneath the table there. We've supplied a change of clothing for you, courtesy of Master Darkeye, there beside the towels. I am Shaia; if you need anything, simply call out for me. I will be nearby."
"Thank you so much," my gratefulness flows through my voice. I'm also grateful to Fyr; he apparently got me new clothing, which by now I desperately need.
The second she leaves, my clothes are gone, and I practically dance my way into the water. The heat seeps into my joints, and I feel my tired muscles relax as I let my eyes drift shut. I breathe deeply, and I think I can smell essential oils, like lavender and rosemary, in the steam. Hands-down the best bath I've ever had.
I dip my hair in and set to covering every inch of my body in the soap and scrubbing deeply. The soap is interesting; it's kind of greyish and more pliable than a regular bar of soap back home. It smells like lavender, too, and some other clean scent I can't place. It feels so pure and smooth, moisturizing and soft. It takes me a good fifteen minutes until I'm satisfied that I haven't missed anywhere, and I rinse and exit the water, which has cooled drastically since I entered it.
The towels aren't like the ones I'm used to; they don't have that plush, thick, absorbent feel to them. They're basically just thickly-woven blankets. But they work well enough, and before long I'm clean, dry, and refreshed. I massage my skin with the scented oils provided to me as well, letting it seep into my bronze skin and rejuvenate it. My long, wet hair is wrapped in one of the towels as I investigate my new clothes. They all look brand-new, never worn and in perfect condition. There's a light-weight, linen-textured shirt, a pair of pants with a drawstring, some thick socks, and, to my absolute relief, a pair of underwear. Beside them is a pair of worn leather moccasins that look about my size.
The clothes are not Fyr-sized, either. They're large, but not so much so that I can't wear them. The underwear fit snugly, thankfully, and they're quite comfortable, though they do have a thin drawstring on them, too. I've never had underwear without elastic in them. It's a different sensation.
I'm not extremely well-endowed up top anyway, in which case support isn't my top priority, so I don't put my dirty bra back on. I slip the shirt on bare, and the sleeves stretch just past my elbows. The socks are warm, and the pants feel tight enough that they're not baggy, but they are a bit long, so I roll them to my ankles. Then I slip the moccasins on, which fit well with the socks, and I give a breath of mild relief at my situation.
Bathed and dressed, now I'm just hungry.
Apparently Ironforge and Feralas are on different sides of the planet, because where one is midday, the other is late evening. So, by the time I'm done eating, it's nearly 2 AM. All the elves are up and awake, but I am not. I'm taken to the same room I'd woken in before and given a cushioned cot in the corner. Fyr and James both have cots there, too, and with nothing else to do, we all sleep. For Fyr and James, I'll guess it's more of a nap, but for me, I'm getting much-needed, comfy slumber.
I feel like I've only just drifted off to sleep when a hand covers my mouth and makes me jump awake.
"Shh," I hear a whisper in my ear, and my eyes whip toward James. Dark, two-day stubble now covers his chin, upper lip, and jaws, and it's a good look.
He whispers so quietly I can barely hear him, and he's still holding his hand over my mouth. "The elves have all gone to sleep for the day, so I'm taking this time to slip out." Finally he pulls his hand from my face and puts a finger against his lips to tell me to be just as quiet. Then I understand: he doesn't want to wake Fyr, who's sleeping just ten feet away from us.
I sit up quietly, but my cot groans at the shift in pressure, and we both freeze and look toward Fyr. He doesn't move a muscle.
I notice that James has Fyr's backpack looped over his shoulder, but that he's taken a lot of Fyr's stuff out and left it on the floor.
"You're stealing his bag?" I hiss.
"Don't worry, I left his clothes and identification. He stole my things first, you know. And don't tell me he'll miss this ratty old sack. Besides, I need it for all this loot."
I can't say I feel comfortable letting this happen, but I don't want to get involved in their ordeal, so I just close my mouth and shrug. I don't blame him for leaving. If it's escape now or end up in jail again, I'd bolt, too. I'm actually surprised it took this long, and I'm surprised he even woke me up to say goodbye.
James reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pink necklace that Vestia had confiscated. "Got my amulet back, too. So? What do you say?"
I give him a questioning stare.
He smirks knowingly. "Want to come with me? I've collected all the valuables I could find here. We'll split the profits and live like royalty until the money runs out, and do it all over again. I'd say we've got a good four months of royalty in this bag here; two, if we split it."
"I can't," I answer without even having to think about it.
I see his expression visibly drop. "I supposed it was a fool's request. Can't ask you to give up your home, if this is your chance at getting back."
I nod, watching as he digs into the backpack and hands me my purse.
That cheeky smirk plants itself back onto his face when I take my bag, and he leans forward where he's kneeling and scoops his hand into my hair, pulling me forward and closing his lips around mine. The kiss is sudden and hot and steals my breath away, only lasting about three or four seconds before he releases me and gives me a wicked grin.
"Nice knowing you," he winks. I have to catch myself from falling forward into him as soon as he pulls back, and I'm left speechless as he slips out of the room, silent as a breeze.
And, with that, no more James.
I'm bewildered, clutching my purse with both hands and watching the doorway. My eyes drag over to Fyr again. He hasn't moved this entire time; his shoulders rise and fall steadily with his silent breaths. For a second, I think about waking him, but I decide against it. I'm not part of their feud.
I quietly set my purse on the ground by my cot and curl back up into my blankets, in hopes that I'll be home by the end of the day.