𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕥

But there was little point in beating around the bush or prolonging the inevitable. Juneau lifted one of her hands from where it had been clenching the edge of the table, her pale palm waiting for Julian’s own hand. “I’m going back to Iskaldrik,” she stated, and then elaborated, through gritted teeth, “with the rest of the deluded fools who think there’s something worth reclaiming. As if it was going to be easy–or possible–to wrench it back from the magisters who took it.” 

Naturally, he took her hand - the gesture was more than welcome and he found relief to know that sometimes she still fought through her own frayed nerves for that bloom of connection. "Iskaldrik," the fallen kingdom was stated as though he was trying to familiarize it on his tongue, consider it. They'd never discussed it in much detail - it'd mostly been a monument of the past, collecting dust by whatever hellish war was swarming them in the current times. Yet - here it was, staring him in the face, staring them both in the face; her home, even if it'd always presented itself as the glacial fortress it was to her, with only wounds to greet her with.

"So.... you think there's something worth reclaiming?" A brow piqued on his typically confuzzled expression, trying not to mildly grin at the thought that Juneau figured this to be some valiant effort to reclaim something that was lost. He'd never figured her the type, but worry still won out over his teasing as Julian gave her hand a small squeeze.

The only fitting description of how Juneau crossed the threshold of Julian’s cabin in Haven could be trudging. For such a long time Juneau had known she did not want to make the world a worse place, but did not think she held within her the capabilities to make it much better. To leave it no worse for wear but scarcely improved was enough for her. Apparently that was not enough for Fate. Or for Casimir who had been insistent she rise up the summons both of them to reclaim the Vuldak’s homeland that had never quite felt like home. 

Juneau was certain she would have sensed something if a Red Hand had manifested upon Julian’s skin, and something in the way he looked at her when she entered the cabin. He would have been able to sense the sudden flash of unmistakable dread through their bond despite the distance, nor would it be the first time Julian would sense such a strong emotion. It made her worry the wolf would decide she was more trouble than she was worth–as if it was possible to merely will the connection away. Or perhaps he would wash her hands of him when she revealed her intention to return to whatever ashes remained of Iskaldrik. “We should talk,” she said quietly in lieu of a proper greeting.

Not only did Juneau appear somewhat emotionally skittish, but she trudged into the cabin, this listless sense of spirit that was the complete opposite of her typical defiance through life. As such, Julian looked at her as though he were a confused dog, studying the other with bristled ears and a head cocked to the side. She had plenty of dread in life, many things to be fearful of - and yet such fears and inquietude were often well restrained - or rather, barred behind a thick layer of cruel resolve as a clear defense mechanism.

Still, the Healer acted as though very little was wrong. That Zeliha was only focused on quick efficiency, not on hundreds of deaths and miles of rumoured destruction. The one good thing about all the violence was people got really good at making and spreading around medical supplies in bulk. "The carriages of course! They need to make it all the way to the South before tomorrow! It can't just be Asclepius Hospital helping out... At least not when so many of us have supplies to spare now!" She called from behind Julian, hauling just two of the boxes herself, nearly breathless.

"Thank you, wow, you're good at that... Have you never considered a career that wasn't fighting? You're really kind too! You could do things like this all the time!" She recalled his affinity for kindess and bravery after their debacle in Stumble Inn.

Julian had immediately noted the more somber note of Zeliha, perhaps not palpably worried, but he'd become rather sensitive to any shift of emotions and he could feel that, underneath the surface, the faiman was certainly grappling with something out of the ordinary stressors of her life. She spoke of the carriages and of the notion that Asclepius Hospital was apart of a massive missive which trickled out to other healers sending their aid to the south. He had heard whispers around Haven, but they'd been considerably focused on the light that had shone far too brightly on the border of Iskaldrik before burning out once more. 

Julian's one major tie to Iskaldrik - aside from Freydis - was Juneau, but he had always understood her relationship with the past which was buried there was not the greatest - which was putting it lightly - and so he had said little in bringing up the subject. “Oh," Julian offered an almost grim nod, “There's not much I know about what's happening in the South except…. it's like Aventia, isn't it?” At least in the sense of catastrophe and blight, which was the worst relation to have. 

The breeze wafted upward high above the white capped cerulean waves of the sea that separated Hestia’s Cove to the south from the shores of Sinaria just visible through the atmosphere in the distance. The last time Juneau had been amongst these cliff faces she had been carried there by the Vuldak, compelled by the will of Darkness rather than her own. Now, it felt somewhat reclaimed–it reminded her more of the reprieve of the mountains that overlooked the Veiled Sea in Iskaldrik where she was first born. It wasn’t a pleasant childhood across the map, just as she knew the ending of Julian’s own childhood in the field to the south had been. 

She hoped that here–in this in between territory–it felt like a reprieve rather than a reminder. 

Juneau extended a slice of apple, balanced precariously between the tip of her thumb and her paring knife, toward Julian alternating taking a slice for herself and sharing one with him. She had told Julian little other than that they were waiting for someone on this first day of an  abbreviated trip to the fields of Eastreach and the beaches of the Cove. They were waiting on Marigold, who was predictably late. Juneau might have credited the moss kitten’s tardiness to the fact that she was a cat and thus could not read a clock, but she knew it was more realistic that Marigold and Zagreus were still sprawled out in a half coma from the events of the night before–Zagreus would have actually gone to do something, and Marigold was–well, she didn’t have much of an excuse. 

“She’ll be here soon,” Juneau muttered before tucking one of the slices from the apple into her mouth. There was nowhere for them to be except perhaps the small, beachy bungalow she had sorted out for them to stay in in the no man’s land that was neither truly Eastreach or Hestia’s cove. It wasn’t to her taste, but she figured Julian would like it well enough. Her time waiting for rescue from the island she, Jamie, and Adrian had been marooned on still had her less than enthusiastic about the idea of a beach getaway, but she had leaned into what she assumed Julian’s preferences might be. She shifted her gaze from the horizon to Julian and in an uncommon moment of expressing concern asked, “Are you alright with being out here?”

With this vision, Julian smiled but he was pulled quickly from the sight as a slice of apple hovered in his view, Julian pinching it between his thumb and forefinger to crunch on it happily. Sometimes, or rather, often times it was hard to get a read on Juneau and as the vuldak - soul reinstated - muttered this statement under her breath, all Julian could do was raise a curious brow. In earnest, he sat a bit straighter, tossed the last half of his apple slice into his mouth, and nearly cocked his head to the side as he pondered aloud, “Well you don't think something may have happened to her, do you?" Indeed this seemed to be one of the various moments he found he was unsure of what Juneau was thinking and wished for her to paint it clearly for him. 

Julian sighed, not annoyed at the question, but rather a show of his own - surprisingly - relaxed state. There was a mild shrug before he promptly flopped his body down into the small bit of grass that jutted out from the cliff they'd been perched on, his blue eyes peering towards the sky. “M'fine, Juneau," and though it may have sounded too casual for even Julian to utter, he indeed felt surprisingly not on edge in the moment. 

“I know I wasn’t home very after the rescues from the island,” she began, as if crafting some sort of excuse. She could not stand to bring herself to refer to herself as a refugee again. Or a survivor. She suspected these were designations that would follow her in legend and lore forever, but she was exhausted of applying such a lens to herself. “Plenty of fun to be had in Haven, too. I’m not planning to run off again any time soon–not for any significant length of time at least.” 

Julian’s cheeks seemed to flush and Freydis relished in it, misinterpreting the meaning at first glance. Then he spoke, and she seemed to stop in her tracks as she stared back at him hard, her expression a mix of being shocked and affronted all at once. “Why would you say a thing like that?” she questioned as she forced a tenuous smile on her face attempting to look inquisitive in a sorry attempt at recovery from her initial reaction.

“I don't believe I've ever questioned or felt the need to question you before, Freydis, but I'm worried for the company you keep. What secrets they truly hide and the animosity within those secrets,” indeed Julian still carried a rosy hue, but the werewolf looked up intently at Freydis so she could heed this message of warning. “There is something strange about Rhys and I don't want him to hurt you the way he's already lashed out at me.”

“My sense of whimsy and girlish charm tends to be distracting, that must have been why,” she proposed in a flat tone of voice. “I remember the skirt you wore was rather dashing.” Her voice remained as deadpan as before, but there was a pang of nostalgia intertwined with affection as she remembered the hustle of their rock skipping competition. Julian’s unabashed grin had elicited the smallest upturning of one corner of Juneau’s mouth as she stepped out of the murky water.

Perpetually alert, Juneau sensed the proximity as Julian inched closer to her as well. Her instincts and past experiences screamed at her to stiff arm him, to secure safety in distance. It would have been difficult for her to determine if she had managed to override her residual protective instincts by choice, or if she was too slow before Julian easily pulled her to where he willed her to be. Given she had not wrenched herself away from him, her senses calmed and recentered allowing her to realize how she felt compelled to closeness with Julian rather than coerced, and how the pressure of his grip around her was borne of desire rather than intention to punish. It was unfamiliar, but in a way that seemed to soothe her rather than compel her to flee or push Julian away. 

Maybe a few months prior, he would have blanched and then furiously blushed in tandem to her retort of girlish whimsy and charm but Julian merely allowed himself to roll his eyes this time around, snorting as a result. “Or maybe your rock tossing skills were very hard to ignore,” he'd let her relish in the idea of him being adorned with some gladiator skirt; it had been so long since the matches had ceased that it didn't quite hinder him to be reminded of them once more. The world had been so utterly fragile; Julian had always been aware of the use of such gladiator skirmishes, often a distraction for the people and as such he no longer felt guilty the more he drifted towards Haven. 

“Perhaps that is so, but I’m not beyond them,” Freydis reminded him. Privacy and abstinence were two entirely different matters. But her privacy was not her own, either. There was little within Freydis that felt inclined to hide her association with Soren behind any sort of wall of secrecy. The pair had made several public appearances together, and anyone who saw them was free to make whatever they pleased of it. Privately, Freydis thought it might be better to wait to make decisions with Soren on such matters until after the impending war. No use fussing over it if one of them, most likely her she thought, would not survive it. “Perhaps you’d like to take that little Vuldak you’re so fond of to Minetia. I’m sure I could pull a few strings and help make that happen.” She was teasing as much as she was offering.

“No - no! Everything was fine in Haven, but I think everyone feels the worry of seeing people leave and maybe, somehow, just never return. You're a pillar here, Freydis, but you deserve your fun too,” Julian settled on this with a kind smile to Freydis, as much as he and many in Haven had missed her presence, she did deserve a moment, or several, of reprieve. Indeed she was a pillar, but even a pillar needed to be fortified, and Julian had seen the weight of such wars on Freydis and hoped her time in Minetia was well spent. 

Juneau could not read Julian’s mind through the bond, the same as he could not read hers. But this revealing of emotion and intention helped shed lingering misunderstanding–especially those that came with Juneau’s rough delivery. While she did not know precisely what Julian thought of at the moment, she could feel the kinship and connection between them, the double edged sword of it. Julian, to her, was something to reach upward toward, to strive to be worthy of, a brightness that existed on a separate, elevated plane from her. But he was relatable to her, as well, and she felt every bit as regretful and wretched that they should so easily understand particular facets of one another. Those facets, more often than not, were the ones etched upon them by their respective traumas.

Julian raised a brow at her, this grin spread wide across his face as he retorted simply, “Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't notice that you were dressed as a drowned rat that day. Strange." Of course, Julian lingered on the mention he could call her anything he so pleased and for once it did not feel like bait Juneau was so helplessly hanging in front of him to trip and stumble upon once taking it. He had never much considered calling her anything aside from her name as Julian had never much taken to pet names either but he suddenly found the idea rather striking. Still, no deep thought on the matter would do as it wouldn't quite click as something which merely escaped him naturally but Julian was of course still beaming at this sense of permission. 

Juneau stood and the towel was soon around her, faint red tinged dips of bloodied water filtering around her collarbones and where her arms bent as they held the towel in place. He did not frown at this for his own senses could note how Juneau was practically healed, the mild injuries from her insistent scrubbing already nonexistent.

Julian nodded simply, he didn't quite accept her answer but it wasn't genuinely serious to the degree of ever bickering with Freydis. Mostly, and this was always of most importance to him, her overall outer well being signified that she was okay and that was currently satisfactory enough for the werewolf. Still he hade it a crucial point to note, "Your wellbeing is apart of that happiness; the time you were all gone... there was a lot of uncertainty in the air." Julian never wished to bog down the environment with any negative talk, always a glutton for positivity, but he'd seen war with Freydis, buried those who had fallen, and felt comfortable chatting with her about such darkness which continued to loom.

Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Julian. Something from across the bond made her suspicious that Julian had misinterpreted her meaning, and thus she let her walls down and allowed her own feelings to linger freely between them. It was not that Juneau wished to be competitive regarding her survival and pain, it was that she was relieved Julian did not know the full brunt of it. That relief was edged with a significant amount of protectiveness like a churning undercurrent. Juneau was built to endure. Life had more than proven as much. But she wouldn’t tolerate the Weave punishing Julian further for sins he did not have control over at the time. “Just a couple of dead kids,” Juneau mumbled, yet again void of anything profound to say in response. 

What felt borderline terse and separated soon trickled into this river of open understanding; strange feelings and inclinations which he'd come to appreciate and read completely regarding this bond hashed between them. There was indeed something to be said of this journey of Juneau's - and he loathed even relating it to some cumbersome journey she had to emotionally and physically bear the brunt of - but it was true that even those who made it to the other side, were not truly alive given what was endured. Literally, no, she was a walking corpse, but there was much of Juneau and her multifaceted ways that proved how much life she had retained, even if the vuldak had fought tooth and nail to achieve it all. Julian still understood little about what it meant to transform into such abyssal beast, but he knew that whatever possible fears he once had towards learning of said omen, that he felt much relief about it when in the face of Juneau; not at the expense of the trauma it costed her.

"We need to drop this off," Zeliha chimed, waving the parchment. She was already rounding past the table and Julian. "No one has time to stop by right now... Come with, please? I don't think my arms are up to the task of box carrying."

Julian wasn't often given the grand responsibility of wandering off to complete these transactions; normally a spectator of most things within and outside of these medical tents, being given the role of an active participant bordered on exciting for the gladiator werewolf. "Where are we going? Is it far? Should I tell someone?" Loaded with questions on this sporadic journey, he was not only curious but wholly excited on the matter, even if it only pertained to wound dressings.

“Then I hope you never live through something like it, because you’d know it was lucky,” Juneau muttered. She’d been yanked around by a short leash and humiliated, but she had not liked herself much before the Kossith implemented their attempts to break her down. And death had been a reprieve, sparing her from the bleak days of torment. Juneau knew that Julian would possess at the very least a base understanding of what was forced upon the captives on the Dreadnaught, but she did not think either of them were inclined to pretend what the other endured was the same. In some ways her imprisonment was worse than Julian’s sentence, and the same would be true in reverse. Juneau did not imagine herself much different than the wiry, ill-tempered girl who had left him months prior, thus she stared at him waiting for further explanation. 

Julian hadn't meant to minimize her struggles, it was the last thing he'd ever mean to spur, but he let Juneau lash out with minimal protest on his part for he knew this pain was precious to her and such things were difficult to let go upon. "I don't think we can compare what we've been through but I don't think I was supposed to make it alive either," he let this fall between them for the truth of the matter, what was most pivotal and haunting between them was that - technically - Juneau hadn't made it out alive. Death had come for her and brought her back as the undead creature that struggled within her, but it seemed whatever mercy had also visited her as of recent, had tamed such creature, freed it from it's tenebrous leash.