#sanaste

“This is different,” she says, eyes taking in his more accentuated form. She can practically see the grin behind his mask.

“Do you like it?”

She arches her brow and shrugs, “Changes in scenery can be pleasant.” But she bites her lip and smiles. He steps closer and offers his arm.

“Are you still up for the day?” He asks softly and she nods, tentatively taking his arm.

“Unless it involves fighting that dragon you mentioned.”

“It has yet to be vanquished! Surely a mighty huntress such as yourself can fell a beast.” He guides her out of the annex but she hears Sanaste following not so far behind.

“Alas, my armor and weapons have been confiscated, no dragon slaying for me.”

“Not to mention the concussion,” Sanaste grumbles from behind her.

“Your armor and weapons were in terrible disrepair, you do know this? I wanted to have your armor cleaned for you, as an apology for your injuries but the entire thing fell apart.”

They enter a different part of the palace, more open and less ornate and from the scuff marks on the floor, it’s a high traffic area.

“Perhaps your people cleaned it incorrectly. It takes a gentle touch.”

“Regardless, it was flimsy and unacceptable.”

“Are you determining what is acceptable for me now?” She says, making sure to keep her tone light. Sanaste inhales sharply but Darevas seems unbothered.

“I want my followers to have the best,” he replies and guides her into a large workshop. It is hot and smells of fire, leather, and metal. There is a loud clanging and several people in thick aprons and gloves, some with odd looking face-masks that resemble helmets.

Darevas takes her to an end of the smithy and she inhales sharply as he gestures towards a mannequin.

“We are leaving for the woods in a few days, and I find it imperative to make sure you are armored. It’s simplistic but it should do the job.” He walks around the stand, inspecting it as she walks to the front of it, in awe. The leather is thick and tough, and it hums with a basic enchantment – for barrier generation? She is unsure, she’s never had anything enchanted before.

There are so many pieces to it – the chest, the shoulders, arms, and several pieces for the legs. They all lock into each other somehow to give full body coverage and a cohesive look.

“This is for me?” She asks in a small voice.

“Yes, I know it is simplistic –

“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, following him around the stand. Her hands run over the leather, over the ridges and planes. Darevas pauses and turns to her.

“I’m glad you like it. The armorer needs you to try it on though, that is why I brought you here. They need to make sure it fits properly,” he explains but the words seem almost distant in her disbelief. An assistant takes the armor of the stand and ushers Miriel into a corner concealed by a changing screen. The number of pieces of armor is amazing, and it reminds her of when she was just barely an adult.

Her mother had commissioned armor for her – a beautiful set with small embellishments. She had worn it for four years before it was starting to wear in certain places. She saved up for her own armor and it had only been finished for a month before Anduil died. She wore that until it fell apart, and then it was just using animal pelts and furs to the best of their abilities.

But this set was beautiful, and firm, with undeniable quality. The assistant called out numbers and phrases that meant something to the craftsmen, but nothing to Miriel. They tugged on straps and strings to figure out the best fit.

Her waist is higher than they had anticipated, they’ll have to modify two of the larger pieces. But it’s still beautiful, embosses at the cuffs and collar. Once completely secured into the armor, she steps out from around the screen.

She hears Darevas’s sharp intake of breath but the mask offers no other insights to how he sees her.

“It’s amazing,” she says, not waiting for him. She holds her hands out and examines the fit on her. It is a bit strange to be so secure in armor again, it almost feels restrictive.

“It certainly looks amazing,” he says, stepping forward. She raises her hands up and moves around to see what flexibility she can achieve. There is more resistance than what she is used to, but it isn’t unreasonable. Once the leather is broken in, she is sure it will be even more suitable for her. The skirt is a bit long for her tastes, but it can be fixed. The truly odd parts are the boots – they completely encase her feet, shins, and calves, all the way up to her knees.

“I feel very encased.”

“Protected, I hope. I’d rather you not add to all those scars the healers gossip about,” Darevas says.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I am quite alright with all those scars. Each one is a check mark on ‘I survived this’. Broken collarbone, fall from a tree, run into a tree, a misfired arrow into my arm, angry deer – each one a testament to my survival. I’m sorry, does that offend?”

Darevas shakes his head, “No, but I would still like it if you were not injured so that you scar.” She continues to stretch, testing the movement. She checks under the boots to see if she will be able to climb in them. There are striations in the leather, but she suspects she may need to take them off if she need to really climb.

“Thank you, my Lord, this is…entirely too generous.”

He seems to preen under the thanks, “I’m glad you like it. It’s yours after the modifications will be made.”

She’s guided back behind the screen where she changes back into her robe. She comes back out and Darevas offers his arm again.

“Not done?”

“Nope!”

She chuckles at his enthusiasm and lets him guide her to the adjacent smithy, this one stocked with weapons from floor to ceiling. Ah, he means to restock her on everything.

“My lord, this is entirely too much,” she tells him but he shakes his head.

“It is the least I can do.”

“But after all your other kindnesses… there is no way I can repay you,” she says as he walks her to the far side and gestures to a rack of bows.

“Do not worry about that, these are necessary things.”

“It would be far easier to simply let me guide you through the woods in a worn robe. But instead you’ve used all these valuable resources.”

He picks up one of the shorter long bows, a dark wood with careful carvings around the grip. He hands it to her and she stares at it, disbelieving.

“Ease is not always best. You do not have to accept if you do not want it, however. You also do not need to think of it as a gift, if that helps.” He does not sound happy about that, but he is earnest enough that it comes across more as harmless disappointment rather than actual disapproval. She takes the bow from his hand, feeling the weight.

“I have no way to reciprocate, my lord,” she says softly, feeling herself blush.

“Even if I was high ranking with access to resources, what exactly do you give someone who has everything?” She does not like the idea of being bought in any way, but with these gifts and the garden from the night before, the interest in her….

Fool’s gold only fools those who do not look further, her mother had said time to time. She glances up to Darevas and hopes that he is not fool’s gold, but she can’t risk it. She can’t just let herself hope for the best when he has all the power. She’ll accept these gifts, but anything else…she can’t toe that line, not while her people are depending on her.

“Whatever you can, if it comes from you that is enough. But you do not have to worry about that, not for essentials. I want to keep my people safe,” he explains and it helps. After last night, everything feels more meaningful. There is a weight to his actions and she finds herself lingering on, analyzing even his slightest movements.

“Thank you, my lord. Could I try the bow in a safer area, please?” She asks and he nods, grabbing a bow for himself and guiding her to the practice field outside. The field is large with people scattered about practicing various forms of combat. There are specific areas dedicated to hand-to-hand, archery, swords of varying lengths, spears – almost anything involving combat. She heads toward the archery field though and stakes her spot across from a target. There are dulled arrows in place, waiting, and she takes no time in notching on then letting it loose to land a bull’s eye.

She crouches down and does it again.

Darevas whistles behind her and she smiles, then lets loose another arrow, just for good measure.

“You are…very good at that,” he compliments and she bows her head in thanks.

“Thank you, necessity and lots and lots of practice have honed the ability,” she explains as she walks over to the target and pulls out the arrows. An arrow lands on the adjacent target, far enough away that it isn’t concerning. When she looks back, Darevas has a bow in his hand and is relaxing from a stiff pose.

“Not as much practice but –

“Your form is atrocious,” she says without thinking, walking up to him. She has him pick it back up, then places her hands on his arms and uses her body to angle his. His height makes it a bit awkward, but she manages to get him positioned, but still he’s stiff.

“Relax, breathe with it, not everyone’s form is going to be the same because of how our bodies work. The bow is an extension of yourself, feel its weight and know it as your own.” She hands him an arrow and adjusts his elbows again.

“Now, aim and fire.”

He does as she says and it lands within the inner ring of the target.

“Good!” She drops her hands from him and smiles until she realizes her gross overstep.

“Oh, I…am so sorry, I had no place to –

He sets his bow to the side and shakes his head quickly, “No, no, that was good. Many of my instructors tend to tiptoe around me about this, and they have not been this hands on since I was much younger, thank you.”

She blinks at his mask, disbelieving, “I…constantly overstep with you.” Her voice is a whisper and her body is tense, ready for whatever retaliation he has. But he just shrugs.

“I told you, it’s refreshing, and this helped.” He picks the bow back up after a moment and aims again.

“Like this?” He asks softly and she purses her lips. He’s purposefully keeping himself tense, but he seems sincere in his assertions that she is not overstepping.

Miriel takes a step forward and gently corrects him again.

“Your hips anchor you, let go with your breath for now,” she murmurs, holding his hips while he fires again. The arrow hits closer to the center this time and she smiles once more, smaller and more conservative this time, though.

“You are an excellent teacher,” he lauds, making her blush.

“Thank you, my lord.” She inclines her head and he sighs. They end up working on his form with the bow and her demonstrating some more complex forms, including crouching and running. After a couple of hours, she’s sweating, her head is a bit fuzzy, but most importantly - she is ravenous.

“The kitchens should have lunches prepared by now, if you would care to accompany me,” he offers and she accepts readily. Food sounds like the best thing right now, along with water.

The kitchens are nearly full of bustling people, cooking and preparing meals that are being sent out all over the palace. Miriel stands close to a wall and lets Darevas navigate it all while she tries not to be suddenly overwhelmed by the number of people in such a small space. The air is thick and hot and it constricts her throat to an alarming degree. She is about to slip outside when Darevas joins her and takes her arm, guiding her into the large dining hall. There are a lot of people, but a lot of space as well, allowing her to breathe.

Two servants pull out chairs for Darevas and Miriel. She almost protests it, but bites her tongue. She’s uninterested in further pushing her luck at this point. More servants arrive with their food – rich smelling bread filled with a steaming stew that makes her mouth water. It’s placed in front of them and she barely manages to thank them before diving in. The stew scalds her mouth but oh, it’s so good. Rich and satisfying in no way the food they had been feeding her at the annex has been.

She is not graceful and manners at this point are lost on her. She tears off pieces of the bread and spoons up pieces of the stew into her mouth, making happy little noises at all the flavors.

Her ears twitch and the feeling of eyes on her makes her look up. Darevas has at some point removed his mask to eat and is staring at her, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. She swallows the food in her mouth and smiles.

“It’s delicious.”

He blinks then smiles himself, “I’m glad.” He resumes eating and the air eases. The pressure that kept lingering over them feels to have abated somewhat and it allows her to eat with just as much gusto as before. She does take care to not make a mess, she’s not completely without care.

As soon as he finishes eating, Darevas puts his mask back on. It’s a shame, she thinks, that he has this tradition of hiding his face. It’s a good face, princely and handsome. But it does make his sharing it with her that much more meaningful. And yet the meaningfulness is worrying in its own right. She feels like a cornered hare but she is unsure if it is from another curious hare or a hungry snake.

Thankfully, Darevas is pulled away by his brother claiming they have things to attend to and she is escorted back to the annex by a taciturn guard. Darevas promises he’ll see her soon, but she’s not entirely sure how she feels about that. She appreciates the generous gifts and the time away from the annex, and he has been exceedingly kind.

But there is this itch at the back of her mind, something that is trying to tell her something about the whole situation. Something that she knew a hundred years ago but has since gotten lost in the time spent away from society.

“Sanaste,” she asks once back at the annex.

“Hmm?” They hum, looking exceedingly bored.

“Did you volunteer to watch me or was it given to you?”

“A bit of column A, a bit of column B. I’m interested in healing magic concerning the head, so whenever concussion cases come up, I try to worm my way in. Observing you is…the less interesting part of my research. Though I am glad you appear to be making a full recovery.” They back pedal quickly but she doesn’t mind. She can’t really do anything, observing her must be boring.

“I’m mostly making sure you don’t try to do something that will reinjure you. I came close to stopping you this morning, but the Lord…well, there is not much I can do there,” they laugh self-consciously and she frowns.

“If you want to speak up, please do, he’d understand,” she tells them, walking to her cot.

They consider her for a moment, a strange pensive look on their face, “I will keep that in mind. Now I need to examine you again, lie down.”

She sighs but does as they say as they set to examining her. The hum as they prod at her, then whisper a few healing spells at her head. They pour her a glass of water and instruct her to drink it to stave off dehydration.

“I want you drinking more water,” they sigh and she nods as she gulps down the water.

“At least I actually got to eat a full meal and not just snacks, I haven’t felt this satisfied with a meal in ages.”

Sanaste frowns but they don’t say anything, just pour her more water. She takes the glass and sips at it just as a group of lightly armored people enter the room. They approach Miriel and Sanaste with grim looks.

“Miriel, you’re needed, follow us.” Though they don’t really mean follow when one of the bigger folks practically hauls her up by her arm.

“Ow,” she protests, jerking her body away.

“Don’t rattle her, we’ve worked hard on her healing,” Sanaste sighs. Miriel raises her chin but follows the group, two of them following her. The weight of their eyes makes her skin crawl but she keeps still and calm, keeping the same pace.

She is guided to a room by where she was initially held. She shivers and tries not to recount the feeling of being strung up. Her wrists hurt and she feels that much more cowed.

“I told you everything –

“Not everything,” a familiar voice says. They’re standing by a different room, arms crossed over their chest, spikes somehow aligned all pointing outward.

“If you think you are going to get anything else out of torture I assure you simply asking will produce the same result, I have nothing to hide.”

“We are simply asking, come in.” She is guided into the room that is dominated by a large table covered with a map.

“We were able to map out where you were found, now we need you to tell us the directions of where your camp is and where this cave your mother spoke of is,” they tell her. A chill runs down her back.

“Not if you will not let me accompany you.”

“You are still going to lead us, but we need to know the areas of which you speak as a precaution,” they assure her. She frowns but sits down.

“Very well, but I’m not good with maps, everything I know is in my head.”

“That’s fine, close your eyes, describe where you’d go if you had not been found,” they urge and she sighs but does as they say. She closes her eyes and pictures the woods.

“The lords were moving north, which would have lead them close to where the camp is, but not exactly. They would have seen signs though.”

“When would they see the signs?”

“If they were on foot…an hour, perhaps two if they weren’t good. The camp was more north east than that…”

She can see the camp, the trees acting as supports for their tents and buildings, fires burning for pottery making and cooking. Serendipity would be tending his herb garden, Uthbora asking if she can have more elfroot- and they’d argue about the medicinal properties of it. It’s not a secret that she favored it for smoking and stress relief. Several of the others also partook in it, but Serendipity hated it. He hates anything that clouds his mind, says that it makes him vulnerable.

“That’s all very interesting, but if you could focus on the locations, that is our focus,” they urge. Her brows furrow, she said all of that aloud? Odd.

“Right, of course, I apologize. Um. The cave was farther north and west of the camp. There’s…a drop, almost like someone cut out a hillside, then a small waterfall – the cave is in a sinkhole, steam sometimes comes up from it.” She hears the scratch of quill against the map and parchment.

“You did not mention the sinkhole before,” Uthvir says and she shrugs.

“Because the cave is the important part of it. It is more like the entry to the cave. Sorry, I never go over there, the last time I did my mother had a fit.”

“When was that?”

“…Thirty years ago, ish. Before we sent out Clarity.”

More note taking sounds then silence. She opens her eyes to see Uthvir looking at a book and the map both, deciphering…something, she guesses.

“What do you think is out there anyways?”

“That is confidential information,” they answer. She bites her tongue, wanting to press the issue. But it wouldn’t be productive, it’d only make things worse. Still, the idea that there is some lurking thing in her woods, near her people, sits uneasily in her, even more so since here is someone who has an idea of what that thing is and they won’t tell her.

So she frowns and lets her emotions out just a bit to make her displeasure known.

“Now you are being petulant.” But there is a wryness to their tone, almost like when her mother is both displeased and proud of her.

“I apologize, the woods have dulled my manners. I am sure the Lord Darevas can tell you all about it,” she quips. They look at her from the corner of their eye before returning to the map.

“What else can you tell me about the area?” They ask.

The rest of the day is spent with her telling them everything she can about the woods. Apparently being well enough to shoot arrows means that they felt she is well enough to question her ceaselessly about everything. The wildlife, the structures, their hunting patterns – everything. By the end of it, her head hurts and she simply wants to sleep, despite the restlessness in her legs.

When Sanaste takes her back to the annex, she is quick to eat and even quicker to turn in for the night.

The next few days are spent in intensive healing and spreading information from Uthvir to everyone accompanying them. Both Darevas and Felasel are apparently invested in the investigation, much to Uthvir’s displeasure. Faunalyn also seems to disapprove, but the young lords insist that since it is to be their land, they should be responsible for bringing Miriel’s people back into the fold and defending the land from anything sinister. There are…debates. But the lords are stubborn and insist. Most of the push comes from Darevas, who seems eager to see whatever is causing trouble in the woods vanquished.

Felasel is quieter, but there is an edge to him that is disquieting. He leans more curious about the threat than wanting to see it ended, and he constantly side eyes Miriel as if she is still to be considered a criminal.

She holds her tongue. She doesn’t need to add fuel to a fire.

Four days later and she is cleared as completely healed by the annex. Sanaste wants to hold it off but the lords and Uthvir will not hear them over most of the healers. Darevas takes her back to the smithy to see how her armor fits – finding the modifications to be perfect.

The day after and she is taken to the stables where everyone else already is.

“Miriel! So glad you could join us,” Darevas says cheerfully. He takes her hand and lifts it up to a brown hart, letting the beast sniff her.

“This is Elma,” he introduces and Miriel smiles.

“Hello, Elma.” She pets the pretty hart and is thanked with what she assumes are happy noises. Elma nuzzles Miriel’s hand and she giggles, moving around the beast until she comes to her back and saddle. Darevas helps her up and she reorients herself. She hasn’t ridden a hart in a very long time, but she remembers this feeling of being high up, seeing things from an angle she is not used to.

Uthvir and their hart suddenly appear at the front of the stable, a long cloak hanging from their shoulders making them almost appear regal. She looks around and sees Sanaste and a contingent of Darevas’s and Felasel’s guards all saddling up in addition to a few of Mana’din’s people. Faunalyn is also here, wearing a partial mask over her mouth. Her cat eyes gleam with excitement that makes Miriel think of her father.