He'd ripped himself away from Noemi, sans one toe, to see her gone. To see the place she'd been covered in blood. So. Much. Blood. And he'd panicked, even if it was internally. Her siblings ( that big beefy dude and Magdalena; had they both been siblings? He isn't sure. ) had been still engrossed in their own battle, verbal or otherwise, and he'd had to go home.

He had to leave the war.
To leave her.

And he knows she can handle herself; he's snarled it at every pitying eye turned upon them, forced it down the throat of any open mouth ready to proclaim otherwise. But it still hurts to know that he'd left her behind ( even if she hadn't been there. ). To know her father took her from her their choice, made that day at the passage.

When he could no longer wait - to see what Vermeda was doing, what Cassius was doing, what Icefang would allow - the boy strikes out on his own. With the heat of Summer ebbing and the bite of cold riding the Autumn wind, Nikan is shivering by the time he clambers up the Summit. The rain has been endless and the air thins more, more, more with every step; the temperatures drop and eventually the rain turns to some hellish mix of rain and slow and the Law boy, miserable in the frigid dusk air, hunches his shoulders up around his ears.

He's at the borders, finally, as the sun begins to fully sink out of sight - and he squints through the darkness as if @Melusina would simply materialize out of the shadows. Should he call her? Should he call the leader? Finally, desperation urges him to murmur out a soft chuffing call for the little medic.

She is no damsel. She waits for no one.

She lingers as a statement. There's a certain, sickening thrill that comes when looking her father in the eye and finding shame. Melusina knew war did not begin and end with her—they would have wounds to lick, strength to regain; likely, other prisoners to free. She can count on no one but herself, and whether it is truth or not matters little when each day drags on with an agonizing slowness.

Winter is swiftly-approaching, and it hits the mountains before anywhere else. She feels its frigid grip, and she is cruelly reminded of the way she cannot take a full breath. Regardless of her father's intent, the very place alone would be Melusina's demise if she waits too much longer.

She sleeps alone, on the outer edge of the territory. No guards sit at the mouth of her den, and Alaric must have long given up trying to offer her his company. She is covered in furs and warmth but still she shivers, and the familiar creep of crackling in her lungs rattles her every breath. Torre's concerned trill fusses next to her, but he can offer little heat, and eventually relents and takes to the sky in search of a meal for the both of them.

At first, she thinks she hears her companion's screech. But it is quieter, and deeper, and more deliberate.

It's raining outside, she absentmindedly considers as she's pulled from her half-sleep. She makes sure to shrug one of her pelts onto her shoulders, shielding herself from the worst of the swell. Sleepiness lingers in her eyes, but there is something wrong about her stagger.

When it's @Nikandr she spots on the other side of the border, relief washes over her. He's alive, she sighs. Injured, tired, cold, but alive.

Has he come here to free her?

Oh—

Come on, she urges, her voice a rushed whisper. She reaches forward, intending to grab him and lead him away from the borders, away from Illyrian ears. Let's get out of sight.

Just far enough to escape, in a small cave tucked in the mountainside; away from the rain, away from everything. For just a moment.

Table by cala, art by drifty

It's a long wait, huddled against the rain. And his body loathes him for it. The wounds from his maim are healing slowly and his paw is throbbing from the hike in the rain and snow. But still, he waits; because if he doesn't get an answer, he's going in. Whether or not she wants help, he'll be giving it. After? After he gets her out... she can go wherever she desires. Even if it's not back to Vermeda back to their home. He can give her decisions, at least, when no one else will.

"End her, Magdalena!"
The memory is harsh and he closes his eyes against the grating sound of the stranger's voice. Against the sight of the cream girl's face, contorted with rage as she faced off against Mel. How the fuck had he managed to meet both of them, befriend (?) both of them and not know. The gods were fucking cruel. The fates were not kind. But he's known that since his birth, hasn't he?

"You're easy replaced, Nikandr." Dispassionate voice of his mother, reminding him that he was only one of many sons. That his father would not miss him, would not mind one less body to feed. It wasn't like he would ever be good enough for the throne, so what good was he, anyway?

"Come on." @Melusina.

The sound jerks him back to awareness, though it comes slowly. The rain has wormed its way beneath his coat and frozen him to the bone. He chatters his teeth together as he leans towards her reach, allowing her thin fingers to grasp his arm and tug him along. He follows her, eyes trained on her swaying form with concern in his gaze. But the mantra repeats in his mind: she's okay, she's okay, she's oka-

They come to the small mountain den and duck inside. The rain drips down his body and her fur and he peers at her with a knitted brow. A sharp tremor forces its way down his spine and he moves as far away as he can to the mouth of the cave to shake off - at least somewhat. Gods, Mel, are you- but he doesn't finish, casting his worried glance across her form. There's something about the glaze of her gaze, the unsteadiness of her paws, that makes his throat tight. Hasn't he been taking care of you?

His is a face of pure shock.

Hers might have been, too, were she not so wired simply to survive. From the first step she's taken she'd been methodically searching for ways to escape, waiting patiently as discussions and arguments were had behind closed doors. She did not know much, but she knew that whatever it was her father and the leaders of this place were divided about was momentarily deadlocked. Mercifully, it had taken up most of Alaric's time. Now, @Nikandr is here, and perhaps the prospect of waiting until whatever it was met a fucking conclusion, she can simply leave right here, right now.

But then the dust settles, and the adrenaline cedes. She's standing in the mouth of the den, half-shielded from the rain; cold, wet, shuddering. And when she sees his form begin to take shape in the dark as her eyes adjust, the reality that it's him begins to seep in.

He's here. He's here—for her? No, he couldn't. He shouldn't.

Gods, Mel, are you— he stammers, and she blinks away the reverie. Hasn't he been taking care of you?

I haven't let anyone close enough to try, she admits, almost shyly, stepping into the den and finally freeing herself of the wet clump of fur that had become her shawl. I'm fine.

She was always fine.

If her mother had given her one thing, it was the ability to endure this one thing.

The one part of her she couldn't burn and leave behind.

Being taken prisoner was a whole other matter entirely, however. Melusina has had enough of shackles—and it was a sentiment she thought her father shared. Perhaps that part of him had been left to die when he was resurrected.

But he is here, and he sees the shackles, and he's ready to risk everything to break her free.

I am going to kill him, she breathes before she knows what she's saying, her gaze staring unwaveringly into his. I will kill him.

Because it's what she's been thinking this whole time, a sin left unspoken and burrowed deep within. But the longer it was left unsaid the more malicious the sentiment grew, and the longer she spent tethered to the Summit the more bleak her hopes became that he might have a change of heart. Now, spoken aloud, it felt like justice.

Her jaw set, and her gaze remained steady, the weight of her seriousness indisputable in her expression.

You wanted to challenge me.

Table by cala, art by drifty

The pelt slips from her shoulders into a sodden pile and he stares at it. He'd made her come out into the rain. Stupid, he curses himself, taking a long stride into the den and gently tugging the sodden blanket away from her pile of warmer furs. He takes the moment to consider her words. You should. He says softly, ears tipping back. And a paw lifts preemptively trying to halt her argument, before he can explain. His bright eyes lift, scrutinizing. Not being fine... doesn't mean you're not strong. A tentative smile, softer at the edges that it usually is. Worried, if she looks closely enough; tired, but easier to see. We all know you're one tough bitch. He's trying for levity and it falls flat. His lips press together in a thin line and he inches a little closer, face twisting into a mask of uncertainty as he searches her expression.

It doesn't surprise him to know he was so worried - but it does tighten something in his gut. When had things shifted? When had their relationship turned from something of relative convenient opportunity to such a kinship? It's been weird without you. Nikan admits, voice soft as he tips his head to look down at her.

But then -
I am going to kill him.

Her expression is fierce and livid and unwavering, despite the sick haze to her eyes. And he blinks at her, silent and considering. He's not surprised - he'd heard her rage, even as he fought ( and failed ) not to lose the surprise attack. But to kill a family member....

He wants to look away; he doesn't.

He runs a tongue across his teeth, mouth still closed, as he considers. Her father is aging, he'd seen - but he was still massive. Tested. Experienced. But @Melusina? She has the opportunity of surprise, of being underestimated again and again and again.

Finally, he drops his head minutely in something like a nod. Okay. He tells her, voice steady and eyes without judgment. A soft, level sigh. Okay. A hand lifts, ghosting across her shoulder, daring to touch her chin and tilt her head to examine her face if she'll let him. But first you need to be well. We need to get you home and we need to train. His voice is low, but no-nonsense. He pulls his hand away, refusing to let himself linger, and leans back on his heels thoughtfully. We're doing it right. Killing family... He shakes his head. It's not easy on the soul.

He'd know.

@Nikandr knows her too well. She does open her mouth to argue, but her words fall flat as he raises his paw to silence her.

Not being fine... doesn't mean you're not strong, he gently chides, and Melusina's mouth shuts, and her ears fall flat as she looks guiltily to the side. She knows he's right, and she's mad he's right. We all know you're one tough bitch.

She snort-laughs, anyway. She can't help it, truly. Not around him.

It's been weird without you.

But then she's already a thousand miles away again, overcome with her anger and her fear and her bitter regret. And when she's bearing her gaze into his she expects to see shock, or disgust, or resentment, but she finds none of that. A little surprised, maybe, but more than that a shared understanding she does not expect.

They linger in that tense silence for what feels like ages. Melusina can hardly hear the rain above the sound of her own heartbeat, angry and loud.

Then—okay, and she blinks, and exhales. Okay.

Just like that? she wants to ask. No strings attached? No desperate attempt to change my mind?

But first you need to be well. We need to get you home and we need to train.

Suddenly, he sounds like a man on a mission, and Melusina has to take another quiet moment to process his immediate acceptance. He sets out their next course of action before she even has time to realize what she's just said, but when she expects to feel the regret and the guilt creep in, she finds nothing but a resoluteness in what she's said. She's taken that step into a place from which she cannot come back, and rather than harrowing it is freeing.

We're doing it right. Killing family... She closes her eyes, and swallows the last of her regret. It's not easy on the soul.

How would you know?

I need this, she breathes, cupping his cheek with her hand and guiding his eyes back to hers. I need you there with me. To ensure I make it through.

He was the only tether holding her broken pieces back together, even if they did not know it.

Table by cala, art by drifty

ooc. i thought we could do a quickie w this since she's already out and back at VB!

He manages to coax something close enough to a laugh from her that he feels relief ease in his chest. She's still there- it's okay. They stare at one another, the only sound the patter of the rain and the sharp inhale-pause-exhale of their breaths. She seems... surprised at his acceptance and the boy gives her an easy, soft grin. Had @Melusina really thought he'd do anything but help? Had he ever? He's put just enough distance between them that he can think - beyond the touch of her plush fur, beyond the throbbing pain of the loss of his toes, the damp weather pressing down on his shoulders.

He lifts a hand to run it through his unkept fur and exhales a sharp breath, tiling his own jaw up and exhaling a ragged fuck, from his lips.

This was going to be a mess.
This was going to be a mess.
She was going to kill him and then she was going to fall apart and he was going to be left standing there, holding the bloody knife she'd used to end Alaric.

Would she thank him for it? Or would he burying the friendship and whatever else they held?

Her fingers ghost across his cheek, then, startling him. He flinches back in surprise, eyes widening and mouth going slack, as his head jerks down to hers. Instinctually, his own hand flies to cover hers - holding it there. Pressing it tightly ( too tightly? ) to the curve of his jaw. He allows her small hand to bring him back to her, to coax Nikandr's eyes from the ceiling to find her own once more.

I need this, she says and he sucks in a sharp breath, catching the smile on his lip between his teeth. I'll be there. He admits, ears falling to the side as he tips his face into her touch. Greedy, for a moment, to rub his face, to turn and place a kiss against her palm.

Icefang has some plan to get you out. I think, he wants to add, though he doesn't. He wants to simply take her home, now - but he supposes they both know that's not the right way. It'll just put her in more danger; and if he's caught, the foolish boy can't possibly fight in his condition.

Abruptly he realizes he's still pressed close to her hand, holding it near - and drops it, pulling away as he clears his throat. You don't really need me, Mel. Nikan assures her with a cocky wink, chasing away the heavier, less familiar feelings. But it's nice to be wanted anyway. He glances out into the roaring storm and frowns. I know you're gonna kill me, but you gotta eat. Take care of yourself. You're gonna be home soon. It's a promise that feels weak on his tongue and as the distant rumble of thunder fades, and the sound of a patrol draws nearer, he curses again. I'm not leaving you here. He promises -

but then he does just that.

exit

She wonders what it will be like when she drives the knife into Alaric Stärke's chest. Would it be cold finality, a bitter realization that she has what she wanted and now she must hunt for something else? Would it be freeing, like the relieving bliss of a full breath? Would she cry, would she laugh, would she say nothing at all?

Would @Nikandr still be there? Would it be awe and admiration in his eyes, or horror at the gnarled, wretched thing she's become?

I'll be there, he whispers, and Melusina swears he's read her thoughts.

Then, he presses a chaste kiss to her palm, and his touch is like an unfurling burst of electricity. It shoots up her spine, to the tips of her ears, before settling as a warmth in her flushed cheeks.

Icefang has some plan to get you out, he continues, but Melusina is not quite listening. Her heartbeat is in her ears.

Then, he pulls away, and Melusina fights the urge to reclaim the warmth he's taken with him.

You don't really need me, Mel.

She opens her mouth to protest: That's— not true.

But it's nice to be wanted anyway.

Nikan—

I know you're gonna kill me, but you gotta eat. She shuts her mouth, her brows furrow. Take care of yourself. You're gonna be home soon.

I need you, she wants to say. Okay.

I'm not leaving you here.

But then he's gone, and Melusina is left with the memory of his cheek in her palm, and she shivers each time she repeats his words in her head like a prayer: I'll be there.

---

Exit Melusina.

Table by cala, art by drifty