WEAPON / WAR (𝔞𝔭)

        HE ISN’T A threat anymore—at least, not to her—yet his presence still drives her mind the very same. what, then, are you, stranger? where does your HEART come from?

          her head had remained somewhat lowered at his words, but none of her own come to meet them—only a fixed candlelight GAZE that flickered with her ever unrelenting CURIOSITY. it would have come to lean again should she have left herself in that thought a moment longer, but instead she gives a nod, taking steps to him that were now NOTABLY more sure, finally meeting somewhere HALFWAY. 

          “   if it becomes too much to walk on your own, i will take your arm.   ” it is something she can only offer him, for she won’t cross whatever boundaries he may have, no matter how little good they may do for him. there is always the last option, to simply CARRY him, if it came to it. “   come.   ” 

         and so she guides them through the wood, a near effortless feat at this point in her life: the forest floor KNOWS her footprint by heart. 

       it is soon that they arrive to a small glade, the trees sighing in their tranquil state all around them still. yearning wracks her body suddenly in her growing WANT for that much, and she only imagines her COMPANION  ( if that was what she could even call him ) feels it as well, if not more than her, despite the marmoreal visage he consistently wore. she finds COMFORT in that it will come even sooner as her shelter rises into view. 

        it was humble and CHARMING—at least, in her opinion—in the way many unrefined things were. it was the product of much time and patience, effort, and craftiness, with STONES and even boulders LAID in unison to amount into a tall border in rectangular fashion, supporting a simply sloped roof comprised of mere wood and clay shingles. a little chimney even protruded from the back, and small gaps for windows LOOKING out the front and side. the entrance wasn’t much different, only blocked off by a leaning plank for something of a door. in it’s ENTIRETY, the structure was only what she needed to make herself comfortable, nothing more, nothing less. her pride, however, remained with that which SURROUNDED it: her own little garden of sorts. it almost grew wild and back into the forest, in shrubs large and small, flowering or not, but the air was thick in their HARMONIOUS perfume and they welcomed the most recent downpour. 

       they move past the plot where she EVIDENTLY held her campfires, in a little encirclement of more stone, but for now it remained an abandoned and sodden sight of only remnants of ASH. 

       she makes her FINAL glance up at him, assessing his current state as they enter, she before him. it is even darker within the shelter and so she quickly DIRECTS him to the bed, the whereabouts of everything but herself seemingly a bit of a mystery. 

       “   now, REST.   ”

𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘 because all he’s known is the art of warfare, the scent of battle, and sometimes, he imagines, he was born with weapons clutched in his hand. He does not have his sister’s grace nor her temperament - and he knows that he would have liked to be like her, to be content with what he had - but he knows that it can never be truth, can never come to pass.

Nuala, surely, somewhere else, bleeds and wonders what has happened to her brother for if he breathes, so does she, and if he is wounded, so then, will the pain be felt on her person as well.

If he could sever that bond to her, he would have done so many years ago. It was she who took care of his body when he lacked the discipline, and she who soothed the rage in his heart in the only way she knew how: with her words, with her kindness that he could never duplicate, no matter if he was given endless time on this earth. 

He doesn’t think he wants this, and so, he remains silent to everything, and he will not comply to the indigo maiden’s request for her arm. He has suffered worse than this and he had no help then and so, he needs no aid now.

𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞’𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝, such is the method of his own ill-tempered folly.

“That will not be necessary,” he replies, more of a quip meant in soft humor that surprises him, “thank you.”

He doesn’t know why he’s thanking her, as she is the reason he’s in this situation, blood as dark as tarnishing gold dripping down the meat of his calve but still, he sees no true reason to be impolite despite the less-than-ideal circumstances.

He would have done the same in her situation if not, much worse. If roles were reversed, there would be but a corpse.

Mercy, he thinks, is for others, it is what she embodies.

Her home comes into view and it is charming, quaint, stripes of moonlight making it seem as if it were aglow from within, bone striped with light. A house, someone once said somewhere, reflected the heart of the person living there.

Blood-glossed hand grips the door-jamb and he wonders if this is her heart that he is seeing and he’s unsure how he feels about that.

𝐓𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦...𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐟 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭.

“Rest?” Nuada inquires, his head tilting. “I suppose I should just let you tend to my wound as I slumber? Nay, indigo maiden - if I may have something to clean and wrap my leg, and the privacy to do so, I can be out of your way shortly.”

𝐈 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 - 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃 - 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒚