#tpow

It only took a week for Talnir to lay down the first layer of snow. The tan of the dying grass was sprinkled with snow and frost. Only to be turned into mud beneath people’s feet that same day. Despite being from a considerably warmer climate, the horde was not deterred. They donned extra layers without being told and helped the rest of the camp as they prepared for winter. The beginning of the winter rush was nothing new to you. And like most years you busied yourself with making tinctures, salves, and medicines. Making sure to use all ingredients you know would spoil if not used soon. 

  While you were busy preparing for a winter full of illness, Kurakh started a project of his own. He would leave once his food was devoured every morning and wouldn't return to your shared quarters until the last meal. You barely saw him around camp, nor did either of you speak unless necessary. It took five days for you to lose your mind because of the silence. Opting to work in the main hall with other camp members who wanted to hide away from the harsh wind.

  The main hall always brought a small smile to your face. The rebel's and the horde's children play together in the middle of the room. An Orcish woman helping braid the tail of an older Centaur. The Dwarves assess broken blades of all kinds. An Elven man was teaching a group of teenagers how to build arrows. Everyone sat in groups, no matter their race. Across the hall, you could see Schelura doing the hair of a younger Orc woman. The intricate style was already full of beads by the time you made your way over. 

  “Oh hello,” Schelura smiles and motions to an empty spot on the table, “have a seat.” You set your tools on the table and sit down, openly staring at Schelura’s handiwork. “Do you want to be next?” 

  “It’s tempting, although that’s a lot of beads…” 

  “She’s trying to catch a young warrior’s eye… Maybe you need this style too,” she teases. 

  “You’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes. 

  “And you’re blind,” Schelura scoffs. “This is a more traditional plait since his parents are more set in the old ways. I’d give you something different… What do normal Vorren women do with their hair?” 

  "We usually just weave ribbon into our braids. Our hair is usually covered because you're clergy, or due to the cold."

  "Such practical people."  You roll your eyes at her comment and begin measuring out your ingredients. Schelura and the girl start to gossip while you ignore them to focus on the task at hand. "And Kurakh is away checking and setting up traps all day. I wonder what he's trying to catch, he comes back nearly every night looking frustrated." 

"Wait that's why he's gone all day," you look up from your herbs. 

The younger girl turns her head as much as Schelura would allow, "you didn't know?" 

Schelura laughs, "somebody might be getting a gift soon" 

"A courting gift, now that's romantic," the younger orc swoons. 

"Oh I don-" 

"He hasn't told you about it, he's gone all day, and he's constantly frustrated things aren't going as planned. If it isn't a courting gift, I permit you to cut off my hand," Schelura deadpans. 

 "You know I wouldn't do that unless it was at serious risk of infection or severely mangled ." 

  "Maid, that is not the point I am trying to make," she scoffs at your logic. You didn't even get to properly glare before she scolded you, "don't even look at me like that! Kurakh is one of the easiest men to read, like a warg pup."

"I don't even know what a warg pup looks like Schelura," an exasperated sigh leaves your lips.

"Cuter than you'd expect," the younger girl smiles while Schelura repositions her head. "I also heard he threatened a Tiefling in the courtyard yesterday for disrespecting you." 

  "That sounds likely,” Schelura smirks. 

  "You've made your point very clear Schelura," you roll your eyes and refocus on your craft. 

  "Then you should make sure Kurakh is aware that you know. He needs to know if you reciprocate or not. Not knowing is currently driving him crazy. And if you don’t want his advances he should know before he goes too far.”

  “And how do I do that?” 

  Schelura smirks, “you can start by letting me do your hair.” 

  "I'd rather not think of my hair, it has been so long since I washed it last. " 

  "You haven't gone to the hot springs yet?" 

  "And have strangers see me bare," you flush at the thought. 

  "The girls and I could go with you, and if we go in the evening there shouldn’t be that many people." 

  "I would appreciate the company," a rare smile graces your lips. 

  "We'll go tonight, I've been dying to wash off with something other than cold water." That evening you dropped Mazna off with Roldza, luckily without much fuss. And you left a note for Kurakh since he had yet to return. With your only clean change of clothes and bath oil in hand, you meet the girls in the hall. Maaga and Galta were both equally excited to relax in the warm waters that lie further within the former mine. Like Schelura said there was hardly a soul in the springs. Only a few elven girls sat in one of the smaller pools, applying oils to their hair. 

  With the safety of only being surrounded by women making you more confident you begin to undress. Schelura was the first one in, with a massive smile on her face, "definitely better than cold water and a bucket." You slowly follow in behind her, minding your steps on the slippery rocks beneath you. The water was certainly warmer than any water you bathed with before. After waiting a few minutes, thankfully there was nothing within the water that would irritate your wound. You take the chance to properly inspect it, not having to hide in the shadows from Kurakh. 

  "Is it still bothering you," Maaga asks concerned. 

  "Not as much as it used to, it'll be an awful scar." 

  "There is no such thing as awful scars in our culture," Galta chuckles. "I mean just look at Kurakh. Blind in one eye from one and littered with dozens smaller than that. And Orkisch women swoon over him every day... Well, the ones who don't know him like we do."   

  "Men can be scarred all they want in my culture, but for women it's unsightly."

  "The more I learn about your culture the more it pisses me off," Maaga groans. 

  "How do you think I feel," you scoff and sit on a rock in the water. The warm, mineral-rich water goes up to your shoulders. Galta dunks herself beneath the water with a smile. The whispers of the Elven girls were welcomed in comparison to the noise of the main hall, or Mazna throwing a fit. You slowly sink below the surface after getting more accustomed to the water temperature. The voices above you became louder, and you could practically feel the grime melt away.

  The light burn in your lungs prompted you to stand again. The water trickled down your back as you wiped your face. The cold air of the cavern causes goosebumps to bud across your skin. Once the water was out of your eyes you refocused on the rocks ahead. Trying not to stare at anyone in particular. Schelura scoffs and moves beside you, trying to run her fingers through your soaked hair. "This won't do... Don't worry I brought tools for this." She reaches for her comb and motions for you to sit on the rocks again. 

  "I can brush my hair." 

  "I'm aware, but I need to prep it for braiding tomorrow." 

  "Fine," you sigh and try to relax as she works the comb through the ends of your hair. Luckily it felt much better than Mazna playing with your hair at night. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Schelura reach for the pool edge again, followed by a light herbal smell. "What's that?" 

  "A hair oil," she hums as her hands gently massage your scalp. "Your hair is damaged from the fabric of your headcover. It is too rough... I might need to make you something stronger. You also need a trim; your ends are a mess." 

  "I get it, my hair is awful." 

  "It just needs more than a hairbrush," Schelura chuckles. "Don't worry, you're in good hands," she emphasizes by massaging the back of your neck. You couldn't help but hum in relief, fighting not to melt into her touch. "your muscles are just as stiff as the warriors. You know, for a healer you are terrible at taking care of yourself." 

  An ache settled in your stomach. Schelura was one of many people to point it out to you. Usually, you'd be able to blame it on your duty. The life of a Maid of Eia was busy, even before the King declared war. Maaga seemed to sense this ache, moving closer to the two of you, "so how long until we have snow up to our knees?" 

  You smile softly as you welcome the distraction, "I'd say another month. It's supposed to be a late winter this year. Or as we say in the clergy, Talnir is lazy this year." 

  "Talnir?" 

  "The Spirit of Winter, son of Sokastr and Sala." 

  Galta laughs, "because that explains so much." 

  "The number of deities your people have is ridiculous," Maaga chuckles before dipping her head below water. 

  "It's a lot to remember," you sigh as Schelura's hands leave your scalp. "Honestly I forget most of it now. Just the stories we were told as kids. And the weird stuff you can't forget how much you try." 

  "How weird," Maaga looked apprehensive to ask. 

  "Eia's parents are aunt and nephew." 

  "That's not too bad," Galta relaxes against the pool's edge with her eyes closed. 

  "When creating their children, the elder gods forgot about procreation. So, the new gods had to create their genitalia. Eia took it upon herself to create the females by cutting herself open. Using her muscles to create a womb, and cutting between her legs. Hence the monthly cycle and the pain of childbirth." Galta and Maaga wince, and Schelura groans. "Want to know how Lantes created male gen-" 

  "Absolutely not."

  "Don't even dare." 

  "I'm close enough to push you underwater." Despite the threats you all laugh. A rare deep belly laugh escapes you. It has been so long since you've laughed like that it almost scared you. The good mood carried through as the four of you finished bathing. You felt the most relaxed and clean you've been in ages.  The clean change of clothes felt heavenly against your skin. Per Schelura's orders, your damp hair flowed down your back as it air-dried. The only bad thing was that you now needed to launder your only other set of clothes. 

  You returned to your quarters with your things in your arms, greeted by the smell of food cooking. Kurakh looks up from the pot but doesn't say anything. His good eye was looking you up and down. His silence was killing you, “is something wrong?” 

  “The scouts spotted a battalion just north of us. We'll ride out before dawn to intercept them." 

  "I should probably pack my supplies-" 

  "You're staying here." 

  "Kurakh, I can be careful." 

  "You are what they want. It would be surrender if you came with." You knew this tone well, Kurakh's words were final. And you didn't want to ruin your evening by wasting your breath. "That was easier than I expected," he smirks.

  "I don't feel like ruining my good mood," you set the dirty clothes in the corner. Hopefully, you won't forget them come morning. Kurakh doesn't say anything, choosing to stare at your hair instead. "Will you at least wake me up before you leave?" 

  "Of course, Odmili," he motions for you to sit. "The stew is almost ready." 

  "Rabbit?" 

  "They are plentiful here." 

  "I fear you will run out of recipes before you run out of rabbits," you sit cross-legged beside him on the bedroll. He breathes out a laugh while handing you a bowl. A plate of Freronbrod on the ground beside the two of you.

  "Your kingdom will run out of rabbits before the horde is full." 

  "Your fault for coming in the winter," you snicker as you dip your bread in the stew. Kurakh elbows you in the rib playfully, his worried expression having finally worn away. You smack him in the chest as retaliation, a challenging look in your eyes. For once you didn't recognize the expression on his face. He looked conflicted like something was holding him back. His eye goes back to your hair, nose twitching. "What?" 

  "It's nothing."

"Considering the face you're making; I highly doubt that. Is it my hair?" 

   "Not necessarily... What oil did they put in your hair?" 

  "I don’t know. Schelura only scolded me for how unhealthy my hair is." 

  "That makes sense. I think Schelura is trying to make a fool of you." 

  "What do you mean?" 

  Kurakh sighs, "Orcs have a stronger sense of smell. Because of that, hair and body oils tend to have different meanings. And the one Schelura used on you… Well, it’s supposed to be seductive." 

  Immediately blood rushes to your cheeks, “you can’t be serious.” 

  “I wish I weren’t,” his lips parted as he tried breathing more through his mouth. 

  “I can go sleep with the girls tonight, considering they’re the ones who got me into this mess.” 

  “No,” Kurakh said rather quickly, “I can handle it.” He smiles sheepishly and continues to eat his soup. You decided not to press any further and do the same. Once the two of you finished eating you took it upon yourself to clear up the dishes. 

  “Do you have anything that needs to be laundered? I’ll be cleaning my spare clothes tomorrow.” 

  “I’ll leave a few things on the pile you’ve made. I know Mazna has a few tunics as well.” There was a quiet hiss of a blade leaving its sheath from behind you, soon followed by it scrapping the whetstone. “Do you not have any more clothes?” 

  You glance over your shoulder, hands still in the tub of cold soapy water used for cleaning, “I do not.” Stew was easy to clean off the wooden bowls, you hardly needed to look at what you were doing. “Clergy life is not as luxurious as people think. I had my own room, but it was tiny and drafty. The library barely had anything other than medical tomes. Three flavorless meals a day. We had no days off because ailments and childbirth don’t care for the calendar. And I would be lucky to get a new apron for my birthday.”  

  “Just enough to keep you from complaining about working for no pay I presume?” 

  “A twenty-pence on high holidays, which there are five of in a year,” anger made itself known in your gut. Stomach turning as you tried to ignore it, “it would take me three years to make enough for taxes. Luckily I don’t have to pay taxes. But I do have to catch a deadly disease, get robbed while traveling from town to town, never see my family again, or get captured by the enemy in a pointless war!” The scraping of the blade stops and so do you, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.” 

  Kurakh motions for you to return to the bed roll. Patiently waiting as you dump the dirty water into the floor drain. “I wish you would stop apologizing for being your true self.” You pause and open your mouth to rebut, yet nothing comes out. “It is as if you are playing a character,” he gently takes your hand to pull you closer. “When I see that fire in your eyes, I’m reassured that there is a real person hidden within. You need to break free.” 

  “Kurakh, I hardly know how,” the words barely above a whisper. 

  The morning came too quickly. For once you weren’t the first awake, as Kurakh shook your shoulder. “Come on Odmili, it's morning.” You groan in protest but still sit up, knowing well enough you asked for it. The fire was barely lit, meaning Kurakh mustn't have been awake long. As if he read your mind, “I still have the sand in my eyes.” 

  “Would you like me to tend to the fire?” 

  “If you feel so inclined,” he yawns while slowly standing up. You follow behind him, quickly slipping on your boots to protect your feet from the cold stone floor. Fabric rustles behind you as you feed a new log to the fire. The flames were now high and illuminating the small room well. You quickly glance over your shoulder to make sure Kurakh was decent enough for you to tolerate. With a sigh of relief, you turn around. "I don't know how you can function in this cold." 

  "Years of training," you chuckle while pulling your stay over your shoulders. You didn't even bother to look while you re-laced the front, muscle memory taking over. "Besides, this isn't the worst of it. Wait until the snow is above your knees." 

  "Only when you say things like that, I regret coming north," he sighs and slips on a furred vest over his tunic. 

  “I doubt that is true,” eyes rolling at his antics. 

  “I speak this truth. I have yet to lose a warrior, Moltschab’s horde is too scared to travel this far north, I have gained allies… And I met you.” 

You pause in the middle of tying the final knot, fighting to ignore the fluttering of your heart, "that is the most saccharine thing I've ever heard you say." Surprisingly you were met with silence, making you pivot on your heel. Kurakh's confusion was written all over his face. Again the fact that the two of you come from completely different worlds dawned on you. "Saccharine means something is very sweet," you explain while stepping into your habit.

  "Oh, I couldn't tell if it was good or bad," he chuckles a little and stands. Retrieving his cloak from a hook on the wall. "If Mazna asks, please tell him I'm out hunting." 

  "Of course, he should still be asleep, right?" 

  "Yes, and hopefully for a few more hours. For Roldza's sake." 

  "Indeed, bless that woman," you smile and begin to re-lace the habit. "Should I assume it shouldn't take long, considering our numbers have grown?" Your smile quickly disappears as a knot forms in the laces. 

"Correct," he smirks and approaches you. He gently moves your hair aside, breath fanning across your neck. "You said our numbers."

  "Yes, and," you counter while a blush starts to make its way up your neck.

"You're no longer considering yourself an outsider," he carefully takes the laces and undoes the knot. His fingers gently graze along your back as he finishes lacing the habit for you. "That is good." 

  "Oh... And you don't have to do this for me. I can lace this thing in my sleep."

  "I know," his voice didn't give room to argue.

  "Then why are you insisting on doing it?"

  "Why must you be suspicious of everything I do?"

  "Well, we didn't start on the right foot."

  "Fair point," he lightly tugs on the laces to signal he's finished. "Would you like me to tuck the laces?" You only nod, trying not to tense up as he tucks the laces into the habit. Kurakh's hand finds its way to your hair and moves it back to how it normally lays. "There. Save for that blasted headcover you look like a proper Maid of Eia." 

  It felt like you could finally breathe as you stepped away from him, "I'm also missing the pin... But that's the last of my worries right now." 

  "I'll be fine." 

You smack him in the chest playfully, "and what made you so sure I was talking about you? I'm more concerned about Schelura cutting my hair!" 

"Right," he smirks, "don't worry, you'll be in good hands. Schelura's family has been hairdressing for generations." 

  "I thought she was a beadmaster?" 

  "Most beadmasters are also hairdressers. The work goes hand-in-hand." He hovers in the middle of the room, contemplation written all over his face. "I suppose I should go to the main hall." 

  "I believe so, Otoschlibt. I'll be right behind you, I just need to fix my stockings." He nods and slowly walks to the door. Taking a deep breath before he opens it, bracing for the cold air of the hallway. "The faster you do it the sooner it'll be over with," you tease. With a quiet laugh, he opens the door and enters the hallway. You watch as he goes, kindly closing the door behind him so you can have more time to savor the warmth. 

  It didn't take long for you to deem yourself fully dressed. With your cloak fastened you step into the hall. The cool air hitting your face, properly waking you up. The halls were lowly lit with glimmerstone, and eerily silent. As you stepped into the main hall it almost felt like a different world. Warriors bustle about as they prepare. The sound of blades on whetstones surrounded you as you made your way to the center of the room. Kurakh and the commanders surround a table covered by a makeshift map.   

  Eteos seemed to be the mastermind of the attack, effortlessly explaining as he pointed to the map. No one seemed to pay attention as you sidled up to Kurakh. “We will attack from all sides. Dogar and I will lead the larger group attacking from the south. Kalos will lead the western group and Aren will lead the eastern. Kurah and Galta will lead the northern group to capture the lieutenant and the maid.” 

  I lean in closer to Kurakh, trying to keep quiet, “the maid I understand, but the Lieutenant? Have you gone mad?” 

  “We need leverage, and Eteos says the winter will work in our favor by slowing rescue efforts.” 

  “It could also lead to our slaughter.” 

  “The council has already voted,” the finality of his tone kept your mouth shut. You could see a hint of doubt in his eye as he refocused. His fingers tapped on the table absentmindedly. Usually, Kurakh was able to keep still, but within the last week, you’ve caught him fidgeting more than usual. Hopefully, it was only his secret project he was worried about. 

  “Alright everyone, ready your weapons. We must leave before dawn,” Eteos calls to the crowd. Kurakh gently moves you away from the table as he also leaves. 

  “I'm unsure what we should do for the new Maid, should she stay with us?” 

  “I don't see why not, but it depends on who she is. It's usually the newly ordained Maids that get drafted.” 

  “Except you?” 

  “There might be some marks on my record.” 

  Kurakh laughs, “So I'm not the only one who's dealt with your attitude?” 

  “The Elders didn't appreciate the fire in my eyes like you have,” you scoff as you follow him outside. The wargs were already lined up waiting for their riders. Sukkori wags her tail at the sight of you and Kurakh. “With all seriousness, please try to be gentle with this Maid. She is likely not even twenty years old.” 

  “I'll make sure of it,” Kurakh mounts Sukkori swiftly. “I’ll task Galta with her care. She’s the gentlest option.” 

  “Gentle is not a word I would use to describe Galta, but it is the better option.” 

  Galta scoffs from a few steps away, “I heard that!” Even with the lack of sunlight, you could make out the warpaint on both of their faces. The dark red paint dripped from their foreheads and onto their cheeks. While the design was simple it got the point across.

  “You’re lucky we don’t have any more to say Galta,” Kurakh laughs before returning his attention to you. “We’ll be careful.” The rest of the warriors make their way towards the gate around the two of you. “I must go.” 

  You grab his hand, causing Kurakh's breath to catch in his throat, “come back in one piece.” 

  He brings the back of your hand to his lips, “I promise.” He gently squeezes your hand before joining the group as they speed past the gate. Save for the guard closing the gate you stood alone in the yard. And you stood there until you could no longer hear the centaur’s hooves hitting the frosty ground. Once you made yourself go back inside you began to mentally scold yourself over your lovesick antics.   With your mind so distracted you didn’t notice someone walk into the main hall behind you as you set up your triage. 

  “Didn’t want to go back to sleep I see,” a soft voice startles you from your work. When you looked up there was an Elven woman merely a foot away. Of course, you didn’t hear her coming. 

  “There was no point, I would’ve just laid awake with worry.” 

  “I’m the same way when my brother goes out on those missions. I’m Artenna,” she extends her hand. You first noticed the delicate and glowing tattoos that littered her pale hands. It was difficult to pull your eyes away from the faint pink light as you shook her hand. “Sorry, I probably should have given you a warning.” 

  “You’re a hypnotist?” 

  “Yes, I promise I’m not as scary as the King makes us sound.” 

  “It’s not that, I’ve never met a hypnotist before. It’s a niche field of magic, even before the decree.” 

  Artenna shrugs, “it depends on where you are. My mother also said it used to be more common when she was a child. Can I help you with anything?” 

  You glance around to see if there is anything left to do, “not at the moment. I already sped through everything I could do. Unless you wouldn't mind keeping me company until they return?” 

  “It would be my pleasure,” she smiles and sits on a bench across from you. Thankfully Artenna proved to be pleasant company as you exchanged stories, jokes, and camp gossip. After some time passes you both venture outside. The sun was finally over the horizon, signaling for you to continue preparations, and for the rest of the camp to rise. Artenna helps you break the ice and carry water from the well. The luxury will only last a few more weeks until the ice is too thick to break. Then the camp will have to rely on melting snow. 

  With the last bucket you were willing to carry in hand, the sound of hooves began to echo through the valley. It was urging you to hurry back into the main hall. Setting the bucket beside your tools, hoping no one else will try to use it. As much as you didn’t want to be scolded by Schelura, you quickly shove your hair into your linen cap. Infections are always worse to treat in the winter. 

  You didn’t know what you expected when the warriors returned, but it wasn’t the Lieutenant being carried in by Kurakh. “What happened?” Kurakh quickly sets him on a table before you. 

  “He poisoned himself, and we don’t know what he used,” Kurakh grumbles. Galta quickly approaches beside you, with a vaguely familiar shadow cloaked in blue. “Their Maid also doesn’t know what he could’ve taken. The officers are cowar-” 

  “It’s new, all high-ranking officers are supposed to take it if they get captured,” a meager voice interrupts. 

  “What is your name,” you glance at her as you roll up your sleeves. Her fair skin was red from the wind and her deep blue eyes were wide in shock. 

  “Yanna.” 

  “Cut off his armor and enough of his shirt so I can access his neck,” you reach for your satchel with determination. “Kurakh, we’re going to need charcoal, and more wood added to the main fire.” He thankfully didn’t question you and made haste. It didn’t take you long to find your most treasured tools. A tiny iridescent blade that was easily the size of your hand, and almost as thin as your fingers. And a cast iron press of Eia’s true sigil.  You carefully set it on the table before searching for other ingredients and bandages. 

  Yanna sees it and immediately stops in her tracks, “is that a Kisarvuhevstabler?” 

  “Yes, is he ready,” you didn’t even look up as Kurakh returned with a small bowl of charcoal. Muscle memory takes over as you begin to mix your ingredients in a brass bowl decorated with ancient runes. Before Kurakh gets comfy you push the cast iron press towards him, “this goes in the fire. Long handle facing out obviously.” 

  Before Kurakh could take it, Yanna attempted to smack his hand away, “Elder, are you insane?” 

  “I beg your pardon?” 

  “Blood magic is forbidden!” 

  You couldn’t help but laugh, “it’s only been forbidden for the past six years. While Maids of Eia have used this magic for centuries. I’m not throwing centuries of tradition down the drain, simply because our King gets nauseous at the thought of it. Now you are going to watch and learn a technique that can no longer be taught in the temples, or Commander Galta can find you something else to do. He doesn't have much time left.” Yanna doesn’t respond or leave, conflict written all over her face. You spare a glance at Galta who looked as equally concerned as Yanna. “Galta we’re going to need a bucket that we’re not afraid to get dirty.” 

  When Galta steps away from the table, Yanna takes the opportunity to stand beside you. You place the bowl on the table, “the potion is made with crushed unicorn horn, charcoal, and stinging nettle. I’ll tell you the exact amounts later.” With a deep breath, you pick up the blade and remove it from its sheath. “It doesn't have to be a Kisarvuhevstabler for the spell to work. They are more a sign of status, to show you know the magic.” 

  You take a second to examine the disheveled Lieutenant laid before you. His skin was paling, a mysterious gray forming around the mouth. And his veins looked as if his blood turned black. His breathing was ragged, but strong enough to tell he was alive.  It appeared as if he wasn’t able to finish the full dose of the poison considering he survived the journey from the battlefield. By now a crowd has formed around the table, and you try your best to ignore them. The sound of an empty bucket hitting the floor signaled it was time to begin. 

  With the iridescent blade in your right hand, you turn to Yanna, “I will need you to turn him towards me when I give him the potion. But first, the bucket should be closer to where he will vomit when he is turned.” 

  “Understood,” she quickly moves the bucket before getting into position. You take a second to scan the crowd, surprisingly unable to find Kurakh anywhere. With a deep breath, you move the blade closer to your left wrist. 

   The blade pierces your skin, immediately stinging. In the ancient tongue, you pray, “Noble Eia, hear my prayer as I spill my blood as a testament of my conviction to thy doctrine.”  As you drag the blade up your arm diagonally, blood pools atop your skin. As soon as the first drop hits the bowl the runes carved inside begin to glow. “Hear my prayer so I may rid this soul's vessel of poison. Hear my prayer so I may heal in thy name.” The pain finally catches up to you, causing the blade to fall on the table. 

  You steady yourself by leaning on the table, “hear my prayer so this blood is not wasted.” You force yourself to push through the pain, picking up the blade and using it to stir your blood and the ingredients together. The room was silent around you, and every eye was focused on you. You gently lift the bowl to the Lieutenant’s lips, coaxing him to swallow the potion. Once the bowl was empty Yanna tilted him towards you. Luckily for him, it didn’t take long for the potion to work. 

  The visible darkness in his veins crept up his chest and into his neck as the spell expelled the poison from his body. It was almost like tiny black snakes were writhing in his veins. At this point, you knew he would be saved, and now it was time to save yourself. Weakly you raise your left arm, keeping your wound above your heart, and turn towards the main firepit. The crowd quickly parts for you as you step away from the table. No one said a word to you, mostly staring at you in disbelief. With the silence, it was easy to hear the Lieutenant retch the poison into the bucket. 

  It was a struggle to move your body through the pain and blood loss. But you've done this before. As you neared the fire it felt like the world around you was spinning. Within the blink of an eye, you were on the floor. Crawling instead of walking to the fire. Many voices were shouting your name. But nothing could shake you from this trance.  And none of them could save you from this, there was only one with that power. And you couldn’t help but mutter apologies in the ancient tongue, hoping for a sliver of mercy. 

“What do you mean?” James tries. 

Sirius gives him a specific glare, a look that seems to be reserved for when James is being idiotic on purpose (which happens more than you think). 

“Mate, you were in her room when we turned up on Tuesday. You both looked a little flushed…” He wiggles his eyebrows, making James' lips turn up slightly.  “Are you dating?” Sirius adds, taking a nearby chair and swivelling it around so he can sit with his elbows resting on the back. 

They’re back in the library, so James shushes him before replying quietly. 

“Can I get back to you on that question?” 

Sirius eyes narrow, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

This time it’s Remus’ turn to shush them. 

Sirius ignores his boyfriend and instead glares intently at James, waiting for an explanation. James isn’t sure what to say, because they hadn’t exactly talked about what they would tell their friends. He figured they could see each other without explaining themselves, but he had forgotten that his best friend is the nosiest person alive and loves being smack damn in the middle of James' business. 

“It means, I haven’t discussed it with Lily yet.”

“So you are dating?!” Sirius whisper-yells, getting a short look from Remus across the table. 

“I don’t know what to call it,” James whispers looking down at his textbook. 

“Have you kissed?” 

He figures he needs to give Sirius something, so he nods. 

“Have you done more than that?” 

This time, Sirius' tone is a little more softer. Sirius knows about James, probably more than James even understands. So he’s not surprised that his mate is asking him such a question. 

“No,” James answers, looking up to find Sirius looking relatively relieved. He rolls his eyes before throwing a crumpled-up piece of paper at his face. 

Sirius dodges it (because this is just a dance between the two of them) and instead looks at Remus. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” He accuses, making James roll up another scrap piece of paper to target his forehead this time. 

It hits square on but doesn’t deter Sirius from the inquisition he seems to have started. 

Remus shrugs, unfazed by his boyfriend's dramatics. 

“Why did you tell him and not me?” 

“Can we talk about this later?” James asks him, seriously this time. 

His change of tone makes Sirius falter, his dark eyebrows furrowed as he takes in James' expression. 

“Fine, but you have to promise to not throw a fit when you find me and Remus making out on the sofa tonight.”