The Princess and the Blade

[Soran Nightblade]

"You're drenched as it is," he started to object, but made himself stop. The words felt like a foreign taste on his lips. He stared at her oddly.

[Emora Deen]

Tenara backed away. “I’ll just be a minute. It’s all in my hair…” It was everywhere. In her hair, on her face and chest. She was wet, yes, but she didn’t want to crawl into bed and wake up smelling of death.

She turned for the lake, weaving her way through the few trees between the yard and the water. Her gate was wobbly and unsure as she went. She tugged on the laces of her dress, shedding the heavy, ruined outer dress until she was down to the white cotton shift.

She entered the water until the cold lapped at her waist, rubbing the blood from her arms and chest before dipping beneath the waves to scrub it from her hair. She was beneath the waves for what felt like forever, and part of her didn’t want to come up. She didn’t want to face him or what she’d said.

But, eventually, she rose and left the lake. Cold, wet, but clean.

When she approached him again, she kept her eyes down. “What I said,” she began. “About… the monsters. If there is any kindness in your heart, please forget it.”

[Soran Nightblade]

He was sitting on a plain wooden chair, as far from the fireplace as he could get while still keeping an eye on it, when she returned to the cottage. It honestly took him several moments to get his head around what she meant when she mentioned forgetting about her monsters. A chill went through his gut.

Right...

"We need not speak of it." He rubbed at the spot between his front horns. He still wasn't sure what to make of the relationship she'd had with that whore. He no longer saw him as her victim. He was fairly sure he believed her version of events, so he wasn't sure why the situation still unsettled him. In any case, he could afford to drop it if it meant she would stop making that expression.

"I found those in a closet," he said, gesturing to some lightweight garments he'd set on the table. "When you're warmer, perhaps we can take the fire down a notch."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara went to the table and grasped hold of the clothes he’d found. She picked out a lightweight cotton gown, and went to the far edge of the room, on the other side of the bed, where the firelight gently touched the shadows.

The couple that had lived here before had been together for a while. There were no privacy screens, and since she was fairly certain Havitharon did not like women, she didn’t feel unease in stripping before him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her before. She had flashed him on the Arken prince’s ship when he refused to give her space.

She dragged the wet garment off. It made a sopping sound as it dropped to the floor. She dried herself with a blanket draped over another chair tucked into the corner and then pulled the gown on. It was a little big on her, slipping off her shoulder no matter how much she pulled it up.

[Soran Nightblade]

Havitharon frowned at his skin. It burned again. What was going on with his body? Was it breaking down, as the queen had postulated? He was so preoccupied that he didn't really grasp that Tenara was changing right in front of him. His gaze dodged her as suddenly as he'd discovered her. "You seem to still trust me," he wondered out loud.

[Emora Deen]

She edged towards the fire, taking a basin of stagnate water and pouring it into the flames, even though she felt the fire wasn’t very hot at all—at least not hot enough to extinguish. But, she could be kind to him.

She lit a candle next to the bed and sat, dragging herself to the center of the bed and sitting with her legs crossed.

“I…” Did she trust him? “I don’t think you like me but we still need each—“

The sword. It was gone. What did that mean? Were they free to part ways? He could leave her? But, what about her magic? Without the sword…

She deflated. Maybe it was best she didn’t have it. Safer for everyone if she was powerless once again. Even if being powerless is the reason…

“I guess you’re free? You can leave now… The sword and you are… one?”

[Soran Nightblade]

He went still. "What do you mean?" He looked to her hip, and realized she wasn't carrying the sword. It wasn't with the clothes she'd just discarded, either. An uncomfortable thought hit him. "Did you forget it at the riverside?" It couldn't be too far, or he'd have been summoned to it.

[Emora Deen]

“No. I was holding it and then it disappeared. You appeared in its place…” She held out her hands, showing him how she’s held the sword—her hands now empty. “It must be a relief for you.”

[Soran Nightblade]

"...What? No, that doesn't make sense. It had to go somewhere." He stared at her, refusing to give in to the awful temptation to look down at his own body. "...Do I look different?" he forced himself to ask.

[Emora Deen]

She appraised him. He didn’t seem any different. He looked as strange and beautiful as he always did, though she thought pointing out the fact she thought of him as such would not help his opinion of her. Instead, she shook her head. “You look as you always do. Just a bit soggy. Maybe you should change? I can hide my head under the covers if you need privacy.”

[Soran Nightblade]

"Soggy..." He shook his head slowly. A dull laugh escaped him. "I suppose that might explain some things. Your queen did say I would dissolve without a tether." The sword was gone.
No wonder his body felt like it was burning away layer by layer. He wondered how much time he had left.

Something else occurred to him. "Your wounds aren't opening? Even with the sword gone?"

[Emora Deen]

Tenara looked down at her hands, admiring the iridescent scars crisscrossing her palms and arms. They shimmered beneath the dim candlelight. She traced a few with her fingertip before reaching to press her hand to the center of her chest, where the original one—the one which brought him into the world—lay.

“They’re fine. Not open, but not gone.” She met his eyes, thinking. “Distance from the sword effected them, and I could seem to get further from it than you.”

They were together out of convenience. Survival. What did it mean for them to not need that connection? Why did the idea of being parted feel wrong?

Clinging. You’re clinging to him because he makes you feel safe. You can unpack the trauma bond later.

[Soran Nightblade]

"I see..." He looked down at his arms. "If... just If, I myself am now somehow the sword," he glowered as he gave voice to the theory that had been haunting the back of his thoughts. "and I...go away...what do you suppose would result?"

[Emora Deen]

Tenara rubbed her shoulder. “I’m not sure. If you are the sword, I suppose you are your own tether now? And… I guess the only way to understand what would happen to me if you went away is to part ways. Perhaps slowly, just in case?”

[Soran Nightblade]

He managed not to cringe at how easily she went along with his hypothesis that he was the sword. It meant the same thing must have occurred to her too.

"Yes. We should investigate that." His head was already spinning. Where to do it, how to do it. "If you're hurt while I'm out of earshot, I won't know to come back. We would have to try it in increments." The experiment was forming in his head. He rubbed at his arms without noticing he was doing it, trying and failing to soothe the itching burn. "I could go a little further each time, then come straight back to see if you were harmed." But would he have enough time to do it that way? "Or, perhaps if there were a wide enough field where I could maintain line of sight. I... perhaps the river. From a high enough vantage point, you could see straight down the water for miles."

He began to slowly pace the room as he theorized. She was already in her nightclothes. The urgency loomed up in him. Could they afford to wait the night? "Damn it," he muttered.
He didn't understand what was happening, and it was so frustrating.