I apologise for the wait you guys! But this is finally here! And while I agonise over my computer fucking with my thesis, I at least am advancing with not-schoolwork haha. I'm also very tempted to throw myself into a week of Aggretsuko and Pride and Prejudice solely to decompress, when I'm not dabbling in more au ideas and updating my other things (and totally losing my mind over the Inuyasha sequel).

As always, thank you to newmrsdewinter for taking a giant pair of pruning scissors to this. And for going over certain issues in this chapter because, be warned, there are brief implications of violence here. This is the Gaius/Tharja chapter and they don't exactly start off on the right foot…

Gaius and Tharja spoke little on their journey, but there was hardly any need or want for it; as beings raised in the dark, both possessed a mutually innate understanding of the fact that they posed a very real threat to others as well as each other. Unfortunately, that understanding did not translate to trust. As such, their interactions were limited to polite frostiness, keeping each other at an arm's length apart, wondering who would want to draw blood first.

Such is the reality for those brought up away from the sun. Trust is rare when everything hiding behind walls, beneath rocks, lurked in search of an easy meal.

Crossing Plegia was markedly quick for them compared to their quarry, as they had Grimleal resources at their disposal. They could afford to sleep during the day and travel at night due to the availability of warp staffs taking them to checkpoints fully stocked with anything and everything. Neither hunger, thirst, nor burning heat assailed them even during the roughest parts of the desert. All they had to do was follow the directions to the nearest checkpoint manned under the direction of Grimleal members spread out east.

"Hail Grima," they would be greeted every single time.

Gaius had never been particularly faithful even during his worst moments in prison, but he was beginning to grow sick of the sight of the six-eyed sigil. At least in Gangrel's domain, anti-Grimleal sentiment was encouraged. Now he was in the clutches of cultists whose cruelty was the stuff of legends.

He resisted the urge to scratch the curse that itched and writhed beneath his skin.

At the moment, he and Tharja had just left a safehouse as they neared the edge of the marshes. Its modest size and weather-worn appearance meant the border was fast approaching. Widespread poverty in Plegia's easternmost reaches had become a daily sight, as the few roads leading from the capital dwindled to nothing, the landscape growing increasingly desolate, inhospitable even. That meant no more human contact until they reached the border itself. They settled down to a meal of antelope jerky and flatbread, rolling out their travel mats to sleep without a single word spoken.

Gaius did not quite know what to make of Tharja. His experiences in the seedier side of civilisation immediately alerted him to the (albeit expert) performance she put on for everyone else: eyes kept low, lips unsmiling, in deference to the men they met…but certainly knowing how to manipulate them within those constraints. He recognised the touches and brief, fleeting looks she employed. How her voice bordered on breathy the few times she was addressed. Women like that, Gaius had learned, always had some sort of knife or trick hidden up their sleeves, readily distrustful of the world around them. He could not blame them, having been on the receiving end of the world's realities as well.

But. And therein lay the rub: she was Grimleal, and not just any sort of Grimleal, but apparently one on personal speaking terms with their leader. Gaius' arm throbbed even at the mere thought of him.

Just how much could he disclose to Tharja? She was obviously not someone to be trifled with, much less jokingly. The way she dropped her act from docile and demure in the company of others to sour, sullen silence once they were alone together raised his metaphorical hackles. Gaius pondered the possible meanings to that; perhaps she felt comfortable enough in his presence to shed that first persona. Maybe she simply disliked him—and he shrugged at that, no skin off his back at the moment—and was making those feelings known.

There was a third option he could not quite place his finger on…but he knew it was there. Considering their current circumstances, simply asking her was obviously out of the question.

But.

He shifted slightly in his bedroll and sighed, coughing over a slight wind kicking up dust into his face. Tharja seemed like those women he remembered from before, all broken-glass edges and stony rock-hard walls protecting what little remained of a soft, quivering, fragile little centre. It helped in a world such as theirs. Anything to keep the buzzards from swooping down on them. But. She was still Grimleal. Gaius grew up with street tales of sorcerers shrouded in black, dancing to the moon as they rattled the bones of their victims in some crazed approximation of music. Theirs was a realm of corruption, of man-eaters, and devil-worshippers They cursed all that was good and holy in the hopes of summoning death itself to smite them all off the face of the earth for no other reason than simply being evil down to their very cores. His time spent from one hellhole to another certainly helped to reinforce that image…and now, he was being sent back to the country of his birth on a kidnapping job with a woman who sat in the upper echelons of that realm.

So, what was the truth about Tharja? Was she a woman just like the countless barmaids, street urchins, vendors, laundresses, prostitutes he had met before his imprisonment? Or was she another smirking cultist ready to beat him into submission for talking cheek, throwing him out on his ear with the demand to inflict more harm in the world?

It was not a question he felt ready to probe further into. All Gaius wanted to do was rest. As he had trained himself to sleep as lightly as possible, it would take very little for even the stealthiest of creatures to try and crawl close.

Tharja surveyed her unwanted charge with all the enthusiasm of being presented with moulding food for supper. They had taken shelter from the sun beneath a rocky outcropping, and the man—Gaius—decided to sleep for the moment. Sleep was not a luxury she could afford in the company of a man. Turning her back to one, Tharja had learned, was often taken as a signal to pounce; not even an invitation. Her talent with hexes, daggers, close combat techniques and all sorts of dark magicks kept her more than well-protected, but the mere principle of breathing in the same space as a man kept her guard up. And not just any sort of man: an outsider.

Tharja had almost fallen into despair the day she learned about the Vessel's disappearance. The Grimleal's guiding beacon, their only hope in a tainted world, gone in the blink of an eye. Their leadership kept the circumstances behind such a calamity very hush-hush. No matter how effectively Tharja flattered and poked and prodded, few could even attempt to explain the whos, the whats, the whys.

Naturally, Tharja volunteered herself for the recovery mission when Validar summoned his council, generals, and top mages to reveal that the Vessel had been traced to Ylisse. He did not reveal how he came across that knowledge. Most ignored that, focusing on the absolute horror of the Vessel currently within their sworn enemy's clutches. In Ylisse, of all places! Better to have journeyed to the frigid wastes of Ferox, with their thousands of gods, or the chaos of Valm, currently locked in fierce conflict over their twin deities, rather than towards the Naga worshippers whose very existence posed a threat to their own.

Tharja did not care; all those issues were ultimately nothing more than an annoying speck on her horizon. So what if other peoples worshipped other gods? Why should it be of any concern? The world was rotten to the core no matter where one went. The only certainty in life was Grima's fated mission finally wiping it all clean, scrubbing the world of its horrors and filth. Recovering the Vessel was her topmost priority; Tharja even went as far as travelling with a man of all things to ensure it would come to pass. She took many precautions over the years, listening, learning from her mother's encounters with those slimy, smirking creatures, keeping men away unless absolutely necessary. But for the Vessel, anything would do.

Even if it meant walking in step with a Ylissean criminal.

Would she have to put on airs at some point? Tharja wondered as she stared at his supine figure, sprawled out absentmindedly on his mat. Would she have to swing her hips, bat her eyelashes, stroke his ego with useless platitudes about his looks and his strength and oh my, is that a dagger in your trousers or are you just happy to see me? Validar had thankfully given her permission to fend off any advances the prisoner would attempt—which was certainly more than she could do within her own cohort, at times—but the mere thought of touching him raised Tharja's skin into horrid little bumps.

She knew Gaius had been armed for their quest, yet it presented a hazard she could do without. Let him have a weapon once they reached the border, Tharja reasoned. A defenseless Ylissean meant less of a danger, less of an unpredictable factor as they journeyed to regions unknown.

You think our men are bad? her mother's voice cackled softly in her ear. They are, my sweet, but the outside is far, far worse.

Tharja dropped into a silent crouch. She crawled to his side, peering down at his sleeping face. Not too bad-looking for an infidel, she decided, examining his curious red hair and lashes, freckles splattered across skin pallid from years of imprisonment, a few scars here and there. She had no interest in pondering how he got them. Tharja's hand hovered ever so slightly before a single finger began its descent to the pouch belted at his waist.

Gaius immediately snatched her wrist in a vice-grip.

It stood to reason that a criminal marked for death would have learned to stay alert even while asleep. The barest hint of a green eye peeked out from between the slit of his lids.

"You need somethin'?" he said far too casually for Tharja's liking.

For a moment, Tharja forgot herself and glared back stonily. How dare Gaius address her. A low-life like him, touching her as if he was the one in control—as if she had to answer to him over her very reasonable actions. She should have hexed him on the spot. Ah, but tempting as it was, Validar specifically ordered her to keep him safe for their mission. They needed him to cross the border unsuspected. Validar's power commanded absolute respect, and Tharja knew from firsthand experience what the consequences of insubordination entailed, especially with the spyglass keeping him privy to their every move. Validar would not appreciate the loss of their asset right before the marshes…and Tharja, reining her brief flash of anger back within its acceptable confines, reminded herself that this was for the Vessel's sake.

So she smiled prettily and fluttered her eyelashes. "I've just been struck by how lonely you looked," Tharja simpered, "and thought that you could use some company." She resisted the urge to gag as her fingertips curled into the fabric covering his thigh, and used her arms to press her breasts together, ever so slightly, at the exact moment she began to lean toward his face.

"If you try shit like this again," Gaius answered back, "I'm cutting this hand off first."

Tharja's smile grew wider. She stood and walked back calmly to her previous seat while her mistrust simmered into hatred.

Their sickeningly sweet cover story described an unlikely couple: a Ylissean prisoner of war captured three years ago, and an apothecary's apprentice from Zuhsa. They fell in love after she was summoned to treat his wounds in the capital's dungeons. They escaped with the decision to live with his parents in Ylisstol in mind.

Gaius had scoffed. "That's a crock of bullshit and they'll see right through it."

"You have a better idea then? I'm all ears," Tharja muttered, terse and unhappy as usual.

"Plenty," he said, without elaborating.

They were almost to the border. Neither spoke since that day. Even though Tharja hated putting on the nauseating, submissive performances, Gaius having seen right through her façade put her ill at ease. Those performances were humiliating, but at the very least, they were a mask she could don at a moment's notice. If Gaius was not fooled by a flirtatious persona, then what mask would, if not simply attacking him outright?

The memory of his lightning-quick reflex, how immediately he had predicted her actions, left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Well, like it or not—and trust me, I certainly don't—they're the roles we've been assigned," Tharja snapped. How dare he keep talking back, as if he had the freedom for it. "If you have a problem then you're more than free to take it up with Master Validar. I've got the spyglass right here."

Oh, how sweet satisfaction tasted to see Gaius shut up immediately. Served him right. Gaius could try to smart-aleck his way to Ylisstol all he liked…but now Tharja knew how to put him in his place.

Wind tousled the sea of long meadow grass stretching out before the border post. Wildflowers scented the air pleasantly, and though few troubles plagued their voyage, they visibly relaxed at the sight. Gaius, raised from city to city, never had much time to go forth and enjoy the pleasures of the countryside, but just the simple thought of returning to Ylisse, to the greenery and breezes and forests of beech and oak, brought a measure of peace to his heart.

But what was peace on a mission like this? What was peace when his early memories were about poverty and strife?

"Remember the plan," Tharja interrupted, pulling him out of his musings.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, Sunshine. I've got it memorised better than any old fancy actor on stage."

Tharja may have been Grimleal, but he knew how to rile her up. Keeping himself entertained by this farce could take the edge off…distract him from the dark magic festering within his veins. Validar had essentially tied a collar around Gaius' neck, thus chaining him to yet another master who wished to employ him for nefarious purposes. No promises of money were made this time around. And Gaius had a very good hunch that they planned to dispose of him as soon as the job was done.

What was there to look forward to?

He slung an arm around Tharja, deepening the absolutely ghastly scowl on her face, yet she did not pull away; their walking brought them within sight of the border post, close enough to make out human figures dotted around it. Gaius hailed them with a wave.

"Don't do that, you fool," Tharja hissed.

"Relax, Sunshine. They're gonna spot us either way, so we might as well show 'em we come in peace. Makes for a much less suspicious entrance. Unless you've got a better idea, which I'm always happy to hear…"

"First thing you ought to do is stop calling me by that ridiculous name."

"Why not? It fits your cute, sunny disposition so well."

He interrupted her retort by calling out loudly in Ylissean to the border guards. "Heeey! Over here! I don't suppose you could spare some water for us thirsty travellers?"

"Stop that." Tharja looked ready to throttle him on the spot.

"Why?"

Soldiers milled about confusedly, pointing them out to each other. Gaius relaxed—no one brandished their weapon menacingly, nor did they act too hostile. If anything, it seemed as though they were trying to puzzle out how a Ylissean was approaching them from the wrong side of the border.

You and me both, buddies, Gaius thought with a wry twist of his mouth.

An arrow landed close—too close, how the hell did he not see it sooner—to his foot and brought him to a standstill.

"Hey, Sunshine," Gaius spoke with all the tranquility he could muster as he turned to look behind. "Was this part of the plan?"

Tharja's eyes narrowed. Ten or so rogues rose from the sea of grass, badly outfitted in time-worn kits, hunger hollowing out their leathery cheeks. Gaius was confident in his abilities, and from the looks of it, Tharja could certainly hold her own, yet anything could happen no matter how well the circumstances tipped in their favour. Letting confidence slip into arrogance could prove to be costly. And no matter how strong they were, they were still outnumbered, and with little information about these new enemies…who knew how they would fare?

"No," she finally replied after a short pause.

A horn boomed out across the meadow—the Ylisseans, having spotted them as well, assembled into a well-practiced formation. The contrast between them was stark. At least it meant they were on the same side for now, and they could relax a bit, knowing that ten hungry bandits could not match the strength of military steel.

Tharja rolled her eyes at him, as if having read his mind. "Don't get too cocky. One of them's a dark mage."

"How do you know?"

She subtly gestured to a woman hanging a little ways behind the rest, hooded by a tattered blanket. If Gaius squinted hard enough, he could make out tell-tale sparks of magic fluttering around her like butterflies.

"And she's strong too. I felt it just now. That could explain why they felt it was the right time to attack us, even if they look so much weaker. Stay close to me."

A crooked grin stretched out Gaius' lips, with her annoyed huff prompting it to spread wider. "Worrying about me like that is so cute, Sunshine—"

Persistent ringing in his ears dizzied him; a few seconds passed before Gaius realised he was flat on his back, struggling to regain the wind knocked out of his lungs, with Tharja squatting protectively over him. Dark magic of her own swirled furiously around them in a bruise coloured maelstrom. The roar of battle, the clash of shields, all sent Gaius spinning helplessly into a rush of memories that trapped him where he lay. Come to think of it, that day three years ago was—

"Still with me?" Tharja shook Gaius and shouted into his ear.

A loud groan ripped out of his throat. "Yeah, nothing that little nap didn't fix," he joked, and then winced when a sharp pain in his rips travelled straight down to his thigh.

"Pity, I like you better when you can't talk."

"Ah, but that means you do like me, so—"

"Shut up."

She hauled Gaius up to a standing position and slung his arm over her shoulders, trundling to the Ylissean base whilst the soldiers cleaned up the remnants of the bandits behind them. Thankfully, the battle had not lasted long, but the pain in Gaius' side was serious enough to merit the attention of a medic, who frowned and tutted and gave him something foul-smelling to drink as her assistant waved a staff around.

"That's the second time this happened. Something odd going on in Plegia that we don't know about?" she asked.

"I don't really remember, ma'am, we were too busy hauling ourselves over here to think about what we left behind," Gaius replied, tensing slightly at the sensation of magic burrowing into his skin. "Whaddaya mean by 'second time?'"

"Two people crossed over not too long ago, also with brigands running after them."

They, along with Tharja, were currently at rest in the base's small medical room. She stiffened almost imperceptibly at the mention of who were surely their quarry. With the suffocating doom and gloom of the Grimleal skull still plaguing his thoughts, Gaius could hardly find it in him to fault anyone who wanted to escape.

A brief pulse in his arm (almost as if in warning) prompted him to lean back with a groan.

The assistant moved immediately to give him a once over. "Oh, let me—"

"Nah, I'm fine, kid." Gaius hoped his words sounded light enough. "Just an old war wound."

The assistant, a spritely young girl who did not look a day over thirteen, glanced back furtively at Tharja. "I hope I'm not prying, but…you look Ylissean, but you came from Plegia? But you brought a…" Her voice dropped. "…Plegian with you."

"That is prying," Tharja snapped from across the room. She stood and left with an irritated flounce in her step.

"Not the nicest way to go about it, kid, I'll tell you that, but might as well hear it from me since those soldier boys will ask later anyway. She's my wife," Gaius said.

The girl's eyes widened. "You…married a Plegian?"

"Yeah, love knows no boundaries, can be found in the oddest places blah blah blah and whatever the minstrels like to sing about these days. I was captured uh, three years ago. Wasn't kept in the best conditions. My captors were kind enough to send her my way to treat me since she's a really skilled herbalist, and well, one thing led to another. Her dad sure didn't like it, so I guess those goons today must've been sent by him to get her back."

"So you eloped? That's so romantic!" the girl positively gushed, and Gaius wondered if the inherent romanticism of forbidden love and secret marriages were really enough to overshadow that previous trepidation expressed at being involved with a Plegian.

"Lane, don't crowd him." Though the medic chided her apprentice, her words were spoken fondly, patiently.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to."

They finished tending to him and left him alone to rest. Tharja returned shortly after, expression dark as always, and took up her previous seat with an exasperated sigh. "Apparently those brigands were Grimleal affiliates…I figured Validar kept them a secret from us to make our reactions more authentic."

Gaius studied her, curious about her acceptance of such tactics. "Mind filling me in on what happened, Sunshine? I don't remember much between them coming outta the grass and you carrying me here. Thanks for that, by the way."

"That mage tried to hit us with a Nosferatu spell. Nothing I couldn't handle. And stop calling me that."

"Look, if we're trying to sell this whole story about us being lovers on the run, then we have to act the part, Sunshine. No one's going to be convinced if our conversations are you glowering in a corner and actin' all hissy over the slightest things, okay?"

"No one's here with us, so there's no one to act for. I'm not going to fawn over you all the time because you like it."

"Woah, whoa, whoa. Who said anything about me liking that? I'm just asking you to keep things a little more civil. We're on a crazy dangerous mission together, so the least we can do is try to get along on the way."

"Says the man who threatened me with a knife."

Gaius wondered if she derived pleasure from rebuffing him. Obviously a cultist up to her neck in arcane, evil designs upon the world would not be thrilled by the presence of an outsider, yet he at least tried to extend an olive branch of sorts. Tharja had all the charm of an angry raven: beautiful to look at, but nigh unapproachable. She could certainly rip off his fingers with minimal effort if he prodded too hard. His previous jabs took on a new meaning as he recalled that day when his dagger pointed at the delicate bony juncture between her arm and wrist, and the memories of the dungeons that blurred into it.

So Gaius shut up and leaned back into the cot with a sigh. He watched when some soldiers came to interrogate them and Tharja graciously offered to talk in his stead, citing his treatment and sore state. She recited the account he told Lane, the healer girl, almost word for word—Tharja's accent was nowhere near flawless, but there was a rich, deep tone to it that could only be called hypnotic. Did Grimleal teach their women how to do that?

"We're so terribly sorry for imposing upon you like this," Tharja almost purred. Gaius felt a familiar warning buzz in his head at the sound. "I hope it's not too presumptuous to ask for something to drink, as we are so parched at the moment. And a bucket, if you can spare it, it's truly been so long since we've washed properly."

"Yes, of course! Whatever you like," a blushing soldier-boy stammered, and Gaius knew he would never be able to cast off the threads of her web after this.

"Thank you. How gracious this Ylissean hospitality is…I can't wait to see more of it once we arrive at Ylisstol. My dear husband's parents will be so happy to have him safe and sound at home again."

An older man chuckled, and Gaius immediately pinned him as the type who thought himself experienced to the wiles of women, though the rosy tint to his cheeks said otherwise. "You lovebirds are in luck! Just in time for the festival, too. Naga must have been smiling on your fortunes to bring you back for it."

"Oh?" Genuine surprise flickered across Tharja's pale face. "Do tell us more…"

NEXT CHAPTER IS FESTIVAL PREP AND SHEPHERD DANCING LESSONS! I'm really excited to start on those because I've been thinking about that foreeeeeeveeerrr. I even have a playlist for it, which I would be very happy to post on tumblr, but suggestions are greatly appreciated! And after this comes an update for TCaH! Have fun this weekend guys!