The battle had been easy, a simple skirmish with a few straggling demons, but that did not mean they could slack on equipment upkeep. Valla stood near Haedrig's forge, carefully inspecting the delicate gears of her crossbow for damage while the blacksmith hammered out any dents he could find in the chest piece she had handed him. Between hammer falls she heard approaching footsteps, and glanced up to see Myriam coming towards them, smiling as always. Valla bristled a bit upon spotting the woman; she understood why the mystic kept her secrets - she had explained the disaster that had occurred the one time she tried to change the future - but it was difficult not to be at least a little angry with her when she had just watched Lyndon nearly cry in frustration over failing to tie his own boots.
Haedrig looked up and nodded briefly at Myriam before focusing back on his forge, and she returned the gesture with a pleasant smile. She then turned to Valla, who was currently eyeing her warily.
"Greetings celsa," Myriam said in an aggravatingly cheerful tone, "I take it the fighting went well?"
"Yes," Valla answered shortly.
"Good," Myriam replied casually, as if she had already anticipated the answer. "And how fairs our resident scoundrel?"
Valla looked her over carefully, trying to discern what information the older woman was looking for, but failing to read anything past that ever-present smile. "Why don't you ask him?"
Myriam's expression was unchanging. "Do you think he would answer me if I did?"
No, of course not. Lyndon was becoming increasingly agitated by everyone constantly asking about his well-being, and he had always found Myriam's prying particularly off-putting.
Valla turned her attention back to the crossbow in her hands, running her fingers over the gears as if to check them for damage, but not paying attention to the task. "He's... not well," she answered grimly, not quite sure how to put into words how he must have been feeling.
Lyndon was not taking as well to her lessons as she had hoped. He quickly became frustrated and unwilling to listen. She sometimes wondered if she should give up and leave him be, but the fact that he had the energy to complain so much meant he had to be feeling at least a little better. Besides, she was loath to leave him alone to stew in his misery.
That he continued to seek out solitude concerned Valla greatly. Since she had known him Lyndon had always striven to be in the busiest place he could find, seemingly desperate to surround himself by other human beings. It didn't even seem to matter to him if they liked his company, as long as they were there.
But now he always made an effort to stay as far away from the others as he could manage, and was either angry or unresponsive when approached. There was a distinct wrongness to it all, and it made her increasingly distressed.
"Do not lose hope, celsa," Myriam said gently, breaking Valla out of her dark reverie. "Come with me, I have something to give to you."
Myriam began to head toward her wagon and Valla hesitated, wondering if she should follow. Despite everything, she knew Myriam did truly care for their little group, and anything she had to give her would almost certainly come in handy. Realizing pride would be a silly reason to turn down the woman's offer, Valla caught up to Myriam with a few quick strides and silently followed her to her caravan.
Strange blue balls of light hung on the branches of potted plants bordering the wagon, bright even in the light of midday. Valla examined them as she passed, wondering if magic or mechanics kept them lit, but she didn't bother to ask, having far more concerning matters to ponder.
Myriam stopped in front of a small table occupied by a large glass orb and a small vial. She carefully lifted the vial and held it out to Valla, smiling mischievously.
"This is for you, I know you will use it well!"
Valla took the offered vial, studying it curiously. It contained a purple liquid, likely a potion of some kind, but its purpose was unfamiliar to her. The top was sealed with a tight fitting cork.
"What is it?" she asked quizzically, tilting it to the side and watching the viscous fluid slowly flow along the inside of the glass container.
"You will learn at the time you need it," Myriam replied mysteriously, winking playfully.
Valla was not surprised by the vague response, but she had hoped for at least a little more insight into the potion's function. Whatever the case, Myriam's attitude suggested it was not cause for concern, and Valla did not feel it was worth wasting time trying to get more out of the enigmatic woman. She was unlikely to learn anything new, and there were more important things she could be doing.
Valla slipped the potion into her bag, making a mental note to examine it further when she had the time. "Thank you for the... gift, but I must go, I am expected elsewhere."
"Of course," Myriam replied sweetly, "Do say hello to Lyndon for me, won't you?"
Valla didn't bother to ask how the other woman knew where she was going.
"You're aiming too low," Valla admonished sternly, "You need to compensate for the smaller draw weight by-"
"I know," Lyndon snarled. The words came out harsher than he meant them to, but he was getting exceptionally sick of nothing working out like he expected it to. "I heard you the first time."
Lyndon was trying, he truly was, but no matter what he did none of his shots would hit his target. He was having a far more difficult time adjusting to the feel of the new weapon than expected, and he had reached the end of his patience an hour ago. For any common citizen his marksmanship was still extraordinary, but for their situation it was not nearly enough; every shot needed to be perfect, or he would risk seriously injuring his companions in the chaos of a real fight.
"It's not my fault this weapon makes no Gods-damned sense," Lyndon added grumpily for good measure, glaring at the hand crossbow as if it were purposely sabotaging him.
Valla sighed, exasperation evident in her tone. Lyndon felt a small, sick sense of accomplishment at having pulled such a reaction out of the normally stoic demon hunter. He knew she was not to blame for any of this, but right now he would take whatever joy he could get. Frustration had smothered the more logical part of his mind.
"That is enough for today," Valla conceded, sounding oddly tired. "We can try again another time."
Valla made her way over to the tree Lyndon had been using as a target and begin picking up the fired bolts, examining each one to see if it could be reused. The tip had broken from one but the rest she carefully pocketed.
The two of them had wandered a ways from camp to avoid any stray bolts causing harm, and an uncomfortable silence settled between them as they made their way back. Now that he had a moment to calm down, Lyndon felt a bit guilty for having snapped. Teaching was not something Valla excelled at, but she had been trying. Not wanting them to part ways on a sour note, he decided a little conversation might ease the tension.
"What will you do when this is all over?" Lyndon asked casually, quickening his pace to walk beside her. "I was thinking, Westmarch needs a new king, right? And since I helped save it, I have a pretty good claim, don't you think?"
Lyndon smiled weakly, and Valla stared at him in evident disbelief. He wasn't sure why, it certainly wasn't the most outlandish thing he had ever said, but maybe it was because he had practically growled at her only a few minutes prior.
"Though I suppose you can have it if you want," Lyndon continued as if Valla had engaged in the conversation. "You did do a little more to help out, and it's not like I could stop you. But I still expect a cushy job in the castle."
Valla rewarded him with the briefest flash of a smile before turning her attention forward. "The position is yours if you can acquire it. I have no desire to rule."
It had been far too long since Lyndon had engaged in any good banter, and despite everything he found himself feeling a bit more cheerful. Perhaps the day had not been a complete disaster after all.
"What will you do then?" Lyndon pressed, wanting to hear more from her. "As good as you are at it, surely you cannot be planning on going around shooting things forever?"
He had meant it to be a lighthearted question, but the way Valla's face fell gave him the distinct impression he had asked something he should not have. It had sounded innocent enough to him, how could he possibly have screwed up this time?
"Not forever, no," Valla answered tersely, "Only until I fall."
Well, there went his good mood. Lyndon wondered if it was exhausting always being so morbid.
Fighting was really all she knew, wasn't it? That struck him as terribly sad, and he knew a few things about sadness. Maybe if the world ever recovered from this chaos she would let him teach her a few things that didn't directly relate to death. Though she would probably be resistant to the idea, and she might get a bit snippy with him and-
Wait.
Wait.
That was... exactly what was happening here, wasn't it? Fighting was all Valla knew, and she was trying her hardest to share it with him. And ever since she had started, Lyndon had been nothing but ornery and ungrateful. What kind of ass did that make him?
Despite the initial guilt, the thought made Lyndon feel oddly better about everything. Maybe it was the realization that she cared enough to keep trying, even if he gave her nothing but grief. His arm still hurt and his situation was still miserable, but he suddenly felt a bit less alone.