|

Darkseeker
|
Aram pivoted at the waist and neck, looking towards her with an expression of surprise as the word "ass" escaped her lips. He had to hold back a guffaw; he'd never heard anyone of her supposed rank even use that word for a donkey, let alone in the present context. What a peculiar woman -- though, it was a welcome icebreaker of a comment. Aram wasn't sure he could survive weeks on the road with a stuck up pansy, and he himself wasn't exactly known for having the cleanest language. Perhaps she really had only run away from a stifling father; it wouldn't be the first time a claustrophobic child had fled the cage. As she made her way out to furnish whatever provisions she still needed, Aram moved away from the town stables and over to the inn's paddock. The animals there were more likely to be good stock. While this couldn't be described as a decent part of town, it was often an emergency stop for passing merchants or pilgrims, and such people tended to have beasts capable of withstanding the surprises of the road. If he was lucky, Aram would find a good one for cheap, or he could win it, if its owner happened to be a gambler. In the worst possible scenario, Aram would just have to leave a few bodies in his wake. All that gold was worth a bit of blood, though. His boots crunched along the gravel scattered over the smashed cobblestone road that led along the paddock, eyes roving over the horses and mules there. It seemed he was in luck; for whatever reason, there were more people staying the night than normal. Ah, well, he wasn't about to question the bounty placed before him. Aram's gaze honed in on a light but sturdily built horse. Its gaze was on him with its ears pricked, but the animal remained in a relaxed position. That was a good sign. The mercenary slid beneath the railings and approached, clicking and nudging to move the creatures out of the way. As he drew closer, Aram could now make out that it was a good-looking chestnut gelding. He didn't need to feel the animal's legs to know that they were steady, and the contented sound of its chewing suggested a good mouth. He ran a practiced hand over the horse's face and muzzle, down its neck, across the withers, and through the dorsal line. Nothing concerning. No spooking. Mundane enough to blend in. This was the one. Aram entered the inn and strode to the bar. An older man -- a merchant, by the looks of his clothes -- seated at one of the center tables seemed the likeliest to be the animal's owner, though Aram knew full well that appearances could be deceiving -- goodness, he need not have looked further than his new employer to prove that true. However, he was still fairly confident in his guess. "Sir, who owns the little chestnut in the corral?" he asked the innkeeper. The stout fellow attacked an empty mug with his wet towel and didn't bother looking up to see who had addressed him. Instead, he wiped his forehead and then gestured to the older gentleman with a grunt. Just as Aram had expected. He dipped his head and left the busybody to his chores, instead sliding into the seat opposite of the merchant. "Ack-!" gasped the man, startling at the sudden intrusion. Aram's hands went up in one fluid motion to display his lack of a weapon, and he kept a placid expression on his face. "My apologies. The innkeeper has informed me that you own the red gelding out front," he said smoothly. "A beautiful animal. Such a pleasant disposition; whoever trained him did an impressive job." "Ah... yes," the man replied. His old, worn hands knotted themselves together in an attempt to keep them from fidgeting nervously. How quaint. Aram leaned forward and continued in a pleasant tone, "I'm terribly sorry to bother you, sir, but my wife is in the beginning stages of her pregnancy, and the steed we took here is too spirited to carry her, and my mule is hardy but no good for riding. The nausea is quite horrible, you see- but enough of that. Forgive me for being so forward, but could I buy him off of you?" "Forward, indeed!" cried the man. His indignance was to be expected, and Aram could see that his "wife's" plight would not be enough to sway a man so set on a good deal. The merchant continued, "I bought that animal for three hundred piece!" His tone gave away the lie; it was much more likely that the animal had cost him closer to two hundred, but all merchants were the same when it came to bartering. So be it. Aram wanted that horse. "And I can see why, sir. A lovely investment. I lack sufficient coin to match that-" the man's face began to shut down, but Aram held up a hand to stop him and continued, "-but I will trade my mule and five sacks of grain. It will be enough to feed him through to the capital, and feed prices only grow exponentially from here on out. He will not take a saddle, but he pulls carts like a dream." The merchant paused. Silence stretched. Aram did not break it again, though; he needed the man to come to the conclusion on his own, and the more legal the sale, the better it would be for his employer. What was her name, again? Had he seriously forgotten to ask? Aram sent a tiny prayer that the man in front of him now wouldn't ask further about his "wife." "Let me see this mule of yours," the man finally said. Aram stood with a short nod, beckoning to the man to wait there. "I will bring him here. Please hold on a moment." Aram exited the inn and returned to the town's stable, moving past his own horse to the mule in the next stall over. He'd won it in another gambling match a day or two earlier, and he'd been planning on selling it anyway. It was a good animal; he just had no use for something he couldn't ride -- until now. Returning with the mule in tow, Aram found the merchant waiting in the inn's doorway. The old man checked over every inch of the animal once, twice, three times. Finally satisfied, he nodded and said, "The mule, the grain, and twenty silvers." The price was a punch to Aram's gut. However, he didn't let such a blow show. The mercenary nodded and began pulling coins back out of his various pockets, mentally cursing Rent and his goons for shredding the coin purse. It took longer than it should have, but Aram finally scrounged up enough to hand over to the merchant. "Pleasure doing business with you. Best wishes for your wife." - The big bay had, thankfully, accepted the new horse with indifference, which took a weight from Aram's shoulders. Aram met the woman with both horses saddled and ready to go, the remainder of his supplies secured to his stallion's saddle. "Off to Ravaryn, then, Miss... Oh, yes. What do I call you?" he asked, head cocking to the side. "I'm Aram Drogan."
|
|
|
|

Darkseeker
|
Having never traveled a day in her life, Anastasia truly did not know what to bring along with her. Sure, she knew she needed food and water, and a map to guide her, but what other? When it had came down to securing provisions, the princess began to realize how truly lost she would be if this man had chose to turn her away. She had been positive he wouldn't, for that kind of coin, but it was a big chance to have took. Now she could only hope he'd be willing to put up with her cluelessness at least until the next reputable city. - She wasn't too fond of the idea of listening to everything the man said, but so long his instructions weren't terribly overbearing, she'd do as he asked. Anything to hasten their trip along. Just as she was sure he wanted, Anastasia wanted to make it to Ravaryn in the least amount of time possible, especially with the winter's cold slowly but surely creeping in around the northern provinces. - As she approached and caught sight of the new horse, a little chestnut who seemed perfectly calm and sound, she wondered where he might have procured such an animal in such little time, but she didn't question it. As long as she was riding something that wouldn't do its best to toss her and run home, she'd be perfectly happy to just sit back and ride. - Anastasia removed her rut sack from her back and fastened it to the horse's saddle before patting its neck gently. She looked to the man, Aram, as he asked her name and offered his own. Right, they had yet to exchange pleasantries. “A pleasure, Aram,” she spoke, her head dipping slightly as his name rolled off of her tongue like the smoothest of gossamer. “I am Anastasia– Caerenthall.. Though you may call me Ana if you please,” she told him, hoping that he'd either missed or would at least ignore the slip of her words. She had chosen to take her birth mother's maiden name in the event that he was familiar with the surname of the royal family. Running from an angry noble man would be one thing. But the king himself? That was no one's wish. - Anastasia did wonder if she'd ever come to trust this man enough to tell him her secrets, but that would be determined along the road to Ravaryn. A part of her believed that he deserved to know who he was helping, but at the same time it did not matter. It only mattered that the job was done and that she could slip seamlessly into the next kingdom out of Ravaryn and escape her old life. - Anastasia had wanted to run off to the riverlands in the south, where her mother was from, but she had no doubt that her father would send guards there first since there would be kinfolk who'd gladly take her in. Instead, she knew she had to get far away into new lands and just make a new name for herself, even if it meant giving up her wealth and official title. She was sure her past was bound to catch up to her one day, but she didn't much care. She only wanted to live a little for herself before paying for her "crimes." - “Ah, and as promised—” she began, closing some of the distance between herself and Aram. She was looking up at him, the starlight glittering in her amber orbs as she did such. “I'll not keep you waiting,” she told him as she clutched one of her gold pouches into her hand so that it did not jingle excessively before nudging it into his own. Just as promised, she'd pay him the gold he'd deserve when they began each trip through cities and such. After all, he had no reason to protect someone who had yet to pay her dues. - (So sorry for it being shorter! I also would like to say that the sketch (and the colored version) both look really really good!)
|
|
|
|

Darkseeker
|
Thank you! And no worries; this one is a bit shorter, too, lol)) - Aram repeated her name quietly as he tucked the coin pouch beneath his cloak, its reassuring weight settling against his ribs. “Anastasia,” he murmured. The name slipped easily off his tongue, and he didn’t question its authenticity. It was hers, whether it had been given or chosen, and it served its purpose well enough. Besides, if that merchant had dug any deeper into the story about his supposed wife, Aram would’ve had to invent a name on the spot anyway. That little improvisation could stay buried. She didn’t need to know; it wasn't like they were likely to see that man again. As she nudged the pouch into his hand, he slid it away with ease, the clink of coin muffled beneath his cloak. He gave a quiet grunt of thanks, nodding once in acknowledgment. Then he caught the merchant watching them again, squinting from the porch of the inn like a bloodhound sniffing after a loose thread. Aram muttered under his breath, “Sorry for this. Put on your best ill face and we’ll be off.” Before Anastasia could ask what he meant, he stepped in close and hoisted her into the saddle with a single swift motion. This was not a common occurrence for Aram -- in fact, he'd hardly ever shaken hands with a woman, and now he had to pretend to be a husband. Ah, well, he'd brought it on himself. Stupid. With his ears slightly pink at the awkward absurdity of the whole situation, he swung up onto his stallion with practiced grace and clicked his tongue. Both horses started forward with quiet obedience, the new chestnut stepping lightly, while his big bay moved with confident, rolling strides. They left the murky town behind, lantern light dimming into flickers and vanishing entirely as the road dipped into woodland. The trail ahead was cloaked in moonlight and the quiet noise of night insects. Trees crowded overhead, branches arching like ribs over the dirt path, and the scent of loam and distant pine filled the cool air. He let them ride in silence for a while, eyes forward, ears tuned to the rhythm of hoofbeats and the occasional rustle from the woods. It wasn’t until they’d been riding long enough for the noise of town to fade that he finally spoke. “I don’t need your full story,” he said. “Whatever you’re running from, that’s your business. That said… I need to know what parts of it might get me killed.” He didn’t look at her, instead keeping his eyes on the road ahead, fingers loose on the reins. “If someone’s going to come riding up behind us with swords and crossbows in hand, I’d rather not find out the hard way. So just tell me: what are the relative odds of your preferably quiet journey taking a turn for the worse?” He paused for a moment before adding, “You don’t strike me as clueless. You don’t ride like it, either. And I’ve met enough runaways to tell when someone’s had to think their escape through.” He adjusted the angle of his saddlebag with a quick tug, then glanced at her briefly. He had worked for a lot of desperate people. Some good, some not. Most of them told flat-out lies while expecting everything to work out fine afterwards. The woman next to him hadn't yet, and that was enough for the time being. The road ahead straightened, and the moonlight turned the packed earth of the makeshift road into a pale ribbon winding through shadow. The air was growing colder and sharper, and Aram felt it bite gently at the back of his neck where his cloak had shifted. The temperature would continue to drop until sunrise, and he wasn't sure how rough of a ride Anastasia was used to. Even Aram himself would be beyond stiff after an autumn night's ride, and he wanted both them and their animals to be in the best shape possible in case of unexpected and unwelcome circumstances. “We’ll ride until the moon’s high,” he decided. “There’s a trail off to the right near the old ruins. Makes for good cover. We’ll camp there.”
|
|
|
|

Darkseeker
|
Truth be told, Anastasia wasn't sure how well her name was known by the people. Many young women were named such, sure, but she didn't want to take any unnecessary risks and run her protection off so quickly. She was sure it wouldn't be long before the news of her spread from city to city, nor would it be long before posters with her likeness appeared in the nearer cities. Time was crucial in those first few hours, whether she went by her born name or not. - A look of confusion overtook her features when he apologized and her breath hitched when he grabbed her, setting her upon the little chestnut in a motion smoother than she would have imagined. Over then shock she did manage to feign illness, her expression weary and perhaps even a bit grim. She wanted to question the purpose, but she could only assume they were being watched and it wasn't a time for such. Rule number 1: Listen. - With her own cheeks flushed pink and gaze angled forward, she guided her horse forward at the sound of his click, her mind wrapping around what had just happened. It was a simple situation, yes, a man helping a woman onto a horse, but she was perfectly capable of seating herself. She rarely bothered with men aside from the palace guards, and those poor souls knew they'd rather die than lay a sudden hand upon her if the moment was not dire. She realized she would likely need to become accustomed to his random touches while they traveled together, and if that meant she was kept safe and their journey was seamless, well... She supposed she could handle a few awkward moments. - As the town faded behind them, her expression returned neutral as she rode upon the calm gelding. He was a much easier ride than the high spirited beast she'd left on, thankfully. She merely listened to the song composed of hoofbeats and crickets chirping while her mind busied herself with thoughts and plans for her unknown future. She had brought enough gold along to pay her sword and jeep for a while, but what would happen when she made her destination and ran out of money? Admittedly, everything had been done for her all of her life, and she hadn't the slightest clue about making a living. It was concerning, but Ana knew better than to stress herself on an evening that had already been quite stressful. - The words Aram spoke caused her to grimace, her eyes flicking towards him for a moment. He was reading her better than she liked, but then again, Anastasia had never been that good at hiding who she was or how she was feeling in a deeper sense. He'd probably done this more than once and had sniffed out her hesitancy before they even left. - With a heavy sigh, Anastasia adjusted her cloak to keep out the chill before beginning to speak, her words much less practiced and frank as she gave him the most truth she comfortably could. “I would like to think that this trip would go without disruption, but if I am to be completely honest with you... There is a high chance that this goes south. How fast, I'm not sure, but the chance is there, looming over us as we speak,” she admitted, taking a deep breath in as she forced herself to relax. She was betting on the guards riding south first, but if the horse she'd taken rose alarm upon its return, there was a chance they'd come north behind her. - After a few moments of silence on her end, Anastasia shifted in her saddle and looked over at Aram once more, her expression teetering between her calm confidence and the uncertainty of the unknown. “The reason for my journey I do intend to keep to myself, but what I can tell you is that regardless of what I'm running from, there would have been people searching for me relentlessly. I didn't exactly intend to have to run, but I can't say it wasn't planned either,” she confirmed his suspicions that her escape had been plotted for a while. She always knew there was a chance she'd get caught that evening, but she was so sure at the same time that she wouldn't. - Ana didn't want to completely lie to this man. She liked that he respected her own secretiveness, that he didn't seem to judge her for running, no matter her reasoning. He just didn't care. He was unbiased, and she liked that a lot. - The cool air wasn't too big of a bother to Anastasia, but she would have to admit she wasn't used to being out that late when the temperature dropped. Nor was she keen to ride all night, so when he stated that they'd be stopping once the moon was high, she found herself mostly agreeable. “Camping.. As in outside?” She questioned hesitantly. A place such as 'the old ruins' didn't sound too welcoming in shelter, and quite frankly she wasn't sure what she'd expected when the next down was a good distance away. All she could think about was how the ground was hard and how there were bugs and such. Bugs never bothered her, of course, but who would want to wake up to a beetle or ants crawling across them? Or spiders, good heavens! - Anastasia shuddered at that thought, her body stiffening a little bit. “I.. suppose I can handle that,” she muttered, chewing at the inside of her cheek. She was sure fussing over sleeping out in the elements would be the equivalent of her not being able to walk a half mile without blistering. It wouldn't kill her, but that didn't mean she had to like the situation. If anything, at least it meant she'd be able to rest a little bit.
|
|
|
|

Darkseeker
|
Aram rode in silence for some time after her quiet confession, his eyes narrowed slightly as the moonlit road spread out ahead of them. Her honesty hadn’t surprised him, just confirmed what he already suspected. Whoever she was, she was important enough to send someone powerful into a frenzy the moment they realized she was gone. So he started planning for the worst. Ravaryn was a long road away, and the usual path wouldn’t do. They couldn’t pass through the larger towns unless they wanted to be stopped, questioned, or spotted. Apol would be too tame, too easy to corner someone in. Xyr? No. Half the city was run by mercenaries and the other half by bandits pretending to be merchants. It wouldn’t take much coin to buy someone with loose lips. And Fife, sitting damp and isolated along the river, was practically a trap laid in stone. There’d be no safety in any place that still lived on maps; when such stops were necessary, they would have to be as quick as possible. “That ruin up ahead I mentioned is a few hours’ ride still,” Aram said, his voice cutting through the quiet between them. “Castle Burren. It used to be a noble seat, but the whole place was razed during our dear old king’s father’s reign. The Burren clan fell out of favor, like so many others.” He didn’t glance her way as he spoke, but there was a strange ferocity in his eyes and a chill in his tone, as though he knew more than he was letting on. His words weren’t recited like stories passed around hearth fires; they were told like facts, like memories half-swallowed. “Most think it’s just broken stone and thistle now, but the tunnels beneath it were made to last. Emergency bunkers, war shelters. Hidden chambers. Deep ones.” A beat. Then: “That’s where we’ll stop.” Aram didn’t add that he lived there. The place wasn’t just a safe checkpoint for him. It was home, or the closest thing to it in the past decade. And while the old beds weren’t soft and the air beneath the earth smelled strongly of moss and dust, it was protected, hidden even from the types who thought they could find anything for the right price. No patrols came near it anymore. No merchants stopped to gossip on its edge. Most people, even in nearby towns, thought the place cursed -- or at the very least, unlucky. That kind of superstition worked in his favor. “You’ll have a roof,” he added after a moment, “and a bed. Might not be feathered and silk like you may be used to, but it’s better than the dirt. Safer too.” The clop of hooves filled the silence after that, interrupted only by the night sounds that surrounded them: crickets in the brush, an owl calling once from far off, the occasional rustle of something small darting between tree roots. Aram kept his focus sharp, eyes flicking across the terrain out of habit. He trusted Marruk to keep pace without instruction, the big bay as steady as ever beside the chestnut the girl rode. When she spoke again -- tentative, a little hesitant about the idea of camping -- he caught the edge of reluctance in her voice and allowed himself a rare smirk. He didn’t turn to her, but there was a flicker of amusement in his voice when he said, “Yes, outside. Welcome to the run, princess.” Still, her subtle shiver and muttered agreement didn’t go unnoticed. She wasn’t throwing a fit, and she hadn’t begged for another plan, so that counted for something. He could work with that. He supposed she deserved a less miserable first night, at least. Let her ease into the life she claimed to want. After tonight, things would undoubtedly get harder. “There’s a glen just before the ruins,” he offered, voice softening slightly. “A clean spring runs through it, and there is rock cover on all sides. It’s sheltered and quiet. We’ll stop there before going underground.” It wasn’t pity. It was logistics. Or, at least, that's what he was telling himself. He’d seen enough nobles try and fail to rough it in the wild. He didn’t need her sick or sore before they’d even covered real ground. And, though he wouldn’t say it, there was something quietly admirable about the way she carried herself; she didn't sob or shake or whine. There was only quiet endurance. He respected that. As the trees grew denser and the road gave way to overgrown path, Aram reached forward, rubbing Marruk’s neck. The stallion huffed low, ears flicking forward. They were getting close. “Don’t worry,” he muttered. “We’ll be out of sight by dawn.”
|
|
|
|

Darkseeker
|
Anastasia prayed that sleeping in random areas outside wouldn't become a common occurance, but something told her it was something she'd soon have to become accustomed to. Whether they passed through cities or not, there would be long stretches of road with nowhere to stop and rest beneath the cover. Being exposed was bound to happen more often than not, and while she wasn't complaining yet, Ana did not look forward to those chilly nights of bug ridden rests. - Castle Burren... She knew it quite well, much like many of the other noble houses that once sat upon the council and bore her father and grand sire's banners until they decided to support different ideals. “I've heard of it. I've never been of course, but I do favor anything over sleeping upon the dirt. I suppose I enjoy a good deal of history as well,” she hummed thoughtfully, her gaze lazily drifting along the road before them. Any bed was better than sleeping with the creepy crawlies. I've heard plenty about how Burren supposedly had forsaken my grandsire and cursed the crown unjustified too, but to each came their own opinion. Her father and grandsire were opinionated, passionate men, and even she could admit that more often than not the power went to their heads. Rebellion nearly stole the crown from her father in his early days, but somehow the old bastard managed to keep his station without losing his head first. Truthfully, she had expected to see another rebellion begin before she ever would take the crown, but it didn't seem to be her problem any longer. - When Aram called her princess, her head whipped towards him faster than she would have liked to admit. With the tone of his voice and that sly little smirk, she was sure it was only a tease at her hesitancy and spoiled mindset, but it alarmed her regardless. “Princess? My, am I that proper to you?” She teased lightly to disarm her own tension. He hadn't meant anything by it, she was sure, so she decided not to take it to heart. What would he do, though, if he found out she was actually the Princess? - As Princess, Anastasia had never spent a night outside, let alone outside of the palace. Her bed was always soft, warm, and clean, and silence filled every crevice of her chamber. She never dared ride into the night on horse back with a strange man, followed by the sound of crickets and frogs and owls, and she certainly never dared to act below her station, but one night had changed everything. She knew she could no longer act like this pretty little princess, no matter how bad she wanted to deny the life of sleeping below ground or beneath stars. If she was too squeamish to do such a trivial thing, how could she ever make it alone? After all, Aram wouldn't be around forever to protect her. - Nodding quietly to the information about the glen, Anastasia immersed herself in thought. Perhaps she could build a life as a seamstress? She was quite handy with a needle and had dabbled in dress making before, but did such a thing even bring in a steady living? Did peasant women buy new dresses or take them else where to have them mended as often as those of station did? Or was she to force a new trade upon herself? Or, for the gods sakes, did she submit to the norm and take a husband to support her? Ugh. That wasn't even the most of her problems! She'd need a place to live, food to eat, not to mention, she'd need to gain the trust of the townspeople she would live around in time. Her non formal social skills.. Were they even up to par after having been secluded in the palace for so long? - As the path grew more narrow, the more alarmed that Ana felt. She was anxious to finally stop and rest within cover, without the tree limbs looming above them like a threatening cage reaching out to trap her. Her exhaustion was making her quite wary, her mind half expecting there to be someone or something jumping out at them at any moment. There wouldn't be, that far out, but it didn't ease her mind hardly at all. One could only imagine her relief when they finally reached the glen, the area opening up once more as they were surrounded by the rock walls previously mentioned. - Her back and her rear was hurting, sore from such a length of a ride she wasn't used to. The suffocating feeling was finally gone, but she was still so eager to dismount and stand on her own two feet again. "Thank the heavens," she grumbled when they finally came to a stop with their horses, and Anastasia wasted no time in dropping from the saddle, the chestnut sighing as if he was just as pleased to have her off of him. She gave the horse a good pat on his neck, scratching beneath his mane as she stretched herself out. She could feel her spine popping a couple of times, easing the ache that had begun to set in. - Anastasia looked over towards Aram, her tired gaze roving lazily over him. She was so surprised still that he did not turn her away after she admitted that watching after her would be dangerous. She knew gold had worth, but was it truly that worth it to risk himself? She frowned a bit as she thought, wondering if she even wanted the answer to her question, yet she still asked it anyways. “Aram?” She spoke up after moments of silence, still peering at him from over the saddle that the chestnut wore, “Why is it that you decided to help me even with such a risk involved? I know the gold is likely a big factor, I just.. Don't understand why you'd put your own well being at risk for it..” Her tone was hesitant, her words not meant to offend, yet not quite sensitive enough to avoid doing so. Surely men with his particular skill set could find safer jobs, and while she was extremely thankful he hadn't denied her, she just didn't understand why he would trouble himself with what looked like a stupid girl having ran away from home. Gold couldn't have been the only true reason, could it?
|
|
|
|

Darkseeker
|
Aram snorted when her head whipped toward him, a sharp, suspicious reaction that made his brow lift ever so slightly. “Do nobles usually get so jumpy when someone hints at royal blood? Is it that bad, being a relative of the king?" he muttered, his voice laced with dry amusement. His mouth twitched with the ghost of a smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “If you’re a princess,” he continued, shaking his head at the notion, “then I’m nobility. No offense.” He didn’t say anything more after that. The forest stretched long and quiet ahead of them, broken only by the sounds of hooves on dirt and the distant call of a night bird. Aram let the silence stretch without discomfort, content to keep his thoughts to himself as the path narrowed beneath the canopy. His mind remained busy despite the quiet, shifting through variables and outcomes like pieces on a board. The terrain was growing rockier now, the trees denser. It was the right time to fall silent, to let the natural sounds mask their presence. Besides, what more was there to say? By the time they reached the glen nestled within the natural stone walls, the moon had risen higher. Its pale light slanted through the breaks in the rock above them, illuminating patches of old stone and mossy earth in a muted silver glow. Aram slowed Marruk and finally brought him to a halt near one of the broader walls, dismounting quickly. As Ana slid down as well, Aram set to work. He began unsaddling the horses, freeing Marruk first, lifting the saddle and blanket off with care, then turned to the chestnut. The gelding stood patiently -- a good sign -- but Aram still kept a hand on the animal’s shoulder as he unbuckled straps, loosening the gear and laying it all out in a neat pile. He worked methodically, checking girths, shifting saddle bags, loosening cinches, letting the horses cool before they could stiffen. That’s when Ana's voice came soft but clear behind him. “Aram?” He stilled mid-motion, one of the chestnut’s straps still hanging from his fingers. The pause lasted only a breath, but it was enough to mark her words as something he hadn’t expected. “Why is it that you decided to help me even with such a risk involved?” she asked. “I know the gold is likely a big factor, I just… don’t understand why you’d put your own well-being at risk for it.” Aram remained still for another moment, then slowly resumed loosening the gear. He didn’t answer right away, finishing his work in silence before stepping away from the gelding and heading back toward Marruk’s side. “I’ll let you in on an embarrassing secret,” he said, finally, the words quiet but clear. “I’m well-known in the mercenary world. For all the wrong reasons. And it makes finding work extremely difficult.” He lifted Marruk’s saddle in both hands and turned back toward her. His expression wasn’t defensive, nor was it ashamed. It was flat. “Risking my life for a few weeks in order to set me up for years is a fair gamble.” He set the saddle down beside the wall with a dull thud, then leaned forward slightly, checking the saddle blanket for sweat or burrs. His fingers moved automatically, brushing the fabric clean even as his mind clearly lingered on her question. “Most nobles looking to hire a mercenary prefer someone brought up from the dregs of society, or those who have families to care for,” he said after a moment, still crouched by the tack. “In a way, those are less of a threat to them. A hire from the slums will be more likely to backstab them, but they're cheaper and stroke egos. Those mercenaries might act high and mighty, but at the end of the day, they're extremely dependent on those who hire them, and their employers know it." He stood, his gaze meeting hers without any attempt to soften the truth. “I had a... somewhat better upbringing. I was educated. I can read and write. I know how money works, how titles are passed, how laws are twisted. Many see that as a liability when it comes to protecting their power.” Aram shrugged one shoulder, then moved to check Marruk’s hooves for stones. His voice was casual, but something colder flickered beneath it -- something closer to contempt. “But don’t worry,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’ve never killed anyone I worked for, especially not for giving offense.” Then, without waiting for a response, he turned back toward the pile of saddlebags and gear and began unpacking what little they’d brought for the night. He cleared his throat and shifted his tone to a more dismissive one as he added, "Oh, and it wouldn't have been very chivalrous to leave an unnervingly bold woman out in the middle of a pack of ravening wolves."
|
|
|
|

Darkseeker
|
"Being related to that old bastard? Wouldn't be too pleased," she muttered, a scowl spreading over her pretty face. She wore no rose colored glasses when it came to her own father. She had been neglected and ran over for far too many years after her mother's passing, and she would nearly rather die than be called his daughter any longer. Of course, being blamed for his new wife's death all but assured her own death, but that was another ordeal all in itself. So, if Aram didn't believe she was royalty, then Ana was perfectly fine with that. It was better that he didn't anyways, safer in a way. - Being back on her own feet made her realize just how long it had been since she had rode for longer than an hour's time. The chill of cold still bit at her, her cloak wrapped tightly around her lithe body as she watched the man work to relieve the horses of their load. She was curious about him, someone having lived the life that he did. Even in her state of being ignored by her father, Anastasia still had everything handed to her that she could ever think of wanting. She wanted to know what would drive a man to such work, to such danger and infamy. She listened carefully to each word, her brows furrowed and a frown adorning her features. It couldn't be easy, living as he was. Hell, she found him as he staggered out of a tavern then fended off three men alone for a reason she wasn't even sure of. Perhaps trouble followed him, or even was made by him, but Ana was almost certain she wouldn't wish the mercenary life style upon anyone. For no amount of money. - Hearing that he had been brought up in a better upbringing caught her off guard, however. Not terribly much, given his tendencies, but still she could hardly believe that a man who might've been of standing once was now a mercenary scrambling for work and coin. Thankfully, she didn't see his upbringing as a risk. She couldn't care less about power, nor about laws or finances so long he was pleased with the money she would pay him. Truthfully, she was content in believing that he wouldn't screw her over for the hell of it. At least, she hoped he wouldn't at this point. She would choose to take his word that he wouldn't kill her, and honestly, it didn't really matter if he did. Anastasia knew that if he chose to kill her there wasn't hardly a thing she could do about it, and if he didn't, well she would likely die at the hands of another soon enough should their mission go south. Death was inevitable, whether it be that night or years later down the road. - "Oh, and it wouldn't have been very chivalrous to leave an unnervingly bold woman out in the middle of a pack of ravening wolves." At that, Anastasia laughed dryly, shaking her head a bit. He had a point there, she had to admit. A chivalrous man had been the last thing she expected to find, but she wouldn't complain so long he didn't treat her like glass or a delicate flower. "Thank the heavens for chivalry, then," she chuckled, stepping away from the horses before wandering towards the stream she could hear near by. Who would have thought, a mercenary and a gentleman. A cheeky one, but gentle so far nonetheless. - Leaves and twigs quietly crunched beneath her feet as she walked, the moonlight guiding her path to the quiet bubbling of water. A frog leapt from a rock and splashed into the water when she got too close, causing water bugs to skirt away at the same time. Anastasia crouched by the water's edge, staring emptily at her own reflection in the crisp water. How did things actually get that bad? She wondered if she had stayed, would her father have even believed her when she told him she didn't kill Elora. She may have killed that poor guard, yes, but she truly hadn't gotten to the Queen yet. Still, Elora's blood stained her fingertips and had dried beneath her nails. There was no denying that, nor the rage she knew her father felt. She and the Queen never got along, their heads always clashing. Elora never tried to get to know Ana, yet she always tried mothering her and controlling her in a way that no child should ever be controlled. She used force and physicality on Anastasia, lied and blamed her for all sorts of things. It worsened over the years to the point that her father had even turned against her, poisoned by the malice that dreadful woman spewed. Of course, lies and such were not enough to want to kill a woman, but unfortunately there was much more beneath the surface to bring reason to Anastasia's deepest, darkest plans. - Anastasia frowned at herself, at the dirt on her face and the scratch at her temple. Her curls were a wild mess of tangles and snags and her eyes were dark and heavy. She hardly looked like a princess, barely even nobility had it not been for her clothing. Sighing, she leaned forward and dipped her hands into the cool water. She washed the dirt from her skin, shuddering at how cold it was. She rubbed furiously at her knuckles and fingers, scrubbing them clean of her sins, turning them into invisible, horrible secrets. Even if she hadn't killed her intended target, she had killed a man. He wasn't innocent by any means, but did he deserve to die an early death at her hands? Was Anastasia even okay with the fact that she murdered a man for the first time, found her step mother dead, then fled home all in one night? Her mind had been numb all night, but now, sitting there alone along the stream's edge, every thought flowed in, overwhelming and burdening her mind. She wasn't okay, but just maybe if she scrubbed her skin raw, she could forget her transgressions if only for the night.
|
|
|
|

Darkseeker
|
He finished checking the last girth strap and gave the gelding a gentle pat on the flank, then led both horses toward the stream that curled through the glen’s far end. The sound of trickling water was welcome; it was something steady, something predictable. He picketed the animals just close enough that they could reach the water with their muzzles, letting them drink and graze freely without wandering too far. Once they were secured, he stepped back behind them, half-hidden by the horses’ bodies and the rise of the bank. There, where the rocks and brush afforded just enough cover, Aram finally allowed his shoulders to sag. The moment of solitude was brief, but it was his. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckled the leather harness and pulled his cloak free. The air was cooler now, a damp breeze whispering up from the streambed. He untied his shirt and peeled it over his head, hissing softly through his teeth as the fabric scraped across his side. Beneath the moonlight, the bruises from the earlier fight had darkened into ugly blotches -- some yellowing, some deepening to purples and greens. Along his ribs, two deeper gashes still dribbled blood lazily, though the low temperature was now working to close them fast. He was tempted to let it, but who knew what nasty things were present on the men's blades, and he could be a bit of a baby when it came to fighting infection. “Blast it all,” he muttered under his breath, fingers brushing over the bruised flesh. “Should’ve ducked faster.” He crouched at the edge of the water and scooped it into his hands, splashing it across his chest and shoulders. The cold hit like a slap, stealing his breath for a second. He ground his teeth together and repeated the motion, rubbing away the grime and dried blood. Then came the lye soap -- vile stuff, coarse and biting. He bit down on a curse as it stung across a split near his collarbone. “No wonder Marruk hates this job,” he muttered, more to the horse than himself. “Even the soap’s trying to kill me.” He worked fast, knowing the chill would catch up to him soon. Once the worst was washed away, he reached for the small tin of salve from his saddlebag. The paste stank like vinegar and herbs, but it numbed the sting as he smeared it across his cuts. He followed it with strips of linen, winding them around his ribs and upper arm. All the while, his thoughts wandered to the young woman scrubbing herself raw just down the stream. How many more nights like this? he wondered as he tied off the bandage. How many cracked ribs and bruises and blade grazes before I hand off this girl and walk away four bags richer? The math was easy, but the cost? That was something else entirely. He smiled to himself, tight, wry, and tired. Probably more than I want to count. By the time he pulled his shirt back over his head and re-fastened his cloak, the numbness had set in, just enough to keep him from wincing. As he reached back for the soap, he spotted movement at the stream. She was still there, crouched at the edge, scrubbing like she could peel off her skin. Her shoulders were stiff, and her hands moved too fast to be casual. He narrowed his eyes. She was scrubbing, not washing. That was the kind of cleaning people did when they were trying to forget something. Of course, it could have been her way of losing herself to her thoughts, but Aram was hesitant to give her the benefit of the doubt; banking on perceived innocence was never wise, in his opinion. He stepped out from behind the horses, drying his hands on the edge of his cloak, and called across the space between them, “I have soap, if you need it. It stings, though." His voice was casual, but the offer wasn’t idle. It was his way of letting her know he'd noticed something and was quite curious, but that if she needed to pretend she was just dirty and not haunted, he’d give her that lie for free.
|
|
|
|

Darkseeker
|
The cold already made her fingers red as could be, but the more that Anastasia scrubbed away in the dark, the worse it became. Tenderness would set in, but she wasn't thinking about that. In fact, she wasn't thinking about much other than the heinous acts she'd committed in the past twenty four hours. She was scrubbing with a purpose, yes, but do not be mistaken— She was lost to her thoughts, held captive by the need to justify the things that she did. Was choosing murder really necessary? Even if she knew the effect that woman had on the king, her father? Was murder ever truly justifiable? Even if it saved the lives of others... - A streak of warm wetness dared to streak down her chilled cheek, but it was wiped away with the raise of her shoulder, banished from memory before it could ever drip away to the earth. It was stress, was all. She couldn't feel regret for it. She refused. It was done now, and there was no sense in crying over what could not be changed. Anastasia took a deep breath, turning her eyes for the heavens and stars above for a moment as she gathered her bearings, all the while she scrubbed as though her life depended on it. - “I have soap, if you need it. It stings, though.” Aram's voice breaking the silence between them made her flinch, her motions slowing to a stop as her gaze turned to meet his own. She looked at him for a few long, silent moments, her brows knitted together and her lips curved into an unreadable expression. He had been watching her.. Of course he had, she had been scrubbing her hands like she was insane, one couldn't not notice such a thing. She was sure he'd become more and more suspicious and wary of her during their time together. She wasn't exactly acting like a woman on the run from a controlling father, yet, he didn't push to ask what she'd been doing. That she was thankful for in the least. - A broken smile rose to the corner of her lips, though the action did not reach her eyes as she straightened to her feet. Her head dipped in a brief nod as she walked towards him. “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you,” she told him as she wiped her hands onto her cloak. She could probably do with a more proper clean anyways. Not to mention, what is a little stinging if it could burn away the thoughts on the forefront of my mind? Heavens knew she didn't like being dirty, so she might as well indulge and allow them both to over look the fact that she had been scrubbing herself raw. - Anastasia stopped once she was standing before Aram, ample distance between the two of them. She looked as though she wished to say something more, to ask him a question to answer her own, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She didn't know this man and he didn't know her. She didn't need to go all soft and emotional on him when they'd only just met. Their business together was transactional, nothing more. He quite likely wouldn't care about her problems anyways, and she didn't blame him. She glanced towards the stream for a moment before up at Aram again, the hint of that need to talk gone from her tired face. “I won't be long, I promise. I'm sure you're just as tired as I am,” she sighed, pushing a hand through her hair to free it from her face. Her tone was indeed tired, though almost awkward in knowing she'd been caught and was using the excuse of needing soap to cover it up. Gods, she needed a good cry, too, but she couldn't allow herself that. - Anastasia offered her hand out to take the soap from him before she'd depart behind the horses as he had. Her hands were almost perfectly clean at that point, save for the bit of dirt and blood that she hadn't been able to scrub from beneath her nails. She knew getting the soap on such raw skin wouldn't be fun, but oh well. At least the remaining physical memory would be gone, and with any luck, she wouldn't see crimson staining her pale skin ever again.
|
|
|