They visit one another nearly every day over the next five weeks. Some days, Casey comes to the inn. Others, he goes to see her in her home. She practices every day with her bow and arrow. Though Nora clearly worries she's overworking herself, Casey seems to be improving.
The primary concern, however, has to do with her mind. Whatever the mind flayer did to her, it still affects her mind. Paul says that it could take longer than her physical injury to heal, but it's not something he's familiar with. He can't—won't—add time to her recovery period for it. Instead, Paul gives her six to eight weeks before he says she can even think about traveling again—long enough for the physical injury to heal. It isn't what she wants to hear, and Derek can tell that she's getting antsy, but at least she's healing. And her aim is improving.
Derek loves to watch her practice. Even with the injury, he can tell she's quite good. The wound in her side hinders her speed, but she's quick to draw again. He marvels at what she must be like without pain slowing her down. As they march closer to the six-week mark—only one week remaining—he knows that Casey will be leaving soon.
It shouldn't come as a surprise that Casey prepares to leave before they even reach six weeks. One morning, he's opening the inn, and there she is, standing in the doorway, dressed in her leather armor, bag strapped to her bag along with all her equipment. Through the window, he can see her now-familiar horse packed and ready to go.
Casey won't meet his eyes, even as she waits for his attention.
"It hasn't been six weeks." Their time together has always been limited; he knows that. And, as much as he wishes she would want to stay, Derek will never ask that of her. Knowing that doesn't make saying goodbye any easier, and he thought they would have more time.
"No, it hasn't." She shifts her feet, still avoiding his gaze.
He nods, fights to keep the frown from his face. There's no reason for him to make this any harder on Casey, either. Derek has no interest in this conversation giving her any added guilt. She was always meant to get back to work, adventuring. "Okay."
Her head shoots up, and Casey blinks at him. "Okay?"
"Okay."
"There's nothing else you want to say?" She squints at him, suspicious.
There's honestly so much that Derek wants to say, but nothing he feels comfortable saying, not yet. It's too much, too soon, and it won't serve any of them any good here. "Of course, there is." Derek can admit to that much. Striding out from behind the bar, he's tempted to spill everything. It's a feeling he's grown more and more familiar with over the last few weeks, the urge to lay his secrets bare before her. Maybe it's for the best that she's leaving, so he can go a few days without feeling like the next time he opens his mouth, he's going to hurl a confession at her. Derek gestures her over with a small smile, and they meet in the middle. "You're sure you're ready?"
Casey nods.
"Okay. Like I said before, I'm sure you know your mind and body best. Please, be careful, though? Listen to yourself if you feel like it's too much?"
Smiling wide, Casey nods again. "Yes, of course." A beat pass, then she lurches forward, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He barely has time to settle into the hug, arms curling around her waist before she pulls away. "Thank you."
He nods, wishes he could tell her how much he'll miss. It's bound to come out wrong if he does. "You're welcome. I'll see you the next time you pass through?"
It's clear to anyone who knows Casey that she needs to leave, that staying any longer would start to damage her in ways that the mind flayer could not compete with.
"Absolutely." Taking another step back, her smile softens. "I'll be fine. Safe. I'll see you again."
"Okay."
"Okay."
And then she's gone.
The first letter comes a week later. Emily usually receives the post when it arrives, but the last month and a half, Derek has been working with her to take over running the day-to-day operations of the inn. As such, Marti is the one who brings him the mail. He really ought to have someone else do the job as the kid is too nosy for her own good.
"Who is Casey?" She asks, flipping through the parchments, ignoring the fact that she's supposed to hand over the mail without snooping through it, first. At least Emily had the grace to snoop before she brought it to him and pretended she knew nothing about what was there.
"What?"
Edwin snatches the letter from their little sister's hand. "That adventurer elf that Derek was hanging around for weeks and weeks."
"Ah. The one that left." She makes a sad face in Derek's direction, and he glares. "Took off and left Derek in a mood."
"I am not in a mood," he protests.
Marti ignores him, peering over Edwin's shoulder. "That's the one that won't let you touch her horses?"
"That's the one."
Derek takes the letter from his brother's hands, pressing the parchment to his chest with one hand to shield it from their prying eyes and nudges Edwin away with the other. "Speaking of horses, shouldn't you be out in the stables?"
"It's time for my lunch," he whines.
Sighing, Derek gives him another nudge. "Go talk to Emily, then." When he turns back, he's faced with the youngest Venturi elf staring at him with wide eyes. It used to make her innocent, but he knows better now. That look is calculating. "You should get back to work, too," he tells her.
"I want to know what it says."
"Edwin says Casey sent you a letter." Emily leans on the counter, peering at the bit of parchment sticking out from underneath his hand. "What's it say?"
"He hasn't opened it yet."
"It's a letter for me." Derek huffs, throwing his hands up in the air. "All of you, back to work. I'll be back."
Once he's safely outside and behind the building, Derek takes a breath and tears away the wax seal.
Derek,
First off, I hope that it is okay that I have written. When I saw you last, there was so much I wanted to say. I feel like a lot goes left unsaid between us, and I often find myself searching between the phrases for meaning that may not even be there. I suppose this is true in any conversation. Still, I am more curious about what is not being said with you than I am with anyone else.
There are times when I do find meaning aside from what you are saying. Often, I wonder if what you're not saying is more important than the words that are being exchanged. Perhaps I linger on those thoughts too frequently, and maybe this letter has been too forward. I find it is much easier to speak to you, frankly and with honesty, when you are not standing in front of me when I do not have to see your reaction. It is easier to think without distraction, too, when you are not beside me. I missed having a clear head.
I think I may miss you more.
We have surpassed "perhaps this letter is forward" to this letter is forward. Maybe I should apologize, but I am not sure that it would be sincere. If I can survive all that I have seen in this life, I can survive admitting that I miss your company.
Our party is currently in a village-bordering-on-city called Kingston, though, by the time you receive this letter, we will be gone. You seemed concerned, and I think we will be gone for several months. I wanted you to know that I am well—safe and uninjured. Our work typically keeps us very busy, but we took the first few days easy. Things will be picking up soon.
I hope that everything is well with the inn. If you have any inclination to write me back, you can send a letter to Ottawa. That should give my letter enough time to reach you, and allow you time to write back should you decide to do so. If I don't receive a message from you, I shall understand and undertake not to feel it as a personal slight. I know that you are busy, and I know how much time and attention your inn requires. I do hope that I shall see a letter from you, though.
Sam asks after your health and wellness, though, so should you feel like answering his inquiry, I would gladly pass along the message.
Stay well.
Casey
Derek reads the letter three more times, snorting each time when he gets toward the end. As if he would not want to write her back. After the third time, he rushes back inside, heading straight for his office. He's not sure how much wiggle room Casey has given him, but he doesn't want to waste any time and have her pass through Ottaway before his letter can reach her.
Until Derek started training Emily, his office rarely saw any use. It used to be the center of organized chaos—things went into the office when it had nowhere else to go. Things were piled everywhere as Derek prefers to do as much work as he can on the floor to monitor what is happening. Now, he's given Emily permission to use the office. The place looks immaculate. This wouldn't be a problem, except Derek no longer knows where anything is. After a few minutes of searching, he still can't find the parchment, ink, or a quill.
"Emily!" He shouts.
She pokes her head through the door a moment later. "You bellowed?"
"I didn't bellow."
Passing behind her is Marti, arms laden with a tray of fresh candles for the room. "You bellowed."
"You didn't need to bellow," Emily adds. "I was right here."
"I didn't bell—can we please stop saying bellow? Where's the parchment? The quills?"
Emily grins. "Writing a letter, Der?"
"None of your business," he sniffs.
Blessedly, she shows him where everything is, and after a few more teasing comments, she leaves him be. Eager, Derek dips the quill, wipes away the excess ink, and hovers over the parchment.
… only for no words to come.
How is that he has so much to say, but when it comes time to write it, he can't seem to remember any of it? Slowing down, he takes out her letter, smooths it across the table, and rereads it. He slows down and takes his time going sentence by sentence. Derek pictures her standing in front of his desk. Her arms crossed defensively as she tells him that she won't be personally offended if she doesn't receive a letter.
Gods, how he misses her. He can see her so clearly; it makes him ache.
And then, he's able to write.
After that, the letters continue. Sometimes, when she can, Casey will give him the next place he can send a letter. Other times, she can't, but she still writes to him until finally, a letter arrives with where he can send the next correspondence. It isn't ideal, but at least he knows what's happening with her.
Mail, however, crawls at a snail's pace; traveling from village to village, city to city, and village to city takes time. Too much time, in Derek's opinion. The time between letters has him antsy, itching for word from Casey. For the first time, Derek finds himself wishing he'd learned a spell to send messages; there would be limits, of course, but it would go a lot faster than this.
This goes on for six months. Then, suddenly, it stops. Derek's last letter had been candid and vulnerable. He had taken a risk, and now with the sudden silence, he has two genuine fears. The first being that something happened to Casey, and that's why she isn't writing back. The second fear is that Derek misread the entire situation, and he misstepped. The latter would be preferable because it would at least mean she's safe. Still, it will suck if that's the case.
He alternates between these two fears every day. When Derek worries that she read his letter and decided to stop responding, he comforts himself with the knowledge that it's a part of life, and at least she's safe. When he's worried about something happening to her, Derek tries to remind himself that Casey is strong and capable.
Still, no one can be vigilant, and on top of their game every single day. Things happen. It's on one of these latter days that the door to the inn opens, and Casey strolls through.
Derek nearly weeps in relief. He abandons the table he's cleaning to meet her at the door. She's alone, and he wants to ask where the rest of her party is, but then she smiles at him. She takes his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his. "I'm only here for the night," she whispers.
Conversation about her party will have to wait.