thoughtsofvorfreude | Real things in the darkness seem no realer than dreams.

Winter had assembled her bedroll, laid out Zelly's beside her own, if only to allow her to keep an eye on the girl through the night. It wasn't that she distrusted her, because it's obvious she trusted her quite a bit, but because they had no idea what kind of dangers could be lurking around in the night. The truth of it was, while they had made a deal with the Bahir for now-- that did not mean she trusted it, not any more than the creature probably trusted them, all things considered.

Still, sleep did not come to her easily. She found herself moving, pacing, thumbing over the chain mail she had found and trying to think through everything they had been through. There had been traps set, and so many Dwarves killed-- but by what? Was it all the Bahir or something else? She really couldn't tell. And with so many lost, was it possible that even together they could not stand against the thing? She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure about much right now; and even as tired as she was, she kept pacing.

Gareth knelt by the pool, eyeing his reflection in it--but the bubbles coming from the bottom of the liquid stymied his attempt to get an unbroken view. Finally he cursed softly and abandoned the attempt, stepping past Grumac and Orek as they lay already snoring. Loud enough to bring the monster down on them if they didn't have Winter's protection.
He went to her, walking much more quietly as he neared Zelly's sleeping face.

"How does it look?" he asked plainly. "Don't pull any punches."

He tugged some of his charred shirt down to reveal his upper arm, shoulder and his neck. Evidence of his run-in with the dragon's flame was etched into his skin, a long and wavy burn beginning on his shoulder and running along his neck, almost all the way up to his chin. He craned his head up and winced as the newly-healed skin protested.
"Is it bad?"

She paused in her pacing, and for a moment she just stared at Gareth. It lingered, perhaps too long before her lips pursed and there was a definite scrunching of her features. Disgust, however, was not present. Her hand gripped the shirt tighter and she just stared for several long seconds, and were he perceptive enough he'd realize that it was not judgement of his looks that pulled such an expression on her face.

She was trying desperately not to cry.

Swallowing, it took her what felt like an eon to find her voice; though the words had been there all along. "You look alive."

He winced as her face crumbled. "Damn," he quietly whispered. "Worse than I thought. Well, I guess I won't be winning any shirtless beauty competitions." He let the shirt fall back and dusted himself down, only then meeting her eyes. For a moment he thought he saw disgust in her eyes, revulsion, but it was only what he'd put there--what his own worries had placed there. She wasn't repelled. No, she was trying desperately not to break down herself.

"I am," he said in surprise, still trying to understand the worry and fear behind her voice. "Of course I am."

"Does this mean you don't like my scar?" he asked, trying and failing to inject some levity into the situation.

His levity broke whatever it was holding that part of her together, she coughed a laugh but with the laugh came tears as she curled her fingers tighter. "What a stupid thing to say." She muttered as she took in a watery breath. "Of course I do." The humor wasn't all there, but she was trying. Never had been much of a liar, especially, it seemed, when she wanted to be the most.

"You didn't see what you looked like before, Gareth." She spoke like it was a warning, her tone hushed and achy. She wasn't even sure if she should tell him, she wasn't sure how much he remembered or knew from when he was unconscious.

He smiled at her laugh, although her tears nearly sent him into a frenzy. What was he supposed to do? Was she going to stop crying? Should he give her a handkerchief? What could he do to make things better? In the end all he knew to do was grin and scratch his head, mumbling a "thanks," at the compliment.

But his face fell as hers continued to look as grave as--well, as if he'd gone and died. Which he pretty much almost had.
"How was I?" he asked softly. All he remembered was a tremendous gout of fire and passing out as the heat became too much... and he didn't remember much of climbing down, either. It was all just sort of a heat haze.

"Pretty bad?"

"You looked dead." A pause as she looked down to the chain shirt, thumbing over the links, carefully counting them as if it mattered. She couldn't say this and look at him, it was too difficult, really. "You were writhing on the ground screaming-- and then you just... stopped." And as bad as the first had been, the second was terrifying. Especially when she felt so helpless, being plucked off of her feet by Grumac with no choice in the matter as they all had been dragged down.

He was fine now, but... She grimaced, feeling her stomach twist and turn, it was hard for her to express these kinds of things. She couldn't stop remembering him like that; not now, when it was so fresh in her mind.

"You just stopped and I didn't know..." She faltered and stopped, she couldn't say it. But she probably didn't need to.

"I, uh..." he fumbled for words to say, his hands falling limp at his sides. At their feet Zelly continued to snooze, her eyes gently closed and her mouth slightly open. Had she seen him like that? He hoped not. He hated that Winter had.
It made him feel as weak as anything.

"I'm sorry," he tried, feeling just as helpless as he had running from the fire. "I didn't want you to see..." he trailed off. See what? Anything. Him being hurt. Him not winning the fight. And certainly not him getting knocked down and staying down. "I wish I'd been more on my guard. If I'd known there would be that much heat, I would have grabbed you, teleported somewhere safe, we'd..." he stopped again. It was all just wishing and hoping. The reality of the matter was, he'd come within a hair's breadth of dying. Only the fact he had such good friends had saved him.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and carefully reached out to pull her into a hug.

Her face tucked into him, and perhaps it was the people that slumbered nearby that brought it about, whatever crying she had to do half-hidden into his shoulder. She felt bad, seeing that look on his face, felt bad for him apologizing-- but most of all, she had felt useless for the first time in a long time. It wasn't often one of them fell so hard and she hadn't been able to do it. Had seen first hand why people were so afraid of her, of her kind and her family. Had been able to do nothing when she needed to do something the most.

The chain links chime, faint to her ears, pulsing with the way her heart beat as she abandoned them in favor of a hug. It was tight, maybe too tight, fueled by fear and anguish, dragging him in to confirm the realness of his being. "What am I supposed to do..." She managed to get out, but it was watery and probably didn't make much sense.

It took a while for her breathing to begin to even out.

In her watery, wavering voice, she managed to get out the smallest thing-- "You're not allowed to die."

He held her awkwardly, patting her on her head as she shook and shivered into his shoulder. She could tell she was crying: although she didn't make much sound while she was buried into his shoulder, he could feel her wet tears dotting his shirt and soaking in to kiss his skin. "Good idea," he struggled for humor again: "maybe your tears will heal--oof!" he didn't manage to make it to the last couple words before the chain mail fell with a curiously quiet jingle and more importantly, she squeezed him in a frenetic hug. All the air went out of him with a whoosh and he tensed as he thought of waking Zelly... but when she failed to stir he relaxed and squeezed her a little tighter.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and meant it. He hadn't been thinking of how it would affect her if he hurt himself, so the fire had been a momentary hassle that had left him with an unfortunate scar. He hadn't given it any more thought that he'd needed to at the time, but now he thought he understood how she'd felt seeing him drop.

"I won't," he promised her. "Not for a long long long time. Not until I make that spell, remember?" and Gareth hugged her a little tighter. That watery voice of hers was going to make him tear up. "Not until I craft that spell that feels just right. And hopefully not until a while more after that."

She nodded, and after another squeeze finally relented in her hold on him. Some part of her had always known the danger they had all been in, but rarely did anyone fall; and it had been a brutal one to see. Not a knock to the head or something simple, but the way the fire had wrapped him up. Left him marked with the reminder of his near-death. She wasn't sure if she felt anguish or guilt more readily. "I don't want you to be sorry." She finally managed as she pulled back, rubbing her own face hard, embarrassed at her half-outburst. "I don't.. I don't know what I want."

She didn't blame him, that became obvious, there was no judgment or anger. In truth she had also been putting others first, and simply had been fortunate enough to have fire in her blood. Otherwise, it would have been just as bad for her as it had been for him. She was just... scared. It was hard holding the weight of everyone's health in her hands and she felt like a failure.

She had felt like it with those shadows parading as children, but more so now. She had been too slow, hadn't urged them along, hadn't done everything she needed to-- and what if that happened again? What if...

"I know," he countered, "but..." what else was there to say? He was sorry. He was sorry he was sorry. And he was sorry... so on. He'd never meant to hurt her and now that he knew he had, it almost shook him more than nearly dying. He let go of the hug reluctantly and watched her try to scrub her face, and he wished he knew what to do with his hands. They hung limply at his sides after being so comfortable, so right hugging her.

"I am sorry," he said again, his voice a little stronger. "I messed up and I hurt you. I never meant to do that." He looked at the closed-off, haunted look on her face and hated what he saw. Hated how he'd caused it.

"But it's not your fault. I made a stupid mistake and lagged too far behind. I didn't take it seriously when you started running."

"You tried. And you can't blame yourself."

She swallowed, her throat working overtime for a few seconds as she had to think things over. Try to shake the feeling from her bones, though it still ached down to it, pooled in her stomach and left her standing there limply. In the moment she had come apart, but now it felt foolish, like she had gone too far. Opened up too much.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, she chewed the inside of her cheek, perhaps harder than she should.

"What if it happens again? To anyone else, to Zelly?" Her voice tightened, and she forced herself to quiet down, gently grabbing his arm to drag him closer to the water and farther from the bedrolls. More importantly from the sleeping Princess and a few others.

He knew the words had met her ears, filtered inside--but if it had registered, if it had made sense to her and she'd accepted it... he couldn't know. He couldn't tell. All he could see was that she was shaking herself to bits, agonizing over his brush with death... and it was his fault. He'd done it to her.

He felt like garbage.
It seemed a little ridiculous at face value: it was him that had nearly died! But he hadn't had to see himself burnt to a cinder. He hadn't had to heal him back from the brink of death.

And it was clear what it had done to her.

"It won't," his eyes flashed, his voice suddenly tightening. She pulled him closer to the pool of water, still bubbling. He glanced into it and saw a bubble slowly rising to the surface with what looked like a small, white misshapen fish in it. The fish wiggled and the bubble popped, allowing the fish to disappear into the murky pool. Gareth determined to forget he'd ever seen it.

"I won't let that happen. Not to any of us," he said fervently. "Not to Zelly, and definitely not to you."

He couldn't be sure, none of them could be sure, as much as she wanted to believe that-- the truth of it all was; it was only going to get more dangerous. They were going to face many more trials, get closer and closer to the dragon and face the danger of it all. Her stomach tightened, but she steeled her shoulders, shaking her head. "You can't promise that." Again she struggled to swallow as the reality of it all set in on her. Before it had been dangerous, but it had never been so real. "None of us can promise that."

Her hand swept her bands back from her face, the thick red hair just fluttering back down to stick to the sides of her cheek. "That's the truth of this... none of us can promise anything like that, because we could all die tomorrow. You know?" She frowned as she crossed her arms, before staring at him. There was a long moment where she looked cross and increasingly stubborn.

"If it comes to that you need to get Zelly and leave."

He opened his mouth and closed it again, knowing she was right. He wanted to promise that to her, wanted it more than anything... but he couldn't. It would be a lie. For all he knew tomorrow could be the worst fight of their lives and they would be scrambling just to keep breath in their throats. The idea of having Zelly, Winter, any of the party disappear...
it wasn't worth thinking about that.

"I know," he murmured, and he did. He was thinking about it, about Winter following the same path he almost had. He could imagine her so easily, so easily falling on the wrong side of a blade. He could just see all the awful things that could happen to her--each worse than the last--and it was driving him mad. It made him want to...
to...

"I can't do that," he said instantly, before he'd even thought about it. Before the words had really processed. It took a moment for his brain to catch up, and then he continued:
"I won't leave without you."

A moment. A sudden ache in his chest and his breath coming short.
"Zelly needs you."

"Maybe." She crossed her arms, stubbornly tucking them together under her chest as she watched him. "But if anyone could, it would be you." And the idea had rooted in her mind, she was sure it was the best option they had. "She's just a child, that's what matters. It'd hurt but in the end, she'd get past it, be stronger after." She was sure it would hurt, hurt like she hurt now, maybe worse-- but the truth of it was, she would value the lives of those in the party over her own, it was the simple truth and had never changed.

"I don't want it to happen, of course..." She thought of her siblings, her family, a hand rubbing gently at the crook of her elbow, a subtle sort of self-comfort. "But if it does... I need you to do that."

It seemed like a reasonable, even safe idea. Wasn't he all about keeping Zelly safe? Hadn't his entire reason for this entire venture, since the beginning, been about that? He hadn't gone into it for money, or for power, or for anything like that. All of it had been for her, and the results had been better than he'd ever imagined. Now she had friends, companions, and had even reconciled slightly with her parents. Everything right now, it was wonderful as far as he was concerned.

Gareth looked over at Zelly and imagined grabbing her, seeing the look on her face as they disappeared and reappeared somewhere safer where they couldn't hear the others fighting... trying to convince her to move on.

And Winter, gone. Forever.

He searched for a reason against the same plan he'd had just weeks earlier.
"...Do you think she'd want that?"

"No." She knew it, without a doubt. Zelly would probably hate the both of them for it, or worse. "But what she wants..." She dug her thumb into her arm a little, trying to find the right words. "As much as I want her to have all she wants in the future, this is to make sure she has a future." Her throat worked, she felt guilty even saying it, but part of her really believed it. "She'll hate me, but she'll be alive to hate me."

And that was the point, wasn't it? Maybe she still felt she had so much to do, so much to see, but Zelly was a child and in the end she hadn't nearly got to live. Winter wanted to make sure that she could, that she was safe, no matter the cost.

"I'm sure the others would agree with me."

She'll be alive to hate me.
Gareth felt choked. He couldn't say anything back to her, not a thing: every word caught in his throat and stuck there. He wanted to shout at her but couldn't; he wanted to shake her but couldn't; he wanted to stick his head underneath the bubbling water but that also seemed like a poor choice.

It made sense. Of course it did: he'd lived a bit already and so had Winter, but Zelly's whole life was ahead of her--and it might last longer than either of theirs would, anyway. Now that she was a vampire it was entirely possible she would just... live on indefinitely. And wasn't it worth the few years they had, to preserve the many she would?

He would agree. He would nod his head and smile sadly, he would do it.

But when his mouth opened, all that came out was "I can't."

A slow heavy breath had left her at his response, feeling her chest deflate with the pressure on it. She could sympathize, in so many ways, and a nod followed. One hand reaching out, a gentle sort of touch as she squeezed his arm, tried to show him she understood even if she didn't agree.

"Maybe you don't think so now." She started as she gave another squeeze before pulling it back, not wanting to overwhelm him. "But I think when the time comes you will do the right thing."

The right thing, she knew, was not the easy thing. Or perhaps the thing he wanted to do-- or even consider. But with all of that said, she wanted Zelly to have a life. The girl had barely started hers; not just in years, but the fact she had been trapped in a castle without the freedom to live for so long. To the point she had let herself be bitten by a vampire just to escape. Winter didn't want to die, of course, but some small part of her couldn't handle living if it meant anyone else did.

"You said I would be a good mother," she began, softer and perhaps more mournful than before. "If I want to believe that, then there really isn't any other choice."

He looked down, staring at the floor, frustrated despite himself as the words refused to come out of his mouth. Was it so hard to say "yes?" Couldn't he at least force the words out?
But he couldn't. And he knew if he opened his lips more refusal would force itself out. He'd end up saying things he regretted.

Gareth jerked his head up as she took his arm, expecting to find her expression harsh and judgmental--but instead she looked at him with the same sort of gentle understanding she always did. A look that was undeniably her.
He missed the touch when it faded, when she took her hand back. He could still feel her holding him, the warmth of her hand seeped through his sleeve and stayed there.

"You would," he choked, and the sorrow in her voice was crushing his stomach like a ball of paper. "You will be. You still will be."
"Zelly needs you," he repeated, his eyes wild. "She needs you and I--"
I do too.

The look on his face made her chest ache, a little more than she liked to be honest, filled her with a new kind of guilt. Nodding gently she leaned in, this time drawing him into a hug, allowing herself to give him a gentle squeeze by way of apology. "I'm sorry to ask you to do this." She finally murmured, her face pressing into his shoulder, taking a deep breath as she relaxed a little. It was familiar, in the oddest kind of way.

"I don't want it to come to that." She admitted, gentle as always as she just stood there, holding him regardless of if he was able to hold her back. If he hated her she would understand that too, but for now she wasn't going to let him feel empty or alone. She was asking something of him no one should ever be asked, but that doesn't mean she didn't understand it hurt him.

"And I need her. And you. And that's why I want you both safe." A slow breath, cool against his shoulder. "This is my family now, I have to protect you all."

He thought she might turn away, become angry with his continued refusal, but Winter was still too kind for that. She stepped in instead, no longer content to simply squeeze his arm as an apology. She held him in a hug that he gratefully accepted, his grip the stronger one this time. She apologized, sweet voice brushing his ear, and he just nodded. He didn't trust himself to answer.
Gareth squeezed her a little, his hands clasping around her back and pulling her in. A real hug. And the strangest thing was how natural, how right it felt to hold her.

"I don't either," he managed, and his voice almost didn't tremble.

He could have kept holding her for a long time. Forever maybe. That was what he thought.
And then she spoke, and he couldn't pick out what exactly it was, but some word, some phrase in her statement just made him furious. Gareth shoved her away, breaking the hug harshly and forcing her to take a few steps away.
"How is that fair?" he hissed, almost loud enough to wake the rest. "You get to be the martyr and I live on for Zelly's sake, knowing I've lost y--all of you."
"How is that fair to me?"

There's no hiding the startled, hurt, look that crossed her features at being shoved away. For several seconds she just watched him with confusion, feeling an ache in her chest before his words came out and it seemed to absolve her of that expression. Looking down she couldn't meet his angry gaze, the corner of her mouth drawn in, chewed on as she tried to think of a better answer but...

"It's not." She admitted, gentle and perhaps a little broken. "It's not fair to you at all, and I know that." Her own voice tightened, trying to fight off the urge to be emotional. It was hard to do when she could feel the emotion rolling off of him in waves. Feel the betrayal she had instilled in him by just asking him to do something she couldn't do herself.

"But you're the only one I can ask."

It would be an understatement to say the confused, hurt look on her face made him want to crawl into a hole. But he didn't back down--he couldn't. After all, he felt hurt too. He felt confused. And his anger was the only thing keeping him from breaking down. His furious despair at being asked a request like this was all that let him "shout" at Winter like this. Otherwise, the look on her face would have crumbled him.

"It's not," he hissed at her. "It's not fair to me or to any of us!" His fists were balled up at his side and his knuckles were white. "I just don't understand," he said, understanding completely her reasoning and her wishes and her fervent fear. It all made perfect sense. He understood that. He really did.
But--
"How could you ask me something like this?"

He was trapped.

"Because you're the only one I trust to do it." She admitted after a long moment of silence. It felt bad to admit, wrong, but it was also the truth and maybe she needed to show him that. She wasn't sure if it would make things better or worse-- but it was how she felt. "Grumac and Orek mean well, but they couldn't care for a little girl, not one like Zelly, not with what she needs. Victor would probably just leave her back at home." She swallowed hard, she hated speaking ill of anyone... but these were simply truths as she saw them.

"Who knows where the others are-- they've left us." And part of her is a bit bitter, one was meant to protect Zelly in particular, and abandoning that task made her stomach turn. It didn't matter now, though, this was all they were.

"I'm asking you because you're the only one who could care for her like she deserves, the only one I trust to do what's right for her."

He listened, and it was just the same: it wasn't like he disagreed with a single thing she said. In fact, he agreed! He agreed whole-heartedly with every point she put forth. These were things he'd thought himself once upon a time and slowly ceased thinking about as their group grew closer. But of course when he just joined, when they were still ferrying Zelly along to Suzail, he'd been prepared for it.

He winced at the anger in her voice, and his own frustration cooled. "They have," he admitted. He couldn't deny it.

And in the end, he was standing right in front of Winter with her eyes locked on his. He was standing, hands slowly uncurling, feeling more powerless than he ever had. Feeling like all his magic had fizzled and gone away.
It felt like tearing out his own heart to say it.
"...what would you have me do?"

He knew it. Of course he did.
But there was some part of him that still wished she'd take it back.

Real things in the darkness seem no realer than dreams.

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