"Here, try this one!" Astariel chirped in an almost song like manner while holding the morsel out to him. She was far better than he at using chopsticks, but had worked hard to train him on how to feed himself old Kaldorei style.
Fumbling for a few moments, he eventually gained his bearings and clasped the nearly translucent piece of meat. Lower stick resting on top of the thumb knuckle; upper stick pinched between the tips of the index finger and thumb. Simple steps. "What is it?" he asked curiously, eyeing the big grin on her face through the piece of meat.
Mischevious as ever, she reveled in Navarion's apprehension for a moment and withheld an immediate answer. He could tell that she enjoyed his reactions to the food even more than the food itself; it was no wonder she's practically begged him to come there with her.
"Try it," she practically taunted, her lip twitching as if she were trying to hide her smile. If so, she failed miserably.
Another patron walked by so quickly that her dress almost brushed some of their napkins off the table. Surely it would have been a fire hazard to allow more than twenty people inside the cramped excuse for a restaurant all at once; and on that night, there must have been at least a hundred. From the outside, the place had the design of a very small huntress lodge, and on the inside it appeared to be even smaller. For elves, the other patrons did create a bit of noise, but the fact that there was so much activity around them made time almost stand still. All that existed was the periwinkle elf sitting in front of him at the table, daring him to venture out into the unknown.
Taking the plunge, he shoveled the morsel into his mouth as best he could, poking himself just a little bit too hard in the tongue as his chopsticks proved ever difficult to handle. She was practically giddy as he felt the consistency of the meat via the insides of his cheeks. It quivered, even more rubbery than kalamari in a way he found disconcerting. There was absolutely no taste to it at all; pure water had a stronger flavor. So engrossed did she become that she actually mimicked his chewing without even realizing it, refraining from eating her own food while she watched.
Rubbery didn't explain the half of it. The meat was so chewy that it squished in between his teeth, proving nearly impossible to actually pulverize or even cut. Sort of like a mouth workout, he truly had to persevere just to get the meat to the point where it was digestible. Such a laborious task, all for a piece of food lacking in flavor.
Only when he finished eating it did she finally pipe up. "It was cuttlefish!" she burst out and then promptly swallowed some of her own.
"So it's sort of like-"
"Nm-mm," she shushed him while covering her mouth quickly. A single chopstick held up in the air signaled that she needed him to wait.
Her dimples truly showed when she chewed so fast, working much harder than he had but also pushing the cuttlefish meat around using her tongue to work it over in much less time. Devoted and focused, she almost seemed to lose track of him there despite the cramped space in the restaurant, the small size of their table and the fact that they both had to hunch over toward each other to avoid bumping into other patrons. At such a short distance, he could see the barely visible, perfectly clean periwinkle pores on the skin of her face. Like the women in his family, Astariel didn't wear any makeup, ever; not even foundation. Indeed, most night elven women hadn't for the longest time considering the fact that they had formed a society almost entirely of women, but even when the men woke back up few of them had the habit. Rather, it was the younger generation born after the factional wars where a handful of particularly gaudy, flashy Kaldorei female's had taken up the habit of painting their faces. Members of the older generations such as his mother reacted in disgust, finding it difficult to accept any sort of body art other than the permanent facial tattoos the women earned per their coming of age rituals, the occasional body tattoos and modest ear piercings. Makeup, however, was a big no-no for many and a fun way to break taboos for others.
Not for Navarion, though. He wondered what Astariel would look like with makeup...probably not quite as beautiful as she did right there...
Stop that, he thought to himself. Had he really become so lonely that he was checking out his friends?
Licking her lips as she finished the rest of the cuttlefish, she smiled almost triumphantly, as if she had won some sort of a contest. Her demeanor was pleasant and her attitude positive; refusing to let his mind wander, Navarion just tried to relax and enjoy the first day off they'd both had on the same day in quite a long time.
"So it's kind of like kalamari, isn't it?" he asked her again.
Inspecting his chili crab as if she wanted it, she restrained herself and looked at him only half attentively. "Hmm...uh...what? No, it isn't like kalamari at all," she mumbled, her little nose wiggling at the scent of the chili. "It's totally different."
"If you say so." Using his chopsticks like prying utensils, he opened up his chili crab and let the top of its shell flip open.
Steam had been trapped inside and quickly flowed out, sending the spicy aroma wafting up into the air. Both of their noses twitched and he was sure her mouth was watering just like his was. Thankful for the idea to go there and for the company, he nudged the plate forward toward the modal of the table so they could both share. He didn't even need to explain, and she immediately began tearing off chunks from the meat inside the shell effortlessly as if she'd been using chopsticks since they day she'd been born.
If there had been any residual congestion in his nose from previous days of sorrow, the chili that the crab had been doused, filled, marinated and bathed in cleared it out. His tongue, cheeks, gums, nostrils, throat and even eyes burned in a way he had thought only possible when eating food of the jungle trolls; night elf food was generally considered a bit bland due to the spartan diets developed by a forest dwelling culture on the move, but at this restaurant at least, the cuisine of his mother's people proved just as formidable as that of his father's.
Nose almost running, Astariel tried to continue the conversation in between pants and deep breaths. "Wasn't this...ah! A good idea?"
To avoid opening up their containers of yogurt too early, Navarion tried to force himself to switch between looking at her and the chili crab instead of the containers. Her cheeks almost flushed due to the level of spiciness in the crab meat, along with her forehead and neck too. It only proved to be yet another distraction, though the thoughts brought to him by the sight quickly made him switch his focus back onto the yogurt.
"We can just take a bite or two to douse the proverbial flames," he suggested while giving her her container of plain yogurt and opening his own.
Snatching hers and opening it immediately, she shoveled more than a bite or two of the yogurt into her mouth, inexplicably also managing to use the chopsticks. "Sounds good! In fact, watch this!" She then promptly scooped up some more of her yogurt on top of her chopsticks and plopped it down into the open shell of the chili crab and spread it across the top of the crabmeat.
He raised an eyebrow in polite suspicion. "What are you doing?" he asked while pulling a clump of sticky rice from a small bowl and mixed it into his yogurt.
"I got this!" she chirped once more while chopping up the meat and mixing it around with the yogurt inside the crab shell. When she finished twirling the oily spices and the thick yogurt together the best she could, she pointed to the crabmeat to indicate it was ready and began to eat more herself.
This meal was the most adventurous he'd eaten in perhaps a year or more; he'd ventured out into the unknown and saw no reason to pull back at that point. Poking blindly through the mess of red chili paste and white plain yogurt, he managed to snag himself a bit of crabmeat and pinched it securely before lifting it toward his mouth.
The taste was incredibl, and the too of them groaned together at their small table. Nobody in the restaurant heard or cared, but they both looked at each other and laughed anyway. Intense spices mixed around across his taste buds and were quickly doused by the thick yogurt, which removed the sting just as effectively as any other dairy product. Which, as he remembered, were rather rare in northern Kalimdor and must have been imported. Then again, chili didn't grow in that region at all, so the entire dish was basically foreign despite being a mainstay of the northeastern coast of the continent.
The explosion of flavor in his mouth blasted away all such thoughts, however. The two of them went mad with it, intoxicated by the rapidly fluctuating taste. They devoured the entire chili crab and what little yogurt, rice and wasabi remained. Cups of green tea that were far too small helped to digest all the food a little bit faster but left them both feeling like beached whales regardless. It followed naturally that they'd need to walk off the meal for a little while, which is how they found themselves back out onto the street and ambling past the numerous multi-story tree houses and local shops.
Of all the quirks that Astariel had about her, perhaps the most interesting was the fact that she was basically an armchair historian on Nendis, both the old and the new city. She practically talked his ears off about the place as they slowly sauntered around corners and through more narrow paths that almost became alleyways between the densely packed tree trunks. As he was to find out, her parents had dwelled in the ancient city even before the Sundering, and her mother had managed to remained stationed there for the entirety of the Long Vigil; the barrow den where her father had slept during the Emerald Dream wasn't too far away. She rarely mentioned the city's unfortunate destruction by the Betrayer, focusing instead on the popular demand for it to be rebuilt once the night elves had dropped out of the Alliance. Despite the fact that it had been less than a year since the city had been regrown, she seemed to know every nook, cranny and little corner store around, and could point out what had been grown in the same place and what was different from the old city plan. She also tended to stereotype people into those descended from the original inhabitants of Nendis and those who simply moved to the regrown city for the sake of economic opportunity. Indeed, she truly was an expert on her ancestral city.
By the time they'd walked over toward the treehouse apartment where she lived alone, she must have retold to him the entire sixteen thousand year history of the one time hamlet which turned into a Neolithic village which turned into a ziggurat city which turned into a grand highborne metropolis which lived on as one of the few stone cities of the Kaldorei after they put their faith in Elune. Much like Suramar, the home town of Navarion's mother, Nendis had seen pretty much every epoch of mortal development on Azeroth before the modern era, but unlike Suramar had survived the Sundering to see the modern era.
It had come so close to the morning time that there wasn't anybody else on the narrow, isolated street. Small specs of light drifted down from the canopy high above; not so much that Navarion's silver eyes had difficulty seeing the various apartments for bachelorettes grown into the actual structure of the tall trees, going five stories up. A typical winding ramp led the way around like a curvy tower, but Astariel continued to lean against the tree and chat quietly, not yet seeming ready to retire to her quarters. Unlike the other mercenaries and even many of the enlisted soldiers, she actually had property in the city due to her historic roots, and didn't have to sleep inside an ancient of war like the others.
"So all I had to do was provide proof of my descent from Old Nendis, and the housing office automatically reserved a spot for me based on need," she explained while patting the tree she lived in affectionately. "So families would possibly get two consecutive floors to themselves, while singles like me only get half of a floor. It's all based on need, not on money or prestige, just like things should be."
Not drowsy so much as ready to retire from all the talking they'd done, he leaned against the tree as well. "Do you reckon some people got into sham marriages so they would be eligible for better housing? They had that problem at some work camps for the Steamwheedle Cartel, way back in the day."
Shocked, she crooked her head back in disbelief. "No, by the Goddess," she chortled, finding the mere suggestion amusing. "These are night elves we're talking about. Marriage is a sacred bond, between a woman and a man. It's more important than defrauding the authorities Elune willed to be over us for the sake of material gain."
Her nearly long winded mini-monologue took him aback. Despite knowing she was religious - just a little bit fundamentalist, even - it was the clearest example of her dogmatic beliefs yet. Astariel was sincere, kind, caring but naive and also idealistic. It was endearing but also a bit funny at the same time.
"That's certainly a wholesome view to take," he replied, trying not to let his cynicism show through.
"It's not just a view - it's the truth," she countered, lowering her voice a tad bit more. Her gaze was unassuming as she looked up at him but the spirits told him there was something more. "Whenever the Goddess wills that I bear children, I will; if She hasn't decreed that for me yet, then there is nothing I can do. My only option is the same as everyone else's; to wait patiently until the right man comes along so I may finally settle down."
In a flash, the feeling of pressure returned to him. It had been many weeks since his last close encounter with her alone, and also many weeks since his discussion about the matter with Zorena, but the tauren's advice stuck with him. Astariel was building him up into being some sort of shining, ethical hero that he knew he was very far from being. To make matters worse, he simply couldn't see a relationship with Astariel being possible even though he had more than a suspicion that she wanted just that. She was a wonderful person; moral, religious, and lacking in experience with vices. As much as he did like spending time with her, he could never shake the nagging feeling that the presence of somebody like him in her life served only as a source of potential corruption of someone so pure. They were not each other's type even if they wanted to be.
At least shaking away the pressure, he sought a means to put a sufficient amount of space between them. The growing sense of attachment increased the guilt he felt for not having the courage to tell her he just wanted to be friends. Every opportunity he sought seemed an inappropriate time, and every way he thought of wording it sounded too cruel - especially when she only hinted and never just outright told him how he knew she felt. Subtlety would be the only way.
"Everybody finds the right person for themselves eventually," he began cautiously, mindful of how much physical space lied between them. "Once this campaign is over...and the rest of us move on and move away, I'm sure you'll find some strapping night elf man who knows Nendis as well as you do."
For a moment, they both fell silent. She inspected him and he her, and he cheated by listening to the spirits around the area. His voodoo never told him exactly how another person felt, but it did give him a general idea, especially regarding honesty. Right there, he could sense the mixture of emotion inside of her; it wasn't intense, but there was a mild conflict. For sure she understood the fact that he was trying to send some sort of a message, yet there was a persistence within her that couldn't be dominated or subdued; it was as beautifully admirable as it was a hindrance to what he was trying to do.
Her slight smile never left her relatively full lips for an elf, and the mixed body language of defensiveness and receptiveness never left her full figure. One thing he didn't truly know what whether or not she grasped his desire to only be friends, or if she thought he was playing some sort of a game. A part of him knew he should have just told her it wasn't a game, yet another part felt cruel to do so in a direct way; he loathed to hurt her feelings. And still another part of him asked why he was so concerned about preserving her feelings if he told himself that he didn't want to be with her or someone of her type. Questions bounced back and forth inside his head until she spoke.
"The future is a mystery to us mortals...it makes such long term plans impractical, but it also makes the natural progression of fate much more magical." Wistfullness and fancy crept into her voice, even pricking up the corner of her upper lip ever so slightly, and he worried that his efforts at creating space had been for naught.
A rooster actually announced the approach of dawn; a rare occurrence in a Kaldorei city and most assuredly brought by outlanders living as expatriates in New Nendis. Both of their nocturnal minds and bodies needed sleep soon, and they both knew it was time to retire. He forced himself to stop leaning against the tree and stand up straight, folding his arms over his chest even though it wasn't particularly chilly.
"We need to sleep, and I have a bit of a walk back to the barracks," he sighed, resigned to comprehending his personal life and feelings after a good day's rest.
Mimicking his movements like a trained actress, she stood up straight as well, shifting in perfect subconscious, unintentional lockstep. "Yes...I guess we do..." Her voice trailed off, and despite the nervousness he could sense within her she controlled herself surprisingly well.
Stress took ahold of the muscles in Navarion's jaw and the back of the neck. He and Astariel didn't see each other that often - certainly less often than he saw Tammie or even Thresha - and yet he knew that Astariel couldn't be compared to those two in terms of how he related to them. Guilt reverberated inside his mind as he looked back and tried to find instances where he could have, should have made it clear to her that he viewed her as a dear friend, just as he viewed his fellow squad member or the vindicator also serving as a mercenary. But none of that served any purpose at that moment. There he was, standing in front of a person who he found stunning to look at and wonderful to be around, but who wasn't his type, nor was he hers - even if she was too naive to realize that, to realize what kind of man he really was.
A thud echoed from inside an apartment a few trees down, likely a person hitting the bed just a little too hard for the day. Empty and silent, the neighborhood felt like even it was pushing Navarion toward something he didn't want, toward decisions he didn't want to make, toward words he didn't want to say and things he didn't want to do. Hopeful eyes looked up at him, visible to the shadow hunter even when hidden behind a veil of caution and shyness. He was too concerned for her feelings to tell her the truth, too selfish and attached to their friendship to cut off from her the way he'd advised Calil to do with Thresha, and too lost to make a proper decision.
No longer content to wait for him, Astariel leaned forward, confirming that she'd seen their dinner away from their main group of friends as a little more than two friends unwinding on a night off from work. If he pulled back, she'd feel rejected, which was the last thing in the world he wanted her to feel; if he leaned in, she might try to kiss him, and judging by his experience with inexperienced women in the past, that would lead her to believe they were not only together but both completely infatuated with one another. Panic forced him to rotate away in the same manner he'd seen someone who shall remain unnamed do, avoiding the perilous display of true feelings. Astariel certainly wasn't short by night elf standards, but Navarion was tall enough that when she leaned and he rotated, their collision ended up being an awkward, one armed hug instead. That awkwardness allowed him to excuse himself without truly showing her how he felt or making any sort of decision at all, once again running away from feelings that had become a trying task for him.
"Ow!" she chortled when her face bumped into his chest at a strange angle, causing her neck to crook back.
"Sorry, sorry," he laughed right back, relieved that she had been fooled. To top it all off, he pretended to be so drowsy that one of his feet slipped off the wooden ramp they'd been standing on, setting him just a little bit further away from her.
"Alright, you need to get back to your bunk before your blurt yourself, mister." She rubbed her little nose even though he hadn't bumped into her hard, making a comical show of it.
In an attempt to both show a sort of reconciliatory affection while also ending the tense (from his end) exchange as fast as he could, he placed one hand on the back of her shoulder to help her get started up the ramp. Her skin was soft, even through the fabric of her cloak and silk shirt, and warmer to the touch than most elves. Darkness crept into his mind as he battled the voice telling him to give her shoulder a small squeeze, just enough to let her feel the strength of his grip...slide a finger along toward her neck...
STOP, he growled to himself internally. That part of him was dead and buried.
Thankfully, she accepted the gentle nudge and started her way up the wooden ramp winding around the tree trunk, saving him from the tingling in his own fingertips. "Be sure not to trip over any grass sprites or dryad children on your way back to the military quarter," she joked pleasantly on her way up. The look she shot him over the shoulder had obviously been rehearsed, and even her hair - her bangs were just a bit too long to really be called bangs - fell strategically over one side of her perfectly symmetrical face that she always claimed was totally asymmetrical.
Struck once more by a pang of guilt over unintentionally stringing her along, he forced a smile as he watched her disappear behind the tree trunk.
And then again as she reappeared while ascending the spiraling ramp whole holding the same rehearsed look, this time in an attempt to make him laugh as she finally disappeared behind the trunk a second time and entered the cavernous, hollowed out treehouse.
Not wanting to linger, he turned and began the modest walk back to the barracks, hands in pockets and eyes to the ground. Although he didn't know exactly how to get home - New Nendis was much larger than anybody had expected, even based on the layout of the city walls - he didn't really mind. If anything, a long walk alone was just what he needed to sort out the thoughts in his head.
The residential district was a little bit crowded. The foot paths were paved by more of the naturally risen moon stones but since there were few shops other than general stores, the walkways only had to be wide enough to accommodate a few people. Rather than building out, the Kaldorei tended to build up, and the gigantic tree houses had tenants living inside the hollowed out parts several stories high like any upscale apartment building in Stormwind. Perfectly balanced and grown under the direction of the priestesses and Druids, the tree houses were surprisingly close together, and the spaces in between were filled by naturally grown fences and tool sheds or whatever belongings the denizens didn't have space for inside. Aside from the fact that people lived inside of trees, it wasn't that different from any city in any other part of the world during the hours when everybody was asleep.
Enraptured by the natural beauty and numb from uncertainty over his personal life, Navarion didn't even notice the presence of somebody following him until he had left the residential district and entered one of the cities many patches of green and purple woodlands. The canopy hung much lower and the tree trunks were much narrower since nothing lived there except for wisps and other usual inhabitants of the enchanted Kaldorei forests. The even narrower, winding paths brought him out of view of anybody who may have still been awake at that hour, and that made it easier to sense the presence nearby.
Just around the bend, a lone figure waited for him, apparently having expected him to pass through. All alone in the inner city woods, she wore a simple, light brown, knee-length dress and held a bottle in her hands. The two hooves and one and a half horns informed him of who it was before he even drew close enough to make out the details of the sneer on her face, and he could already feel the knife stabbing at his chest in an attempt to get to his heart.
He paused, surprised by his own lack of response or any inkling at all of how to react. Zhenya just stood there, waiting for him to continue walking until they came face to face. Her attire was far more feminine than what felt like her natural style, almost like she was trying to be someone else. It seemed fake. It wasn't her. The bottle, however, matched her just fine and she took another swig when he started walking again.
Suddenly cold for real, he hugged his chest when he found himself before her, the gap having been closed far too quickly for him to formulate a response to things he wasn't even sure she'd say. Looking him up and down, she stayed quiet for a little while longer. She appeared tired as well, but looked good regardless, as she always did in any situation. One hand on her hip and the other gripping the bottle of firewater, her posture already made him feel like she was mocking him and she hadn't even opened her mouth yet.
"Hey...it's been a while," he started, trying to be as polite and non-confrontational as possible.
She continued to look him over, a snide standoffishness radiating around her. It didn't seem normal; Zhenya had always hovered somewhere between passive aggressive and rudely brusque. Never had she been condescending, yet for the first time he felt as if she were looking down on him.
"I suppose you're too good for me now," she slurred.
A short, simple phrase told him much about her condition. Despite the normal control she could exert over her expressions, her voice betrayed a sound of hurt resentment that he felt she didn't deserve to hold on to. An obvious taunt and incitement, he could sense that she wanted him to tell her he was sorry; not for anything in particular given that he had done nothing to be sorry for, but she wanted to hear it. As she always did, no matter what the circumstances. It had been the dynamic that had helped him be the rock of the first relationship he had had in many, many years that maybe could possibly be described as stable. At one time.
Frustratin crept in to the stiffness of her upper lip when he refused to respond, staring at her in kind. Movement inside of her cheek gave away the fact that she was grinding her molar teeth together in anticipation of his belated attempt to ingratiate himself to her.
"Nothing to say?" she asked after a little bit more coherence returned to her speech. "You hide from me for weeks and there's absolutely nothing you want to tell me?"
For a second she raised the front of her hoof up off of the ground as if she wanted to tap it dramatically to demonstrate the fact that she was waiting for his answer. She decided against it, and set it back down but otherwise held still. Drowsy but more lucid now that he felt upset, Navarion tried to gather a lot that he had been repressing for the past few weeks.
He had tried. Loa knows he had tried so hard. After so many bad relationships ruined both through his actions and those of the women he'd been with, he had found somebody he thought he could get along with for at least more than a month. He and Zhenya fought often, intentionally tried to hurt each other's feelings and were never as caring as either of them had the capacity to be. She denied their relationship in public and wouldn't curb her natural selfishness even around him, even when alone. For all his sins and slights against the female species in the past, he felt their relationship in the present had been a fitting recompense; nobody, not even her, would deny that he had put more into the relationship.
But he had a red line. Never had he cheated on her nor had she cheated on him; it had already been years since infidelity had been an element in his life, and he took its absence for granted. Seeing her with somebody else, even casually, left him with a literal, actual case of nausea for days afterwards. Regeneration from his father healed many wounds, but that one still felt fresh on his heart.
"I have nothing to say to you," he forced himself to utter. He couldn't look her in the eye as he did, but her gasp insinuated that it sincerely did hurt her to hear it as much as it hurt him to say it.
When he pushed aside her to continue on his way through the woods, she pressed into him, trying her best to seduce him both by her body and the bottle of firewater in her hand. So much was the confusion and hurt flowing inside of him that she failed to get any sort of rise out of him for the first time in...well, he couldn't even remember how long they'd technically been together anymore. All he knew was that their time had passed, and although it didn't make the pain sting any less he could at least remind himself that he wasn't the one who had finally spoiled things.
Surprised by his rejection, she faltered and failed to even grab him arm strongly enough to tug. Behind him he could hear her hiccup and cough while attempting to protest, perhaps curse at him for leaving her and telling him how much he would regret it. And she would be right; she'd absolutely be right because as much as he hated to admit it, hated himself and his own feelings, he knew that he wouldn't be able to let go of her easily. He shut his eyes tight as he walked away, ignoring the constriction in his throat and praying to the Goddess above that he could escape before Zhenya tried to insult his family, dignity or otherwise provoke him out of her own desperation.
Navarion couldn't have been more surprised when the most self centered person he knew, even more so than himself, called out for him without any defiance or even pretense.
"Wait!" she cried out, clopping after him a few steps.
Frozen, petrified, compelled, he stopped and waited, keeping his eyes shut the whole time. Completely contradicting everything he knew about her, her hoofsteps became uneven, unsteady and unsure. She approached him with caution and he could sense her hesitation as she tried to reach out and rest the palm of her free hand on his tricep. The muscles of his throat and temples clenched at the feeling of her laying her hands on him again, sending him into flashbacks of the night they met while serving in Felwood, the toughest part of the campaign to rebuild and renew ancient Kaldorei land. The weakness of her grip infected him and changed form into a weakness in his knees. He wanted so badly to just walk away and stab himself in the heart now so the wound could heal earlier. Yet even more than that, he wanted this apparent change in her to be real and for things to go back to the way they were again. They weren't perfect, but he wanted their imperfect life more than the uncertainty of being another anonymous mercenary waking up to patrol streets day in and day out, driven away from his loved ones due to some immature wanderlust he couldn't exorcise.
"Please wait," she whispered to him, and he knew that the volume of her voice wasn't intentional on her part.
It was the first time she had ever said please to him for anything. Her attempt to warm his heart singed the iciness of his chest, coming on too fast and too intense after he'd tried so hard in the past few weeks to convince himself that a moment like this would never come. Unable to speak, he kept his eyes closed but leaned into her. Neatly manicured nails gripped his other arm and he noticed she had tossed the bottle of hard liquor away, trying to force herself into his arms. Stiff and in disbelief, he wrapped his arms around her incompletely, teetering on the edge and fighting not to fall.
Whether she was sincere or not, she had the ability to say the right things when she wanted to. Perhaps she didn't realize that herself, perhaps she did and had planned it this way, but his heart overruled his brain when she spoke next.
"I just want you to know...I never let him touch me."
Pain. Physical pain twisted inside of him as some muscle spasmed somewhere at the sound of the sentence he'd told himself he was a stupid fool for ever dreaming of. He fell off the edge entirely and pulled her close to him, reveling in her stroking of his sensitive, immature desire to feel not only wanted but wanted exclusively. She told him nothing else and she didn't need to. All he had needed to hear was what she had already told him, and he was hers. Hunched over and clinging to her almost tightly enough to hurt her, he buried his face into her recently dyed hair, resting his cheek against her one intact horn.
"Why can't you just let me go," a voice that sounded like his asked quietly. "It hurts to be with you...it hurts to be without you. Why can't you just leave me be..."
She held back, refusing to let go even for a second. Strained and stiff as he was, she tucked her head beneath his chin such that he could feel her soft breaths on his chest. She reached up and tried to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her.
"I'm here for you...you have the power to leave if you want to," she replied quietly, and his nerves were so shot that he couldn't even focus his voodoo to check if she was being sincere. Even if he had been able to, he may not have done so; he was trapped in free fall, wanting to believe whatever she told him. "But I will always be here for you if you want."
They felt each other, breathed with each other, let their hearts pulse together in unison. Maybe she was lying. He knew her well enough to know it was possible, but he didn't care. He tried to shake his head no but he didn't know why, and he felt her thumb slide around the base of his long, elven ears to prevent him from doing so.
"I...I don't know who I am," he confessed without knowing why. A part of him wanted to trust her and another part wanted to run away, yet he rambled on as if her were the one who was drunk. "Being alone forced me to face that. So many years...war after war after war, switching sides and flopping from guild to guild...country to country...I don't know why I wake up in the morning. I can't escape that now." He sank when he hit the surface and melted into her arms, no longer willing to fight. "I don't know what I even want..."
Lightly, ever so lightly, those fingernails slipped from the side of his head up to his scalp. They ran through his mane, dragging across the hide of his head in a way that was intoxicating. Pressing herself into him again, she caught him, and instead of struggling after his fall he let himself sink to the bottom if she was there. Mesmerized by the way her fingers danced across his scalp and down the back of his neck, he acquiesced and resolved to let her win.
She pulled him off the main pathway and in between the trees, hugging onto him the whole time. The physical strain they both shared was too much for them, and they let the river flow over them, content to dwell at the bottom.
"I can be what you want, Navarion," she whispered in his ear.
Tired. So tired. Tired of fighting too many battles, external and internal. Weary from a world that had no place for him unless his life was at risk. Broken by his separation from a family that wanted him to return but didn't understand why he couldn't. Tortured by his own self and nothing else.
He gave in easily once they were out of view. A flash of silver as two eyes spied on them caught his attention if only for a split second, but Zhenya quickly pulled him back to her. Ruminating over his inner demons could wait. As she whispered her apologies to him for the first time, all thought of sincerity and purpose was lost on him and he wished time could hold still, leaving him there in the woods forever.