Fantasy - Silversword -

[ashwynne]

Perhaps it was the warmth of the fire or perhaps it was the gentle touch on his shoulder that some part of him simply knew was Isara. Regardless, Rikard found himself drawing out of the limbo between oblivion and consciousness that he had previously found himself in. It was wakefulness that now encroached insistently upon him, bringing with it a searing pain in his side that made him want to scream and retreat back into the dark.

He might have whimpered or cried out, but even now some part of himself fought against that urge. That part telling him that Isara was here, that he couldn’t frighten her more than he already had, no matter how much he hurt.

It was as she slipped beneath the fur cover with him that he finally approached enough of an awareness to be capable of understanding what she said to him. It came at odds with the pain that ripped through his veins: sweet pleas for him to not leave her battling against liquid fire radiating from where the blade had bit deep into his body.

Still, something fierce and strong within the thief fought to answer her. Bringing saliva back into an unnaturally dry mouth, fighting past parched lungs and the pain that even this small vibration of effort brought him.

Her head had already come to rest against his shoulder by the time Rik managed to make the words come, each one said through clenched teeth, though his tone was almost as sweet and bolstering as it always was. “I’ll never leave you, Isara. Don’t worry. Idiots… never die.” More than that he did not have the strength to say, his breath leaving him in a rush as he sighed softly and let his eyes fall shut for a moment.

The warmth of the object she had placed between them, the heat of the flames which licked the air in their direction, and the comfort of having Isara herself at his back was enough to soothe Rikard down to a near-sleeping lull. The pain would not quite let him fall all the way to rest, not yet anyways, but at least like this he could bear the pain knowing that the woman he loved was so very near.

“Enough,” Vidar growled quietly to the twins. “Orynn is right, there is no point in dwelling on what might have been. That is the path to madness,” he had seen it enough times after the war. Silverswords and rebel mages alike… falling onto their own blades or being driven to a hysterical madness as they found themselves unable to escape thoughts of fallen comrades or loved ones who might have lived if only this, or if only that.

“If he survives the night then we go with all haste to the nearest healer along our path, that is all we can—and should—occupy ourselves with,” he said in a grim voice. His grey eyes had drifted to the pair beside the fire, in time to see Rik’s lips move, and a sliver of grieved relief filled him. If nothing else, at least the boy would get to impart some sort of last words to Isara. Vidar shifted to look at her, at his daughter, and his jaw set grimly. No. The boy could not die, it would devastate her. In truth, it would devastate him too.

Bitterness and grief rushed through the eldest of the corvids. Ordinarily he could practice what he had preached well enough, but not now. “I alone am to blame, it was a lapse in my own judgment that led to him being wounded—it is no one else’s burden to bear but mine—do I make myself clear?” his eyes shifted from one to the other, lingering extra-long on Nerys who looked especially wretched, and a hollow feeling echoed inside him where his magic had been. The niggling ‘if only’ voice wondering if all this might have been avoided had he still been able to use his own magic. “If he survives this night and the journey tomorrow, it will be because of you,” he told her, his voice quieter and gentler now, an attempt to soothe.

“I could barely stop the bleeding,” she whispered, arms drawing around herself in an attempt to ward away a chill that came from both without and within. “But I should have—”

“No,” Vidar said firmly, “It is over. Done. We do not dwell… if you must give this nightmare power then use it to fuel yourself the next time we are in danger,” he lifted his fingers to brush once against Nerys’ cheek, sighing to himself as she leaned only slightly into the touch, and then clapped each twin on the shoulder before making his way to the fire where Isara lay curled beside Rikard.

For a long moment the silver crow did not say anything, studying the pair on the ground and feeling his heart twist painfully. They looked almost as they had been when they were children… but for the deathly pale of Rik’s countenance and the weary hollowed fear of Isara’s.

Sighing, Vidar settled down beside them, eyes turned to the fire as one hand curled soothingly into Isara’s hair where he ran his thumb in soothing circles against her scalp while the other one rested on Rikard’s cheek, quietly wiping away the silent tears that fell from the boy at this tender action. Sometimes Rik seemed a man in his own stead, but no one knew better than Vidar that the kiss of death made all men back into boys. This one was simply blessed to have his father-figure beside him rather than calling for him as he died alone on some battlefield far from home.

“You will live, Rikard,” he said firmly to him—framing it as an order rather than a statement and pouring all his fierce hope for this outcome into the words—“And you will get some rest and recover your strength, Isara.” The crow was silent for a moment and then sighed, “I will stay awake and keep vigil over you both.” The silent promise in it was clear… if he felt Rikard beginning to slip away, he would wake Isara.

Nerys watched the trio with her lip between her teeth, her own eyes misting. There was a desperate fear and melancholy over them all, and despite what Vidar said… she still felt guilty. Her eyes tipped up to meet first Orynn’s and then Kasian’s searching them for something, anything. Judgment, hatred, anger, something for her to latch onto and punish herself with if she could.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kasian could not deny the scourging guilt in his heart then, and he knew both Orynn and Nerys blamed themselves for the fate of the boy. Vidar’s words were true, but burnt all the same for they all knew everything could have gone a different way, if only they had not been so drunk on the dream of power to care for the small detail of a possible hindrance. In their case, the latter had been... bloody.

No matter how much he tried, he could not get the image of Isara in her wrathful state out of his head - eyes bloodshot red, lips parted to let out a wail he had not thought her strong enough to produce, fingers pale and curled up as she cast her hatred on a broken and gushing man, once a warrior and yet so easily rendered to dust by a child.

The crow closed his eyes for a moment as he nodded at Vidar’s orders. If Rikard made it until morning - may the Gods have mercy and will it - they would need to halt their mission and find the nearest healer who could deal with a stab wound of that proportion and render him at the very least able to keep himself standing on his own in a saddle. In truth, Kasian no longer cared for their duty, none of them did any longer, and the mere thought of their payment now felt like a merely trifling wish.

He watched in silence as the man moved away, a lingering gaze in his eyes as he turned from a heart-wrenched Nerys and reclaimed his place by his daughter and Rikard. In his absence, Kasian relaxed slightly and set his jaw, eyes turning to the mage as he set a hesitant hand on her back. “All of this,” he said quietly, “perhaps it was inevitable,” he tried, more of an attempt to temper himself. “At some point one of us was bound to get hurt. It just... Wasn’t supposed to be that idiot.”

“You’d think after years of meddling with swamp monsters and hijinks we’d be the ones getting our hands bitten,” Orynn agreed quietly. “But Vidar is right. We need our heads clear from now on.” Clear of blame, at the very least, if they wanted to make it through their chosen path. For a moment, he wondered what it had been like to Vidar the day he had lost his friend and Isara’s father. Had he deemed himself guilty of his death? Did he feel so, still? And yet, they were warriors who had made their choice freely. Rikard had never chosen to fight.

“Come,” Kasian sighed as he gently pulled Nerys away from the miserable sight. “They need peace now, they need to rest. And you need to eat something while we wait.” It was the last thing on his mind then, but he wanted to know that whatever was left whole of their flock was, at the very least, sane.

✹​

There was nothing in the world that mattered more than the present, and albeit so bitter and dark, Isara could only rest with the thought that her presence might ease a fraction of the pain Rikard felt. He was growing colder by the moment, sweat trickling down his temple, jaw and the side of his neck; his palms were damp as well, fingers pale and limp against his torso. And if the Gods truly had no mercy, that was not the image she wanted to remember him by, just as she would hate for the fear in her voice to be the last sound gracing his memory.

The corvids’ voices were quiet and distant, but she did not care to listen. She only heard heavy footsteps brushing through the freshly fallen snow, which she knew belonged to Vidar, as he drew close to the fire and sat by their side. She felt his hand in her hair, a welcome touch, as gentle as his had ever been despite the roughness of his trodden, callous skin. It was not often that he dropped his wall of toughness and fatherly authority, even less so for Rikard, whom he had treated as a knight would treat his squire, as a King would teach his Prince.

His breaths were rare and gentle, a calmness that was frighteningly unusual for someone with Rikard’s effervescence. Each time she closed her eyes, Isara could picture him like a vivid dream: his dark gaze unable to overshadow his grin, his prancing about whenever he devised a plan for some foolish heist, the way he looked down to her in search of a smile, or any emotion to assure him she was alright. Even as she lay by his side, it felt nothing like the night before, and her heart sunk more at the possibilty of never getting to relive that memory again.

Every now and then, a lone snowflake managed to slip through the thick veil of pine leaves above them and melt against her cheek. She could count them, one by one, until she no longer began to feel them - perhaps the clouds had ceased snowing upon them, or Vidar’s gentel lull had been effective in sending her into a light slumber. No fire devoured the air anymore, only a pleasant warmth radiating from somewhere close, and the promise of Rikard still breathing underneath her head.



When she opened her eyes again, a crimson glow filled the darkness of the woods, now much deeper as it verged on midnight. The moon peeked from between the leaves and the snow had ceased entirely, replaced by a skin-crawling cold that even the fire fought to cut through. Vidar’s form still rustled somewhere to her side, breaking up pieces of wood and feeding them to the flames one by one with overly calculated deliberation.

The steady heaving of Rikard’s chest washed away the sinking feeling in her gut at the sudden stir to reality. He was asleep, or at least appeared so, calm and unbothered by the cold any longer. Some warmth had returned to his cheeks and the tips of his fingers, or perhaps it was the fire casting shadows in its dance. His limpness, however, was not a sign of healing, not as much as she woud have liked; blood still stained the coat beneath and she wondered if it was fresh from his still open wound.

With a deep breath, Isara closed her eyes again and pressed her forehead against the base of his neck; one hand held the egg Nerys had given her still, and the other rested on his chest, by his heart, where she could feel it beat too slowly against her palm. She felt her own blood trickle down to her toes and her heart skip a beat beneath her tightening chest as the words slipped from her mouth, too quietly for anyone but herself to hear.

“Sangvinem rig... sangvinem... rig...”

Moments passed like hours, and with each heartbeat that picked up under her palm her own slowed down. She knew when to stop, and yet the joy of success fed her more strength than the magic siphoned away from her. It was nothing of what Nerys had taught her, nothing she had done before, but only knew of from the old books, and perhaps she was using it wrong all together, but her thoughts and intention remained alligned to one purpose.

“Rik?” her voice rose from the silence eventually, too quiet, too weak that she even frightened herself. The forest had grown darker and she could no longer see the light of the fire, but she was thankful for the steady ground beneath her, albeit even that beginning to spin. Fear laced with her thoughts as her vision grew darker and her hands too weak to even hold the weight of the egg. She only rested knowing that she could not have gone too far. She was still alive. Both of them were, she knew. And if something happened, Nerys was close... She only hoped the pain would be worth it.

 

[ashwynne]

Kasian’s fingers—so clever and confident under normal circumstances—were warm and soothing on her back. Needing it, needing the comfort, Nerys leaned into the touch, doing her level best to keep from getting overly emotional and bawling in front of them.

But she still couldn’t find it in herself to answer. To respond to their soft words meant to comfort and say that she agreed, that they were right. Because Nerys truly wasn’t sure that they were. Magic was a powerful thing, something she had been gifted at since she was a child. ‘Natural talent’ they had said, ‘a true prodigy.’ Precision was something she excelled at and the boundaries of her limitations had expanded with time and devoted practice. Until she decided to give it up.

What would have happened if she hadn’t hesitated? If she had struck the scout down to the ground with a burst of precisely placed wind? Snapped a branch from the nearby copse of trees and pierced his heart? Rikard would not have been wounded, they might even have gotten away with the lord’s wealth, and Isara would not be lying beside the raven-haired thief looking pale as death with a dead man on her conscience.

It had been a long time since she’d used offensive magic—or any magic—save changing the colour of her hair, but it was not the kind of thing you ever really forgot. Maybe she had saved Rikard’s life by stopping the bleeding while he lay prone on the ground, but she could well have prevented entirely if she had just…

Green eyes squeezed tightly shut, not resisting as Kasian applied gentle pressure to nudge her away from the trio on the ground. From Vidar and his family, a ring she could never penetrate, not really, even if she found a home for herself within the chambers of his heart. And maybe that was what she deserved. Useless, when they most needed her. Incapable of protecting them, even if she truly did love every member of their motley little band.

The barest sniffle escaped her, almost closer to a gasping breath than a true cry and, impulsively, Nerys bridged the gap between herself and Kasian so she could throw her arms around him from behind. “I’m… sorry,” she whispered, meaning it not only for her failure to protect them but also for intruding on his space to wrap her arms around him. But now, more than ever, Nerys needed someone warm and alive to remind her that all was not lost.

✹​

His dreams were dark and poorly formed. Unhinged shapes in the shadows, a claw biting deep into his side, tearing at his insides until he howled. But his voice never seemed able to produce a sound. He would try, lips parting, trying to form Isara’s name, or Vidar’s, or Nerys’, or even call for the twins, but there was nothing. And, with every passing moment, he felt a little bit less strong.

On and on he seemed to dwindle, even in his dreams his breathing was becoming laboured. Until something suddenly changed. Isara… He knew it was her, somehow, just as he knew in some strange way that she had stayed beside him. That just beyond the wall of his closed eyelids and hazy, sleeping, mind she was there watching over him.

Strength, began to seep back into him, his lungs lightening, the sharp pain in his side growing in intensity in a way that was a relief rather than a terror. Not feeling the wound had felt a little too much like death. And he couldn’t die. He couldn’t leave Isara… even if she had Vidar, he didn’t want to abandon her. Not now, not yet. Maybe not ever.

Rik didn’t know where the strength was coming from, what exactly was feeding it, all he knew was that he felt better by increments until at last the dreams which had weighed him down against his will were not as strong as his own desires. Enough so that when Isara weakly called his name, he was able to answer.

“Isara…” he murmured, cracking open sticky eyelids. She was leaned against him, her forehead resting in the hollow at the base of his neck, but there was a limpness to her that had his heart hammering into his mouth the moment he had sense enough to understand it.

Alarmed, he sat up, cradling and lifting her with him. The motion earned a scream of protest from his side that he promptly ignored. He shouldn’t have been able to do any of this moving. He knew, full well, that he had been loitering around Death’s door only moments before, to now have the strength to sit up could only mean…

Hissing in fear, Rikard pushed back Isara’s hair with a shaky hand, adrenaline lending him the strength he needed to do this, to hold her. She was limp, horribly limp, her skin ashen in a way that was excessive, even for her.

“V-Vidar!” he managed to croak through chapped lips, tightening his hold on her and leaning down to press his forehead against hers. “No, no, no, what have you done, Isara?”

The silver crow whipped his head towards them so fast that Rikard almost fancied he could have heard the cracking sound of bones complaining against the motion.

It took Vidar all of two seconds to understand perfectly well what Isara had done and he cursed under his breath, reaching to press two fingers against the carotid artery in her neck, eyes closing in concentration as he let the rhythm of her heart wash over him. When his eyes snapped open again there was a gravity and frustration there that made Rik’s heart sink.

“She’ll be alright with rest, I believe, but only just,” the grey eyes were clouded now, exhaustion, grief, and fear mingling there. It was always a frightening thing, to see a parental figure who was so stoic and steadfast looking lost. “What were you thinking…” he whispered brokenly into the air, but even as the words left his lips, Vidar knew exactly what she had been thinking. It was preserved in glorious tableau in the way that Rikard held her now—gentle, tender, full of a love he would not speak of—and how she had pressed herself against him in turn before whispering the words to give him her own strength and keep the fire of his life from sputtering out.

For a moment, Vidar shifted his eyes towards where Nerys had curled between Kasian and Orynn. He could call her, wake her, but though Isara’s pulse was thready and weak, it remained steady. She had not dived down deeper than they could retrieve her from, and rest might very well be all she needed.

“Hold her. Sleep a little longer,” Vidar finally said, his voice gruff. “I’ll keep watch over you both.” What was one sleepless night compared to the life of his little pup? He knew that these words echoed what he had told Isara before, but why not? The two had swapped positions before his eyes… Isara becoming the weak and wounded, Rikard the one cradling her.

For his part, the wounded thief found his own strength ebbing somewhat as the adrenaline wore off. No longer was he in danger of death—and come morning he might even be able to sit on the mule without being utterly senseless—but the wound had not vanished, and his body still screamed for rest. More than that, he trusted Vidar, knew that he would never nod off or let harm befall Isara while there was strength in his body, so he nodded once and settled back down, tucking her close to him and burying his nose in the top of her hair.

 

[peritwinkle]

A warm force tugged at his side and Kasian flinched, eyes dropping to the pale shape of Nerys’s hands around his middle, grip frail and trembling in a way he had never seen her before. Once an unrelenting and menacing mage, it had been impossible for Kasian to imagine her as fearful until that day, when he had seen the darkness of pure regret and terror in her gaze.

He met her longing with a reuctant embrace, turning slightly so he could face her and wrapping his own arms around her shape. She was considerably smaller compared to him, her head falling right against his chest were his heart beat irrationally fast. In that moment, he could only feel a sense of protectiveness wash over him - oddly enough for a woman whom he would have otherwise tried to protect himself from - and an unspoken pity at the understanding that she likely blamed herself over Rikard’s fate.

“You did the right thing,” Kasian murmured softly, lowering his head so that his chin rested on the top of hers. “Without you, that idiot wouldn’t live to see dawn. Vidar’s right, if all we think about is what could have been, we’ll go mad.”

Orynn pursed his lips and furrowed his brows at the unusual scene. He was not particularly envious over Kasian’s stance, but much rather fascinated and pained by Nerys’s change in spirit. Vidar was not there to witness - as any paternal figure would be watching over his cubs - and he knew that, deep inside, it was him she needed assurance from. He could not blame her for beating herself up, but he was well aware he could not change their past and, implicitly, their terrible decision to jump into battle with no armour on.

His brother did not let go, allowing her to slip from underneath his arms when she no longer felt the need to be held, yet his eyes fell on Orynn in an unspoken despair and fear of what would become of Nerys if her regrets were cemented into Rikard’s tomb plate. Perhaps Vidar would forgive her, but a part of him wondered if he would have the lot of them join the poor bastard five feet under for making such an amateur mistake.

Frankly, he would much rather die by the claws of some marsh vermin.

✹​

Isara could hear voices in the distance, quiet, far away, and she wished she could call for them, beg for them to help her, yet nothing came out when she parted her lips.

The night was dark and cold, and the earth moved beneath her with each of her breaths. She could feel warm hands touching her neck, her forehead, tugging at her shoulders and pulling her up and away from the nest she had built for herself in Rikard’s arms. Was he alive? Had her magic worked, or had she been too weak, too drained for it to have any effect on his bleeding wound? Did the voices she heard belong to him or Vidar, or the twins? Had it been a dream all along?

Birds chirped loudly in her ear and the breeze loosened. She could feel the tips of her fingers and toes tingle, like they often did when she fell asleep on a chair, or inbetween the lumpy sacks of grains in the back of a tavern’s stables she had frequented with Rikard when they were children. Her head was no longer spinning and she could count her heartbeats as they drummed peacefully in her ear.

One... Two... Three....

She was alive.

As she parted her lids, bright light greeted her eagerly through the roof of leaves above them and a weak fire was still biting at the wood Vidar had fed it through the night. She was not sleeping on the ground, nor curling against bags of grains, but had her head rested on Rikard’s chest, who was breathing as well, in a rhythm similar to hers. Isara lifted one hand, albeit a movement weaker than she would have liked, and touched his own on his middle. His skin was warmer, more alive, and of a slightly more healthy pink, unlike her own.

“Vidar?” she whispered quietly, as if afraid to disturb the silent morning. “Vidar? Rikard?!”

 

[ashwynne]

With a delicate shiver, Nerys leaned gratefully into the returned embrace that Kasian offered her. Burrowing her head against his chest and listening quietly to the racing heartbeat against her ear. Was he afraid of her? Was that why it sped so? Or was it lingering adrenaline from everything that had happened? Nerys wasn’t certain, but she leaned deeply into it all the same. It was a reminder that he was alive at least, that not all was lost… even if her failure to act had been largely responsible for Rikard’s brush with death.

As though he had heard her thoughts, Kasian softly told her that she had done the right thing, resting his chin on the top of her head in a way that made her lips tremble and the hands around him clench tighter into the fabric of his clothes. Maybe he was right, maybe Rikard would have died without her aid, but if she had only… Sniffling, Nerys leaned her weight more fully into him, shoulders sagging. He was right, Vidar was right, of course. Dwelling on it, wailing over the ‘what-if’s,’ would drive her mad and then there would be no option for redemption.

Though she made no answer to his words, the sniffling gradually came to a close, Nerys lingering in the sheltering warmth of his arms for long enough to collect herself before blowing out a shaky sigh and slipping out of his grip. The loss of touch, of warmth, hit her hard, but she managed to keep her bearings and grit her teeth to keep from rushing back to him. What would Vidar think of her in another man’s arms? But even that thought brought no relief, her shoulders sagging further with the quiet realization that he likely would not care. Whether because he was more occupied with Isara and Rikard or because deep down he did blame her. Perhaps it was an unfair assessment, but it was easy to feel like it was true—to feel wretched—when he had his back to her, limned in the firelight, while he tended to the other two.

“Thank-you, Kasian,” she murmured softly, eyelashes damp over green eyes as she tried for a half-hearted smile and wrapped her arms around herself.

Sleep was what they needed now, and to that end she settled herself beside the twins. And if in the night she rolled herself closer to him when sleep would not come and comfort was what she craved… well, Nerys would never admit to it.

✹​

Rikard was not sure how long they drowsed, but morning had crept upon them by the time he felt Isara begin to stir in his arms. He had not slept, not truly, from the moment that he had eased back with her against his chest. Even if Vidar had said he would keep guard, the nagging in the back of his head would not permit him to abandon her for his own rest. So, he had hovered between sleep and wakefulness, ever attentive subconsciously to her every movement so that his eyes would flicker open and awake at the slightest twitch and stir.

The first thing he felt was her fingers—worryingly cool against his own warm skin—brushing against his hand. His breath caught and he tensed slightly beneath her, his hands moving and shifting to twine her fingers through his. Unlike her, Rikard had no magic with which he could transfer back some of the life she had given to him, so the best he could do was be here for her and keep her warm against his body as she returned to wakefulness.

Her dark eyes blinked open and he peered down at her, heart thudding painfully in his chest. Partly in relief and partly in a lingering fear from the memory of what her loss would have meant for him.

Softly, she called for Vidar. Once, twice, and then for him. “I’m here, Isara,” he murmured, eyes flicking away from her briefly towards the hunched figure of Vidar who had heard his name in the stillness of the morning and begun to turn towards them both. “We’re both here,” he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You… saved me, but I think you saved me a little too much,” there was a playfulness in his tone but it was marred by the choked emotion in his voice, “Seriously, Isara, any more and you might not have…” he couldn’t even say it, turning away from her to huff out a shaky breath before he collected himself enough to turn back to her and lift his other hand to press lightly against her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Behind him, Vidar did his best to ignore the aching in his joints that reminded him that he was no longer a young man. Once upon a time, standing vigil all night would have been a small matter… now he felt it down to his marrow and was bitterly tired. Not just because of the long sleepless night he had endured, but also at the knowledge that his own lapse in caution and judgment had nearly cost him both Rikard and Isara. Not to mention the fact that Nerys currently lay nestled against Kasian’s chest—a younger man and better suited to her—leaving the silver crow to feel exhausted, alone and… old.

Still, the sight of his little pup blinking open her eyes and calling for him gave his heart a grateful squeeze and he forced himself to inch closer to her, ignoring the stiffness. Rikard was already murmuring to her and Vidar did not interrupt, lifting his own hand to cup her other cheek and sighing worriedly instead as he noted that she was indeed cold.

“I’ll stoke the fire some more,” he said at last, breaking the quiet, “And then we’ll see about getting some food into both of you,” his eyes pinned Rikard thoughtfully, “Do you think you’ll be able to ride today?”

The dark-haired thief hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight a little and grimacing at the pain. “Well, I don’t feel quite so…uh… dead this morning, but I’m not sure how well I’ll manage riding just yet.”

Vidar nodded without making any reply and quickly set about adding wood to the fire and encouraging the flames to rise higher. Before long the blaze was warm and inviting, throwing heat over both Rikard and Isara while the silver crow moved about the campsite to fetch some salted meat and hardtack for the pair to chew on. Despite himself and how juvenile he knew it was, he could not quite bring himself to look towards where Nerys was comfortably sleeping with Kasian, making sure to make enough noise to wake them nonetheless.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kasian’s night had been restless. Each time he closed his eyes and began to step into unconsciousness, the slightest sound would stir him awake, reminding him of the corvid who lay bleeding on the ground by the other side of the fire.

Perhaps, in another circumstance, he would have enjoyed getting to crack his eyes open and watch Nerys sleep. She was almost eerily peaceful, no furrowing wrinkle between her brows, no downturn of the corners of her plush lips. A strange sight to see, at the very least for himself and Orynn, whom she always tended to scold or complain about whenever they were forced to share the same air. She was beautiful, and he very well understood why Vidar could not take his eyes off of her - and hands, for that matter - even for the price of troubling his daughter.

By the time the first light broke through the cluster of trees conveniently surrounding them, Kasian had counted no more than a couple of turns of the clock of sleep that night, one more restless and filled with dreadful dreams than the other. At some point, he could swear he had heard Rikard, although the chances of him grumbling more than a moan in his state were tragically slim. He found himself lying on one side, arms crosses and head pinned on the slowly heaving chest of the mage sleeping soundly beside him, counting her breaths absentmindedly and waiting for the moment she would rise and shove her moment of emotional weakness from the evening before in her pile of denied memories.

Light soon washed over the freshly fallen snow, encapsulating the hideaway meadow entirely. He heard stirring from somewhere behind, complementary to Vidar’s perpetual movement, and although languor still lingered within his bones, the curiosity of Rikard’s fate still nagged at his mind more than he would have liked to admit. Eventually, Kasian turned to look over his shoulder as his brother began to part his lids as well, and saw the shifting form of the young corvid, clutching an even paler Isara to his chest.

The voices that followed earned both joy and pained confusion at the realization that their roles had switched, and why. The girl was considerably more sickly in appearance - something he would not have thought possible before - while Rikard had regained some of his lost warmth in his cheeks and the tips of his fingers. It was clear what she had done, not only from the tableau the two painted, but from the pallor on Vidar’s own face and the unusual stiffness in his movements.

It was Isara who spoke first, before Kasian could voice his bewilderment, her voice husky and broken against the softly blowing breeze. “I’m fine,” she murmured, eventually finding the strength to pull herself up from Rikard’s grip, one hand still resting over his on the ground. “I’m fine,” she repeated, a look of confusion etched on her face at the realization that, against all odds and her own irrational doing, the Gods had given her another day.

She did not want to imagine the horror of that morning had she not sacrificed her strength for him. The pang in her chest only grew more painful, twisting her heart and scourging it mercilessly; what if her strength had failed her? What if Vidar had caught her too early, pulled her away from him before Rikard’s heart resumed its lively beat? Would she have regretted parting her eyes open that morning?

Her eyes fell on her father, a figure just as pale and concerned as the one lying by her side. He looked spent, overly so, after a night of restlessness and fretting over the lives of his two only cubs, and Isara could not help but feel a sliver of guilt slip into her already brimming satchel of emotions. “Do we have something to eat?” she broke the silence then, watching Vidar rise to come to their aid with salted ham and the remainder of their dry bread.

She was not hungry, not truly, but she was willing to do anything to occupy her mouth and mind in the hopes that her night would soon be forgotten. They would not abandon their task, although they had been slowed down considerably following the failure of a heist from the day before. As Vidar returned with their breakfast, Isara pulled her knees up to her chest and broke a small piece of bread for herself, handing the rest to Rikard quietly.

“You’re almost as mad as Nerys,” Kasian’s voice bloomed softly from the other side of the fire. As he began to rise, he could hear his own joints cracking, slowly defrosting, and he winced slightly both at the pain and the embarrassment of defeat. Behind him, Orynn had risen up and was vigurously rubbing his face with snow in an attempt to wash away the slumber from his eyes.

“Thought I heard a dream,” the other twin spoke through his fingers. “You did it, didn’t you? You mad fuck-“

“I did what I had to do,” Isara thundered, irritated, before she shoved a piece of ham in her mouth, chewing for a while longer than comfortable. “It was a small price to pay. We’re both alive, aren’t we? Mad fuck or not.”

Kasian cocked a brow but did not protest in favour of his brother. Had it not happened so quickly, he would have suggested either Nerys or Isara did it for the sake of breathing some life back into Rikard, to keep him hanging until they found a healer. In the state that he was then, however, he doubted he would need much assistance within the following hours; they could afford riding until dusk, or until they reached their destination and were no longer pressured by time.

“I’ll ride with you, then,” Orynn lifted his chin towards Rikard. “You need someone to hold you up on the mule and I suppose Vidar will want to ride with your wounded knight.” He lifted his brow and dared to sketch a smirk. “She saved your arse, guess you could say she had bigger b-“

“Don’t bother,” Isara sighed, eyes closed as she blindly struggled to finish her piece of dry bread.

 

[ashwynne]

It should have been a wretched night. Filled with nightmares and tossing and a thousand miseries. It was the least that she deserved, no matter what they said. Instead, Nerys slept deeply and well. It was only when Kasian began to shift, voices beginning to unfurl throughout the still morning air, that the mage stirred to wakefulness. And wakefulness brought nothing but guilt.

Sleepy and still caught half in dreams, the conversation around her flowed like incomprehensible babble. It would have been soothing, if not for the sudden burst of awareness and heart-clenching horror that suffused her as memories of the previous day sank their teeth deeply into her growing conscious mind. In her chest, Nerys’ heart clenched and sank as though she had been stabbed through by a blade. Rik. Was he even alive? Had he survived the night while she slept so peacefully? Were the voices around her speaking in the low tones of mourning?

Half afraid of the answer, she forced herself to a sit; hair having returned to her natural mousey brown, green eyes wide and anxious. Feeling a pit yawning in her belly she turned slowly towards the sound of Vidar; to where Rik had been placed near to the fire… and felt herself freeze.

Though the thief’s appearance remained drawn and worn, obviously still injured, there was a ruddiness to his complexion and a strength to the way he sat that spoke clearly to returning health. To the danger against his life being vanished. “Isara…” she said the name in a whisper to herself, half in fear and half in awe.

Vidar’s pup sat with food in one hand and the other resting over Rik’s. She had an unearthly paleness and exhaustion to her features that Nerys immediately knew the source of. Breathless, disbelieving, the former mage remained where she sat—frozen—staring at them slack jawed as understanding dawned on her. Deaf to the conversation currently carrying on between Isara, the wounded corvid, and the twins, only capable of sitting stock still as the ramifications of what this meant flowed over her.

“Thank-you,” Rik said quietly when Isara handed him a large share of the bread Vidar had given her. For a long moment he could only stare at it, listening as she defended her decision to risk her life to save his own. He fiddled fretfully with the food, slowly bringing the hardtack to his mouth and nibbling on an edge of it, though his brows were furrowed inwards and little enough was actually being chewed.

“Eat your food, Rikard,” Vidar rumbled quietly without disrupting Isara’s defense of her actions, the dark-haired thief casting a quick glance at him before reluctantly taking a bigger bite. It tasted like sand in his mouth… it was Isara who should be eating the lion’s share, not him. His gaze flicked down to the cold hand she had left lingering over his own, his mind whirling and troubled.

It was only when Orynn offered to ride with him, offered it, that Rik’s head lifted with surprise to look at the ornery twin. Orynn was back to his usual high spirits, it seemed, beginning to end things on a typical jab before Isara cut him off. Coming to Rik’s defense yet again.

For a brief moment he didn’t answer, but then he slowly flipped the hand that lay in the dirt beneath hers so that he could twine his fingers with Isara’s, giving her hand the gentlest of squeezes. “She… really did save me, my hero,” he managed at last, peering at her for a long moment, everything else fading from existence as he looked at her; pained, “But if you’d overdone it… I couldn’t have lived with myself, Isara, it would have killed me just as surely.”

“Enough,” it was Vidar, his voice cutting quietly through, “It’s enough that you’re both alive. Let’s not muddy the waters and exhaust what strength you both have by questioning what she chose to do. As for riding arrangements, I—”

“I-Isara…” heads swiveled as Nerys finally stumbled towards them; tears bright in her emerald eyes. She sank to her knees before the pair, pulling them both tightly into her arms, sniffling, careful not to squeeze too hard and risk hurting them. “Thank you,” she whispered, breath warm against Isara’s ear as she said it. Much was held and expressed in those two words… the gratitude to the younger woman for having been able to do something that she couldn’t do. For saving Rikard. For saving Nerys a lifetime of guilt in the face of her failure to protect them or save him herself.

Blowing out an unsteady puff of air, the former mage then inhaled deeply to steady herself and turned with misted eyes to look up at Vidar. “If… she wants, Isara could ride with me?” she glanced quickly back at the pale raven-haired woman and then to Rikard, who was frowning at her slightly. “Until Rik’s been looked at by a healer, I really don’t think he should be riding with—”

“Nerys,” It was Rik this time, his voice a little stronger than before, “I’m not dead, Isara is fine, you can’t keep blaming yourself for it. We were all stupid.”

She glanced away, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. It was Vidar who broke the silence, studying the three huddled together on the ground and then glancing towards the twins as well before heaving a sigh.

“It’s in the past. As I said before, guilt has a way of tearing at the mind. Dwelling on what might have been is a pointless endeavour. As for riding arrangements,” he focused in on his pup, eyes softening, “You’ve been weakened, Isara, riding with Rik is ill advised, so choose between Kasian, Nerys and I.”

“Guess that means I get to ride with you after all, Orynn,” Rik said, doing his best to insert a bit of levity into the heaviness on the air. “You’ll get to cradle me in your arms and rub up against me just as I know you wanted.” But even as he said it, he gave another small squeeze to the hand of the girl who had saved his life.

 

[peritwinkle]

A shiver electrocuted Isara’s heart as she felt Rikard’s fingers braid with hers on the ground; the bite she was munching on suddenly became more difficult to swallow and her chest heaved subtly under the weight of his gesture. She knew he cared for her, knew how much he appreciated her, particularly now after she had almost given her life in the hopes of saving him from the claws of death, but the lurking thought that they had known eachother for so many years made it almost impossible for the wounded knight to hope of a feeling deeper than gratitude from his side.

She knew Rikard enough to assume he would not drop the subject until he made it clear that he would have sacrificed himself for her instead. Ever chivalrous, Isara wondered if he had came by his protective nature from spending so much time under Vidar’s wing as a boy. The man was ready to jump in front of a fuming hydra if it meant protecting his pup, and Rik was not too far from that mentality when it came to her, either.

She had almost gotten used to the warm of his hand when Nerys stirred up from the dead and almost leapt towards them, calling her name. There were tears in her eyes - a sight which took Isara by surprise and, oddly enough, managed to twist her gut even more - and wrapped her arms around them, forcing Rikard’s cheek pressed against hers. She was beautiful, Isara thought, for even when she cried she looked as though none would cross her. For that reason, the girl remained still, waiting for Nerys to pull away before relaxing her tensed muscles.

“I did it for Rik,” she said quickly, not daring to look her in the eye. Nerys had made it clear that she regretted her moment of weakness from the day before, but Isara could not forgive her for peacefully going to sleep, without at least attempting the enchantment which had almost taken Isara’s life. If she had truly cared for redemption, she thought, hiding Kasian’s arms would have been the last thought on her mind.

At her offer, Isara took another bite out of her poor breakfast to avoid giving her an answer. Riding with Nerys was the last thing she wanted to do, but she knew Vidar would not cease to treat her like cracked porcelain if she humored him, albeit it was her best option when Rikard was clearly out of the equation. Eventually, she dropped Rikard’s hand, quickly finding a few crumbles on her knees to fiddle with to justify the shift.

“I will ride with Vidar,” she decided promptly. “I am not on my death bed, I don’t need to be smothered like this.” She swallowed one last bite before pushing herself up on her feet - a decision which she immediately regretted - but she quickly blinked and waited through the momentary blackout. As only dark spots were left out of it, she turned to Rikard and offered him a nod. “We’ll patch you up when we get to our destination. You don’t need to thank me. Almost anyone would have done the same,” she pressed on the end, before heading with slow, languished steps towards Vidar’s horse.

Isara’s cape looked heavy on her shoulders. Her coldness left a bitter taste in the back of Kasian’s mouth, but he knew better than to comment on it. In the past two years he had spent with her and Vidar, a sour mood was the least of their troubles. Instead, he turned to look over his shoulder and mustered a charming smirk for Nerys. “Come on, witch,” he said calmly, beginning to pace towards their own mount. “I might let you hold me this time,” he chuckled slightly, although the laugh died out in his throat. Annoying Nerys was the last thing he needed right then.

Orynn looked less displeased with his option that day; he had not yet complained, which only made Kasian assume that his twin brother had at least understood that day was no time for making Rikard feel worse about himself, small pecker or not. Patting the back of his mule, he watched Orynn trot over to the boy and offer him an arm for support.

“Make sure you don’t bleed on my cape,” he almost groaned as he helped pull him up. “We have a long road ahead of us, so you stay still.”

 

[ashwynne]

Though Nerys would never freely admit it, Isara’s rejection of the offer to ride with her stung. She couldn’t blame the girl; considering the friction between them it only made sense, but the undercurrent of condescension she felt coming off of her was still cutting.

Nonetheless, the former mage could well understand Isara’s resentment. In her eyes, Nerys surely appeared a perfectly capable mage who likely should have thought to do as much for Rikard herself. She was culpable, and while all seemed to have ended well—this time—it was an unspoken truth that Nerys could have, should have, done this herself.

The mage tugged on her bottom lip, eyes becoming shadowed as she retreated into herself while Isara extricated herself from Rikard’s touch and began the arduous process of moving towards Vidar’s horse. How was she to explain it to the girl? To make her understand the burdensome weight of magic? The reasons she had sworn it off? The oath that had taken root so deeply in herself that much of the time magic no longer even occurred to her as an option?

Kasian’s voice, calm and gently teasing, was the thing to pull her from her reverie. She managed to shoot him a small, distracted, smile… though the thanks in her eyes was genuine. Even as she began to turn towards him, Nerys found her eyes locking with Vidar. He was studying her with an expression on his countenance that was difficult to read, but the mage felt it like a punch in her gut.

“Vi—” but he was already turning away towards where Isara was struggling towards his horse. A sinking feeling started in her gut, but she could do little else other than bite down harder on her lip and turn to where Kasian was waiting for her.

Fortunately for the twin, she had not really heard a word he had said and so took no offense. Instead, she obediently began to plod towards where he was standing by their mule, looking perhaps a little wilted and compliantly letting him help her with mounting.
For his part, Rikard had felt a sting of loss when Isara had removed her fingers from his, but he did his best to not let it show. Rather, he clenched that hand closed very slowly into a loose fist and watched the exchange between her and Nerys with a careful eye.

Having had something to eat and knowing that the danger was passed, he was now very swiftly edging into the territory of weariness once again, but still managed a quiet shake of his head when Isara tried saying most anyone would have done the same for him. “I’m not as weak as I might appear either,” he answered quietly, searching her countenance carefully, “And of course I need to thank you… that’s what you do when someone saves your life,” he added, a note of wry amusement in his voice as he said it. Still, there wasn’t much else he could say to the rest of it; watching her hobble towards the horse with a pinched expression that coupled a quiver of guilt with a helpless sense of frustrated protectiveness.

It was Orynn who disrupted the dour turn of his thoughts, the swarthy thief scoffing at the teasing comments, a hint of his usual self flaring to life as the twin trotted over to him and proceeded to help him up from the ground. “I’ll do my best not to paint your pretty cape red… but I can’t promise I’ll hold still. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on the full experience of riding with me, after all.”

Vidar followed after Isara with a soft sigh, eyes worriedly passing over his little pup as she made her way towards his horse. Even beyond the consuming parental anxiety over how near to losing her he had come this night, a pervasive itch niggled at the back of his mind… framed by the hooded expression in Nerys’ eyes and the way she looked beside Kasian.

The silver crow tried to tell himself that he was behaving childishly, but on and on the wheel continued to turn in his mind… maddening and tiring.

“Up you go,” he managed gruffly once Isara was beside the steed, lifting her gently by the waist to settle her on the beast’s back before vaulting his way into the saddle behind her. “Lean back and rest,” he murmured gently in her ear, tucking a protective arm around her waist before reining the horse around to look at the rest of the Corvids.

“With a little luck we’ll reach the next town by sundown. No dallying,” he began to turn the horse back towards the main road but wavered for a moment, glancing at the twins and their respective charges, lingering a second too long on Nerys. “Keep a sharp eye out, we don’t need any more surprises.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Despite the brisk air of the early morning, that day felt as heavy as a storm upon Kasian’s mind. They rode in a deathly silence, Orynn holding on to a still wounded Rikard whom his twin brother threw a peek to every now and then, checking to see if he had fallen asleep. On his right, Vidar rode with Isara in his arms, who had reduced herself to a ball of fur and brushy hair beneath his protective arm. She was sleeping like a rabbit, parting her eyes occasionally as Kasian caught her, looking at Rikard as well for a brief moment, as if to say something, then burying her nose back in Vidar’s shoulder.

It was not often that they got to enjoy silence, but Kasian considered it far from enjoyable in that moment. He could not help but feel responsible for their failed attempt at a heist. He was the smarter one of the two, he should have calculated their chances of being faced with brute force, but his greed had gotten ahead of him, as per usual. Now, although the thought of taking up such a job for gold had not sounded favourable to him from the beginning, he was even more hesitant and skeptical about following Vidar’s plan to the very end, and he knew the head of the corvids likely thought the same.

As the evening fell darker and colder, he clutched Nerys closer to him and let out a soft sigh through his lips. He had gotten comfortable with her there, and an impish part of him ignorantly hoped she would pick him again once they were assigned their rooms in the inn. “You will have many chances of redeeming yourself,” he said eventually. He knew all too well the woman was suffering still, either for Rikard’s state or what her lover might think of her inaction. “I’ve messed up plenty o’ times, it almost cost Orynn an eye once, and I would’ve never forgiven myself. But this is a good lot. They’re smart. Isara can defend herself, probably too well, and-”

He managed to stop himself before he reminded her that the job they were up against was, likely, ten times as dangerous as anything they had ever done. Although in the dark like every other corvid besides Vidar, if a Silversword resumed himself to the help of a bunch of thieves for something he could not complete himself… Then the gold better be worth the trouble.

Lights began to twinkle at the top of the hill before them. Against the darkness, it almost resembled a whole city, but Kasian’s knowledge of the mainland near Caldbeck was enough for him to deduce that it could not be much more than a spread out village. Snowfall did not cloud their vision any longer, and the sky had cleared considerably for them to see their way up clearly, but the cold felt like no other in his bones. He despised the first few days of winter, when nature seemed to wish to prove itself stronger, wilder, making life exponentially harder for anyone below middle class. Still, he was thankful that the cold was, at the very least, not accompanied by the usual damp breeze always present near the sea.

“Welcome to heaven!” Orynn called from behind, lifting a hand up in relief. His other held Rikard still, but with significantly less preoccupation for the man’s balance. “Irrgin,” he breathed out as they neared the torches at the entrance of town. “I know this place. Didn’t they have-”

“The best barmaidens,” Kasian smirked with a sigh. The last time he had come here with Orynn, they were looking for their first jobs as hunters. The memory sent a shiver down his spine - they were thin, hungry and cold all the time, despite the warm weather in that summer day. If someone had told him how lavishly he would live in a few years’ time, he would have spit in his face and called him a bloody liar.

Oryn cleared his throat and urged his horse slightly forward. “Excuse me, boss… But if we are to meet in this dandy old place with your… friends… We should expect proper beds tonight, aye?”

“Tonight and tomorrow night, as well,” Kasian suggested quietly in his beard. The man was eager but not stupid. He knew Rikard had to rest and be tended to before they could set off to kill… whatever those Silverswords wanted to hire them for.

“No, they will have you two sleep outside in the hay,” Isara sighed as she detached herself from the nest she had dug into Vidar’s clothing and straightened her back. “I hope they have a healer of sorts. I’m sure with whatever they pay us ahead of time we can afford it. Or that thing, if none,” she said, gesturing almost jokingly towards Nerys’s strange egg. “Bet whatever that vermint egg is, it can buy us a healer for Rikard and a couple of nights of peace.”