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zenderael_mmo2012-12-27 02:20 pm
vast_oceans) wrote in zenderael_mmo2012-12-27 02:20 pm
Entry tags:
Ashtaroth + Rhys // Stress
Who: Ashtaroth and Rhys
When: Tuesday, 14/6
Where: Rhys' treehouse
Before/After: n/a
Warnings: n/a
The Ahura's tree saw its share of post dragons weaving in and out through the windows since his return to the Undertow. Berserkers, too, were often there to meet with him and take orders. There was no set schedule for when he was in and when he was out. When he was out, there were frequent bellows from his warhorn, and the berserkers were beginning to understand what each chord meant. They would need to.
Most of the letters were handled in his bedroom, and much of what he received was burnt the moment he was done with it. Whatever spies Aerveas might have had, Rhys didn't want to take his chances with. He spent time in the front room only to eat or wash the ashes from his fingers, or to meet with those requesting audiences. Some of the volunteers surprised him, but on reflection he knew why they were all here. Too many people had someone they cared about in Bastan, and for too many of them, this was all they could think to do.
Ashtaroth had been given the spare room in his tree. He was not sure how much space in the Undertow they would have, and with the dangers present, Rhys figured he could stand to keep a closer eye on her and put her in a place she wouldn't have to worry about the other berserkers. Rhys owed her-- and Rayu, possibly-- that much. But Rhys didn't acknowledge her beyond what was necessary in passing greetings. He did not acknowledge much of anyone. Virelai had been sent away. Rhys did not smile. He didn't need to. Didn't have time to.
Tuesday, he left in the afternoon and did not return until nightfall. When he did, he found a berserker had stopped by to leave the package he requested. His footsteps fell to a stop, perfect silence dropping over the room. Rhys felt over the bolt of cloth and undid its ties without rush, revealing a sword carved from bone with the guild's typical fur fringes and beaded decorations. Hollow, he lifted it from the table and slid it from from its sheath into a few test swings. Rusty. The sword was an extension of the arm, but Rhys didn't have much finesse with that, either. It was, in the end, only a tool, and one that would fit well next to his dagger. There was only so much a dagger could do...
Exhausted, tired, done, Rhys slammed the sword back into the scabbard and let it clatter onto the table. He swept away from it and yanked the basin by the window toward him, splashing water onto his face and over his hair. His fingers lingered over his scalp as his nails began to press into his flesh.
The noise of him tossing the sword about was what roused her from her studies. In speaking with the other clerics, she found herself in a good position to be called upon for combat healing. Not that she didn't have experience with it, simply... not on a grand scale as they seemed to be proposing. During Bastan's collapse she had been consistently elbow-deep in patients, and her experience outside the gates could not be denied, either. She knew herself to be calm and collected when the situation called for it, when her skills as a healer were depended upon.
It was in more personal situations it seemed she lost her cool.
So, healing... there was no difficulty in that, but this was a war, and promised casualties on both sides. Was there a way to reduce the number on theirs? Having a greater number of clerics (because she could not believe there were many left in Bastan) meant a greater chance to resurrect those killed, but to say as much was misleading. It was not a skill many learned, whether out of a lack of skill or a lack of desire to handle such responsibility. What if she had been able to master it?
Could she still?
Resources were limited, but not unavailable. There were still some clerics with the ability, who recognized the necessity to have others learn it as well. Being the chosen healer of the Ahura (though not without some elbowing in on her part) made her a desirable candidate, which left her busy with materials to study in the hopes it could be accomplished in time.
But the noise Rhys was making alerted her to a greater need, and she hesitated briefly before putting her papers down, unsure if she should speak with him or leave him be. Well, she supposed there were a great number of people leaving him be...
"Good evening," she said from the entrance to her room quietly, the curtain of leaves pulled back as she poked her head out. Ah, he was washing up now- but what had been that clattering noise? Glancing over the room she saw the sword on the table and guessed that it had been that, though the reason for it remained unknown. She stepped out, glancing outside- ah, it was getting dark out. How long had she been studying? Awhile, it seemed, by the stiffness in her shoulders...
Plans had formed. He had ideas. Protect as many as he could. Save as many. But he was inexperienced, wondering if he would even be able to keep his cool in the face of war. Maybe berserkers didn't have to. Maybe that was part of Fury's strength. That thought was not an improvement.
He dropped his hands to the edge of the basin, head down and eyes closed. His dampened hair dripped back into the basin. One drop at a time, each one louder than the last. Ashtaroth's voice snapped him out of it and he pushed back his hair as he turned to her with a nod of greeting. Had she eaten yet? He hadn't. He didn't want to, but knew he had to force himself. Rhys took fruit from the tree outside and searched the cabinets for dried meat. There wasn't time to grab anything fresh.
It was laid out on the table without fanfare while Rhys remained standing to peel fruit with a knife. A single slip and a thin sliver of red began to grow on Rhys' finger. He simply stopped, watching it happen without further reaction. So careless. He couldn't afford to be. Too many already suffered because of him. He'd... protect them. That was all he wanted. Now he was leading so many into danger.
What was he supposed to do?
She took the nod as acknowledgement, and found herself free to observe him as he went about pulling together some kind of meal for the both of them. She turned to look back into her room, then moved forward, further into the main room he paced around, taking up the fruit and settling them on the table so that they didn't roll around. While she took up a piece of the dried meat then put it back down in the hopes he hadn't seen her do that, she caught him staring at his finger, letting it bleed without concern... or much else.
"Rhys," she said sharply, moving around the table to take his wrist. She knew it wasn't any kind of life-threatening cut, not even really all that sever in any way, but it was his reaction to it that disturbed her more. She sighed, taking the fruit and knife from him and, gripping his wrist, bringing him- dragging him- over to the water basin outside the window.
Dunking his hand into the water, she washed the blood off, healing it as she ran her fingers over the cut. She let go then, turning the basin over before righting it to let the water drip into it again.
"If you're going to do that, maybe you should forget the rest and get to bed."
Rhys relinquished the fruit and knife, not fighting Ashtaroth as she took his hand. It wasn't much of a cut to be concerned about, but she was a healer. He wasn't going to stop her from doing her job. (Work, any work, and focusing on it was what kept people sane. Kept Rhys sane.)
He wiped the hair from his face as she washed and healed him, watching the flesh mend. It was much like watching the bleeding as a video played in reverse, suddenly dreamlike. He felt over the skin, knowing there would be no sign of damage, before he nodded his thanks absently to her.
Rest... Rhys turned to look to the sword on the table. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands with small tosses before shaking his head. He gave Astaroth a pitiful excuse for a smile, shaking his head again. Couldn't. Too much to do. The training grounds-- they weren't even ready for tomorrow. He needed someplace near the water. He should go make sure that was set up before bed. Rhys' attention turned back to the door with the intention, but his feet were too heavy to move.
Drying her hands off, she turned her head to see him walk back to the table, taking up the sword and fiddling with it before making some decision and refusing her suggestion. Not that she expected he would comply- she had dealt with Rayu, after all, and she stood by the fact that the two were more similar than either cared to admit- but when nothing more happened, she kept back another sigh and walked back over, taking up the knife and the fruit and pulling one of the chairs out.
"Well, whatever it is you want to do, it isn't going to get done right now. And if you would like it to, you could ask any number of people milling about and they'd do it for you. The least you can do is sit a moment and eat." She wasn't very good with knives, but being careful led to a slow, steady cutting up of the citrus fruit in her hand, which she put down on a leaf that was extensively used in place of the wooden plates whenever she could justify it. Washing dishes was also not a forté or hers.
"You'll be useless if you don't take care of yourself, and there are people enough that can't whether they want to or not. It's no excuse to overlook yourself. Here," she said, her voice firm, holding a wedge out to him once she'd popped it off the rind. "Eat it."
They weren't words Rhys hadn't heard before. He spent a good deal of his time telling them to other people, but it never implied in kind. It was different. He could never quite explain how, but it was. Other people deserved their rest. Rhys hadn't earned his. There was so much to do, so much that was his fault. So much that wasn't enough for him to waste everyone's time relaxing. It seemed an insult.
But he lacked the energy to argue. Rhys set the sword against the table, fell into his seat, and obediently took his wedge of fruit. It reminded him enough of how hungry he was to consider the possible truth to her words. He could not afford to be useless. A moment could be spared. Rhys started with a distant nibble before popping it in his mouth, not remembering to taste it, and moved on to a piece of dried meat.
A little food later, and scrawled on the slate left on the table. You getting enough here? Food. Supplies. Anything. Perhaps soon Rayu could visit. That may help.
She watched him pointedly while he ate, continuing to pull the fruit off of the rind for him and passing it over when he was done swallowing. She ate a few pieces in between, even going as far as opening up another fruit, and any denial of the pieces she passed him received a dark look and a steady offering until he took what she gave him.
When she was contented with his having eaten, she laid off, focusing on eating for herself and letting him take up his tablet to write. She blinked, looking over at the words on it.
"Yes, of course." There wasn't much she needed here. "...the clerics gathered have been taking account of who can do what. I guess whatever Theresa had me doing puts me pretty high on the list. It... it never really felt like much," she said after a moment, looking down to the floor. "I guess it really wasn't all that much to her. But I never got to... to learn resurrection," she finished, looking somewhat uncomfortable. Learning that- being asked to try- meant there was a need for it.
She did not like to assume the need.
"What about you? Well, I mean, what do you think for me? Am I doing enough? I feel like I'm just sitting around, doing not enough. I mean, it's important, to try and learn this, but I... I don't even know if I'll be able to do it by the end. Even if it feels like I could. Like it's obvious, even if I don't know how to do it." Was it strange, to be taken aback by her own competence? There was such an odd disconnect between her feelings and her abilities, she found herself doubting them.
The mention of resurrection made Rhys' expression think. He looked to the window, thinking of Evelyn's resting place. ... There hadn't been the option. Bastan was under attack, leaving the choice of clerics slim. By the time they found one with the skill, or one who learned the skill, it would be too late. There was only preparing for next time.
Next time. People would die. Allies would die. There would be no way to bring them all back... and something about the thought that someone had to choose...
His attention fell back on Ashtaroth with a blink, bewildered. She was so frank about her own hesitations, but her expressing them fell into easier, familiar territory. He had his slate again. It's enough to try. But he couldn't write it after all, knowing exactly how empty that sounded right now, and that easiness faded away.
His chair slid back as he stood up, eyes still on his slate. A few taps of chalk later and he began to write again. We need you, he decided on, because that was the truest thing he could think of. With or without that.
She looked, for a moment, relieved, before the worry came back, settling between her brows. She picked at invisible fluff on her skirts. "I suppose so, but... I don't feel... no, I know it isn't enough. I can do this. It's what I was written for. I can learn it, and I will, it's just... a matter of time."
She shrugged lightly, despite her troubled look. She would lose her own fair portion of sleep lost in studying and lessons- the only time she left the treehouse and something he was probably unaware of, being gone so often himself- but there was only so much she could do before she couldn't do anything anymore.
"Well, what will be will be. I'll do all I can, but if it's not enough, I can't say I didn't try. I have no intention of having that kind of regret..." Other kinds, though, she seemed to have encountered already. "... so... so, hey, um. I have a. Well. A question... a confession?..." She hadn't dared to ask Rhys before, being so worked up, but he seemed willing to be a little attentive now, and if it was about Rayu, maybe he'd pay attention for a little bit...
Her writing. Rhys often forgot Ashtaroth was an alt, having never seen her in that context. He wanted to object that she had to stick to her writing, but if she wanted to, that was not his place to say, and none of it his place to comment on. Rayu was, in some ways, similar. Rhys watched her, stepping around the table to set a hand on her shoulder with a nod. It was his vote of confidence. If this was what she decided for herself, then... No one had the right to stop it.
It felt a little easier again. Small comforts, and knowing Ash was herself, determined. One step at a time.
He pulled back to give her space, but his attention didn't leave her. A confession. The wonder was clear on his face, and he gave another small nod to her.
She twisted her hands together while she considered how to put what she had to say. Was it necessary to tell Rhys? Of course. He knew Rayu best. His hand on her shoulder made her hesitate, however, reminding her too clearly of what had been said, and guiltily she averted her eyes.
"About... about Rayu," she said, kneading one of her fingers. "I... I think I may have said something I shouldn't have. N...not quite by accident," she said, reaching up to nervously push her hair aside before going back to rubbing her hands together. "And I just... I wondered... if you knew what I could do..."
She bit her lower lip. "I... he... he tried to keep me back... after you told us about Bastan... I wanted to go back, I- I still do, of course, but I wasn't thinking, and he wouldn't- he wouldn't let me go, and I- I kind of... sort of... intimated I thought he was a traitor..."
Her voice was a whisper by the end of her words, breaking at the last. She pressed her hands to her abdomen, feeling sick again at the reminder of it. "I didn't... mean to..."
Rhys relaxed, quiet, listening. Ash's words did not come easily to her, each one seeming more worried than the last. Reflexively, his hand was back on her shoulder, touch light to steady her, before he let the words themselves catch up.
Did Rhys even know how Rayu thought anymore? He thought he did. Thought he would, but much could change in so little time. That Ashtaroth knew of him, and that Rayu kept close to her, came as a surprise to Rhys. Protectiveness was in Rayu's nature, but it came with a distance Ash did not receive. He did not brush off her words or push her away with unnecessary rudeness as Rhys wrote him to. Rhys thought he knew immediately what Rayu must have thought: I deserved that. But their potential closeness may have given Ashtaroth's words an intended power. Yet, if that were true...
Rhys took to his slate again.
It would hurt him more to see you sad.
Ah, that unrelenting hand on her shoulder- she felt the same desire to shrug it off, but instead of jerking away from it as she had with Rayu, she remained still, too still, under that touch.
She'd been so careful with her breathing that she didn't realize how stiff she'd gone until he turned away to grab the slate and write. Keeping her eyes to the floor while he wrote, she slowly let her shoulders relax, scratching the back of one hand while they remained pressed to her abdomen.
She moved her eyes to the slate, avoiding Rhys' face. Her expression creased and she shook her head. "That's not- that's not enough!" She sighed, frustrated, hugging herself tightly. "I couldn't- his whole face changed, and I- I was supposed to be the one that ... that didn't say it, and I... I didn't even hesitate..."
She reached up, rubbing at her nose, eyes squeezed shut. She shook her head again.
"He didn't- he didn't deserve it. Not from me. I wasn't even there, not really, was I? But all that rationale, all those thoughts and feelings are still there, but it's not fair- how do you make up for something like that?"
Oh, she better not be crying again- she didn't open her eyes to find out.
Rhys flinched back at her anger. His startled expression fell back into a frown, and the more torn up Ashtaroth became, the more he knew it was true. Rayu wouldn't have wanted her to feel this way. But that wasn't answer that satisfied her. Even if Rayu were here to forgive her, to say it was fine, Rhys imagined it wouldn't have helped.
He was a player. Rayu's player. He was supposed to know what would help, but it wasn't that world anymore. Knowing wasn't the same as feeling. Not the same as relating. Rhys shifted his thoughts. Not as Rayu's player, who wrote him, but as Rayu's... friend? Confidant? What would that Rhys have to offer?
He broke his silence with chart scraping against the board again. What are you afraid of?
"I'm not-"
Her words, though they started out angrily, died quickly, and she fell silent, reaching up to her face again to stubbornly push away the hot tears that had started to slide down her face. Scared- yes, she supposed she was. Scared she had offended or otherwise pushed Rayu away. Proved herself incompetent, untrustworthy. And she didn't have much of anyone to prove herself to anymore...
"Two weeks ago I wasn't even awake... and now, here I stand, with no home, with friendships I can't in any way justify, and for anything I do have left, it feels like I'm doing everything in my power to push it all away. It's not just- it's not just about Rayu. It's about me, too."
Her words were defeated, guilt slumping her shoulders. "But it is about him, too. I don't want to think- I don't want to know I hurt someone like that. Because I was angry. Because I was scared. I'm supposed to be better than that, aren't I? I don't understand..."
Rhys braced himself for more of her rage, but instead saw it fade away. Rayu wouldn't have wanted to see her like this. Neither did Rhys. But there was a part of it that made him smile, soft, but steady. That's how it always was, wasn't it? Things were painful because they were important. Because people cared. He could be somber for it, but not sad.
He wrote her a message on his slate, leaving it on the table for her to step to the basin.
You're human.
So's he.
It's okay.
When he returned a moment later, he had readied a washcloth, slightly damp, for her to wash her face. Rhys erased his message after he offered it to her and replaced it with another.
He'll make a mistake later.
If you can forgive him, that 'makes up for it.'
She sensed, more than saw, him walk away from her, and she blinked furiously to try and clear her eyesight in order to read the message he'd put down. Sniffing, she read it, unsure if the message made her feel better or worse. She sniffled, rubbing at her nose again, and looked a moment at the washcloth before she took it, frowning down at it before she scrubbed at her face.
Ashtaroth kept it over her mouth while he started to write again, and she looked, unsure if she wanted to continue this- she'd made enough of a fool of herself for tonight, hadn't she?- but she waited for him to turn it to her again.
"...is that... a guarantee?" she asked somewhat suspiciously, looking up to Rhys. "Something to look forward to...?"
Ah, and she still had Rayu's handkerchief, too... she resisted the urge to toss the washcloth on the floor in disgust, instead twisted it in her hands.
"Where is he now...? Do you know?"
His smile turned more sheepish. It's what people do. Rayu would make mistakes because he was human. Though Rhys would be lying if it wasn't easier to see with Rayu than some people. Not that Rhys didn't have a long list of his own, and for many of them, Ezra was the one who had to forgive him for it. It was why Rhys couldn't even be angry now. But it doesn't have to mean separation.
Rhys paused with the question. He didn't know for sure, and it was player knowledge that allowed him to guess.
Stonecaster.
But I'll send for him tomorrow.
The paladins had made their plans and were moving out. It should be safe enough for Rayu to enter without risking his identity, and Rayu needed to know what the plan was if he was going to help. A twist inside Rhys made him pensive, but he'd trust Rayu. Not as a writer or a player, but... a friend. Thing. He owed him that much.
Stonecaster? "...he did say he had someone to check up on," she said softly. Stonecaster. Where was that even? She'd never heard of it before.
She looked up at him, her voice calm but her hands still worrying the cloth. "And- and I can stay? You're okay with it if I stay here? I'm not in the way?"
How she could be, she wasn't sure. She saw him maybe once, twice a day. He was out as much as she was in. But it seemed the thing to ask, if she was going to take up space and boss him around at the end of the day. The stubborn tilt of her head resurfaced a little bit. If she was going to budge in and declare herself his healer, she needed to be there to make sure he was taking care of himself...
Rhys erased the message as soon as it was read, a little more paranoid about it than the others that he'd scrawled on his slate.
He wasn't able to hide being taken aback by her question. She really was worried about this. About being useful. Maybe they all were. No effort seemed quite enough. Not for this. Rhys nodded to her and smiled again.
Thank you.
For staying.
And a few other reasons that wouldn't fit on the slate.
She breathed in and nodded, letting it out slowly.
"I've still got some studying to do," she said, looking back up. "So I'll be up a little longer. But I'll be going to sleep soon- you should think about it, too. If you're tired, if you're stressed, you're going to make mistakes you don't want to be making. So use the people you have to take some of the weight off. Delegation is important in something like this." She smirked slightly. "I know berserkers aren't that organized, but clerics and paladins are some of the most organized people in existence. Trust me on this one." She paused. "...and trust others, too. Get some rest and let someone else do some of the work. It isn't good to multitask too much."
Words he kept hearing. Rhys' defenses started to spring up again like the quills of a porcupine. Yeah, sure, he'd say, or imply, and then get back to work. But this time he softened and nodded without deception. His life wasn't just his to run into the ground anymore. Everyone who said this was, in one way or another, depending on him. Defeated, resigned, Rhys looked up with a tired smile and held up his hands in surrender.
One fell back to his side, leaving the other in a wave before it, too, fell, and Rhys turned to slip into his bedroom.
Once he removed his armor, he fell into his hammock, thinking he'd have more time to stare at the ceiling with his thoughts. Everything was heavier than he thought it was, and darkness came too soon.
When: Tuesday, 14/6
Where: Rhys' treehouse
Before/After: n/a
Warnings: n/a
The Ahura's tree saw its share of post dragons weaving in and out through the windows since his return to the Undertow. Berserkers, too, were often there to meet with him and take orders. There was no set schedule for when he was in and when he was out. When he was out, there were frequent bellows from his warhorn, and the berserkers were beginning to understand what each chord meant. They would need to.
Most of the letters were handled in his bedroom, and much of what he received was burnt the moment he was done with it. Whatever spies Aerveas might have had, Rhys didn't want to take his chances with. He spent time in the front room only to eat or wash the ashes from his fingers, or to meet with those requesting audiences. Some of the volunteers surprised him, but on reflection he knew why they were all here. Too many people had someone they cared about in Bastan, and for too many of them, this was all they could think to do.
Ashtaroth had been given the spare room in his tree. He was not sure how much space in the Undertow they would have, and with the dangers present, Rhys figured he could stand to keep a closer eye on her and put her in a place she wouldn't have to worry about the other berserkers. Rhys owed her-- and Rayu, possibly-- that much. But Rhys didn't acknowledge her beyond what was necessary in passing greetings. He did not acknowledge much of anyone. Virelai had been sent away. Rhys did not smile. He didn't need to. Didn't have time to.
Tuesday, he left in the afternoon and did not return until nightfall. When he did, he found a berserker had stopped by to leave the package he requested. His footsteps fell to a stop, perfect silence dropping over the room. Rhys felt over the bolt of cloth and undid its ties without rush, revealing a sword carved from bone with the guild's typical fur fringes and beaded decorations. Hollow, he lifted it from the table and slid it from from its sheath into a few test swings. Rusty. The sword was an extension of the arm, but Rhys didn't have much finesse with that, either. It was, in the end, only a tool, and one that would fit well next to his dagger. There was only so much a dagger could do...
Exhausted, tired, done, Rhys slammed the sword back into the scabbard and let it clatter onto the table. He swept away from it and yanked the basin by the window toward him, splashing water onto his face and over his hair. His fingers lingered over his scalp as his nails began to press into his flesh.
The noise of him tossing the sword about was what roused her from her studies. In speaking with the other clerics, she found herself in a good position to be called upon for combat healing. Not that she didn't have experience with it, simply... not on a grand scale as they seemed to be proposing. During Bastan's collapse she had been consistently elbow-deep in patients, and her experience outside the gates could not be denied, either. She knew herself to be calm and collected when the situation called for it, when her skills as a healer were depended upon.
It was in more personal situations it seemed she lost her cool.
So, healing... there was no difficulty in that, but this was a war, and promised casualties on both sides. Was there a way to reduce the number on theirs? Having a greater number of clerics (because she could not believe there were many left in Bastan) meant a greater chance to resurrect those killed, but to say as much was misleading. It was not a skill many learned, whether out of a lack of skill or a lack of desire to handle such responsibility. What if she had been able to master it?
Could she still?
Resources were limited, but not unavailable. There were still some clerics with the ability, who recognized the necessity to have others learn it as well. Being the chosen healer of the Ahura (though not without some elbowing in on her part) made her a desirable candidate, which left her busy with materials to study in the hopes it could be accomplished in time.
But the noise Rhys was making alerted her to a greater need, and she hesitated briefly before putting her papers down, unsure if she should speak with him or leave him be. Well, she supposed there were a great number of people leaving him be...
"Good evening," she said from the entrance to her room quietly, the curtain of leaves pulled back as she poked her head out. Ah, he was washing up now- but what had been that clattering noise? Glancing over the room she saw the sword on the table and guessed that it had been that, though the reason for it remained unknown. She stepped out, glancing outside- ah, it was getting dark out. How long had she been studying? Awhile, it seemed, by the stiffness in her shoulders...
Plans had formed. He had ideas. Protect as many as he could. Save as many. But he was inexperienced, wondering if he would even be able to keep his cool in the face of war. Maybe berserkers didn't have to. Maybe that was part of Fury's strength. That thought was not an improvement.
He dropped his hands to the edge of the basin, head down and eyes closed. His dampened hair dripped back into the basin. One drop at a time, each one louder than the last. Ashtaroth's voice snapped him out of it and he pushed back his hair as he turned to her with a nod of greeting. Had she eaten yet? He hadn't. He didn't want to, but knew he had to force himself. Rhys took fruit from the tree outside and searched the cabinets for dried meat. There wasn't time to grab anything fresh.
It was laid out on the table without fanfare while Rhys remained standing to peel fruit with a knife. A single slip and a thin sliver of red began to grow on Rhys' finger. He simply stopped, watching it happen without further reaction. So careless. He couldn't afford to be. Too many already suffered because of him. He'd... protect them. That was all he wanted. Now he was leading so many into danger.
What was he supposed to do?
She took the nod as acknowledgement, and found herself free to observe him as he went about pulling together some kind of meal for the both of them. She turned to look back into her room, then moved forward, further into the main room he paced around, taking up the fruit and settling them on the table so that they didn't roll around. While she took up a piece of the dried meat then put it back down in the hopes he hadn't seen her do that, she caught him staring at his finger, letting it bleed without concern... or much else.
"Rhys," she said sharply, moving around the table to take his wrist. She knew it wasn't any kind of life-threatening cut, not even really all that sever in any way, but it was his reaction to it that disturbed her more. She sighed, taking the fruit and knife from him and, gripping his wrist, bringing him- dragging him- over to the water basin outside the window.
Dunking his hand into the water, she washed the blood off, healing it as she ran her fingers over the cut. She let go then, turning the basin over before righting it to let the water drip into it again.
"If you're going to do that, maybe you should forget the rest and get to bed."
Rhys relinquished the fruit and knife, not fighting Ashtaroth as she took his hand. It wasn't much of a cut to be concerned about, but she was a healer. He wasn't going to stop her from doing her job. (Work, any work, and focusing on it was what kept people sane. Kept Rhys sane.)
He wiped the hair from his face as she washed and healed him, watching the flesh mend. It was much like watching the bleeding as a video played in reverse, suddenly dreamlike. He felt over the skin, knowing there would be no sign of damage, before he nodded his thanks absently to her.
Rest... Rhys turned to look to the sword on the table. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands with small tosses before shaking his head. He gave Astaroth a pitiful excuse for a smile, shaking his head again. Couldn't. Too much to do. The training grounds-- they weren't even ready for tomorrow. He needed someplace near the water. He should go make sure that was set up before bed. Rhys' attention turned back to the door with the intention, but his feet were too heavy to move.
Drying her hands off, she turned her head to see him walk back to the table, taking up the sword and fiddling with it before making some decision and refusing her suggestion. Not that she expected he would comply- she had dealt with Rayu, after all, and she stood by the fact that the two were more similar than either cared to admit- but when nothing more happened, she kept back another sigh and walked back over, taking up the knife and the fruit and pulling one of the chairs out.
"Well, whatever it is you want to do, it isn't going to get done right now. And if you would like it to, you could ask any number of people milling about and they'd do it for you. The least you can do is sit a moment and eat." She wasn't very good with knives, but being careful led to a slow, steady cutting up of the citrus fruit in her hand, which she put down on a leaf that was extensively used in place of the wooden plates whenever she could justify it. Washing dishes was also not a forté or hers.
"You'll be useless if you don't take care of yourself, and there are people enough that can't whether they want to or not. It's no excuse to overlook yourself. Here," she said, her voice firm, holding a wedge out to him once she'd popped it off the rind. "Eat it."
They weren't words Rhys hadn't heard before. He spent a good deal of his time telling them to other people, but it never implied in kind. It was different. He could never quite explain how, but it was. Other people deserved their rest. Rhys hadn't earned his. There was so much to do, so much that was his fault. So much that wasn't enough for him to waste everyone's time relaxing. It seemed an insult.
But he lacked the energy to argue. Rhys set the sword against the table, fell into his seat, and obediently took his wedge of fruit. It reminded him enough of how hungry he was to consider the possible truth to her words. He could not afford to be useless. A moment could be spared. Rhys started with a distant nibble before popping it in his mouth, not remembering to taste it, and moved on to a piece of dried meat.
A little food later, and scrawled on the slate left on the table. You getting enough here? Food. Supplies. Anything. Perhaps soon Rayu could visit. That may help.
She watched him pointedly while he ate, continuing to pull the fruit off of the rind for him and passing it over when he was done swallowing. She ate a few pieces in between, even going as far as opening up another fruit, and any denial of the pieces she passed him received a dark look and a steady offering until he took what she gave him.
When she was contented with his having eaten, she laid off, focusing on eating for herself and letting him take up his tablet to write. She blinked, looking over at the words on it.
"Yes, of course." There wasn't much she needed here. "...the clerics gathered have been taking account of who can do what. I guess whatever Theresa had me doing puts me pretty high on the list. It... it never really felt like much," she said after a moment, looking down to the floor. "I guess it really wasn't all that much to her. But I never got to... to learn resurrection," she finished, looking somewhat uncomfortable. Learning that- being asked to try- meant there was a need for it.
She did not like to assume the need.
"What about you? Well, I mean, what do you think for me? Am I doing enough? I feel like I'm just sitting around, doing not enough. I mean, it's important, to try and learn this, but I... I don't even know if I'll be able to do it by the end. Even if it feels like I could. Like it's obvious, even if I don't know how to do it." Was it strange, to be taken aback by her own competence? There was such an odd disconnect between her feelings and her abilities, she found herself doubting them.
The mention of resurrection made Rhys' expression think. He looked to the window, thinking of Evelyn's resting place. ... There hadn't been the option. Bastan was under attack, leaving the choice of clerics slim. By the time they found one with the skill, or one who learned the skill, it would be too late. There was only preparing for next time.
Next time. People would die. Allies would die. There would be no way to bring them all back... and something about the thought that someone had to choose...
His attention fell back on Ashtaroth with a blink, bewildered. She was so frank about her own hesitations, but her expressing them fell into easier, familiar territory. He had his slate again. It's enough to try. But he couldn't write it after all, knowing exactly how empty that sounded right now, and that easiness faded away.
His chair slid back as he stood up, eyes still on his slate. A few taps of chalk later and he began to write again. We need you, he decided on, because that was the truest thing he could think of. With or without that.
She looked, for a moment, relieved, before the worry came back, settling between her brows. She picked at invisible fluff on her skirts. "I suppose so, but... I don't feel... no, I know it isn't enough. I can do this. It's what I was written for. I can learn it, and I will, it's just... a matter of time."
She shrugged lightly, despite her troubled look. She would lose her own fair portion of sleep lost in studying and lessons- the only time she left the treehouse and something he was probably unaware of, being gone so often himself- but there was only so much she could do before she couldn't do anything anymore.
"Well, what will be will be. I'll do all I can, but if it's not enough, I can't say I didn't try. I have no intention of having that kind of regret..." Other kinds, though, she seemed to have encountered already. "... so... so, hey, um. I have a. Well. A question... a confession?..." She hadn't dared to ask Rhys before, being so worked up, but he seemed willing to be a little attentive now, and if it was about Rayu, maybe he'd pay attention for a little bit...
Her writing. Rhys often forgot Ashtaroth was an alt, having never seen her in that context. He wanted to object that she had to stick to her writing, but if she wanted to, that was not his place to say, and none of it his place to comment on. Rayu was, in some ways, similar. Rhys watched her, stepping around the table to set a hand on her shoulder with a nod. It was his vote of confidence. If this was what she decided for herself, then... No one had the right to stop it.
It felt a little easier again. Small comforts, and knowing Ash was herself, determined. One step at a time.
He pulled back to give her space, but his attention didn't leave her. A confession. The wonder was clear on his face, and he gave another small nod to her.
She twisted her hands together while she considered how to put what she had to say. Was it necessary to tell Rhys? Of course. He knew Rayu best. His hand on her shoulder made her hesitate, however, reminding her too clearly of what had been said, and guiltily she averted her eyes.
"About... about Rayu," she said, kneading one of her fingers. "I... I think I may have said something I shouldn't have. N...not quite by accident," she said, reaching up to nervously push her hair aside before going back to rubbing her hands together. "And I just... I wondered... if you knew what I could do..."
She bit her lower lip. "I... he... he tried to keep me back... after you told us about Bastan... I wanted to go back, I- I still do, of course, but I wasn't thinking, and he wouldn't- he wouldn't let me go, and I- I kind of... sort of... intimated I thought he was a traitor..."
Her voice was a whisper by the end of her words, breaking at the last. She pressed her hands to her abdomen, feeling sick again at the reminder of it. "I didn't... mean to..."
Rhys relaxed, quiet, listening. Ash's words did not come easily to her, each one seeming more worried than the last. Reflexively, his hand was back on her shoulder, touch light to steady her, before he let the words themselves catch up.
Did Rhys even know how Rayu thought anymore? He thought he did. Thought he would, but much could change in so little time. That Ashtaroth knew of him, and that Rayu kept close to her, came as a surprise to Rhys. Protectiveness was in Rayu's nature, but it came with a distance Ash did not receive. He did not brush off her words or push her away with unnecessary rudeness as Rhys wrote him to. Rhys thought he knew immediately what Rayu must have thought: I deserved that. But their potential closeness may have given Ashtaroth's words an intended power. Yet, if that were true...
Rhys took to his slate again.
It would hurt him more to see you sad.
Ah, that unrelenting hand on her shoulder- she felt the same desire to shrug it off, but instead of jerking away from it as she had with Rayu, she remained still, too still, under that touch.
She'd been so careful with her breathing that she didn't realize how stiff she'd gone until he turned away to grab the slate and write. Keeping her eyes to the floor while he wrote, she slowly let her shoulders relax, scratching the back of one hand while they remained pressed to her abdomen.
She moved her eyes to the slate, avoiding Rhys' face. Her expression creased and she shook her head. "That's not- that's not enough!" She sighed, frustrated, hugging herself tightly. "I couldn't- his whole face changed, and I- I was supposed to be the one that ... that didn't say it, and I... I didn't even hesitate..."
She reached up, rubbing at her nose, eyes squeezed shut. She shook her head again.
"He didn't- he didn't deserve it. Not from me. I wasn't even there, not really, was I? But all that rationale, all those thoughts and feelings are still there, but it's not fair- how do you make up for something like that?"
Oh, she better not be crying again- she didn't open her eyes to find out.
Rhys flinched back at her anger. His startled expression fell back into a frown, and the more torn up Ashtaroth became, the more he knew it was true. Rayu wouldn't have wanted her to feel this way. But that wasn't answer that satisfied her. Even if Rayu were here to forgive her, to say it was fine, Rhys imagined it wouldn't have helped.
He was a player. Rayu's player. He was supposed to know what would help, but it wasn't that world anymore. Knowing wasn't the same as feeling. Not the same as relating. Rhys shifted his thoughts. Not as Rayu's player, who wrote him, but as Rayu's... friend? Confidant? What would that Rhys have to offer?
He broke his silence with chart scraping against the board again. What are you afraid of?
"I'm not-"
Her words, though they started out angrily, died quickly, and she fell silent, reaching up to her face again to stubbornly push away the hot tears that had started to slide down her face. Scared- yes, she supposed she was. Scared she had offended or otherwise pushed Rayu away. Proved herself incompetent, untrustworthy. And she didn't have much of anyone to prove herself to anymore...
"Two weeks ago I wasn't even awake... and now, here I stand, with no home, with friendships I can't in any way justify, and for anything I do have left, it feels like I'm doing everything in my power to push it all away. It's not just- it's not just about Rayu. It's about me, too."
Her words were defeated, guilt slumping her shoulders. "But it is about him, too. I don't want to think- I don't want to know I hurt someone like that. Because I was angry. Because I was scared. I'm supposed to be better than that, aren't I? I don't understand..."
Rhys braced himself for more of her rage, but instead saw it fade away. Rayu wouldn't have wanted to see her like this. Neither did Rhys. But there was a part of it that made him smile, soft, but steady. That's how it always was, wasn't it? Things were painful because they were important. Because people cared. He could be somber for it, but not sad.
He wrote her a message on his slate, leaving it on the table for her to step to the basin.
You're human.
So's he.
It's okay.
When he returned a moment later, he had readied a washcloth, slightly damp, for her to wash her face. Rhys erased his message after he offered it to her and replaced it with another.
He'll make a mistake later.
If you can forgive him, that 'makes up for it.'
She sensed, more than saw, him walk away from her, and she blinked furiously to try and clear her eyesight in order to read the message he'd put down. Sniffing, she read it, unsure if the message made her feel better or worse. She sniffled, rubbing at her nose again, and looked a moment at the washcloth before she took it, frowning down at it before she scrubbed at her face.
Ashtaroth kept it over her mouth while he started to write again, and she looked, unsure if she wanted to continue this- she'd made enough of a fool of herself for tonight, hadn't she?- but she waited for him to turn it to her again.
"...is that... a guarantee?" she asked somewhat suspiciously, looking up to Rhys. "Something to look forward to...?"
Ah, and she still had Rayu's handkerchief, too... she resisted the urge to toss the washcloth on the floor in disgust, instead twisted it in her hands.
"Where is he now...? Do you know?"
His smile turned more sheepish. It's what people do. Rayu would make mistakes because he was human. Though Rhys would be lying if it wasn't easier to see with Rayu than some people. Not that Rhys didn't have a long list of his own, and for many of them, Ezra was the one who had to forgive him for it. It was why Rhys couldn't even be angry now. But it doesn't have to mean separation.
Rhys paused with the question. He didn't know for sure, and it was player knowledge that allowed him to guess.
Stonecaster.
But I'll send for him tomorrow.
The paladins had made their plans and were moving out. It should be safe enough for Rayu to enter without risking his identity, and Rayu needed to know what the plan was if he was going to help. A twist inside Rhys made him pensive, but he'd trust Rayu. Not as a writer or a player, but... a friend. Thing. He owed him that much.
Stonecaster? "...he did say he had someone to check up on," she said softly. Stonecaster. Where was that even? She'd never heard of it before.
She looked up at him, her voice calm but her hands still worrying the cloth. "And- and I can stay? You're okay with it if I stay here? I'm not in the way?"
How she could be, she wasn't sure. She saw him maybe once, twice a day. He was out as much as she was in. But it seemed the thing to ask, if she was going to take up space and boss him around at the end of the day. The stubborn tilt of her head resurfaced a little bit. If she was going to budge in and declare herself his healer, she needed to be there to make sure he was taking care of himself...
Rhys erased the message as soon as it was read, a little more paranoid about it than the others that he'd scrawled on his slate.
He wasn't able to hide being taken aback by her question. She really was worried about this. About being useful. Maybe they all were. No effort seemed quite enough. Not for this. Rhys nodded to her and smiled again.
Thank you.
For staying.
And a few other reasons that wouldn't fit on the slate.
She breathed in and nodded, letting it out slowly.
"I've still got some studying to do," she said, looking back up. "So I'll be up a little longer. But I'll be going to sleep soon- you should think about it, too. If you're tired, if you're stressed, you're going to make mistakes you don't want to be making. So use the people you have to take some of the weight off. Delegation is important in something like this." She smirked slightly. "I know berserkers aren't that organized, but clerics and paladins are some of the most organized people in existence. Trust me on this one." She paused. "...and trust others, too. Get some rest and let someone else do some of the work. It isn't good to multitask too much."
Words he kept hearing. Rhys' defenses started to spring up again like the quills of a porcupine. Yeah, sure, he'd say, or imply, and then get back to work. But this time he softened and nodded without deception. His life wasn't just his to run into the ground anymore. Everyone who said this was, in one way or another, depending on him. Defeated, resigned, Rhys looked up with a tired smile and held up his hands in surrender.
One fell back to his side, leaving the other in a wave before it, too, fell, and Rhys turned to slip into his bedroom.
Once he removed his armor, he fell into his hammock, thinking he'd have more time to stare at the ceiling with his thoughts. Everything was heavier than he thought it was, and darkness came too soon.