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Interlocking

Chapter Nine: Stronger Than Fear

"He must turn his gaze from hers when he speaks. 'We all have our demons.'" - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

It becomes habit, meeting at the tavern for drinks at night. Sometimes with the Chargers, sometimes without. Always with an ease and intrinsic need that neither have bothered to question. Harding and Krem trade words across the table, offer laughter and stories between them. Some nights are quiet, with Harding recalling the recent losses to her regiment at Haven. Others are boisterous and riot-like, the bard Maryden shooting them exasperated glares when their voices drown out her songs.

Every night is filled with warmth. Every night speaks of a slow-blooming ache between them. Every night is stark and rich with its vibrancy.

Harding glances toward Krem and catches his eyes, vivid and tender and crinkled by his smile.

Something searing and longing settles deep inside her.

Maker, that smile.

"Anxious to get back out there?" Harding asks the question even though she knows the answer.

Krem leans back in his chair, his tankard of ale settled in his grip and he looks at her from across the table. "Definitely. Been out of action for too long. Fixing up the keep is fine work and all. Keeps us fit. But it doesn't quench that thirst for the fight. A Charger's meant to be out there," he motions with a nod of his head toward the door of the tavern, a general indication of the world past their little table. "Meant to be in the thick of it. Blades bloody and hearts pumping, you know?"

Harding nods. "I'm getting a little cabin fever myself. There's only so much hunting I can do before I go mad. There's a world out there that needs us in it and I'm ready for it."

Krem lands a lop-sided grin her way. "Skinner's about to scale the walls. I think it's the longest I've seen her go without killing anybody."

Harding chuckles, but it is colored by the soft pain of a recent memory. "She did get hurt pretty bad back at Haven. Surprised she's healed well enough to go out with you guys."

Shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly, Krem takes another sip of ale. "Stitches knows his stuff. Besides, there's not much that'll keep Skinner out of a fight."

"Well, a fight's certainly what we expect." Harding sits back in her chair and sighs. "My advance scout has sent reports of skirmishes in the Emerald Graves but they're not sure who the players are. That's why my regiment's deploying tomorrow morning."

Krem raises his mug in a toast. "And you'll have us at your back by the afternoon."

Harding smiles appreciatively and clanks tankards with him. "Ever been to the Graves?"

Krem purses his lips and shakes his head slightly. "No. Hear it's gorgeous though."

Harding sighs in thought, her eyes drifting off toward the other patrons around the tavern. "I've never been either. But Gresner says it's like drowning in emerald sunlight."

Krem lifts his brows at the description. "Well, that's an image."

Harding chuckles as she swallows her sip of ale. "He wanted to be a poet. We're all rather glad he stuck to scouting."

Krem's laugh bubbles out of him as he continues. "Now I'm not sure whether to be excited or frightened of these Graves."

"I don't think anything could frighten you, Krem." She says it so naturally, so earnestly, her eyes fixed on his in a whisper of wonder.

Krem's smile falters minutely, not enough for Harding to notice, but enough for the quiet clench of his heart to remind him of a past not far from reach. To remind him that fear can still take root within him. That this brutal world is not finished with him. He must turn his gaze from hers when he speaks. "We all have our demons." He has to swallow tightly and reach for something else to quell this trembling remembrance.

Her face framed in orange light, full of sincerity and promise and freedom.

A freedom Krem aches for when he is alone at night with his past.

Something in the way he looks away makes Harding reach her hand toward him. Her touch is sure as it lights on his wrist, her fingers wrapping softly around his skin.

He looks to the touch, something stronger than fear clenching tight in his chest.

Harding cocks a smirk his way. "Horns up, right?"

Krem furrows his brows as he looks up at her. He doesn't think anything's ever looked so beautiful.

Harding remembers getting drunk one night with the Chargers. Asking each of them what they did before the Inquisition.

"Blew shit up."

"Killed some assholes."

"Not an apostate!"

Harding falls to the floor laughing at some point in the night, her fingers hooked above her head in the imitation of horns.

Krem's laughing so hard he stumbles as he helps her off the floor.

"Horns up!" he calls, his smile brilliant.

Drinks are raised. Cheers are hollered. Harding does not notice Krem's hand lingering on her waist.