Slaves To Freedom {Fenris}

[Lyaera Amavaintria]

"Remember, six months... if you are not back by then, or I assume that you have attempted to run away, you know what will happen."

Those final words echoed harshly in Lyaera's mind, a constant reminder of what would happen if she failed her task, the task assigned to her by her Master, the self-appointed Lord Krios, a foolish title but she dare not question him, to do so would be even more foolish. This was not something she wanted to do, she took no pleasure in killing or torturing others, but what choice did she have? Little, it seemed.

This journey was harsh, exhausting even, and already two months had gone by, the sands in her hourglass were depleting quickly it seemed. As much as she tried to adore her Master, the one who 'cared' for her, gave her a 'suitable home', she could not... there was no love in her heart for him, she fooled him and herself into believing that she loved him and the ground that he walked upon. This task was inevitable, it had to be done, but whether she could complete it or not remained to be seen. The target was a male with slightly dark skin, white hair and odd markings over his body, and she was to tame and eventually bring him back to Krios, that was the description she had gone by and for days she had been following him.

At this moment in time, in fact, she was following his each and every footstep. This was indeed the right person that she had been assigned to find but she made sure to keep her distance, the white hair, however, was hardly unmissable. This had been going on for too long now, she could not possible just leap behind him and knock him unconscious, she could always make herself known... but what if he ran from her? Surely there could be just once where she didn't have to inflict pain on others to gather their attention, to just call out to him would seem rather unprofessional, but since when was she ever a professional at such things?

Her hand unconsciously raised to tug slightly at the choker which remained tight around her delicate neck, her Master's words echoing once more, knowing what fate was in store for her if she failed. Long fiery tresses blew in the gentle breeze as she let out a sharp and shuddering breath, then without a moment's hesitation, the hooded woman took a deep breath before shouting out to her target, it was a simple single word, but powerful enough to gather his attention.

"Stop!!"

But before she could even receive a response, she heard the sounds of whips cracking, blades being removed from their sheaths, and the most terrifying of voices. Instantly turning her attention to whatever was behind, it wasn't long until the mystic topaz eyes of Lyaera widened with both horror and surprise. Lord Krios's men? What in the Maker's name were they doing here?! She heard one of them speak up.

"There she is, men! Don't let her escape!"

Escape? Why would she attempt to escape given the circumstances? She still had four months left! What was her Master hoping to achieve by doing thi-... unless! If she knew her Master, she would know that he was very cunning and exceptionally cruel, that vile Mage had sent these fools to their deaths!

"Put on the charm, my dear. Put on an act. Gain his trust by any means possible, any means."

Those words, so painful yet so sickening, but if she were to have any chance at succeeding, she had no choice but to follow orders, even if it meant straying from her own heart's path. These men could work as an advantage for her. A helpless look appeared on her face as the mercenaries approached further, leading her to take a few steps back, her voice filled with desperation and worry. "N-No! I won't go back! I-I-.... just stay away!" she yelled at the men, who merely sneered as one cracked his whip to scare her. It was clear that she would have to take a beating for this to work, so she allowed them to come closer until eventually they had her in their firm and unwanted grasps.

"Let go of me!" her voice was a near sob as two of the men held each of her arms whilst the leader of the pack placed his hand firm against her chin, tilting her head up. "You've been a very bad girl, little birdie... running away from you Master, by orders, we're here to take you back, but for now, we're going to 'ave a little fun with you," clearly these men were disobeying orders by doing this, but this had to be made believable.

Lyaera's heart beat quickened in rate, like it did every time she was about to be whipped, which was often whenever she disobeyed, but it was obvious these men didn't plan on just whipping her. There had to be at least twenty of them and that only made her feel worst due to knowing their ideas of 'fun' but this was something she had to endure. She wasn't sure if the one she had been following had noticed this, but she hoped that he could hear the commotion, she'd be sure to make it clear.

Once she had been bent forward, the leader raised his hand before harshly bringing it down.

WHACK!

Pain was something she could not fake and by instinct she let out a blood-curdling scream, the men just merely laughed and waited before the whip was brought down once against, colliding with her delicate skin.

WHACK!

Another scream.

This went on for about a minute and already her back was sore and bleeding, but before the whip could collide once more, she stomped the two inch heel to her boots against the feet of the men that held her down simultaneously and they soon let go. Within that split second, she swiftly pulled her double daggers from their sheaths and spun, slitting the two men's throats, blood sprayed from their jugulars and splattered slightly on her face. Deep and shuddering breathes escaped indicating she had enough of their torture. The leader did not look happy at all, and with a snap of his fingers, he gave the remaining seventeen of his men the order.

Lyaera had no choice but to hope this would work.

[Fenris]

An odd night's dream he had had yesterday was still troubling him, sending him from quick-paced walking into slow, thoughtful slouching, his feet dragging behind him as though there was an invincible mountain on his shoulder, shrouding him in darkness. To Fenris, that mountain was entirely visible; it loomed over his head like a lasting reminder of his pain and sorrow, a promise of more to come, and something to remind him of that eventually, that mountain would crush him. Sooner or later. Just a matter of time.

He kept going in the same circles of thought, over and over again, repeated the same encouragements to himself, drinking them in as if in great need. His pace quickened, became more nervous - enemies could be anywhere, and the most friendly faces were usually your worst ones - yet wrapped in that dark, brown cloak, he felt a tad more safe than without it. Cradled in something that was your own by right comforted you.

His hood was pulled down, his white hair completely visible to anyone who saw him; he strode through the streets of Mont-de-glace, ignoring the quizzical looks that the townsfolk gave him, usually pointed at his hair. Let there be rumours. He was done with running.

Nothing seemed out of place in the scarcely populated town of Mont-de-glace, located far into the Gamordan Peaks; it was a remote place, usually left alone by the Emperors and Empresses of Orlais due to its secluded nature. Most believed it empty, some thought it was a prospering city; neither belief was true. The truth was, as often it turned out to be, something in between. The air was cold, naturally, as it often was when higher up from the ground level: cold breezes occasionally stirred from the mountains, spreading dust everywhere, spinning it in small whirlwinds that usually lasted only mere seconds. Sometimes there was a larger, more powerful gust that fluttered his cloak, sending a few dusty apples reeling off of the peddlers' wagons; one of these larger blusters made him instinctively pull his hood up in protection against the cold. It was about time to reach his destination, the Hillman - the town's best inn - at the southern end of Mont-de-glace. He was nearly there.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye urged him to raise his gaze from the ground. Fenris let his gaze roll across the slightly crowded streets, scanning, searching for the source of that movement; he was sure it had been something more than just mere townspeople walking. As he was scanning the crowds for threats, he suddenly bumped into something; someone. Fenris stumbled, easily pushed aside by the taller man clad in chainmail, and muttered a curse under his breath as he watched murderously at the soldier's receding back. Suddenly he noticed something else, sharp movement he caught from looking over the soldier's shoulder.

It was nothing unnatural, not when you looked at the grand scale of things - rape was hardly unheard of in Thedas, as far as he knew - but something made him look twice at this particular woman. She was an elf, true, but something about her stroke him as odd. For one thing, there were vicious-looking daggers strapped to her back into their own scabbards, each worked with gold and silver; the blades, what little of them he could work out from afar, seemed to be the very best quality, as well. The way she stood, though, indicated that she had lost her spirit. Had the mere thought broken her?

Suddenly the vision faded behind the large soldier's back, leaving a memory of pain burned into his mind. Fenris strode to the left, passing an abandoned stall with some crates and boxes surrounding it, and settled himself against a wall, its once-intricate paintings now worn off, a layer of dust covering their remains. He adopted a swordsman's slouch, a stance where you relaxed all your muscles, eyes fixing on the curious scene before him. Now he just had to wait.

They pulled up her shirt, rough hands treating fair skin, and the group's leader pulled out a vicious-looking whip. He flicked it in the air once as though he believed it would intimidate the woman - perhaps it did - and brought it down with all his strength.

A cry of pain parted from the woman's lips, a screech of pure agony piercing the air around her. The leader brought his whip up, enjoying every moment of his little punishment he had set upon the woman, and again the whip fell down in a deadly arc. This time the cry was shriller, more painful to listen to; it was the cry of a desperate woman.

As the leader raised his whip higher, there was a quick flicker of movement from the woman lying on the ground - and suddenly there was a pair of daggers in her hands. She leaped at the closest soldiers, her hands flourishing like in a performance; two fell, their throats neatly slit, and she continued her dance amidst the rest of them. They all immediately went for their weapons, and at the leader's command, they all charged at her.

She was badly outnumbered, facing at least fifteen soldiers on her own. He could still back out and leave her. He could still forget it.

Fenris turned away from the slaughter, wishing he had never cast his eyes at it. He took the first steps to freedom, but it seemed like dragging your feet after your whole body - just looking away made him feel numb, emotionless. For a moment he savoured the thought - free of the crushing duty of his life! - but then, crashing back into the current situation, he turned again, this time facing the bloodbath eagerly. Perhaps this was what he was meant to do, after all.

The blade slid softly out of its scabbard, silverite flashing briefly as it reflected the sunlight. Fenris charged at the soldiers, careless of what injuries he might receive: as he saw it, he was the sole warrior left to protect his kind from humanity, the last one who stood up and truly was the champion. He felt the light rushing into his veins, filling him with alien power: previously he might've called it adrenaline, but now it was something completely different, a whole other power which he drew upon.

There was another brief flash as he brought his sword down at the nearest Orlesian. It slashed in a clear arc, relieving the soldier of his overgrown head, and Fenris stepped to the right as the soldier's lifeless body fell, still thrashing, onto the ground. Another blow from his sword, and the next soldier had a wide gash running from his spine to his kidney; he, too, fell instantly.

Fenris lost himself into the delicate swordplay, but as more and more of the seasoned veterans became aware of his presence, he lost his only edge; surprise. Soon, he found himself struggling against three Orlesians at the same time: it was all he could do to block all the incoming blows, to even give a challenge to all of them, but he felt his strength draining from him: slowly, like trickles of sand through the tiniest of holes in an hourglass, but just as surely. The source of power in him, the bumping lake of fire that just moments ago had burned in his veins, was now gone; he felt cold, alone, and abandoned. He could only regret his decision, now: even though six soldiers lay dead around him, at least eight more were still alive.

He strained to intercept the incoming blows, but it just wasn't enough. The foremost soldier's blade slashed widely, slicing a small gash to his shoulder; Fenris felt blood trickling slowly down his arm and chest. Suddenly his most basic instincts rose from their coffins, only one message now clear in his head: survive.

He fought with renewed vigor, now moving on the assault, forcing them to keep their guards up. An uppercut was met with a high interception and thrust, a slash from the side with a chamber, until Fenris cast aside his opponent's shield with, piercing his jugular with his sword. The man gurgled and fell as Fenris whirled, an alien glow suddenly enveloping him, and punched straight through the next soldier's shield, reaching in his chest, crushing something alive...

Until everything seemed to crumble for Fenris, too. He looked down, legs giving way, mind filled with horror and pain, as he gaped in horror at the soldier's bared blade in his stomach. His adversary's hand fell from its hilt, dead, and onto the muddy ground, but it made little difference. He felt numb, dead; more emotionless than back at the stall, more dead. Something crashed onto his back, and suddenly blood sprouted from his chest: another sword, completely coated with his blood, appeared from another place in his stomach. He could only gape, terrified, as his life slinked farther and farther away from him by the seconds.

Fenris collapsed onto his knees, his mind struggling to maintain consciousness on the verge of falling into infinity. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind he savored the coming death, the final means to end his pain. Whatever the form, whatever the price, he would die now. And everything would be well again.

[Lyaera Amavaintria]

Within every inch of her body, Lyaera felt both vigor and agony, almost as if something inside her had snapped, broken free even. To be treated as such because she was an Elf? No, a mere slave! It was almost too much to bare - the constant whippings, the assaults, the mockery and resentment, the ridicule, the hounding of sleep, the denying of meals. It was all too much, so much in fact that she had lost herself, almost as if she had forgotten her task at hand. Her chest began to rise and fall rather quickly as quick yet heavy breaths escaped her, but at the same time it was as if all emotion was just waiting to escape her... that look on her face was almost as if... she wanted to cry, but no tears were permitted to escape her.

Just as the men charged towards her, she was sure that this would be the end, order or no, these men were foolish enough to attempt to kill her just for bruising their pathetic egos. She stood her ground, however, and waited for the men to collide their blades with hers. Her heart was pounding, closer and closer they came and yet... the blades never collided, at least... not with hers. A sudden gasp escaped her as it seemed someone had come to her rescue, out of all the people that could've helped yet averted their gaze, someone actually cared? No, maybe cared was too strong of a word. But still, someone was helping her.

Eyes of a purplish-blue no longer looked on in fear at the men charging towards her, but in awe. A beautiful creature who so gracefully yet so dangerously moved on the battlefield, her eyes taking in every detail yet at the same time felt so oblivious to the given situation. Hair white as snow with the moonlight appearing to give it a soft glow, dark tanned skin so rough yet so smooth it would seem, along with an outfit that practically screamed that he hated the world, followed by--... her eyes widened. His ears! He was an Elf, just like her, was that why he was here defending her? Or could it be he had a lust for battle? Either way, this was her fight as much as it was his.

Dropping her cloak to the ground, straight fiery red tresses fell past her back as they were released from the hood, her feet smoothly slid against the gravel barely making a sound and as soon as she was prepared, she attacked. At first the men were alarmed due to her now hostile and defensive demeanor, they got into their stances to prepare their attacks but in the back of their minds they felt doubt, almost as if they knew they had pushed her too far.

With an immediate twirl, the red-head slit yet another guards throat and that very feeling of vigor and life surged through her almost scarred and beaten body, not a single trace of doubt or fear controlled her, for the first time in her life she felt... free. She could've embraced the feeling for hours, days even, but she knew now was not a suitable time. Dancing like the Archdemon but with the grace and beauty of Andraste, Lyaera let her body be, for once, controlled by herself as her daggers slashed in every direction her arms could manage. First the blade in her left hand was swiftly brought upwards, cutting open the stomach of a mercenary wearing foolish leather armor and simultaneously the right blade stabbed deep into the throat of the man coming up behind her, piercing into his chain-mail.

Gasps and gurgles escaped him, a grimace of disgust appeared on her face as slight splatters of blood tainted her pale skin. Three more men moved in on her, one eventually grabbed her from behind and lifted her up, with a pained grunt due to his armor scraping against her recent whip wounds, she forcefully brought her head back and soon collided with his, he cried out as he dropped her, holding onto his now broken nose and without a moment's hesitation her fist had collided with his throat, knocking all air out of him until eventually snapping his neck. The two remained men came at her from either sides, but with a simple thrust from her daggers, she caught the two right between their genitals, earning agonizingly painful screams from their mouths until their heads soon rolled on the ground, the same pained expressions still remained on them. A rather amusing sight.

Lyaera took the time to see how her savior was holding up, though unfortunately her heart sank, as much as he fought with vigor, he was soon weakening. Maker knows how many men he had just fought off on his own, and truth be told, Lyaera felt him to be admirable. He was on his knees, it looked as if he had just given up on the fight and the leader of the mercenaries now had his sword raised above his head, ready to strike. This sent a horrible feeling throughout Lyaera's body, like someone had thrown icy water over her, physically she knew the feeling, but emotionally? Never.

"Don't you dare!!" she screamed, a sudden feeling of rage overtaking her. She didn't know why, but the position this elven man was now in seemed all too familiar to her, as she ran to return to favor to her savior, all the memories of when she had been brought to her knees due to these humans ran through her mind and that only added to her anger. Throwing her two daggers into the chests of the two men that were about to seize him, Lyaera then reached for the small blade she kept strapped to her thigh and soon, in the nick of time, she brought it to the leader's skull but not before his blade drove an inch deep into her shoulder. She seethed at the pain, but only brought her blade deeper into him, a shocked expression plastering his face as he soon fell to his knees and collapsed dead completely.

"You won't hurt him... or any of my kind ever again," those words were like venom as she spat on his dead body before falling to her own knees, crying out as she pulled the blade from her shoulder. She knelt there for a moment, head hung low as she took breaths to calm herself. Her white blouse which hung below her shoulders was now slightly torn and bloodied along with her green wench-like dress. Wonderful. Her attention then turned to the white haired Elf, she didn't know who looked worst, him or herself. "Hey... are you alright? It's over now, every thing's fine..." she spoke with genuine concern and was at least trying to communicate with him. She gently placed her hand on his shoulder, the pauldrons to his armor were quite cold to the touch, she made sure not to touch his skin in case of any injuries.

Though something felt off with this man, he was not responding, in fact... was he even conscious? It was then she noticed the blades that stuck out of him. A much harsher reality hit her as she realized this, how could she have been so blind?! Her heart rate seemed to increase in slight panic, what could she do? Her mind was beginning to become fuzzy due to her own pain that she was in and the fact that she had never been in a situation like this, however, she knew how to treat wounds and at this moment in time, she was the only one around that could help.

"Stay with me, alright? I'm going to help you!" she said, attempting to maintain a calm yet firm tone in her voice "just listen to my voice, okay? Talk to me, anything! Just stay awake!" This would be difficult, the blades seemed to be stuck due to this man's armor also not only just because of his flesh. Tearing quite a large piece from her dress, leaving it about knee-length now, she put it aside to ready it for what was about to come. "This is going to hurt, I won't lie... but, I'm going to have to remove the blades, don't be afraid... alright? You can hold or squeeze my hand if you must," though she was sure that he'd surely break it, but right now, he didn't look like he had any strength left in him, he was slipping away and fast!

Sliding her left hand into his, she gripped it tightly. "I'm right here! On three, I will remove the blade from your stomach, one... two..." her right hand soon held onto the hilt of the blade, taking a deep breath to ease her shaking "... three!" And just like that, in less than a second she pulled the blade out, quickly reaching for her torn piece of dress and pressed it hard against the wound. "That's it... you're doing fine, now... the second one," Lyaera wouldn't admit it, but she was scared, the second blade had gone straight through and he looked ready to pass out. She had an idea in her head, it would seem embarrassing to most, but it was not one she was unfamiliar with, it had to be done.

Removing her hand from his, she reached into her pack to retrieve a injury kit, placing it on her lap before turning her attention the remaining blade. Standing up with the kit in hand, she knelt behind him and placed her free hand on the hilt whilst popping off the cork to the bottle with her other hand. "Forgive me..." she whispered before she emptied the contents into her mouth but did not swallow, then within three seconds she removed the blade before then placing her left hand under his chin and tilting his head back, then parted his mouth open with her own and letting the foul yet useful liquid run down his throat before pulling away as quickly as she had performed that act of oral medication.

That would hopefully heal his wounds but may not rid them from him. She had to get him somewhere safe and warm. Downing an injury kit for herself, she then stood up to retrieve her blades, cloak and supplies. She knew there to be an Inn nearby and she would have to get him there somehow, now knowing that compared to him, her injuries were mere paper cuts. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm going to take you somewhere safe, alright? Keep listening to the sound of my voice if you can," she spoke kindly whilst wrapping her cloak around him to keep him warm, what she had done for him was a little service, someone more experienced would have to do the rest.

Lifting him onto his feet, she then slung his arm over her shoulder and began to take small steps, despite the weight she was already carrying, she could handle it. Luckily for the both of them, the Inn was in sight, two male workers taking a break outside caught sight of Lyaera and the injured Elf, becoming concerned which was odd coming from a human. Maybe they weren't all bad.

"I-Is your friend alright?"

"He doesn't look so well."

Almost immediately the two men aided them, Lyaera soon allowed them to carry him inside. "He's been badly hurt, please send for someone to aid him, I did what I could but I fear he may still be bleeding," her voice sounded desperate as guilt washed over her, this was all her fault, she just knew it. The men nodded to her words and soon took the white haired Elf inside, using the back entrance so that no customers gave them any attention. "I'll pay for a room for the both of us, please handle him with care, get his wounds dressed and cleaned, let him rest, anything! Just please, take care of him!"

What an adventure this was turning out to be.


Fade...


Lyaera had been waiting for some time now, she had no idea how long it'd been but all she could do was wait. She sat in a comfy chair, her attire now changed, similar to what she wore before but in different colours. Her eyes were slightly heavy, but they remained intent on the Elf that was now dressed in bandages and laying in bed.

"Please, be alright..."

[Fenris]

Darkness surrounded him, plain and silent. The world had gone quiet while he was gone, it seemed, misery and happiness alike drained into an endless void - everything was blissfully silent. His conscious roamed around in the colorless void, an infinite field of snow opening before him, the darkness itself as his sky. But he could think. That seemed to matter. He could think.

Suddenly a bright image beamed across the sky, the slow rumbling of a storm following right after; somehow, that rumbling seemed to hide a message. It was distant, thick, too far to listen to - yet Fenris tried. It seemed important. To listen to the rolling rumble of a hundred storms, accompanied by those bright flashes of lightning, the only colors this world had ever saw. It was a shame that the colors had returned. He was sure of that.

Abruptly he felt something in his stomach, painless, but tucking him farther from the void with each pull. Someone was pulling him farther up, towards something of evil nature, as though he were a fish. He felt a helpless baby snatched up by its mother, carried back into its den after a dangerous trek to the wilds: a throbbing pain began to seep into his bones, awareness of his powerless body began to return, as he was dragged closer to the sun, an endless source of light...

He bumped back into his body, conscious suddenly limited within a small space. He threw up on the floor once, twice, three times: he continued until his stomach was empty, and even then he couldn't keep his eyes open for any longer than a few seconds. The colors hurt him, only enhanced the pain he felt. He missed the void and its comforting loneliness, the only safe haven he acknowledged; but he knew he'd return to that place in his dreams, so there was little point in thinking about it.

It took him several minutes to open his mouth: bile kept piling up in his throat whenever he tried, a stomach-wrenching experience that left him panting for several seconds. When he finally managed to utter a word, his voice was hoarse and barely louder than a whisper.

"Life." Fenris' throat cleared up a little at that.

"Li--" Suddenly he threw up again. His own bile burned a path wherever it went, and suddenly he saw a small pond of it in front of him, burning away at the rest of his stomach's contents. At that exact moment he knew something was very, very wrong.

You only throw up bile when you're close to dying.

Suddenly he felt his newfound strength ebb away from him, leaving him in that darkness again. He managed a hoarse whisper before the void took him again.

"Magic."

[Lyaera Amavaintria]

Lyaera could feel her eyes growing heavier, she felt tired, no, she was tired... she just wanted to rest, she wanted to sleep. Despite every thing that had just happened, she, too, was weakened and had not long just got over all the agony from earlier plus traveling for days on end. It would almost seem that she had forgotten her task at hand, she felt so free during that fight plus the pain she felt seemed to have wiped something away from her memory, she figured it couldn't have been that important if she had forgotten.

Suddenly, she heard a sickening sound, immediately waking up she saw that the Elf was emptying his stomach, something that made her own stomach churn, she hated seeing other people being sick, it only made her want to do the same. Rushing to his side, she quickly held a bucket for him to be sick in, whether he realized it was there or not was a mystery, but she had to do what she could to help. She owed a lot to him right now.

Seeing him like this was saddening to her sensitive soul, it even reminded her of when Nol would get sick and she'd nurse him back to health. At least she was good for something. Still, this didn't look right, no one threw up this much followed by bile for it to be considered normal, something must've happened to him. She looked at him, this time noticing something she did not before - from his chin down to his chest and arms, he had the most... strange markings, however, strange was not what came to mind when she looked at them. Whatever they were, they were beautiful, so decorative and wonderfully bizarre. This created a smile on her pale lips.

Her thoughts were broken as he began to speak, it was hard to understand so she had to hold her breath just to understand.

"Life."

Life? What was he talking about?

"Yes... you're alive," she spoke back to him, though she wasn't sure he could hear her, perhaps he was somewhat delusional? Then he spoke again.

"Magic."

This word sent a shiver down Lyaera's spin, she hated magic and above all, Mages. But perhaps this was a request from him? Did he need magic to feel better? If it kept him alive and breathing she would have no choice but to accept it. "I'll get you help, I promise," she started to wonder why she even bothered talking when he probably couldn't even hear her, maybe it was more to calm herself down instead. Leaving his bedside, she then walked over to a small table and took a quill from its ink pot and immediately started writing on a sheet of paper.

Urgent! Elf seeking Mage to aid in helping a sick man, possibly poisoned. Will pay five sovereigns. Please hurry!
Signed, a friend waiting in the Hillman Inn.

She didn't know how to write very well, but she at least hoped that someone would receive this letter. She left the room for just a moment, giving the letter to a young lad and giving him a sovereign to make sure that a Mage got the letter, she only hoped there was a decent one around, and she could only hope that it wasn't her Master.

Once the business was done, she returned to the room where the white haired elf lay in wait, and as for herself, she could only do what she could until help arrived. She took the cloth which lay floating in a bowl of moderately cold water, squeezing any excess water out and began to gently dab it on the male Elf's head.

"You'll be alright, I promise."

[Azalea Valdea]

It seemed that as of late, Azalea's travels seemed to have taken her farther and farther. But, it was time to scavenge in a new city, a city that has yet to become aware of desperate mages in search of food, water, and any other basic supplies. The young woman knew she shouldn't be traveling this far away from Andoral's Reach, for many knew how dangerous it was now to even leave the fortress. Templars were closing in on every side now, slowly choking out the mages, letting them starve, dehydrate and freeze in the upcoming Winter. Azalea would try and keep such terrible things at bay by taking whatever supplies she could get her hands on. But, she needed to be careful now, very careful, especially now since she was alone at the moment. She and Louis had split off for the time being in hopes of being able to cover as much ground as possible. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea, but, it needed to be done.

At least Azalea didn't need to sneak around too awful much here. There were a decent amount of guards here sure, but little sign of Templars. The young mage was dressed a little strangely, well, not strange to everyone else, but strange for herself. Ok well, not a lot of the Orlesians here probably liked her choice of armor seeing as she wasn't "fashionable" but ah well. She was dressed in grey iron chainmail, which was entirely odd feeling to her. Even more odd, was that instead of her staff, she carried two daggers at her sides. She wore this old armor on occasion when out scouting or traveling on the road, but she much preferred the robes and dresses she had seeing as they were comfortable. But, what was comfort going to do against a possible attack? Nothing. At least chain-mail could protect her somewhat. The woman wore a cloak alone with her armor that was a brilliant sapphire color. The hood shielded her head, hiding away her conspicuously fiery red hair and cast a shadow over her fair face. Her amber eyes scanned the area as she entered a small market place, eying the stands carefully. She debated quietly with herself on what she should attempt to get first. Food? Perhaps. Water was more needed though...but perhaps Louis was already doing this. Hmm...food it is.

The woman had been about to make her way over to one of the stands that was bartering food, when someone bumped into her. She turned in surprise, and found that a young boy had run into her. He looked up at her, mentioning something about an elf needing a mage at some inn. Confused, she took the note he was holding and read it. She then looked down at the boy and gave a soft smile from behind her hood. Azalea patted the boy atop the head and offered him a few silver, for that was all she could spare. "Thank you young man. I can take it from here...now, where is this inn?" She asked him, and the boy pointed in the direction of the inn. With another thank you, the young mage strode off towards the supposed direction of the inn. Now, Azalea couldn't help but wonder as to why someone would be deliberately sending a message after a mage. It was dangerous for mages to be out and about...unless it was a trap? She froze as she arrive at the inn. What if it is a trap? Is it wise for her to enter in here so willingly? What if she ends up getting taken away, or killed? How would Louis know? She frowned. But what if the note was true? If there was indeed a sick, wounded man? Azalea felt torn between the two ideas. The thought of survival tugged at her, but her integrity as a healer also tugged at her. After a minute of internal battling, her healer's instincts won.

She entered the inn, and immedietly made her way towards the innkeeper. I was told there was an elf that recently checked in here...I need to speak with them." Azalea said quietly, looking up at the innkeeper with her eyes barely visible from under her hood.

"Up the stairs, second door on the left." He grunted, pointing towards the stairs.

Nodding in her thanks, the young mage made her way up the stairs, to the doorway where this supposed elf and sick man were staying in. She knocked quietly. "Hello? Yes, I received your erm...message." Azalea said in a quiet voice, looking over at the stairs, as if afraid of a trap being sprung on her.

[Lyaera Amavaintria]

He was still breathing, so that had to count for something, Lyaera could only hope he was strong enough to fight this just as he fought for both their lives earlier. A gentle look remained in her mystic eyes, no one had ever shown such kindness nor defended her in such a way, it was always being beaten in public for all to see with the exception of those who merely looked away, so this meant something to her, more than anyone could hope to imagine, but maybe that was just naive of her.

Suddenly the door knocked, causing Lyaera's body to jolt in alarm followed by a voice. It was a woman. At least she didn't have to worry about it being someone else, this voice sounded kind, at least, but whether or not she was a danger was yet to be seen. Placing the cloth back into its bowl, she stood up and straightened out her dress before walking over to the door, this would be the first time in such a long while that she would come face to face with a Mage that wasn't Krios and without his attendance.

She opened the door just a crack and peeked through, her eyes widened slightly, a look of awe appeared on her pale face much like a child who had seen snow for the very first time or a Mabari puppy. The only thought that ran through Lyaera's mind was - What a beautiful Shemlen. It was true, so youthful in appearance, too... she seemed so... innocent.

Finally breaking from her thoughts, Lyaera opened the door and allowed the woman to enter. "Yes, this is the right place..." she spoke in a gentle tone "please, come in, he's just over there... something seems to be terribly wrong with him, you see... I was being tortured by slavers and he saved me, he was wounded badly and I did what I could, but for some reason he just won't stop being sick, I'm very worried."

She could feel her body trembling but like always, she did not cry, though she feared greatly for this man's life. "P-please... do what you can to help, please don't let him die!" she spoke desperately, feeling nothing but guilt. All she could do was sit there and hope for the best.

[Azalea Valdea]

Azalea waited patiently, if even a bit anxiously. She felt as if Templars would swoop down upon her at any given moment, but perhaps she was being too paranoid. She could hear movement from beyond the doorway, light footsteps steadily growing a little louder as they approached the door. Azalea averted her gaze from the stairway and instead towards the door. The door opened only a small crack, and Azalea could see a soft, feminine face peek out at her. She dropped the hood down from her head and gave a small smile at the woman that was behind the door. The door opened fully then, revealing a young, beautiful elf with a look of worry on her face. She didn't seem that much older than Azalea herself, but one could never be sure. Elves had that knack of being older than they appear, but holding a sense of youth about them like an aura.

The elven woman allowed her inside, telling Azalea this was indeed the right place. She pointed to a bed on the other side of the room, where a motionless figure lay. She spoke about how she was attacked by slavers, and how she had been rescued by the man, but took grave injuries and was now sick. The young woman frowned and turned her head to look sympathetically at the female elf. "Slavers? Dear Maker...are you alright? I know this must be terrible for you." She said quietly. Being attacked and having someone take the blows for you was often a traumatizing thing. Something like this had happened to Azalea not so long ago, and she hated it. This poor girl was so worried, and she begged Azalea to not let this man die. "I will do all I can for him. Let me go see what the damage is before I start." She said gently, lightly patting the elven woman's arm before striding over to the motionless man in bed. It was only when she got close did she recognize him. Her amber eyes widened frightfully, and a worried frown creased her lips. "Fenris? Oh Maker..." She murmured as she quietly looked over the elven man. Azalea could smell the bile he had thrown up not so long ago, and it caused her nose to crinkle from the smell. Bile was never a good sign, that much Azalea knew. She looked over to the elven woman. "Come here would you please?" Azalea asked her as she rummaged through her bag. She could heal Fenris' wounds without too much trouble, but it seemed he needed something for his insides as well, something that can hopefully stop him from becoming more ill and to quell the bile in his body. She took out a small, empty vile and filled it up slightly with the bowl of water that was sitting at the bedside. "Hold this for me for a moment." Azalea said, giving the elven woman the vile before she rummaged through her pack again. She brought out a few herbs in small containers, healing herbs that mostly contained elfroot and such. Azalea took out the herbs and gently crunched them into tinier fragments and dumped them into the vile of water. "I need you to try and get him to drink this while I heal him. Try and get most of it in him if you can." She said quietly while she stood over Fenris, hovering her palms over his still body, allowing her magic to work itself over him, closing any wounds that he may have.

A short time passed and Azalea found herself already growing tired. She did all she could for Fenris by healing the wounds from the slaver attack, and she could only hope the drink she had created would help him with whatever sickness he was having. Without really knowing what it was, it was like taking a shot in the dark. Azalea was breathing a little hard, seeing as healing someone with bad enough injuries always took her breath away. She backed away from the bed and leaned against the wall behind her for support. Azalea sighed and looked over to the elven woman, giving a soft smile. "I've done all I could at the moment. Let me just...catch my breath for a minute and I'll see if I can do anything else for him. We'll give him a few minutes though." She said with another little smile before she began rubbing at her temples. Maker, she hoped she had done some good.

[Lyaera Amavaintria]

Lyaera stood from her chair as the woman called for her aid. The woman appeared to have said something followed by a look of familiarization that plastered her fair features due to her observing nature. Did this woman know this elven man? There was indeed something very odd about this woman, she showed sympathy for her? No human, no Mage, even, cared for the fate of slaves, at least... that's what Krios said anyway. Could he be wrong? Or was she in the wrong for believing him?

Snapping out of her thoughts, the woman then handed her a vial containing a medicine that would hopefully heal the man. Get him to drink it? How? If she just poured it into his mouth he would surely throw it back up, this was when her head soon hung forward, a slight groan escaping her. Twice in one day? She knew it would save his life but now doing this in front of a complete stranger made her feel slightly nervous, if not shy, what if this woman got the wrong idea? Still... it had to be done. Again.

"Very well," she said with a half sigh, opening the vial until emptying the contents in her mouth, she did all she could to prevent herself from spitting the vile liquid out and soon followed by emptying her stomach. Why did everything medicinal taste so bad?! Without a moments hesitation, she placed her mouth once again over his and parted his lips. It was funny really, the concept only reminded her of the handsome prince kissing the fair princess to free her from a curse, however, the roles seemed to be reversed, plus, she was no princess. What she tasted next nearly made her own stomach to spill its contents, she could taste the bile in his mouth as she forced the liquid down his throat, gently stroking his throat with her hand to ease it down and relax it.

Once the whole ordeal was over and done with, Lyaera instantly pulled away and made for the bathroom. Sounds of heaving and groaning could be heard followed by water being gargled and spat out. "Ughhhh... this is the price I pay..." she moaned softly to herself before returning to the room, seeing the now weakened state of the woman. "Oh! Are you alright...?" she said, concerned as she rushed to her side "h-here... you must sit down, you look tired." With that she soon helped the woman into the comfy chair that she had been sitting in earlier, she retrieved a mug of water and offered it to her.

"Thank you for doing all that you could, I don't know what I would do with a dead elf on my conscience," she said in her usual kind tone before sitting at the end of the bed in which the man lay in, looking at him briefly before turning her attention to the woman, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Uh! P-Please don't t-tell him what I just did w-when he wakes up," she stuttered, lowering her head to hide whatever timid expression she had on her face.

She could only hope that this worked. He had to live, she needed to thank him for what he did. Such an act of kindness deserved the same kindness returned, did it not?

[Fenris]

A cold breeze stirred in the room. It spinned in the air, rounding three laps, before it brought itself down upon the dying body of Fenris. A thick curtain lay between him and his body, obscuring feelings, a single thread of life threatened to be snapped by an invisible pair of scissors. That moment was too close for comfort.

Suddenly the cold stirred his mind, allowing him to think for a brief moment. The sensation was wonderful, but brief; it left him in mere seconds, tossing him back into that boring, numb state he had spent his last hours in.

Abruptly he felt it again: freezing chills tingling his whole body, passing through him like wind through an open window. It was the same sensation, yet much, much stronger. He grunted quietly, slowly coming back to his senses. Only moments before his mind had been a loose knot of misguided thoughts, but as he began to feel the soft bed under him, see bright lights everywhere around him, the sensation was enough to numb him momentarily. He lied still, not daring to fully open his eyes yet; his memories were returning in great speed, uncontrollable torrents that filled his mind with familiar images and events.

Finally as the flow of memories began to dwindle, he became accustomed to the light and opened his eyes. Inhaling deeply, allowing the sweet air to fill his lungs to the point of bursting, he allowed his eyes to wander off to the left. All of the air he had stored in his lungs suddenly burst out, sending him into a series of coughing into his palm. At least fifteen seconds later he managed to stop, raising his eyes to meet Azalea's.

He regarded the red-haired mage with so much wonder that you could've thought he had seen a ghost. It took him several more seconds to adjust his breath again, but as he opened his mouth to say something, he couldn't find any words to speak. His mouth snapped shut violently and he rose from the bed, using up much of his newfound strength in simply holding his body straight and stable. It still swayed, however, and Fenris found that he couldn't hold on to that poise without leaning on the wall for support.

Finally as he had settled himself comfortably against the wall, he allowed his gaze to wander off from Azalea to the elven woman he had saved earlier. An image flashed in his mind - a woman effortlessly slitting the throats of two soldiers, stepping aside gracefully - and then disappeared, leaving his gaze a tad dazzled. What was that?

Then he understood something: the whole process, him sitting up and staring at the two of them, probably looked quite stupid. Crazy, even.

"I suppose I was saved by you two, then," he stated, not in the state to come up with anything better. There was a quizzical look in his eyes, only strengthened by his dizzy features: his mind was not on the conversation, but instead chewing on a new puzzle. The images searing across his vision, blinding him mentally and physically, only lasting a couple of seconds: what could that mean?

[Azalea Valdea]

It only just really occurred to Azalea that her request towards the elven woman was quite strange and maybe a bit challenging to do. She was so use to being at Andoral's Reach with other mages that knew a thing or two about such things like this. Perhaps it would have been better if Azalea had done this herself so the poor elven girl wouldn't have to do it. But, she wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, because every second was vital. Still though, Azalea did feel guilty once she truly realized how absurd of a task she had given the other woman, especially with the way her face contorted from the bitterness of the medicine. Azalea had to turn her attention away however once she got to work on Fenris. When she had finished, she only just then noticed that the elven girl was gone, but the sounds of a nauseated person could be heard close by. Another guilty frown creased her features as she leaned wearily against the wall.

The elven girl returned, suddenly worried about Azalea's physical state. She couldn't help but laugh, not at her exactly, but just her reaction alone. Most always got concerned when mages, particularly Azalea, managed to tucker themselves out. The other woman offered her a chair, and Azalea's grin just widened further. Normally she would be too proud to accept it, but for the elf girl's benefit she would accept the seat and sit for a minute or two. "Oh, really don't worry about me. Its just been a terribly long time since I've done this, and I'm a tad rusty." She said with another laugh. "I apologize for making you do what you had to do though. I know that was terribly foul tasting." Azalea said, her smile fading somewhat as another pang of guilt jabbed at her. She was then offered a mug of water from the elven girl, and she accepted it gratefully. "Thank you very much." Azalea said as she took small sips from the mug, enjoying the taste of water. She gave another little laugh and looked upon the female elf with a smile. "Don't worry, I won't tell him. That will be our little secret yes?" Azalea said with amusement. "I am just glad I reciceved your message. I must be honest, I almost did not come here. It is very risky for mages to be out in the open, let alone accepting mysterious letters asking for help from us." She let out a little sigh. "But my curiosity and the need to help someone got the better of me. Fortunate for me you are no Templar." Azalea said with a light, yet weary smile.

The sounds of coughing caused Azalea to jerk her attention back towards the bed. She had jsut about to get back up to try and help Fenris again when he stopped. He looked over at her in wide eyed bewilderment. He was probably surprised that their paths had crossed again so soon, or just surprised that she was there helping him. Fenris got up then, quite unsteadily before he managed to regain his balance by leaning against a wall. "I really wouldn't be up moving around right now. Your body needs to rest for a little while and readjust itself." Azalea sighed a little, knowing he probably wouldn't listen to her anyways. She took another sip of her water, feeling her strength starting to return again. Fenris spoke then, assuming that she and the elven woman have saved him. "I think that's safe for you to assume. How are you feeling Fenris?" She asked, crossing one leg over the other. Azalea then looked over at the elven girl. "And what about you? You are alright? No injuries or anything of the sort? May as well patch you up too if you need it." Azalea said with a small grin.

[Lyaera Amavaintria]

Lyaera sat there semi-silently, enjoying the small company, it felt like a nice change to her in all honesty, even though this woman was a Mage. Surely there was no chance of her turning into a monster or using the two elves as slaves... surely not. Lyaera pondered that for a while until the woman began to speak, soon tilting her head upwards to look at her, a light smile appeared on her pale lips. "Thank you," she spoke with a light chuckle, averting her gaze in slight shyness "I wouldn't know how to explain kissing-... well, orally medicating someone I've never even met." She began to laugh, which felt wonderful to her, she could never laugh without her Master scolding her. So, taking advantage, she began to laugh more and more, giggling even, with her mouth covered by her hand, laughing at the situation and whatever else she could find that was funny.

After a short moment, she ceased her laughing, knowing that she must've seemed crazy for doing so out of the blue. "S-sorry..." she smiled, clearing her throat as she then listened as the woman spoke again, her smile soon faded. She understood that this girl had risked so much just to be here and aiding this man, Lyaera couldn't help but feel a little guilty, plus... Mages were constantly being hunted by Templars and then dragged to the Circle or even killed. She did believe that the Templars were necessary, but at least the Circle was better than the alternative. She found herself semi-neutral to each side.

"Well, you may have just saved his life, you've risked so much just to be here..." she spoke in a rather comforting tone before standing from the bed and walked over to her pack which lay in the corner of the room, there was a clinking sound before she stood up once again "speaking of which... I do believe I owe you, here." The smile returned to her face as she went over to the woman and gently took her hand in hers, spreading her fingers open as she dropped not five, but eight sovereigns into her hand.

"This is the least I can do for you, use this coin as you see fit, I only wish I could do more to thank you, but I hope this is enough," she said kindly before taking her place back over onto the end of the bed. She looked over at the elf man to see for any signs of recovery before looking back over to the woman, sighing deeply as she gather her hair over her shoulder and began to idly play with it, this now exposed the various old and fresh whip marks on her back which she seemed to have forgotten about. She thought of various words she could've said when he woke up, how would she thank him exactly? She guessed that she would just have to wait and see, though she felt prepared either way.

Not as prepared as she thought.

Suddenly, another voice joined the room and Lyaera felt her body jerk in alarm, she was about to look over at the elven man but restrained herself, a sudden feeling of fear overwhelmed her as she then looked away with a guilt-stricken expression. She could feel a sickening sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and then there was a lump building in her throat, but still - no tears. And then there was a sharp pain down her back, as if something was slowing being peeled from her, she attempted to look behind to see what was causing it but it was then her gaze met his. She must've looked like such a fool sitting there and constantly staring at him, perhaps rather impolite, too... but she couldn't help it. She remembered him earlier, fighting to save her, that's what she thought at least, even now she wondered what his intentions were back then.

She listened to the woman speak as she continued to stare, almost as if looking away would be the death of her. She caught a name somewhere in the woman's words. Fenris? So they did know each other. Fenris... what a nice name.

Suddenly remembering her place, Lyaera felt her body lift her up, almost a bit too quickly which then caused more pain in her back, but she ignored it, even to the point of now feeling a wet substance cause her blouse to stick to her back. She still wasn't sure what to say, what if he was angry at her for almost getting himself killed? What if he didn't actually want to save her but instead lust for blood? There was so many 'what ifs' and each one only brought her more fear and hesitation. However, she had to say something, she owed so much to this man right now.

"I-I... uhm..." she took a breath, then started again "thank you for helping me earlier, I don't know what--... well, I do know what would've happened if you hadn't been there, you really didn't have to... it's nothing I haven't faced before," she let out a nervous chuckle, as if trying to brighten the mood "I guess you've figured out that I'm a slave, an escaped one at that, uh... I feel terrible that this has happened to you, I would never wish this on anyone, I'm so sorry, I don't know how to repay you, but... if there's anything I can do, be it a debt, please let me know... I want to repay you for this, such kindness given should at least be returned."

She half knew what she was saying and half didn't, every word was genuine, but her fear and guilt was only making a mess of it. She found it best that she didn't talk to him for a little while, he had only just woken up after all. The woman spoke again, this time, to Lyaera. "Help...?" she questioned, her expression much like a curious Mabari puppy before registering what she had just said "oh, no... you don't need to worry, this is nothing I can't handle," she spoke with her usual smile, though in the back of her head she felt a greater sense of fear as well as shame. She could feel the blood trickling down her back and soaking the back of her blouse, she didn't want these people to see the shame that she bared. Eventually she found a spot in the room where she could stand with her back to the wall, smiling again in hopes to fool them that she was fine.

"You should be more concerned about him, two swords to the stomach seems far more worst than a few lashing," she realized her mistake in saying that. Why had she just told the woman that she had been whipped? "Uh, that is, it's nothing serious, I'll be fine," another nervous chuckle, though she truly did not want to worry anyone. Instead, she looked over at Fenris and smiled lightly.

[Fenris]

"I feel a lot better, thanks..."
"And I'm not really that interested in how exactly you found me," he added, looking at Azalea. "What I want to know is how long these bloody gashes take to heal." He burst into fits of coughing after the effort of raising his voice.

"And perhaps how Azalea came here.." he hissed from between his teeth.