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zenderael_mmo2013-01-27 06:03 pm
vast_oceans) wrote in zenderael_mmo2013-01-27 06:03 pm
Entry tags:
Ashtaroth + Victor (+ Rhys) // Out of My Hands
Who: Ashtaroth, Rhys and Victor.
When: Sunday, 26/6
Where: Rhys' treehouse in the Undertow
Before/After: Before/During Rhys' dmail to Ezra.
Warnings: sad feelings GET OFF MY CASE
Victor decides it's time to go face the music. The hard part is not knowing what song will play.
Moving around was getting easier. Victor could stand, walk, and had even found the energy to fight with Rhys about doing at least some of the chores. Just because he had been dead didn't mean he was content being useless. Ash's presence helped restore a sense of ease around the place, for when she was there, Rhys was far less watchful, trusting her to keep Victor from-- he didn't know, climbing out a window or dragon mailing the Spenta or whatever it was they assumed his plan would have been. For the most part, he never left the Ahura's tree, safely hidden and tucked away while watching Rhys' thoughts wander with schemes that he'd never get the chance to practice.
But now he was feeling more like himself. Still occasionally chilled, and still not able to stand up as fast as he remembered, but they were things that faded easily into the background. He'd since gotten a proper haircut (or as well as one they could collectively manage) and clothes that fit, layered in long sleeves and a laced vest. They had been given. The traveler's cloak, however, had not been. It laid folded on the hammock before Victor took it up, idly feeling his fingers through the fabric. "I don't want to wait any longer than this," he said, quiet, so Rhys could not overhear them from the other room.
Ashtaroth nodded, her eyes not on him but the cloak. The true ease came with an almost absent-minded compliance to whatever was asked of her, unquestioning and automatic. There was no fight in her, no stubbornness. She did her job as cleric and nurse, but nothing more, did not engage and did the bare minimum when engaged. And she slept still with the lantern on, swallowing her terror each evening when the sun began to sink.
Today was the day. He was not well, but well enough. She had collected some potions, paid for with her own money, stamina potions, health potions, and without a word she presented them, having brought the bag with her that morning. She'd made no lie when questioned- they were potions for Victor. A few of each, enough to get him to where he was going.
There was a moment of silence, as she tried to say something, but ultimately failed, with nothing to say. Do you have everything? Do you need anything? Will you be all right? Useless questions. The answer wasn't available to them now.
"Give me a minute," was all she said, still staring sightlessly at the cloak. He could probably count the number of times she had looked at him directly on one hand. Now was no different. There was the briefest lingering, as though she needed to find some motivation to move.
She left the room, seeking out Rhys. "...I think Virelai said she needed to talk to you," she said to him, her voice convincingly vague, thoughtful. "Could you go check? I don't want to be wrong and have her waiting."
It was Ashtaroth that would be doing the waiting instead.
Victor looked to the potions with surprise, but did not press. He could not refuse them, not with that look on her face. He only nodded his thanks and took them gently. Uneasiness was building again. This was what he wanted, and years ago he would not have been afraid to. Why was he second guessing himself now?
To have Ashtaroth lie for him made him feel sick in a way he didn't expect. He needed to stop her, to tell her it was fine, but there was no other way. She had been so... tired. More tired than he, maybe.
Once she had left, he forced himself to focus on donning the cloak and settling the potions in a pack at his belt.
Rhys still had no idea what he was going to do. A week of thinking and his best plan was still convincing Victor to hide somewhere. Victor wouldn't want to hear it, and he knew that. But they couldn't throw this second chance away. Rhys needed help, but the person who came to mind every time also happened to be the Spenta by sheer coincidence. It was not a position he was going to put his friend in. They both had so much to worry about, and he was always hanging his problems off of Ezra...
Ashtaroth shook him from his thoughts. Rhys looked at her, response delayed as she let her words catch up to him. Virelai? He had been neglecting her a little, lately. Rhys frowned, then nodded, setting aside the fruit he was cutting. He paused, looking from Ashtaroth to the bedroom. She would look after Victor-- she already had, though with a heaviness that hadn't gone unnoticed. Another nod, this time one of unspoken trust, before he turned to leave.
She didn't quite look at Rhys while she spoke, but that was nothing new. When he stood, glancing behind her towards the bedroom, she could feel her heart constrict. When he nodded and turned, not once thinking to question what it was she'd just told him, she almost cried out after him. The sound stuck in her throat, unheard, and she had to let him go.
When he was gone from sight, she reached up, rubbing at the base of her neck, feeling suddenly ill. Of course- she was burning her bridges here, betraying now Rhys' trust. Already she couldn't bear the thought of following the clerics and paladins to Omghan. Soon she wouldn't be able to stay here, either.
Ashtaroth turned and went back to the entryway to the bedroom. She spoke to the floor. "You should hurry. I don't actually know if Virelai is home."
Victor took a deep breath and nodded. He looked over Ash, frowning and stepping toward her. His hand reached out and stopped short. "Ash, listen--" To what? Only the truth. It was all he could say. The affliction had made him acutely aware of how much he didn't know.
His hand found her chin, tilting her head up. "... Ash. I'm sorry." He didn't know the extent of what for, just that he was. That he didn't want it to be like this. That he didn't want to say goodbye like this.
"You've... spent so much time on me," he said. "More than time. You were only doing your duties, I know, and I owe you my life." In the most literal sense possible. "... I don't mean to throw this away, but I have to do what's just. ...There's a chance. You said it yourself. There's a chance death isn't the answer."
She lingered, but said nothing as he began, waiting on him to continue, shifting as though to step away as he stepped forward, though ultimately she stayed where she stood. It was surprise, not any kind of obedience or desire, to look up at him when he tilted her face up. She hadn't quite looked at him yet- the hair was still strange to her, something about the openness of his face that was difficult to look at.
But she did look at him, further taken aback by the apology. Sorry? For what? There was so much- and so little. Regardless of how he felt, she didn't deserve for him to be sorry. That was her place.
Only doing your duties. Had that been true? No, it had been too impulsive, too selfish. A small crush intertwined with the shock of loss, with the knowledge of capability, and the realization that there was no one else so close to her as him. Even if they weren't all that close at all.
Her head tilted slightly, before she looked down again. She reached up to take his hand, timid and afraid, but she had to- she had to take something despite all she already had, knowing she would have nothing again when he went out the door. She'd betrayed him, and now she had betrayed Rhys-
Her tears were hot, sliding down her face and dripping off her jaw quickly, though they hit his hand first on one side. She forced herself to breathe in, but it shivered. It was wrong, it was all wrong... she couldn't quite believe there could be something right within it all.
"I know. I know."
Something inside him twisted even before she started crying. Victor gripped back on her hand, helpless as he watched her tears fall. Why? He didn't understand. Why, and what could he do? But he could not help that it had been a mistake to revive him. (But what if she was right? About everything? Was it lying to hope?)
There were no other options. There was nothing he or she could do, but he couldn't leave her like this.
"Ash, please... tell me what I can do." To make any of this feel right again.
She made a noise, a whimper, pulling his hand to her mouth, his palm to her lips. There was no real significance to the gesture- she just wanted to hold on to him, keep him back, keep him safe. Safe- but what could that mean? Hidden away like he didn't exist? Better to be dead than to be alive without living.
Better to be dead.
She shook her head. "Just- go," she said brokenly, pulling his hand away but still gripping it tightly. "I can't- I can't stand to watch you like this. You have to know. You have to try. Please, just-" Forgive me? But the words stuck in her throat and she couldn't say them. "Do what you need to do. For yourself."
For himself.
It's what this had always been about. Victor closed his eyes and swallowed back the lump in his throat. Come with me, he almost said, but stopped. He could not protect her. He did not know how they would react or what this would mean for her. Finally, he nodded. They did not have much time before Rhys might return.
His hand squeezed hers. "All right." Reluctantly, he released her, desperate for something more significant to say or do. This was goodbye for now. Forever? He didn't know anymore, and that should not have made him uneasy the way he had. Most had never gotten their goodbyes. Most didn't have the luxury to try to predict it.
Victor strode past her, stopping for one last look back. "... I wish I had met you sooner." Maybe then, things would have gone differently, and maybe now, time wouldn't feel so choked.
Time. There wasn't much left. He disappeared through the door to escape into the forest.
Did it matter if she came or if she went? She didn't know how Rhys was going to forgive her for doing this to him. She squeezed her eyes shut and let him go, reaching up to her face to dry it, though the tears kept slipping down. She gave up, and she didn't ask to go with him. She had her own consequences to face here, without Victor.
Eyes shut, she felt him brush by rather than saw him. She breathed in haltingly, forced it out slowly, smoothly, not quite successful. He walked away, she could hear him, and she could hear him stop.
If they'd met sooner... then what?
But she found herself wishing for it wholeheartedly. As his steps faded- quickly, he had to move fast to avoid Rhys- she leaned against the makeshift doorframe the treehouse provided, and slid down until she hit the floor. She wished she could say she wasn't afraid, that she could weather whatever would happen next, but the truth was she had no idea. All she could do was wait for Rhys to return and realize what she had done, all the while feeling as though her heart were tearing itself up in her chest.
Virelai hadn't been at her tree. Rhys spent some time asking for her until he found her bathing Bonecrush in the springs. She hadn't had need for him. Perhaps Ashtaroth had heard wrong. She was distracted lately, and Virelai did have a tendency to ramble...
He shrugged the situation off and returned, stunned to see Ashtaroth there on the ground. Immediately, he dropped down beside her to look for any injuries or sign of sickness, eyes on her questioningly. They were only on her a moment before darting for Victor, who should have been with Ashtaroth as much as she with him, who could explain--
Where was Victor?
Eyes wide, Rhys looked back to Ashtaroth. What happened?
How long was it, the time between one leaving and the other arriving? She had been paying no attention, numbly staring at the wall across from her, arms folded loosely in her lap. No injuries, but there was a certain sick look on her face. She said nothing until he had finished his inspection of the room and turned his eyes back to her.
"He's gone," she said, simple, hollow. "...I lied to you for him."
What?
Rhys dashed back out the door. He slid to a stop, grabbing onto one of the rope bridges as he saw a shadow take to the skies in the distance: the shape of a winged deer he recognized as the one mount Rayu-- Victor-- had. No. No, he'd never catch up to them. Safta. It had to be. He could warp there, cut Victor off--
Rhys breathed harder, staring at the sky. No. No he couldn't. Because there would be no indication of where Victor was coming in from. He stumbled back to his tree and stared back at Ashtaroth on the ground. There was no anger in his eyes. Instead, he looked hurt, as if she may as well have struck him, then confusion took over into desperation. He faced her, hands out, helpless.
Why?
Would she see him again? It hardly seemed worth the time and energy she'd need to focus on it. So many unknown variables and feelings.
And if he survived, would he return? If he lived, would he come back?
Something more than death. Let there be something more than death! Even if she never saw him again... even if he never forgave her...!
But she could not forget Rhys. Rhys who frantically tried to pull them all together again. When she did look up to him, to see that look on his face was another mark of condemnation on her soul. She looked back down to her legs, to her hands in her lap.
She almost felt as though she'd gone ahead and picked out her own little spot in the Dark for all the things she was doing now...
"I promised," she said, reading the gesture easily. "I promised I wouldn't interfere again. I promised I would help him... that night you walked me back..."
Rhys straightened, numb. Promised. That was why everything had become so heavy. Why so little was said... He never thought once that she would let him run off, after she had brought him back. His mind wove around everything said, everything they'd done, putting it in this new light.
It didn't matter. Victor had run off. Rhys couldn't stop it. Ashtaroth had never convinced him of anything. They only thing that had appeased him was the promise he turn himself in. There had been nothing Rhys could have done from the start. No. He could have. If he had just-- if it had been written differently...
Rhys looked back at Ashtaroth, who looked miserable for all she had done. So why? Why would she... Rhys had been there with her when she sounded so determined there was something more. So desperate to have Victor alive. So why...? He stepped toward her and fell back beside her, searching her face for some kind of answer.
When he didn't find it, Rhys' head slumped forward, landing on her shoulder as he weakly latched to Ashtaroth's arm.
In the silence she had looked back to him, watching all of those things cycle through his face, her own impassive, or nearly so. For a moment, when he came to be beside her, she thought then, then the anger might come. But it never did. Instead he clung to her, not understanding- and no, of course not. How could he? He had never thought to question her. She'd never given him reason to.
"He had to go," she murmured, reaching up to him, her hands on his head before she stroked his hair back. She shifted and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her. "He couldn't stay. You had to know that. And I- I already took so much away from him. I had to give him this chance... he won't rest otherwise."
But she was shaking again, holding on to him too tightly. "I'm sorry. I'll leave. I haven't got much, anyway."
Rhys brought his arms around her in turn, shaking his head against her sholder. He knew Victor better than most and couldn't deny the truth in Ashtaroth's words, but he wanted to. There had to be another way, but Rhys couldn't find it. Ashtaroth couldn't find it. It was impossible to be angry. He had failed her as much as Victor, and both of them had gotten her wrapped up in this.
He gathered her up against him, not sure if he meant it for her comfort or for his.
"I'll go," she whispered against his shoulder where she had curled herself against, her arms tight around his neck. "I promise- I promise I won't do it again. I'll never do it again." She didn't even know what she was saying now. What did it matter? What did any of it matter? She said she would leave, but she couldn't even think of where she would go. Did it matter? She could just walk, and keep walking...
Rhys shook his head again, grip tightening. She hadn't meant for this. He'd already heard her apologies and her reasoning. And he knew, somewhere, she was right. They couldn't keep Victor hidden forever. He just... didn't know. Rhys thought, maybe, he could see them both off. Let them disappear somewhere, and Victor would learn to forgive himself...?
Why hadn't that been written in? Would Rhys have forgave himself in the same position?
He pulled back just enough to look at her, hands still on her shoulders and he shook his head again. She didn't need to leave. Victor wouldn't want that, either.
She didn't want to go. She didn't want to go! She didn't have anything else. If she left here, she left Rhys, she left Virelai. Victor, if he came back- if there was more than death- she would leave him, too. And for what? But she didn't deserve it, none of it- she'd betrayed all of it. They could all have each other and forget about her. That was what she deserved...
He pulled her back, and her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, unwilling, unable to let go of him. "What do I do? What can I do?"
Rhys gently pried off one of her hands, holding it tight a moment in reassurance before setting his finger to her palm. For a moment, nothing, his eyes focused there for an answer. What could either of them do? Rhys closed his eyes. Ezra. He could-- no. There was so much weight on their shoulders. He had to warn Ezra, at least. He couldn't ask for anything more.
Victor had died for the mission. Maybe, maybe that meant something. Another way, Ashtaroth had said. If the paladins might believe it...
Rhys looked back at Ashtaroth before brushing his finger over her palm.
W-A-I-T
They could wait.
She stared at his finger in her palm, and she shook her head. She didn't understand. "Again," she said, demanded, eyes glued to her hand. She calmed herself as best she could, focusing on what he wrote there.
She didn't answer right away. Wait. That meant stay.
"...and if he doesn't come back?"
Rhys obeyed, quiet, focused. He looked up at when she spoke and swallowed. For them or for her? For them... he couldn't guess. He didn't want to think of it, but he already was.
For Ashtaroth...
Confident she wouldn't try to flee herself, he stood up to find his slate. It was easier to communicate with.
That's for you to choose.
But there is a place here.
And if he does come back?
She couldn't bring herself to ask it. Maybe he didn't hate her any more, but she couldn't imagine he'd forgiven her, or that he ever would. Thinking about it, she felt so worn, so tired, so trapped. Getting off of the floor seemed too much, and yet she knew she couldn't stay- her chest hurt from the anxiety of simply sitting there.
She looked up as he went to get his slate, the look on her face suggesting she wasn't sure she wanted to see what he'd written. He came back, settling down with the slate in his hands.
And somehow it didn't make it better. Everything, to her, was so lost, so ruined- "how?" she asked breathlessly. She looked from the slate to him, shaking her head. "How can there be? How can you even trust me?"
Rhys smiled at her. It was like she thought he'd never lied before. Should he feel guilty for that? Thinking on it, Rhys might have been more dishonest than honest. The joke was that Victor had been a habitual liar as Rayu, but he had little on Rhys. At least Ashtaroth had the decency to be broken up about it instead of vaguely guilty.
It was for Victor.
That's what I trusted you with.
Rhys took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes. It did nothing to calm the uncertainty tying knots inside him. What would happen? Maybe he should have been gentler. If he had been in on their plans-- but no, never. And they both knew it. Even now, the thought of warning Ezra gave him another cold wave of dread.
He looked back to the slate and added a smaller note: I did this.
In her mind, of course, the lie and the imagined consequences seemed perfectly in line to her. None of it was any small thing- that Rhys would even consider forgiving her was more than she could understand, and she simply shook her head at the message.
She stared at the slate a moment, then looked up to him as he shut his eyes, trying to settle himself. She looked aside, pulling her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Of course, the Spenta had reason to be grateful, but who Victor was to them was so deeply ingrained now- could there be forgiveness? Could he ever go back?
The writing on the slate brought her back. Confusion creased her features. "Did what?" As far as she was concerned, he hadn't done anything- not in the way he meant it at least.
He smeared away the writing with his hand when she asked, but forgot to answer. He did this. This was his fault. He had written it, and he hadn't written a way out. That hadn't been the kind if player Rhys was. He blindly assumed something could-- would happen... That was how he approached being the Ahura.
Rhys shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. He did this. That was all he could think. This was his fault, and Victor and Ezra were the ones who were going to pay for it, and everyone else who had gotten connected. Why couldn't they all blame him? Why couldn't everyone be angry with him? Say he'd done it. Say it was his fault. Get mad. Forgive themselves. Forgive each other. Move on. It would have been so much easier.
He stood up and got his dragon mail, starting his message to Ezra before scratching it out and starting over. There were feelings he couldn't risk being known.
When he didn't answer, she felt herself becoming concerned instead. Did he mean as a player? She remained silent, considering that. Somehow it felt strange to be angry with him for it. He'd done all he could to rectify it, as far as she could see- and Victor had never blamed him. There'd been a sense of being able to be himself, or as close as he could be, around Rhys, around her. Because they knew- and that had seemed enough.
But it was her own recklessness that put them in the position they were in now. She knew that. Whatever Rhys had written, she had not left to lay to rest. That was her fault, not his.
Something in her mind cleared. Until he came back- even if he never came back- there was something to do. So much alike, the two of them. She slowly found her footing, pulled herself upright, and brought herself, sore and tired, over to where he wrote, standing at his elbow.
"What are you writing?"
Rhys scribbled out Ezra's name and wrote in The Spenta for Ashtaroth's benefit, sliding the rough draft he'd never send toward her for her to see. It was a mess of Rayu-- Victor is on his way and I won't blame you for doing what you need to and I'm sorry with a heart strike-through of if there's anything you can do.
He took a new parchment, leaning his quill there until there was a small ink spot as he cross-referenced the other. Rhys dug his fingers into his scalp in frustration, his worry rising back in his throat. Victor was one thing, and Ezra was another, and the two at once collided. Protect Ezra. Protect Victor. The realization Rhys could do neither paralyzed his hand. It didn't matter. It really didn't even matter. There had to be something... He did this. He caused this. There had to be something.
She reached out to pull the pieces closer to her while he stood, thinking, slowly sorting through them, frowning when some of the ink came off on her fingers. Everything just seemed so... not that he wasn't putting thought into it, but there were just so many things to put down.
"He needs to know he was resurrected," she said softly. "I imagine he'd be a little surprised otherwise." A weak joke. "And that he means to seek judgement. I don't know ... if Victor meant to simply walk in to where they are... it might be best to give him a chance to intercept him."
Ashtaroth's suggestions calmed him. It made him feel the potential to be useful, whether or not he actually was. He nodded to her, taking another breath, and trying to write again. Intercepting Victor... the thought brought him some hope. It was possibly a way for them to both avoid some trouble.
Victor (Rayu) was resurrected. I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I didn't want you to be an accomplice.
He's left. He's looking for you. He means to turn himself in.
His mount's a peryton-- a flying stag. He'll have to land by the nearest woods. And Victor had been in contact with Ravindra. Rhys closed his eyes. That was a gamble. If Victor thought Ravi would stop him... But... He might try to see Ravi first, but I can't be sure.
I know you have to do what's best for the paladins. This is my fault, I know. Whatever happens, I'd never blame you.
He straightened, leaning back so Ash could see the letter.
A hand slowly raised to rest in the middle of his back, while she peered over his shoulder at what he wrote. She didn't rush him, didn't point anything out. It was his communication to make.
"...he'll know it was me, won't he," she said, tone uncertain, voice quiet. "...it's all right. I think this will be all right." She reached down and picked the letter up, careful of the drying ink. "And don't mention his inability to lie. I'm sure it will come out on its own, but... I don't want it to get used against him if it doesn't have to be."
Rhys flinched with the realization, looking from Ashtaroth to the parchment, wondering if there was something he could add. But he'd already said as little as possible in only admitting the resurrection. He grabbed his slate.
We can blame me.
The Ahura. I paid someone.
Ezra wouldn't blame Ashtaroth. Rhys felt sure of that. But others might, and the Ahura would face less wrath than a cleric, maybe... He tensed, frowning. Or would it be a blow to his reputation he couldn't afford? But he refused to erase the message, looking to Ashtaroth.
She looked up to him, her expression calm, almost... peaceful. "No. No, it's all right." She looked away, towards the bedroom, growing thoughtful. "I... he's the only reason I'm ashamed of what I did. If others know... if they hate me for it... I don't care very much about that. I never really had any ties to anyone in Bastan anyway..."
Her hand fell from his back, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I don't think he's someone to be ashamed of, after all."
Rhys stared back at her with nothing but a single blink. Then he softened into a gentle smile. He looked back at the letter to Ezra, reading it over once more, then folded it and addressed it. When the post dragon appeared, Rhys gave it a small rub under the chin with his finger to go with its coin payment.
She was right. Rhys had never thought himself ashamed of Victor, but he didn't believe the way Ashtaroth did. He didn't have the faith to let Victor go, and that seemed a sudden, sobering failing. Victor's actions would have to speak for themselves, and these were actions he had taken without Rhys' control. Victor would never hear that kind of talk, but it still had to count for something.
While he watched the dragon go, she watched him, a quiet, steady look. She reached out and touched his arm, nodding slightly. It was all he could do. The rest was out of his hands, for better or for worse. Victor would live, or not. Come back, or not. As much as they wished to control things, to keep him safe, safe didn't always guarantee happiness, for anyone.
"...now that that's done... I'm sorry, but... is it all right if I take a nap here?... I'm really tired..." With everything else racing through her, she felt most overwhelmingly tired now, exhausted, like having had a huge weight lifted from her and only realizing now just how heavy that burden had been. Not all gone, but all the same, she felt lighter for it.
Rhys took a deep, slow breath, watching the space the dragon had gone and wondering if-- when-- he'd get the return mail. It was Ezra he had to face, too.
He glanced to Ashtaroth and smiled weakly, nodding. If a letter came, it could wait a few seconds for Rhys to get to it. He offered his arm to her, should she need the support in getting to the bedroom.
A small pause, and she took his arm. She didn't walk- she simply held on to him a moment, looking at his arm, her pale hand on it. And she squeezed his forearm and looked back up, letting go with a small pat-pat motion.
"Watch for the mail. I'll be up in a little bit." A beat. "Wake me if you need anything."
She slid her arm away and walked back to the spare bedroom by herself.
Rhys watched Ashtaroth, keeping himself carefully neutral as she pulled away. He didn't look back to the table until she had left, and then let himself take a heavy seat in the chair with his face in his hands.
Just breathe. Breathe and wait.
When: Sunday, 26/6
Where: Rhys' treehouse in the Undertow
Before/After: Before/During Rhys' dmail to Ezra.
Warnings: sad feelings GET OFF MY CASE
Victor decides it's time to go face the music. The hard part is not knowing what song will play.
Moving around was getting easier. Victor could stand, walk, and had even found the energy to fight with Rhys about doing at least some of the chores. Just because he had been dead didn't mean he was content being useless. Ash's presence helped restore a sense of ease around the place, for when she was there, Rhys was far less watchful, trusting her to keep Victor from-- he didn't know, climbing out a window or dragon mailing the Spenta or whatever it was they assumed his plan would have been. For the most part, he never left the Ahura's tree, safely hidden and tucked away while watching Rhys' thoughts wander with schemes that he'd never get the chance to practice.
But now he was feeling more like himself. Still occasionally chilled, and still not able to stand up as fast as he remembered, but they were things that faded easily into the background. He'd since gotten a proper haircut (or as well as one they could collectively manage) and clothes that fit, layered in long sleeves and a laced vest. They had been given. The traveler's cloak, however, had not been. It laid folded on the hammock before Victor took it up, idly feeling his fingers through the fabric. "I don't want to wait any longer than this," he said, quiet, so Rhys could not overhear them from the other room.
Ashtaroth nodded, her eyes not on him but the cloak. The true ease came with an almost absent-minded compliance to whatever was asked of her, unquestioning and automatic. There was no fight in her, no stubbornness. She did her job as cleric and nurse, but nothing more, did not engage and did the bare minimum when engaged. And she slept still with the lantern on, swallowing her terror each evening when the sun began to sink.
Today was the day. He was not well, but well enough. She had collected some potions, paid for with her own money, stamina potions, health potions, and without a word she presented them, having brought the bag with her that morning. She'd made no lie when questioned- they were potions for Victor. A few of each, enough to get him to where he was going.
There was a moment of silence, as she tried to say something, but ultimately failed, with nothing to say. Do you have everything? Do you need anything? Will you be all right? Useless questions. The answer wasn't available to them now.
"Give me a minute," was all she said, still staring sightlessly at the cloak. He could probably count the number of times she had looked at him directly on one hand. Now was no different. There was the briefest lingering, as though she needed to find some motivation to move.
She left the room, seeking out Rhys. "...I think Virelai said she needed to talk to you," she said to him, her voice convincingly vague, thoughtful. "Could you go check? I don't want to be wrong and have her waiting."
It was Ashtaroth that would be doing the waiting instead.
Victor looked to the potions with surprise, but did not press. He could not refuse them, not with that look on her face. He only nodded his thanks and took them gently. Uneasiness was building again. This was what he wanted, and years ago he would not have been afraid to. Why was he second guessing himself now?
To have Ashtaroth lie for him made him feel sick in a way he didn't expect. He needed to stop her, to tell her it was fine, but there was no other way. She had been so... tired. More tired than he, maybe.
Once she had left, he forced himself to focus on donning the cloak and settling the potions in a pack at his belt.
Rhys still had no idea what he was going to do. A week of thinking and his best plan was still convincing Victor to hide somewhere. Victor wouldn't want to hear it, and he knew that. But they couldn't throw this second chance away. Rhys needed help, but the person who came to mind every time also happened to be the Spenta by sheer coincidence. It was not a position he was going to put his friend in. They both had so much to worry about, and he was always hanging his problems off of Ezra...
Ashtaroth shook him from his thoughts. Rhys looked at her, response delayed as she let her words catch up to him. Virelai? He had been neglecting her a little, lately. Rhys frowned, then nodded, setting aside the fruit he was cutting. He paused, looking from Ashtaroth to the bedroom. She would look after Victor-- she already had, though with a heaviness that hadn't gone unnoticed. Another nod, this time one of unspoken trust, before he turned to leave.
She didn't quite look at Rhys while she spoke, but that was nothing new. When he stood, glancing behind her towards the bedroom, she could feel her heart constrict. When he nodded and turned, not once thinking to question what it was she'd just told him, she almost cried out after him. The sound stuck in her throat, unheard, and she had to let him go.
When he was gone from sight, she reached up, rubbing at the base of her neck, feeling suddenly ill. Of course- she was burning her bridges here, betraying now Rhys' trust. Already she couldn't bear the thought of following the clerics and paladins to Omghan. Soon she wouldn't be able to stay here, either.
Ashtaroth turned and went back to the entryway to the bedroom. She spoke to the floor. "You should hurry. I don't actually know if Virelai is home."
Victor took a deep breath and nodded. He looked over Ash, frowning and stepping toward her. His hand reached out and stopped short. "Ash, listen--" To what? Only the truth. It was all he could say. The affliction had made him acutely aware of how much he didn't know.
His hand found her chin, tilting her head up. "... Ash. I'm sorry." He didn't know the extent of what for, just that he was. That he didn't want it to be like this. That he didn't want to say goodbye like this.
"You've... spent so much time on me," he said. "More than time. You were only doing your duties, I know, and I owe you my life." In the most literal sense possible. "... I don't mean to throw this away, but I have to do what's just. ...There's a chance. You said it yourself. There's a chance death isn't the answer."
She lingered, but said nothing as he began, waiting on him to continue, shifting as though to step away as he stepped forward, though ultimately she stayed where she stood. It was surprise, not any kind of obedience or desire, to look up at him when he tilted her face up. She hadn't quite looked at him yet- the hair was still strange to her, something about the openness of his face that was difficult to look at.
But she did look at him, further taken aback by the apology. Sorry? For what? There was so much- and so little. Regardless of how he felt, she didn't deserve for him to be sorry. That was her place.
Only doing your duties. Had that been true? No, it had been too impulsive, too selfish. A small crush intertwined with the shock of loss, with the knowledge of capability, and the realization that there was no one else so close to her as him. Even if they weren't all that close at all.
Her head tilted slightly, before she looked down again. She reached up to take his hand, timid and afraid, but she had to- she had to take something despite all she already had, knowing she would have nothing again when he went out the door. She'd betrayed him, and now she had betrayed Rhys-
Her tears were hot, sliding down her face and dripping off her jaw quickly, though they hit his hand first on one side. She forced herself to breathe in, but it shivered. It was wrong, it was all wrong... she couldn't quite believe there could be something right within it all.
"I know. I know."
Something inside him twisted even before she started crying. Victor gripped back on her hand, helpless as he watched her tears fall. Why? He didn't understand. Why, and what could he do? But he could not help that it had been a mistake to revive him. (But what if she was right? About everything? Was it lying to hope?)
There were no other options. There was nothing he or she could do, but he couldn't leave her like this.
"Ash, please... tell me what I can do." To make any of this feel right again.
She made a noise, a whimper, pulling his hand to her mouth, his palm to her lips. There was no real significance to the gesture- she just wanted to hold on to him, keep him back, keep him safe. Safe- but what could that mean? Hidden away like he didn't exist? Better to be dead than to be alive without living.
Better to be dead.
She shook her head. "Just- go," she said brokenly, pulling his hand away but still gripping it tightly. "I can't- I can't stand to watch you like this. You have to know. You have to try. Please, just-" Forgive me? But the words stuck in her throat and she couldn't say them. "Do what you need to do. For yourself."
For himself.
It's what this had always been about. Victor closed his eyes and swallowed back the lump in his throat. Come with me, he almost said, but stopped. He could not protect her. He did not know how they would react or what this would mean for her. Finally, he nodded. They did not have much time before Rhys might return.
His hand squeezed hers. "All right." Reluctantly, he released her, desperate for something more significant to say or do. This was goodbye for now. Forever? He didn't know anymore, and that should not have made him uneasy the way he had. Most had never gotten their goodbyes. Most didn't have the luxury to try to predict it.
Victor strode past her, stopping for one last look back. "... I wish I had met you sooner." Maybe then, things would have gone differently, and maybe now, time wouldn't feel so choked.
Time. There wasn't much left. He disappeared through the door to escape into the forest.
Did it matter if she came or if she went? She didn't know how Rhys was going to forgive her for doing this to him. She squeezed her eyes shut and let him go, reaching up to her face to dry it, though the tears kept slipping down. She gave up, and she didn't ask to go with him. She had her own consequences to face here, without Victor.
Eyes shut, she felt him brush by rather than saw him. She breathed in haltingly, forced it out slowly, smoothly, not quite successful. He walked away, she could hear him, and she could hear him stop.
If they'd met sooner... then what?
But she found herself wishing for it wholeheartedly. As his steps faded- quickly, he had to move fast to avoid Rhys- she leaned against the makeshift doorframe the treehouse provided, and slid down until she hit the floor. She wished she could say she wasn't afraid, that she could weather whatever would happen next, but the truth was she had no idea. All she could do was wait for Rhys to return and realize what she had done, all the while feeling as though her heart were tearing itself up in her chest.
Virelai hadn't been at her tree. Rhys spent some time asking for her until he found her bathing Bonecrush in the springs. She hadn't had need for him. Perhaps Ashtaroth had heard wrong. She was distracted lately, and Virelai did have a tendency to ramble...
He shrugged the situation off and returned, stunned to see Ashtaroth there on the ground. Immediately, he dropped down beside her to look for any injuries or sign of sickness, eyes on her questioningly. They were only on her a moment before darting for Victor, who should have been with Ashtaroth as much as she with him, who could explain--
Where was Victor?
Eyes wide, Rhys looked back to Ashtaroth. What happened?
How long was it, the time between one leaving and the other arriving? She had been paying no attention, numbly staring at the wall across from her, arms folded loosely in her lap. No injuries, but there was a certain sick look on her face. She said nothing until he had finished his inspection of the room and turned his eyes back to her.
"He's gone," she said, simple, hollow. "...I lied to you for him."
What?
Rhys dashed back out the door. He slid to a stop, grabbing onto one of the rope bridges as he saw a shadow take to the skies in the distance: the shape of a winged deer he recognized as the one mount Rayu-- Victor-- had. No. No, he'd never catch up to them. Safta. It had to be. He could warp there, cut Victor off--
Rhys breathed harder, staring at the sky. No. No he couldn't. Because there would be no indication of where Victor was coming in from. He stumbled back to his tree and stared back at Ashtaroth on the ground. There was no anger in his eyes. Instead, he looked hurt, as if she may as well have struck him, then confusion took over into desperation. He faced her, hands out, helpless.
Why?
Would she see him again? It hardly seemed worth the time and energy she'd need to focus on it. So many unknown variables and feelings.
And if he survived, would he return? If he lived, would he come back?
Something more than death. Let there be something more than death! Even if she never saw him again... even if he never forgave her...!
But she could not forget Rhys. Rhys who frantically tried to pull them all together again. When she did look up to him, to see that look on his face was another mark of condemnation on her soul. She looked back down to her legs, to her hands in her lap.
She almost felt as though she'd gone ahead and picked out her own little spot in the Dark for all the things she was doing now...
"I promised," she said, reading the gesture easily. "I promised I wouldn't interfere again. I promised I would help him... that night you walked me back..."
Rhys straightened, numb. Promised. That was why everything had become so heavy. Why so little was said... He never thought once that she would let him run off, after she had brought him back. His mind wove around everything said, everything they'd done, putting it in this new light.
It didn't matter. Victor had run off. Rhys couldn't stop it. Ashtaroth had never convinced him of anything. They only thing that had appeased him was the promise he turn himself in. There had been nothing Rhys could have done from the start. No. He could have. If he had just-- if it had been written differently...
Rhys looked back at Ashtaroth, who looked miserable for all she had done. So why? Why would she... Rhys had been there with her when she sounded so determined there was something more. So desperate to have Victor alive. So why...? He stepped toward her and fell back beside her, searching her face for some kind of answer.
When he didn't find it, Rhys' head slumped forward, landing on her shoulder as he weakly latched to Ashtaroth's arm.
In the silence she had looked back to him, watching all of those things cycle through his face, her own impassive, or nearly so. For a moment, when he came to be beside her, she thought then, then the anger might come. But it never did. Instead he clung to her, not understanding- and no, of course not. How could he? He had never thought to question her. She'd never given him reason to.
"He had to go," she murmured, reaching up to him, her hands on his head before she stroked his hair back. She shifted and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her. "He couldn't stay. You had to know that. And I- I already took so much away from him. I had to give him this chance... he won't rest otherwise."
But she was shaking again, holding on to him too tightly. "I'm sorry. I'll leave. I haven't got much, anyway."
Rhys brought his arms around her in turn, shaking his head against her sholder. He knew Victor better than most and couldn't deny the truth in Ashtaroth's words, but he wanted to. There had to be another way, but Rhys couldn't find it. Ashtaroth couldn't find it. It was impossible to be angry. He had failed her as much as Victor, and both of them had gotten her wrapped up in this.
He gathered her up against him, not sure if he meant it for her comfort or for his.
"I'll go," she whispered against his shoulder where she had curled herself against, her arms tight around his neck. "I promise- I promise I won't do it again. I'll never do it again." She didn't even know what she was saying now. What did it matter? What did any of it matter? She said she would leave, but she couldn't even think of where she would go. Did it matter? She could just walk, and keep walking...
Rhys shook his head again, grip tightening. She hadn't meant for this. He'd already heard her apologies and her reasoning. And he knew, somewhere, she was right. They couldn't keep Victor hidden forever. He just... didn't know. Rhys thought, maybe, he could see them both off. Let them disappear somewhere, and Victor would learn to forgive himself...?
Why hadn't that been written in? Would Rhys have forgave himself in the same position?
He pulled back just enough to look at her, hands still on her shoulders and he shook his head again. She didn't need to leave. Victor wouldn't want that, either.
She didn't want to go. She didn't want to go! She didn't have anything else. If she left here, she left Rhys, she left Virelai. Victor, if he came back- if there was more than death- she would leave him, too. And for what? But she didn't deserve it, none of it- she'd betrayed all of it. They could all have each other and forget about her. That was what she deserved...
He pulled her back, and her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, unwilling, unable to let go of him. "What do I do? What can I do?"
Rhys gently pried off one of her hands, holding it tight a moment in reassurance before setting his finger to her palm. For a moment, nothing, his eyes focused there for an answer. What could either of them do? Rhys closed his eyes. Ezra. He could-- no. There was so much weight on their shoulders. He had to warn Ezra, at least. He couldn't ask for anything more.
Victor had died for the mission. Maybe, maybe that meant something. Another way, Ashtaroth had said. If the paladins might believe it...
Rhys looked back at Ashtaroth before brushing his finger over her palm.
W-A-I-T
They could wait.
She stared at his finger in her palm, and she shook her head. She didn't understand. "Again," she said, demanded, eyes glued to her hand. She calmed herself as best she could, focusing on what he wrote there.
She didn't answer right away. Wait. That meant stay.
"...and if he doesn't come back?"
Rhys obeyed, quiet, focused. He looked up at when she spoke and swallowed. For them or for her? For them... he couldn't guess. He didn't want to think of it, but he already was.
For Ashtaroth...
Confident she wouldn't try to flee herself, he stood up to find his slate. It was easier to communicate with.
That's for you to choose.
But there is a place here.
And if he does come back?
She couldn't bring herself to ask it. Maybe he didn't hate her any more, but she couldn't imagine he'd forgiven her, or that he ever would. Thinking about it, she felt so worn, so tired, so trapped. Getting off of the floor seemed too much, and yet she knew she couldn't stay- her chest hurt from the anxiety of simply sitting there.
She looked up as he went to get his slate, the look on her face suggesting she wasn't sure she wanted to see what he'd written. He came back, settling down with the slate in his hands.
And somehow it didn't make it better. Everything, to her, was so lost, so ruined- "how?" she asked breathlessly. She looked from the slate to him, shaking her head. "How can there be? How can you even trust me?"
Rhys smiled at her. It was like she thought he'd never lied before. Should he feel guilty for that? Thinking on it, Rhys might have been more dishonest than honest. The joke was that Victor had been a habitual liar as Rayu, but he had little on Rhys. At least Ashtaroth had the decency to be broken up about it instead of vaguely guilty.
It was for Victor.
That's what I trusted you with.
Rhys took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes. It did nothing to calm the uncertainty tying knots inside him. What would happen? Maybe he should have been gentler. If he had been in on their plans-- but no, never. And they both knew it. Even now, the thought of warning Ezra gave him another cold wave of dread.
He looked back to the slate and added a smaller note: I did this.
In her mind, of course, the lie and the imagined consequences seemed perfectly in line to her. None of it was any small thing- that Rhys would even consider forgiving her was more than she could understand, and she simply shook her head at the message.
She stared at the slate a moment, then looked up to him as he shut his eyes, trying to settle himself. She looked aside, pulling her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Of course, the Spenta had reason to be grateful, but who Victor was to them was so deeply ingrained now- could there be forgiveness? Could he ever go back?
The writing on the slate brought her back. Confusion creased her features. "Did what?" As far as she was concerned, he hadn't done anything- not in the way he meant it at least.
He smeared away the writing with his hand when she asked, but forgot to answer. He did this. This was his fault. He had written it, and he hadn't written a way out. That hadn't been the kind if player Rhys was. He blindly assumed something could-- would happen... That was how he approached being the Ahura.
Rhys shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. He did this. That was all he could think. This was his fault, and Victor and Ezra were the ones who were going to pay for it, and everyone else who had gotten connected. Why couldn't they all blame him? Why couldn't everyone be angry with him? Say he'd done it. Say it was his fault. Get mad. Forgive themselves. Forgive each other. Move on. It would have been so much easier.
He stood up and got his dragon mail, starting his message to Ezra before scratching it out and starting over. There were feelings he couldn't risk being known.
When he didn't answer, she felt herself becoming concerned instead. Did he mean as a player? She remained silent, considering that. Somehow it felt strange to be angry with him for it. He'd done all he could to rectify it, as far as she could see- and Victor had never blamed him. There'd been a sense of being able to be himself, or as close as he could be, around Rhys, around her. Because they knew- and that had seemed enough.
But it was her own recklessness that put them in the position they were in now. She knew that. Whatever Rhys had written, she had not left to lay to rest. That was her fault, not his.
Something in her mind cleared. Until he came back- even if he never came back- there was something to do. So much alike, the two of them. She slowly found her footing, pulled herself upright, and brought herself, sore and tired, over to where he wrote, standing at his elbow.
"What are you writing?"
Rhys scribbled out Ezra's name and wrote in The Spenta for Ashtaroth's benefit, sliding the rough draft he'd never send toward her for her to see. It was a mess of Rayu-- Victor is on his way and I won't blame you for doing what you need to and I'm sorry with a heart strike-through of if there's anything you can do.
He took a new parchment, leaning his quill there until there was a small ink spot as he cross-referenced the other. Rhys dug his fingers into his scalp in frustration, his worry rising back in his throat. Victor was one thing, and Ezra was another, and the two at once collided. Protect Ezra. Protect Victor. The realization Rhys could do neither paralyzed his hand. It didn't matter. It really didn't even matter. There had to be something... He did this. He caused this. There had to be something.
She reached out to pull the pieces closer to her while he stood, thinking, slowly sorting through them, frowning when some of the ink came off on her fingers. Everything just seemed so... not that he wasn't putting thought into it, but there were just so many things to put down.
"He needs to know he was resurrected," she said softly. "I imagine he'd be a little surprised otherwise." A weak joke. "And that he means to seek judgement. I don't know ... if Victor meant to simply walk in to where they are... it might be best to give him a chance to intercept him."
Ashtaroth's suggestions calmed him. It made him feel the potential to be useful, whether or not he actually was. He nodded to her, taking another breath, and trying to write again. Intercepting Victor... the thought brought him some hope. It was possibly a way for them to both avoid some trouble.
Victor (Rayu) was resurrected. I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I didn't want you to be an accomplice.
He's left. He's looking for you. He means to turn himself in.
His mount's a peryton-- a flying stag. He'll have to land by the nearest woods. And Victor had been in contact with Ravindra. Rhys closed his eyes. That was a gamble. If Victor thought Ravi would stop him... But... He might try to see Ravi first, but I can't be sure.
I know you have to do what's best for the paladins. This is my fault, I know. Whatever happens, I'd never blame you.
He straightened, leaning back so Ash could see the letter.
A hand slowly raised to rest in the middle of his back, while she peered over his shoulder at what he wrote. She didn't rush him, didn't point anything out. It was his communication to make.
"...he'll know it was me, won't he," she said, tone uncertain, voice quiet. "...it's all right. I think this will be all right." She reached down and picked the letter up, careful of the drying ink. "And don't mention his inability to lie. I'm sure it will come out on its own, but... I don't want it to get used against him if it doesn't have to be."
Rhys flinched with the realization, looking from Ashtaroth to the parchment, wondering if there was something he could add. But he'd already said as little as possible in only admitting the resurrection. He grabbed his slate.
We can blame me.
The Ahura. I paid someone.
Ezra wouldn't blame Ashtaroth. Rhys felt sure of that. But others might, and the Ahura would face less wrath than a cleric, maybe... He tensed, frowning. Or would it be a blow to his reputation he couldn't afford? But he refused to erase the message, looking to Ashtaroth.
She looked up to him, her expression calm, almost... peaceful. "No. No, it's all right." She looked away, towards the bedroom, growing thoughtful. "I... he's the only reason I'm ashamed of what I did. If others know... if they hate me for it... I don't care very much about that. I never really had any ties to anyone in Bastan anyway..."
Her hand fell from his back, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I don't think he's someone to be ashamed of, after all."
Rhys stared back at her with nothing but a single blink. Then he softened into a gentle smile. He looked back at the letter to Ezra, reading it over once more, then folded it and addressed it. When the post dragon appeared, Rhys gave it a small rub under the chin with his finger to go with its coin payment.
She was right. Rhys had never thought himself ashamed of Victor, but he didn't believe the way Ashtaroth did. He didn't have the faith to let Victor go, and that seemed a sudden, sobering failing. Victor's actions would have to speak for themselves, and these were actions he had taken without Rhys' control. Victor would never hear that kind of talk, but it still had to count for something.
While he watched the dragon go, she watched him, a quiet, steady look. She reached out and touched his arm, nodding slightly. It was all he could do. The rest was out of his hands, for better or for worse. Victor would live, or not. Come back, or not. As much as they wished to control things, to keep him safe, safe didn't always guarantee happiness, for anyone.
"...now that that's done... I'm sorry, but... is it all right if I take a nap here?... I'm really tired..." With everything else racing through her, she felt most overwhelmingly tired now, exhausted, like having had a huge weight lifted from her and only realizing now just how heavy that burden had been. Not all gone, but all the same, she felt lighter for it.
Rhys took a deep, slow breath, watching the space the dragon had gone and wondering if-- when-- he'd get the return mail. It was Ezra he had to face, too.
He glanced to Ashtaroth and smiled weakly, nodding. If a letter came, it could wait a few seconds for Rhys to get to it. He offered his arm to her, should she need the support in getting to the bedroom.
A small pause, and she took his arm. She didn't walk- she simply held on to him a moment, looking at his arm, her pale hand on it. And she squeezed his forearm and looked back up, letting go with a small pat-pat motion.
"Watch for the mail. I'll be up in a little bit." A beat. "Wake me if you need anything."
She slid her arm away and walked back to the spare bedroom by herself.
Rhys watched Ashtaroth, keeping himself carefully neutral as she pulled away. He didn't look back to the table until she had left, and then let himself take a heavy seat in the chair with his face in his hands.
Just breathe. Breathe and wait.