Fantasy The Land Between Us

[Chordling]

Matthew’s curiosity over Alana’s intention with the knife was finally settled as they reached the far end of the woods with the carriage. He nearly flinched when her arm moved in wide, slashing motions, but quickly relaxed. Her actions had been less aggressive than he had expected, and he slowly shook his head in response to her question. "I’d say that looks pretty convincing. We better get out of here before he wakes up."


The trail home would be a lot quicker than it had been to their current location. Essentially, Matthew had lead them in a large circle, if you wanted to think of it that way. It surprised him how well he remembered the area after so many years. For the first few days of his revisit, it took him a while to regain his bearings, but ever since then finding his way around the woods was second nature.


With the merchant out of their hair, Matthew’s mind was focused on the precious bottles of alcohol. Never in his dreams did he ever believe he would consume another drop of the inebriating beverage in his life after the war had started. He wasn’t severe alcoholic, no, but definitely could be considered a ‘regular’ at the local bar. Often times his drunken state would lead Matthew to act out dangerous dares that put his own life at stake, or venturing off with random women. Usually his comrades would be the one to place him under these circumstances, so many of his actions never received negative reactions.


"Listen, I’m sorry I doubted you this morning," he spoke as he gently pushed back the small branches that crowded the small trail. "I should trust you more. If you were against me, you would have probably turned me into the guards by this point." Matthew stretched his leg over a mound of mud in the middle of their path as best he could, then resumed to lead them back to the cabin. In the simplest form, Matthew was beginning to trust Alana. He didn't feel comfortable audibly admitting it, the action felt premature, though at least he could say there was someone out there who wasn't looking for his hide.

 

[Syrenrei]

"The guards are much more likely to show you clemency than me," she shrugged. He might be abandoning his duty to be enlisted into the army but that had a relatively simple solution. She was one of the 'enemy' and her right to life in this nation was tenuous at best. If soldiers deemed her a true threat she would be executed without a second thought or any mercy for this war brought out the worst in men. "I'd doubt me too, honestly, but I assure you- my health is at the very least in jeopardy if they find me." It had not been a total fabrication what she told the merchant; some of the men of the party that captured her had a lustful hunger in their eyes. Others had a fury that was barely stayed by their orders. After her escape she'd be surprised if they didn't beat her within an inch of her life, keeping her only so long as it took to make her brothers compelled to comply with them.


As they walked she spent more time on her hair, loosening tangles with her fingers and then slowly pulling the comb through the tresses. Progress was slow but steady and encouraging. It felt like a small portion of her civility was being handed back to her and for that she was grateful. While she greatly enjoyed the glory of nature there were some things that she had discovered she'd rather not live without- clothing, a comb, a clean bathing area, and the like. She let out a satisfied sigh as she began to smooth out the area immediately next to her temples and close to the crown of her head. Now she looked less like a destitute madwoman and more like a strong, composed woman. At least one of those two descriptors was true.


Alana also had to admit to herself she enjoyed Matthew's company. He might be a coward, and slightly motherly, and slightly aggravating, but he was there. Since her brothers left for battlefields and her husband was similarly drawn to combat she had felt very alone and isolated. Her parents were busy negotiating contracts with other extended family members to enter as mercenaries in the conflict. Anmentia was incredibly fragile, empathetic, and withdrawn- so she was lovely but difficult to confide into. Her youngest sibling, Avery, was so much younger he was difficult to converse with on account of his age. In some ways she had been more lonely back home, even with people all about her, than she was now in the middle of the woods with one single man for company.


"So, what's the story? Just one day decided you didn't want to fight? If you wanted a few pointers, I could probably have you able to defend yourself better than those inbred idiots in town with a little work. Certainly look like you do enough manual labor easily enough you could handle a good blade and not crumple under some decent armor."

 

[Chordling]

Matthew let off a light laugh as he listened to Alana's question. "No, not quite." The young man wasn't really sure if he wanted to expose all of the details that lead to his current being, but Alana seemed eager to know, so he continued in a manner that would elude over the dark details from the past two years. "I never fought in the war. Days before the war had started, I was promised to be exempt from the battle field, but then the militia came to realize they would need more than they initially believed." The rest of his story should have been pretty self explanatory, or at least the basic idea of it. Matthew also wanted to protect his sister from any harm the war could bring her, this mission obviously had failed. He didn't even know if his sister still existed at this point, and more often than not assumed her deceased. "Unlike you, I am the last of my family," he added. "I have no heir to speak of, and I value my life. Running seemed like the only option."





He turned his head to look behind, making sure Alana was keeping up with his pace as they made their way back to the cabin. There had been an old set of fallen trees through their path, ones Matthew easily climbed over, then waited for Alana to do the same before continuing. "I appreciate the offer, but I am not made for warfare, albeit my working background."





The cabin had not been too far away now, one could see the ragged roof just through the trees. A feeling of relief washed over Matthew as he thought of the ale that awaited him inside. Sweet, sweet, ale. His tongue hallucinated as he continued to dream about his highly cherished beverage, and caught himself excessively salivating. "I may be able to hold an axe, but I would never be able to strike another man," he confessed when they neared the cabin. "Arceivona and Donesthorin have no meaning to me. We are still one nation, just experiencing a civil war." His words might have sounded ironic, especially under his governmental title, but it was what he believed. He may have only represented one of the jointed nations, but he still saw them as one people.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana appreciated Matthew's honesty- truly she did- but his words were again infuriating. Did he believe being the last of his family made him more important in some way than the lives of those that still had surviving relations? Was there divinity flowing through his blood that made his sacrifice more important? She doubted that he would try to assert anything of the sort if pressed. Matthew was just stating a fact however ill-presented and offensive. Much as she tried she could not hide the displeased expression that consumed her features for a while after he spoke. No matter how lonely he was without family, she'd not allow him to insinuate that it made him and more or less entitled in situations.


"Everyone is made for warfare, regardless of what they think," she stated wryly. Although Matthew came from presumably humble background, his words were haughty. It was the nobles and aristocrats that hired the Indoheru families because they viewed themselves unsuited for such things. They would not soil their hands with blood nor could the imagine themselves being violent- yet they needed a bodyguard, an escort, or someone persuaded in some matter. No one thought they could be a lowly warrior, wading in unconscionable physical aggression, until their life was threatened. It was when they faced someone who meant them harm that almost any man, woman, or child could be capable of inflicting harm or even murder.


Alana stepped over the fallen logs with little difficulty. She was tall and agile, her legs almost unnaturally long. So long as there was nothing tha she would need to lift of significant weight (like an unconscious merchant) she would almost certainly be able to outmaneuver Matthew with some effort. Taking a deep breath she continued her offer, which had come across poorly and been misinterpreted. "I don't give a damn about the war efforts, but sooner or later you're going to be unable to run. When that moment hits you're either going to need to know to defend yourself or just resign yourself to death. And, as you said, you value your life."





For now she'd spare him the sob story of how dangerous growing up an Indoheru truly was. She wouldn't divulge that being mercenaries meant that they made allies and enemies out of everyone. And those people wanted revenge. Their history meant the life of every generation was at risk of being erased through an act of revenge. Alana had grown up knowing that no matter what path she took she would need to defend herself so that she was not a liability to the rest of her family. Matthew had a rare opportunity to learn from someone who was something of an expert at self-defense. To learn from Alex or Arcden would have suited the man with brawn a bit more, but she was certainly better than the guards- of that she was absolutely certain.

 

[Chordling]

Matthew turned to Alana as they came to the entrance of the cabin. His expression seemed to deepen, though he did not intend to darken the meaning of his words. He appreciated Alana's efforts to fortify his chances of survival during a war that was most certainly far from its end, but Matthew did not have the confidence in him to learn her brutal ways. Matthew only trusted himself with one tool, and one tool only. Handling anything else seemed far too dangerous, for both of them. Many times before he envisioned himself holding a weapon built for battle, and how awkwardly his hands would wrap around the neck, or how feebly his feet would stand beneath him.


"Please, I understand you want to help, but." his hand rested against the side of the door to push it open, then he allowed the pause to linger for a bit longer before finishing his answer. "I am not in the mood to discuss this matter." Perhaps when he had some alcohol inside of him his mind would change. He hoped his finals words would keep Alana at bay, and save the subject for another time. In a longer winded answer, Matthew would have explained that, in the past few years during which the war had been running, fleeing had been his form of defense. Even when he did find himself in situations where running was not the easiest option, he still found ways to salvage his life. However Matthew was not willing to give Alana his full answer. The morning had all ready been overwhelming, and he was sure his answer would only lead to more questions (which he would be unwilling to answer as well).


Once inside the cabin, Matthew immediately grasped one of the unopened bottles of ale. The metal cap bent under the firm pressure from his thumb, then flew onto the wooden floor with a high pitched popping noise. Tiny bubbles fizzled to the top of the beverage as Matthew raised the glass towards his nose to smell the acrid aroma it gave off. A light smile appeared onto his lips, and the bottle was tipped back, releasing its desired contents over Matthew's taste buds. It reminded him of the late nights he would spend at the local bar with some of his comrades. Nights like those were long missed. They would sing and wrestle until they practically drank the place dry! Matthew tried to think of the last time he and his aristocratic friends made their invasion, but the moment seemed so long ago. It must have been at least several years. Ever since the war began he wasn't able to set a foot close to the bar without risking the chances of being recruited. The glass bottle tipped backwards once more, spilling its amber liquids into Matthew's mouth as it bubbled.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana imagined that, given the body language, word choice, and the particular tenor of his voice, he would never be in a "mood" to discuss this matter. They had not been together at this godforsaken cabin for long but it had not escaped her how Matthew carefully kept his distance. She was as brazen with her revelations as he was pensive and discreet. Truly, they had very little or nothing in common. He had proven himself physically formidable and also compassionate to her in her times of need- hell, he had even apologized for not trusting her more- yet now he withdrew back away down a hallway of his psyche to leave her without a proper answer or discussion. Was it cowardice or a misplaced sense of superiority in his view? Were he simply apathetic he would have shrugged his shoulders and accepted her offer.


The latter annoyed her the most. Once there had been a particularly cocky noble that was nearly as tall as Arcden and twice as fast. He boasted many times about how he had outwitted vagrants and criminals alike. At first Alana had been impressed by his tales for it wasn't so easily to escape people of violent means. Unfortunately for him, his luck ran out. It took only one especially determined and cunning burglar to slice open his belly when he offered his gold in exchange for his life. Not everyone was so callous, mind you, but the lesson she had learned was that it was best to be prepared. The truly vile people of the world did not pause to consider the virtue of the people they executed- and the blood of the innocent was spilled every day at their hands whether or not society wished to accept it. The Indoherus simply profited from the malevolence they knew flowed through the veins of the arrogant.


With barely contained rage she stalked into the wooden structure after Matthew and tried to busy herself with more important matters. She tucked the comb into her new-found pants and started a fire on which to cook the fish. As the embers slowly grew into a more agreeable flame, she plucked the edible greens, flower petals, fungus, out of her bucket from the night prior and set them out to dry while the acorns continued to soak. Soaking them in water would help draw out some of the bitterness if they wished to eat them. Alana had also gathered some sap from nearby trees on leaves that had miraculously not been destroyed by her adventure in foul weather. Perhaps she'd have a nice earthen syrup for tonight's meal while Matthew drank himself to stupidity.


"Feel free to have my share," she muttered. As she moved past one of the dirty windows (well, it had been before the tempest cleaned it by force) she swore she saw a moving shadow. Alana was fairly certain they were past their quota on weekly, if not monthly, visitors in his wretched little forest of nothingness. As she stood there with narrowed eyes her stomach groaned and she shrugged dismissively, sticking a fish on a skewer and moving towards the hearth. Hopefully he didn't get too grabby hands when he had liquor in his system. "Probably shouldn't drink too much on an empty stomach," she added- but she stopped short of offering to cook a second fish for him. He could roast the damn thing himself.

 

[Chordling]

Indeed, it had been a long time since Matthew had consumed a good amount of alcohol. He figured he would be accustomed to the fuzzy inebriation, but he quickly learned that his body had adjusted to the substance's absence when he was nearly finished with the first drink. All ready his head began to float, and the clarity of his vision seemed to dither. Still, he continued his action, and poured the remaining liquor down his throat. Matthew missed the golden beverage too much to hold any decency that Alana may not appreciate the presence of a drunk man, who was still no more than a stranger. It wasn't likely that they would be leaving each other's company anytime soon, so Matthew convinced himself that this would be a fine step in their getting-to-know-you process.


His hand reached for a second bottle as Alana sat by the hearth to cook herself a meal, and a smirk settled on his lips, knowing that she was right. Drinking on an empty stomach would only mean the alcohol's effects would commence earlier, however this didn't seem to matter to Matthew as much. Empty stomach or not, the alcohol all ready seemed to take affect quicker than he had been used to. The reasonable action would be to slow down or listen to Alana's wise advice, of course Matthew did neither of those things.He slowly felt his fine motor skills abandon him as he attempted to crack open the second drink. It had not been as skillful as the last time. His thumb pressed against the edge of the metal cap, then quickly slid past the lip of the bottle as he applied pressure. Eventually he was able to pass the relentless barrier, and continued to consume the heavy substance.


It wasn't until he finished his second drink when he grabbed himself a piece of fish, and started to stick it onto a wooden skewer. Admittedly, the task took more effort than it should have. His meal slipped through his hands a few times, despite being much drier than before, and his fingers struggled to pierce the wood through the fish. Fortunately his stride did not fail to carry him towards the hearth near Alana's sitting spot, at least not yet. He crouched down and sat before the fire, then raised the skewered fish over the hot flames, accidentally placing his hand too close to the heat. A small yelp emitted from Matthew, and he quickly withdrew his hand. The fish he wished to cook dropped into a pile of ash, along with the wooden stick, and he sucked on the side of his index finger to take away the sting of the flames. He sighed in annoyance when he saw the state of the fish, then carefully went to retrieve it from the edge of the fireplace. Matthew figured he would either eat this fish, or nothing, not wanting to waste the their small amount of available resources.


Eventually he decided to take the fish again, and successfully cooked the fish with just a few charred spots over the skin. Though it was probably still edible, he chose to only eat the main meat of the fish. During his dinning he resumed to take in yet another bottle of ale. By now his vision had become completely blurred, and it didn't feel like he would be able to walk in a proper line. Clumsily he peeled away the skin from the fish, and smirked at it. With the situation they had been placed in, it seemed like such a waste to simply throw the skin away. Though it didn't look appealing, it was still edible, however Matthew did not desire the slightly burnt delicacy combined with his ale filled stomach.


"Do you want it?" he slurred, holding the scaly leather in front of Alana's face as it dangled from the wooden skewer. "I would eat it, but, it's kind of burnt." His ability to create cohesive sentences seemed to disappear along with his ability to physically form the words themselves. "I would just hate to have it wasted." The skin still hung before Alana's face.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana had watched the spectacle of Matthew's piss poor attempt at cooking out of the corner of her eye. He was visibly loosing all sense of coordination and balance, not to mention being slightly more dim intellectually before he started drinking. Pursing her lips together she almost considered offering assistance when he sucked on his finger like a child and tried to get his slightly burnt fish out of the hearth's ashes. All of her empathy faded, however, as she was finishing her own dining experience.


Alana's protein had been carefully watched and lightly charred to personal preference, then dissected to make certain she get every last morsel. Their food was still not exactly bountiful even after assaulting a merchant. As hungry as she was, she knew that having more than a single fish might be too greedy and short-sighted. Eating slowly and relishing each bite was making the most out of a slightly bleak situation. And so there she was, after having dissected the creature with surgical precision and stacking the bones quietly, when Matthew waved the skin of his roasting disaster in her face. Had it been a passing comment it might have been tolerable. Although she was not incredibly patient, she could politely tolerate and ignore a drunkard in these circumstances. A strip of carcass inches from her features toed the line and then stumbled over it.


Without uttering a single syllable, Alana took the offering and rose, then tossed it into the hottest section of the small fire. "Now it's completely burnt," she stated after a short period of silence. "Perhaps you should stop drinking. That's what, the third bottle? Don't you want to have some more for tomorrow?" Perhaps if she gave him the 'motivation' of waiting a day she could ensure she'd be a little farther from this mini-wreck. The privacy and seclusion of her bed was already proving tempting with all the slurred words and the silly grin she had spotted just a moment ago. Then again, this was the 'happiest' she had seen the fellow in the short time she'd known him.


"Better yet, what do you say we play a game?" If he was going to be incomprehensible, chances were he'd forget all of this tomorrow. This was a rare opportunity to exploit his compromised sense of privacy.

 

[Chordling]

Matthew's eyes widened when Alana stripped the skin from its skewer, then moved his gaze along its path as she discarded into the coals. He groaned, disappointed at the sight of wasted food, still holding to his bottle of ale. Alana's voice caught his attention, and his head faced her as it leaned back, trying to decipher her question through his drunken fog. "Tomorrow? No, now," he answered, clearly misinterpreting her statement. It was either all or nothing for Matthew, never an in between. He would drink until his body overflowed with beer, and three bottles of ale barely enough to call sufficient. If Alana was all ready concerned over his discombobulated state, she had a whole barrel full of surprises coming her way.


The mouth of the bottle had been enclosed behind Matthew's lips when the young woman proposed to play a game. He paused in mid sip, then lowered the glass from his face, causing the dry liquid to wave against the walls of its fine containment among the newly created, empty space. "And what kind of game is it that you have in mind?" Before she could answer him, he brought the drink to his mouth once more, and finished the remaining liquid in one swig. His hand reached for a fourth in an absentminded manner, and started to push against the metal cap. Once his fingers had succeeded to open the additional beverage, his ears were met with a popping noise, and a subtle smile curled onto his face.


"Who can cook fish better? Who can drink the most amount of ale?" he started to list, the clarity of his phrase blurring with every word. "Chop the most amount of wood? Throw the farthest? Run the fastest?" he continued, taking periodic sips of ale instead of a breath of air. "I personally like my idea of who can drink the most."

 

[Syrenrei]

"No, not that sort of game," Alana laughed with a dismissive wave. She'd absolutely wipe the floor in any sort of physical competition simply due to her lack of inebriation. Cook a fish? He had already dropped one in the fire. Chop the most wood? It was unlikely he could properly hold his axe and aim at the logs. Run the farthest? While it was clear he was veritably professional at running away from anything remotely threatening, she'd guess the liquor would sap his endurance and the coordination needed to sprint properly. Even in a drinking contest she could (gauging by the glaze over his eyes) simply deceive him into believing she had drunk more than she actually had.


"How about a game of truth? You can ask me any question you like and I will answer directly and honestly, and for every question I answer I can ask you one. What do you think? That doesn't scare you, does it?" The mercenary's eyes gleamed in the dim light of the cabin. This was an opportunity to pierce that frustrating exterior that Matthew had erected around him. Alana didn't have too much patience for this mysterious bullshit he was trying to maintain. How long had he been here? What happened to his family? What was so god damn important that he was hiding it, refusing to talk about it? Had a bear eaten his parents or something? Alana was far too curious and would take advantage of the fact it was also unlikely he'd remember any of the events of this evening.


Hell, her mother had even instructed her on how to ply a person with alcohol for more subtle "investigation."


"I'll even let you go first. I'm sure there's something you want to know about me." Hopefully he wasn't so intoxicated he'd ask about her breast size or anything vulgar. Matthew was a man of modesty, though it was incredibly likely those inhibitions were sliding away as surely as his ability to hold his tongue. It would be a fascinating study of how far he would slip with a little drink in system. As fast as he was downing the bottles she estimated she'd only have one night (and thus one shot) at this.

 

[Chordling]

Though his body was contained by strong inebriation, it didn't take a great amount of mind power to presume the purpose of Alana's game. He dipped his head back and took another sip from his bottle before returning it to a normal position and replying, "All right, I'll play." In truth it did scare him, but he wasn't going to admit that by backing away. Matthew would try to play it smart, at least, as best he could under the heavy intoxication he continued to place himself in.


He had come across these situations in the past, not that he was physically involved, just a witness. It was usually a game acted out by lower class citizens. Spectators would drink the place dry while they mused over the action. Usually the questions started at the most basic level, then gradually built to something far more personal. It was a great way to squeeze rumors out of the town, that was for sure. There situation would be fairly similar, just in a less populated setting, and one of them refused to have their fair share of alcohol.


Finally, he came up with a question through the delusion of his inebriation.


"Why do you care so much about my background?"

 

[Syrenrei]

"Curiosity," Alana answered immediately. She was rather surprised that he had chosen such a simple, boring question for his first- as if this was a children's game instead of an opportunity to learn a few secrets without fear of retribution. "I might not have given a damn if you didn't try to be elusive. People only keep secrets or avoid topics when they have something to hide and those things are almost always fascinating." With a roll of the shoulders she settled into her seat and slouched slightly, stretching her long legs out in front of her. The narrow pants protested slightly at the movement of her hips and the waist's gap was slightly more pronounced but she was comfortable. Although the fit left something to be desired, her clothing was not torn, dirtied, or frayed.


"More importantly, we're alone in the middle of a gods damned forest with little to do. As luck would have it we're rather stuck with one another. You're both a strength and liability to me and I'm a little invested to know to what extent." Alana knew it was unlikely to be the sort of answer he'd want. It was cold, strategic, and logical. She had no illusions or delusions that his interest in her was also practical and platonic. Even more relevant was the fact that once they both felt sufficiently safe they would part ways to separate countries and lead contrasting lives. What point was there to even a strong friendship? Would it not be strained by the land between them and the strain of their circumstances in the future.


She slid one leg over the other and sized him up as her lips curled into a mischievous smile. He might be willing to "soft pedal" his query but she'd not repay him with this same gift. No, she was not nearly that generous. "Why are you really out here alone? You're clearly older than me and ought to have some little princess wife and a few kids by now I'd wager."

 

[Chordling]

"I'm not out here alone. You said so yourself, we're out here in the middle of a god damn forest," Matthew slurred. Though the alcohol continued to dull his senses, Matthew wasn't about to give up his entire life story that easily, or so he thought. "I all ready told you. I'm the last of my family. I've never been married. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. No wife, no kids." The only time he ever recalled being with a woman was after a long night at the bar. His younger sister Annabelle would wonder where he had gone that evening, and Matthew would come up with a reasonable excuse to conceal his promiscuity.


He understood that his first statement had not been completely truthful, and he remembered the rules of the game they promised to keep to, so he gave his full hearted answer. "I am constantly being tracked down by my own nation's militia. This is the only place they have yet to discover." Matthew paused, and took another sip from his bottle. "I've been living here for two years now," he spoke afterwords, though it sounded more like a realization than an addition to his response. His gaze seemed to slowly drift down to the bottle in his hands, and he sat in a presumable thinking position. It seemed that his attention came back when his head suddenly jerked upward, and he looked towards Alana.


"How come you decided to stay? Surely someone as physically capable as you are could survive on their own."

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana listened quietly to Matthew's answer and was amazed about how adamant he was about not being married. It was actually more fascinating than the fact he had eluded the militia by staying in the hidden cabin for two years. Two years! It was hard for her to imagine being solitary for more than a few months without going slightly insane from the lack of stimulus and companionship. Was the fact he had not wed in so many years of eligibility a sign that he cared not for other people? Did he prefer the male sex? Was he always a hermit in the making and simply content with this way of life? It was so baffling that she let a few moments pass before she decided to answer his question with a furrowed brow. More and more she found herself unsure what to make of the enigmatic man.


"Even training such as mine has no limitations. I've no blade or armour with which to defend myself and I am in hostile lands. I could overcome these circumstances only if I wasn't being actively hunted. Since I escaped very recently, soldiers will be seeking me nearby and no doubt offer a reward for the ordinary citizen that spots me." Herein she sighed and looked discontent. The odds were still not that much more in her favor than they had been when she was fleeing through the forest. It was cowardly to run and hide, yet it was foolish and lethal to traipse into a village of enemy territory unprepared. "It makes difficult, if not impossible, to somehow sneak unseen back to the border with only my bare hands and garments. My brawling capabilities are limited by the strength of my gender and, most importantly, I can only take on one man at a time. I find it unlikely I'll come across just one soldier between here and there if they are looking for me."


Hopefully she'd only be stuck here a couple weeks. Even if Matthew turned out to be completely enchanting (which he was not at present) they'd still have poor resources. Alana was not adverse off to trying to live off the land- she had a love and respect of nature- but only with adequate supplies. She was not so divorced from technology and society to think that she could be content without clothes, linens, brushes, tools, weapons, and other such things she could not create herself from scratch.


"You seem pretty insistent about not having a wife," Alana slowly observed as she led up to her next question. With a smirk on her lips and one brow carefully raised and arched, she spoke her question: "Is perhaps the reason you didn't wed or find a lady to bring here with you that you find yourself attracted to men? That would explain things- harder to find a lover when they are all at war."

 

[Chordling]

Matthew listened to Alana's response with a raised eyebrow. It seemed odd that someone with such intense training lacked the ability to live on their own. The training Matthew received for weaponry would never compare to Alana's. People attempted to coach him before, when he had been titled as Marquees to defend himself, but the way the armor and weapon fit to his body was ridiculous. He was never built to be a warrior, and strongly embraced this quality. Not only had he lacked the proper build for such character, but he also lacked the mentality. Harming another human being for his own protection was against his moral code, or simply put, the latter action would be impossible.


Alana's question seemed so barbaric, Matthew nearly chocked on the small pool of ale as he laughed. "Trust me, I am far from gay," he stated. "I have found plenty of lovers in the past," he began to explain, raising his glass in the air. He did not want to go into too much detail, however, mainly so he wouldn't freak the young girl before him out of her wits. She probably wouldn't be interested in this specifics, either. "There was never a reason for me to marry or have children," he simply continued, and this was true. Once he passed away, Annabelle would have taken his position as Marquise. Of course, now her existence was unknown. "A predecessor was chosen to take after me, so that I would not have to take on the responsibility to reproduce," he lied, not wanting to disclose the information about his sister to Alana. "Though now I cannot say if he is dead or alive. I'm sure he was unfortunate like the rest to be drafted in this god damn war." Eagerly, he took another sip from his bottle, which was now a quarter full.


"I have no more questions for you," he spoke once he removed the bottle from his mouth to protect his personal information on deeper levels. Sharply he raised the bottle to his mouth again, draining the last bit of the alcohol, then placed the empty container by the others.

 

[Syrenrei]

As a woman of Donesthorin, Alana already discriminated at times against the women of Arceivona. Now she considered that she had been too generous in her assumptions if they were so charmed and seduced by this lush in front of her. What in the world did they find dashing about him? His empathy was somewhat surprising given the dire circumstances, but most of the female sex liked someone assertive, aggressive, and confident. Seeing a grown man crawl on the floor with wide-eyed terror in his eyes had made her slightly skeptical that Matthew could muster an enchanting demeanor to compensate. Surely he favored the meek, delicate flowers that made up most of high society. They had a lower expectation for bravery for were prone to blind panic themselves. Hell, the fact Matthew didn't faint at the sight of vermin might have been sufficient in their estimations.


Alana sighed. It did not matter to which nation she fled for she would never be that sort of woman. She not dwelt on such thoughts until her younger sister, Anmentia, was born. Her parents viewed Anmentia as departure from all the traits that the Indoheru family bred almost exclusively. She was beautiful, of slight build, slightly petite, docile, soft-spoken, and the embodiment of the rest of the world's ideal for a lady. The juxtaposition of Alana to Anmentia was comical at best and depressing at worst- for it was the manifestation of everything she could not be. No amount of finery and make-up would conceal the prowess that Alana possessed and the ferocity buried in her heart.


Well, it was her fault for asking such a question. There was no reason to blame Matthew this time for her melancholy. "Suit yourself. Are you about ready to pass out yet?" It seemed like a poor idea to simply let the drunkard spent the entire night getting intoxicated without supervision. It was unlikely that he'd make any decisions that would jeopardize them in that time, but it will still possible. Who knew what notions might seize him? A nude frolic through the woods? Running around outside laughing and giddy? Trying to cook all their fish and obliterating them in the process?

 

[Chordling]

"Hey, didn't I say no more questions?" Matthew blurted as he sent a hairy eyed glare in Alana's direction. Typically he would have settled for more than four bottles of ale, which would have kept him drinking through most of the night, but Alana was lucky that his tolerance had weakened over the long period of time he had gone without the substance. His habits had never caused him to simply black out. Usually he would spend the remainder of the night looking for an equally inebriated mistress to sleep with, but the young woman before him refused to take in any amount of ale, so his options were left at nonexistent.


It wasn't long before Matthew's delusion turned into fatigue, and he slowly stumbled his way towards a bed, only managing to trip once or twice. His poor state of mind prevented him from realizing the room he had fallen into was not his own, but Alana's. His body slumped onto the meager mattress, and he swiftly fell into a deep slumber. Deep snoring sounds escaped from behind the lazily closed door in a muffled manner, only stopping for very brief moments before they would start up again. Though he was much shorter than Alana, his body still covered much of the available space of the bed. It was also surprising that he had been able to stay on the mattress with the amount of movement he gave off during his drunken slumber.


Sometimes he would mutter something as his body turned, but the blurry words were barely audible, so it was hard to say what he could have been dreaming about. Those who are weird enough to watch the grown man talk in his sleep say that a lot of his mumbling is just foolish nonsense, and has never related to whatever goes on in his ale bloated mind. The gibberish never trailed on for too long, it was usually a few hours before it would die away. Matthew wouldn't wake up until the new light of day would shine through the insignificant window, right into his face.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana merely raised a brow as Matthew stood and started to amble off. Her mild surprise became alarm and irritation as he stumbled off to the bedroom that she had slept in for the past two nights. While it stood to reason it really wasn't hers and there were other rooms available, she was still quite annoyed. She didn't particularly want to hunt through the cabin for whatever haphazard excuse of a bedroom he had been using with his poor hygiene for the last two years. With a shudder at the thought of disrepair the mattress might be in, she followed after Matthew to observe his drunk and disorderly behavior. There was little to watch: he collapsed onto the empty bed and passed out.


Alana argued with herself internally. Was it worth seeking out his sleeping atrocity? Was it perhaps better than she imagined? This bed was factually his instead of hers. Then again, leaving someone alone that was veritably wasted off so little liquor seemed a little short-sighted as well. With a loud sight of reluctance, she pushed Matthew to one side of the mattress and quickly lay in the void she had created before he rolled into the space. It was cramped and he reeked of booze but she wouldn't have a guilty conscience if he started puking and choking only to die tragically. Besides, he was completely clothed and not even slightly threatening. She closed her eyes and tried to get some sleep with the blubbering fool at her back.


It was going to be a long night.


-----


"Good morning," Riahne purred in Alana's ear. The mercenary's eyes shot wide open to find a blade at her throat and a veritable doppleganger hanging over her with a sinister smile.


It wouldn't be difficult for Matthew to distinguish one from the other, yet their similarities were jarring. At a distance they might have seemed identical or if, more poignantly, someone had only a description of Alana and not met her personality. Their hair was the same length, color, and style. Riahne's skin tone was slightly more pale than Alana's, but by a relatively small margin. Their facial structure was also eerily comparable with slightly almond-shaped eyes, large lips, and shorter eyelashes. The stranger's features were a touch more sharp and there was a crazed gleam to her eyes that lacked any of the warmth that Alana's hid beneath their surface. Make no mistake: staring at Riahne was looking at an altered, cold, hostile version of Alana.


"Riahne," Alana breathed in a hiss. She tried to move towards sitting, but Riahne just pressed the blade into her throat enough to draw blood and clucked her tongue. It was impossible for Alana to discern whether or not Matthew had awakened, but she hoped for the latter. A panicked, hung over, cowardly male hostage was all she needed to spur Riahne into violent insanity. "What brings you here? Concerned about my welfare?"


"It was very convenient for me that you were kidnapped," Riahne stated with glee at the allusion to Alana's traumatic ordeal. "I can see you're still showing a disgusting amount of emotion to be here with this man," she spat before continuing. "How easily, though, I can rid the Indoheru name of you and became the superior replacement. I can blame it all on the war and the soldiers. Perhaps I'll even do Arceivona a favor when I execute this creature next to you. I almost thought you had reformed last night," she casually remarked, flicking the sword slightly with her wrist to deepen the gash enough to inflict pain only, "but the real Alana Indoheru should have slaughtered this weakling and taken his resources. Instead you watched over him. You are a disgrace." Her fury was palpable and her voice raised on the last accusation, filled with an irrational ire.


Riahne truly believed she could easily replace Alana. Even if Matthew did not understand the circumstances, surely he could appreciate that no one individual could be exchanged without conflict for another. The madness that glittered in the foreign female's eyes spoke to how unhinged she had become and how much animosity was held in her heart. Alana was frightening in a fight, but this woman was inclined to kill anyone at any moment without remorse- perhaps she'd even enjoy it.

 

[Chordling]

The feeling of the sun against his light colored eyes was irritating, but what was even stranger was the feeling of somebody else beside him in the same bed. I did not take Matthew long to notice who this other being was. His initial drowsiness was pushed away by anxiety, and he started to wonder what the hell happened the other night. Then his eyes widened as he thought of the worst; that he had slept with Alana. A sudden wash of relief fell over him when he realized he was still clothed, and figured she had gotten cold during the night, or didn't understand that there were other beds available.


Matthew's celebration did not last very long as he slowly lifted himself from a lying position. It would have been hard for him to lie that he was not in some form of pain, as a deep groan was triggered from the quick, pounding discomfort that had formed in his head. The suffering interrupted him from raising himself further from the bed, and also prevented him from realizing that Riahne had entered the room.


Then the foreign woman began to speak, but Matthew had not been the one who she was addressing. From the other character's tone it was easy to tell her intentions were not very friendly. This encounter would be far different from the one with the lost merchant. Praying that Riahne had not noticed him before, he kept his head low, as if he were still resting. Currently it did not seem very fit to ask Alana for her assistance, she had a gosh darn knife pressed against her neck!


He needed to think quickly, before Alana's throat would be cut fresh from her corpse. At least, it was the easiest assumption to make in that moment. Chances it was all a friendly game were quite slim, if not nonexistent. Still, his head was hurting, and it only hindered his thinking process.


Finally, the idea came to him.


Matthew gently clasped his hand around a small section of the sheet beneath them, and prepared himself to shove Alana away from the predator and onto the floor. He only needed Riahne to take the knife away from her throat. Taking action too quickly would more than likely send Alana to her potential demise sooner rather than later. Of course, it was just his luck, and the dry in his throat threatened to burst into a fit of coughs. Matthew's body tensed as he retained the impulsive action, but his efforts crumbled, and he swore under his breath. It was time for the next course of action, but Matthew had been too worried over plan A, he never took the time to think of plan B!


Screw it. Plan B would have to come through improv.

 

[Syrenrei]

Riahne's full attention had been on Alana who, it appeared, she was ready to slay any moment in cold blood. When Matthew coughed, however briefly, her attention was diverted to assess that the foolish coward was not having a heroic moment. It was precisely the distraction that Alana needed to have a small glimmer of an advantage. Besides the sword in her hand, Riahne's advantages were that she was well-fed, rested, and comfortable. Doubles did not receive the full benefit of Indoheru training, but the superiority of Alana was mitigated by her slight injuries, hunger, thirst, poor sleep, and general discomfort. In the battle of a desperate woman and one seized by pure madness emotions alone could not will either to victory.


Alana thrust herself backwards towards Matthew, most likely pushing him off the bed and onto the floor, but also removing herself from imminent slashing danger. It no doubt irritated the panicky male but she didn't have many choices in this matter; her immediate thoughts were towards eliminating their threat. With surprising alacrity she threw herself off the bed while Riahne lashed out in anger, striking the spot that was occupied by Alana moments before. Think fast she urged herself. Adrenaline pumped through her veins with exponentially higher and higher doses as the situation escalated. The lunatic was seconds away from executing a fatal attack if she did not find a way to deflect and possibly disarm. At least Matthew wasn't being targeted she wryly noted internally. Perhaps running from problems helped him but they couldn't aid her at this juncture. Riahne could run down Alana in less than ten minutes given the difference in their current physical conditions.


The chair! Alana lunged at the chair in the room, but it came with a sacrifice. She could not completely avoid the blow that had been aimed at her torso moments before and blood flowed freely where her arm was cleanly sliced. Weapons from the Indoheru manor were of the highest quality and soft things such as flesh did not even slow their cut. The mercenary wrenched the chair from its resting position and, with her good arm, threw it as hard as she could manage against the arm holding the blade and the implement in question. Riahne screeched as the impact was enough to make her reflexively lose her grip. The sword clattered to the floor with splinters of wood from the damage to Matthew's chair.


But Riahne was not down yet. Injured, yes, but twice as angry as before.

 

[Chordling]

Belatedly, Matthew discovered that he had been forcefully placed onto the cold, wooden floor. His mind gave another pause to realize his assailant. The Indoheru woman carried out what he had anticipated to do. Supposedly great minds think alike; Matthew wasn't too sure if this particular scenario did the phrase any justice.


Frantically, he scrambled to his feet, and scanned the room for the actual threat after overcoming his shock. His eyes were still wide from the anxiety brought by the presence of the foreign woman. Though he never learned of the dialogue between them previous to his wakening, it almost seemed like the two women knew of each other prior to today's events. This strange impression and their unnerving similarities had Matthew stuck in a hypnotic like state. His inconvenient trance was interrupted by the sound of splintering wood as the only chair in the room was used to place damage against the intruder.


Suddenly, Matthew saw his tiny window of opportunity to hinder their opponent. Now unarmed, Riahne seemed less menacing, remote enough to meet the low levels of Matthew's bravery. Before the woman could reach for her weapon, the young man sprung from his position, and readied his body to force Riahne to the floor. Of course, she retaliated. The old floorboards cracked as the two fell under Matthew's assault, and for awhile they brawled in a lowly manner. Riahne took two fine swings at Matthew's head, one striking inaccurately against his Adam's apple, the other smacking flat against the floor beneath them. No doubt, her knuckles gained a few new scrapes, and suffered from little splinters.


It didn't take Matthew long to recover from the direct blow in the throat, but it gave enough time for Riahne to pick herself up from the floor and rush for her blade. Matthew swung out his lower limb, which was just long enough to catch the pseudo mercenary by the toe and cause delay. Riahne's eyes glowed with fervor as her blade sat just out of reach as she struggled against the insignificant man. Her fingers strained to grasp the familiar handle, then fell short once more as she felt herself being pulled away by the ankle. Filled with frustration, the foreigner kicked against the will of the man behind her, unknowingly knocking him in the knee.


Matthew stifled a groan of agony behind gritted teeth as he clasped his hands around the injured area. Riahne headed for her knife again.

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana had to admit she was quite surprised to see Matthew do anything besides wet himself and flee for the nearest exit. Though his fighting finesse was (to say the least) lacking, what he lacked in panache he made up with efficiency. The tumbling mess of limbs and blows was sufficient to grant the younger woman the opportunity to kick away the blade to a corner of the room and then quickly pick it up. Riahne had leapt to her feet when she was free of the irritating self-proclaimed pacifist- but she was too late. Alana's timely kick of the weapon gave her a few precious moments to ready herself before Riahne could advance.


And now they were all in a precarious situation. Obviously Matthew's hidey-hole of a home had been compromised. Now that Riahne had found it and had an agenda against Alana (and Matthew by extension), it would not afford them any protection. Matthew's knee was injured and Alana's arm was bleeding profusely, though not enough to be lethal. The mercenary hesitated. It would have been easy to cut down her adversary and excused herself by self-defense... but she could not deny that she and her family had groomed Riahne into this insanity. As silly as it might be, Alana felt at fault for how warped and deranged her double had become. It was hard not to show some compassion and mercy, the very same that everyone around her apparently damned. How bizarre. Her relatives accused her of being overly sentimental and yet Matthew obviously viewed her as cold and callous.


Alana closed her eyes.


One step.


Two steps.


Riahne was right in front of her, her breath hot and ragged on her face. Fingers reached for the blade and Alana abruptly slammed the broad side of the steel into the other's throat. Rather than slicing (which would have been simpler) she used raw impact to knock the wind out of her opponent. This sapped precious strength and composure from the 'stranger' and then another blow was executed in a similar manner against the temple. Alana knew that if her familial relations saw her use such fine metal in such a crass manner they'd be aghast. Again she delivered a veritable slap on the other side, miniscule reverberations traveling from tip to pommel. Tossing her sword on the bed, Alana picked up a part of the ruined chair and bashed it for a third concussive force onto Riahne's forehead.


Riahne crumpled to the ground. Alana heaved and dropped her wooden implement, staggering back to the sturdy bed frame for momentary support. She reclaimed Riahne's blade and ran a shaky hand through her hair. These last couple days were a lot of exertion and not a lot of substance. "Can you walk? We need to get out of here as soon as possible. There's no way that is enough to kill her." The mercenary caught her breath and fell to her knees by her unconscious former comrade and began to search her person for things of use- gold, bandages, maps, provisions, and the like. "If you can't walk there's probably a horse outside; she loved to ride."

 

[Chordling]

The pain that came from the punt of discontent prolonged, then tapered into numbness. Matthew allowed himself to release the joint between his calf and thigh, eager to keep with the pace of events around him. By this time, Alana had successfully slammed the flat of the blade against their opponent in a manner which drew no blood. Internally he was thankful. It had been an awfully long time since he had seen severe bloodshed, and he was not certain how well his stomach would maintain. Alana's injury did not bother him to any extent. It would take spilling guts and other, extraneous body parts to set him off (he was sure that level of gore would be achieved if Alana thought of slicing rather than bashing).


Matthew remained in his position. A strike to the temple, then the other, and a final blow for good measure; the intruder folded to the ground.


Admittedly, the young man was profoundly impressed with the younger woman's physical capabilities. Searching back through his memories, he confirmed it was his first witnessing of her true potential. His mind struggled to identify his new set of emotions as security or fear. Now was not the time to congratulate or recoil from her attainments, however. Matthew's knee was sore at most; he predicted a fresh bruise would welcome him by the following morning, but his suffering could not possibly relate to that of Alana's arm in any fashion.


He nodded. "I can lead us out of here, but make certain your wound is dressed," he subtly gestured toward her injured limb. "I've seen people loose limbs by infection from cuts as thin as parchment. I wouldn't want to have us tracked, either," Matthew spoke with a serious tone. A morbid thought, but possible scenario. A few drops of blood here and there could expose their escape route. Not that he was claiming the unconscious woman before them to hold that kind of knowledge, but if the woman were to wake up and report her discovery, then their good fortune would be endangered.


"We'll take the horse, whether either of us are locomotive. I can't be too certain about you, but I do not travel as swiftly as they do." While Alana finished pickpocket Rhiane's person, Matthew gathered the few belongings he felt would be necessary to take along; his cloak and a bottle of ale. Places with such solitary boundaries were very few. Matthew could not think of a similar area that would be easily achievable. Of course, he could only envision the Arceivona area. He rarely traveled Donesthorin, back when things were tranquil. But if they wanted to flee without engaging local guards, they would have to stay within the nation. Traveling all the way across the border would surely promise them prison, if not death. "I am assuming you know how to ride yourself."

 

[Syrenrei]

Alana retrieved a few useful items from Riahne's person and was sorely tempted to rob her of her clothes as well (they were nearly identical, after all, and had only a 1" height difference). Figuring she had neither the time or energy and Matthew would object on the basis of some misguided morality or modesty, she opted not to undress her double. As it stood she was able to find a pouch with dry rations, a small sum of gold currency, a map, a compass, a waterskin, a whetstone, and flint with steel. With a moment's consideration she decided to take Riahne's belt and attached sword frog with sheath to make traveling with the 'stolen' sword more comfortable. "Even if I lost my arm I'd be able to fight; we're taught swordplay with both hands."


She adorned herself with the pilfered items before wandering over to the blouse she had discarded the day prior. She hadn't needed it after they found the garments in the merchant's supplies, but there wasn't an easy way to dispose of it either. Now it would serve a purpose. She fetched the hunting knife they had obtained from the same merchant and used it to slice the cloth. Once she had made equidistant small notches, she used that to rip down the grain somewhat evenly and create make-shift bandages. "I'll be right back." Pushing aside her fatigue she made a quick trip to the kitchen to wash her bandages in a bucket of well water, scrub her wound as best she could with the remnants of the blouse, and tightly bandage with the strips. It looked no different than the cheap bandages of the working poor.


Returning to the guest-bedroom-turned-Alana-bedroom-and-now-a-hot-mess-bedroom, she sighed. "We should find a small town with an inn and get a hot meal and rest. Riahne has enough for a couple days' reprieve. We'll need a ruse, of course- perhaps that you're a cripple aristocrat and I'm your bodyguard or the like. I doubt you want to wear the sword and we ought to bring it with us regardless of where we go. Taking the horse is a valuable resource- but if we both ride it won't be able to travel for long faster than a walk. My arm won't impair my walking, so I suggest you ride."

 

[Chordling]

While her reasoning made sense, Matthew's concern did not include that of her fighting abilities. He was more concerned over the presence of the arm itself, not that it mattered if she was still able to battle. It was at least reassuring, however, to know that if something did happen to one of her limbs, she would not be handicapped. Matthew was not as confident over such a great loss. He would surely suffer grievous consequences if a limb was suddenly amputated.


Confirming her desired course of action, the young man nodded his head. As he lead himself outside towards the steed, he plotted a route that would quickly lead them to where they needed to be, while avoiding complications with guards and other townsmen. Thankfully the horse was tame, and Matthew did not need to waste much time boarding the animal's back.


"We'll head towards the East end, then go South," he started to explain. "A small inn should be there, if nothing has changed." War was difficult that way. Years ago, just when the war had started, there used to be another innkeeper just across the river. A rather lovely couple owned the place, and allowed Matthew to grab supplies during the first few months of the war. Later in the war, their place was taken under siege, and forced Matthew to find other shelter. Relying on businesses for resources suddenly became unreliable, and Matthew turned to begging and thievery. "If we have to, we can go past the lake and head further down." Otherwise they would need to sleep on the streets. Matthew wasn't in the mood to chase around the nation just for a decent place to rest. He was thinking like a pessimist, and quickly pushed the negative ideas that plagued his mind. With the way the war was going, he predicted the South would still be all right.


Their path journey would continue through the forest quite a ways, then they would eventually near the town, where more fields were placed. To occupy himself and plan ahead, Matthew began to craft himself a false identity. Truthfully, he called himself by his middle name. He despised his first name more ways than none, and forbid anyone he knew to address him by it. Darwin Matthew DuChamps was his full, given name. For a moment he considered using his 'real' name, but quickly decided against it. He knew he would hate himself for it later, and it might not act as the strong foil he needed it to. His mind continued to struggle, and eventually folded under frustration.


"Who exactly was that woman?" he suddenly spoke, directing his question towards Alana. "You clearly seem to know her."