Lingering

[Elyna]

16th Zi'da 716

With the evening winding down Elyna had made her final excuses and slipped away from the table. Warm and comfortable, with hot tea and good food in her stomach she said her goodnight and departed. Fingers trailing over the wooden table top before she crossed through the tavern. It was still busy with members of the Iron Hand, causing her to weave through the scattered crowd. Many of her colleagues had come for a drink before stumbling back to their tents in the dark. They anticipated an early start and there wasn’t enough room in the small inn for the whole retinue to sleep in relative luxury.

Her legs were stiff from flying, having been pressed tight to the sides of the Volareon as steady beats of the animals wings sent them skyward. The skyrider expected to dream of flying. Something that usually happened after time spent soaring through the sky. As though her memory couldn’t quite process everything she’d seen and needed to organise it in her sleep. If her thighs ached on the climb up the stairs, she had ever suspicions that descending the next morning would be agony for her calves. It was harder to descend with stiff legs.

At the top of the flight the woman made her way down the corridor. Fingertips trailing over the patterned wallpaper, tracing the faint line of a ship painted into the décor. The smell of burning coal was subtle beneath the scent of warm food that lined the back of her throat, and better yet, mulled wine and cider. The murmur of voices was subdued. This wasn’t a party despite the number of locals and members of the Iron hand gathered. The sound following her down the corridor as the woman lingered. Outside Malcolm’s room she paused. Patting the pocket of her breaches she felt the weight of her own key.

The Warden, had predictably been caught up with a report before he could leave the area downstairs. Amongst the sound of voices she could pick up the deep rumble of his words, though couldn’t make out what was said.

Elyna lent back against the wall beside the man’s door. Legs stretched out and one ankle hooked over the other. She pushed her thumbs into her pockets and watched the stairway, waiting the familiar sound of his footfall. Her hair had been pulled back in a braid as it finished drying. Now she unfastened the loop of leather and let it fall loose, curling over her shoulders. Fringe covering the mark on her forehead and part of her eyes, the noblewoman waited. As she grew bored, her gaze dropped to her boots. They were still a bit dusty and needed another good oil. They sat snug against her legs and the warm brown of her breaches. The leather jacket she’d loosened and pulled off, tucking it over her arm. She inspected her nails, cut short and filed into neat ovals so that they wouldn’t snag on the volareon reins and equipment. Her sword hung at her waist, touching the back of her leg as she loitered.

Finally, at the sound of bootsteps the young woman lifted warm dark eyes to see who was coming up the stairs.

[Malcolm]

Excuses were easy, especially when his attention was tugged in so many directions. Sleep was at the forefront of his mind as far as reasons to leave the table went, but even before Malcolm could utter that, he was waved down by one of the captains. He thanked them all for the tea and company, and left to find out what information the scouts have been able to gather.
Nathan Coats informed the warden that the most recent sighting of the rebel forces had been in Oakleigh, which was the midway point between Welles and Berwick. It would mean a few days of travel, but the army had been expecting that. Now they had a destination, the real planning could begin.
“Set up a meeting first thing,” Malcolm told the man, “I want all captains to attend.”
Nathan made a note, “what time would you prefer, ser?”
“The fifth break while everyone else is packing up.”
“Will that be all?”
“For now,” Malcolm agreed, “make sure you get some rest, Nathan.”
“Of course, ser.”
Malcolm was just about to make his way up the stairs when Benjamin appeared with Ronald in tow. “Malcolm,” Benjamin called.
Malcolm stopped and turned to look the captain up and down, it was rare for Benjamin to call him by his first name when in the company of other knights. “Captain?”
“There's been another note, ser…”
The warden lifted his hand and rubbed the back of his aching neck. “Over here,” he pulled the men aside and looked at the note, this one in common, though the handwriting looked the same as the last.
“It’s signed,” Benjamin pointed out.
“Y.B?” Ronald asked.
“Yoreth Blackwood,” Malcolm told him. He read the note and exhaled slowly.
“Ser?”
“Turn your army around or…” Malcolm paused, unable to read the rest of the note out loud.
Benjamin took the note from the warden and scanned it quickly before reading the rest, “or I will send him home to you piece by piece. But just in case you still aren't taking me seriously, I've enclosed another memento for you.”
All three of them turned their attention on the envelope Malcolm had pulled the letter from. The warden closed his eyes and found what little peace he could muster in the moment of silence before looking into the envelope. Finger and thumb pinched together, he reached in and pulled out a tooth, the root painted red with dried blood.
Benjamin held the top of Malcolm’s arm and squeezed. “He's bluffing, he's just trying to get to you, don't let him.”
Malcolm lowered the tooth into the envelope again and handed the letter to Benjamin. “I want archers on watch tonight around the camp, and four men patrolling the perimeter of the inn at all times.”
“Yes, ser.”
“Ronald, send two birds back to the capital, both with the same message.”
“Location and message, ser?”
“Judge Burhan’s office, and the Knight Lord Commander. Qe’dreki located in Oakleigh, possible hostages, request for one more air unit.”
“I'll send the birds at first light,” Ronald promised, and took his leave.
Benjamin lingered. “It's going to be all right, Malcolm. Try and get some sleep.”
“You too,” Malcolm nodded. “Meeting first thing, Nathan has the details.”
“I'll go see him now and make sure your patrol orders are carried out.”
“Thank you, captain.”
“Goodnight, ser.”
“Goodnight.”

Malcolm went upstairs and found Elyna waiting in the hall. He folded the envelope up and pushed it into the left hand pocket of his pants. The knight went to the door of his room without saying a word and looked down the hall to see that it was empty before undoing the lock and venturing inside. The door was left ajar, and Elyna had the option to follow him inside or say her goodnights and go.
Wasting no time, Malcolm moved through the dark room by firelight and took the heated water from over the burning logs to pour into the bath. He filled the pot again and returned it to the fireplace, and used another pot to pour some cold water into the bath, making it lukewarm. Malcolm undressed in the flickering light, peeling off his leather tabard, having already removed his plate armour back in camp. He took off the long sleeved tunic he had been wearing beneath the leather, and went to his knee beside the edge of the bath, arms folded over the smooth tin rim.
Sucking in a shaky breath of air, Malcolm sighed and filled his lungs to capacity, holding his breath for a time before he let it out and closed his eyes tightly, trying to see again where his abilities refused to take him. The warden had to wonder why… Did he have no love for the man anymore, or was he already gone?
“Why won't you answer me!” he cried out. “I ask nothing of you!” Malcolm’s deep tone softened. “I've never expected much… but this time I need you, I need you…,” the man bowed his head and was silent once more.

[Elyna]

The noble woman had had a plan. Not a sophisticated method of seduction, but an intention none the less. She’d hoped to catch Malcolm and coerce him into a kiss. She’d hoped they’d find the spark of giddy passion and tumble through the door together. She’d hoped that they’d make the most of this, their final night before the campaign began in earnest. How long would it be until they were next able to spend any time together? Like a much younger woman, she’d waited, hair shining and loose, the way that he’d liked it. Clothes clean and soft and hopefully inviting she’d held her breathe as he’d made his way up the stairs. Warm eyes searching his expression, full lips parted in anticipation and youthful desire and he had…he’d walked past without a word and barely a glance in her direction.

The jacket hung a little looser in her hand as her limbs went limp with dejection. About to spin on her heel and make her way to her own room for a decent night’s sleep, the woman spun back again. Performing a neat pirouette on the landing. She followed the man into the dark room and hung her coat on the door before she closed it behind them both. Malcolm made ready with the water and she gathered the candles from the holsters. She held them one at a time over the fire till they were lit. Wax dripping over her fingers she returned them to their homes and bought light to the dim space. She heard the water splashing behind her and remained silent.

Something was wrong. Malcolm hadn’t been angry with her downstairs…and so she could only assume that something had happened. She peeled the fine wax off her fingers and discarded it where she stood. He sank to his knees and the woman crossed to his side. She bent, kneeling beside him. Warm hands circling his shoulders before she pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. Who was he trying to reach? Who was he demanding answer him?

She loved the mortalborn man, and he was in pain. ELyna didn’t ask the obvious questions though, she simply held his arms before she straightened and finished the task he’d started. The bath filled with water she returned to him, fingers curled around his bare arm she encouraged him to stand and would help him undress. He needed to bathe and she bid him to step into the water, pulling up a stool so that she could sit beside him, facing him but watching his neck. Not wanting him to feel overwhelmed with a direct and searching gaze. Her pulse flickered as her heart raced and finally, she couldn’t hold the questions in anymore.

“Tell me?” She touched her hand to his shoulder and lifted her gaze. What…what was so awful that it saw him beg?

[Malcolm]

He felt like death warmed up, every ounce of strength stripped from his limbs, as if someone had reached in and peeled away his muscles piece by piece. The water rose up around his shoulders as he sat in the bath, knees and head exposed above the neck. Someone had cursed him, Malcolm was almost sure of it. Why did everything in life have to be this difficult?
Elyna had asked him to explain and the man sunk below the water’s surface, bubbles curling away from his lips and the point of his nose as air hissed past his teeth. Everything, was that an answer? Everything was wrong. Vanessa was gone, he couldn’t see Vaughn, Marcus was in trouble, and life at the moment was just too overwhelming. Why had he accepted this mission, and worse still, let Elyna attend?
When the mortalborn ran out of air he paused, lingering there beneath the shallow pool of water. It was only a couple of feet deep but it might as well have been a hundred. His heart rate increased as his senses raced in an attempt to cause alarm and panic, willing his muscles to move and force him up out of the water. To toy with death… what a strange and wondrous game, one the living never tire of. If he died, Vri would have to come to him, touch his heart, and watch all of the light race from his dark green eyes.
Malcolm sat up and breathed heavily, catching his breath, before sinking back against the wall of the bath again. What could he say to Elyna? The mortalborn pushed his hair back from his face, the long, dark strands sticking to his skin like black slugs. He picked up the soap in his left hand and rolled the bar down over the length of his right arm.
“I'm sorry,” and he was, sorry she had seen that. “I…” the soap went over the man’s chest and he dropped it, sitting forward as he felt his airway constricting, the muscles in his upper body rigid all of the sudden. Malcolm had experienced panic attacks before, knew how silent and frightening they were, often coming out of nowhere, and that the only way to deal with them was to stay calm, but he wasn't calm, in fact he was far from it.
His fingers turned into claws against his chest and over the edge of the bath, and he opened his mouth to steal a shallow breath, drawing in air until his lungs were full and no longer felt starved. Malcolm closed his hand over Elyna’s and held it for a time before washing the suds away from his skin to seek out a towel. A lot cleaner, and drier, he sat down in the edge of the bed, the air temperature in the room a lot warmer than it had been downstairs, warm enough that Malcolm could sit with the towel wrapped around his hips and not feel the cold.
“Yoreth is sending my son to me,” he finally managed to say, “in pieces…”

[Elyna]

They called it Flight Air. When newer recruits to the skyriders were first put onto a volareon and took to the skies. It was a practise to see if the life as a skyrider was truly something they desired, rather than keeping their feet firmly on ground. If they chose to remain in the Iron Hand then there were other options with the Knights or Sailors, or even in the mews. However, the symptons of blind, crushing panic and an inability to breathe, were not unknown to the noble woman. She’d been on the verge of pulling Malcolm up, out of the water when he’d surfaced. He bent, gasping for ragged stretches of air and she’d knelt beside him. Stool discarded it had toppled to the floor with a bang. She’d pressed a single hand to his arm and tried to meet his gaze, “Malcolm, Mal…” she spoken in a soft, calm voice despite her own racing heart.

“look at me when you can, breathe when I breathe…” she’d exaggerated her own motions and tried to help him. He’d finally emerged and she’d kept her distance, giving him space. The young woman paced, fingers pushed through her hair until she tied it back up again, pulling it into a pony-tail and out of her way. He sank down with the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. Elyna wrung her fingers, concentrating on appearing calm, on keeping her movements quiet and slow to help him. Inside her mind was spinning as he’d not yet revealed the cause of his pain. She felt helpless…and realised the depth of despair he would have experienced the previous season…the roles reversed between them.

He sat down and she joined him after a time. Kicking off her boots and leaving them discarded. Her leather jacket hung on the back of the door. She rolled up the sleaves of her shirt and knelt up on the bed behind him. Careful, the woman lay her hands on his shoulders. His skin was warm to the touch, but damp. The heat burning off the excess moisture. She watched beads of it trailing down his spine and followed them with her eyes, holding back the sense of longing that built within.

His words silenced any thoughts she might have. Are you sure? She wanted to ask, but it was a loaded question. Was he sure Yoreth was capable of such horrific acts? She didn’t want to provide her lover with an excuse to accuse her of having feelings for the sailor. Was he sure it was pieces of his son with the hideous message? She didn’t want him to feel she was dismissing his concerns. She struggled to keep her own breathing steady.

“You can’t sense them...can you?” Which son, Marcus of Vaughn? He hadn’t told her, because she assumed that he didn’t know. Her thumbs smoothed out the knots on his back, heating the skin with careful motions to ease the solid tension. “Marcus was his…lieutenant, I don’t know how or why…and I never saw Vaughn. I think he was in Burhan though,” she admitted. The woman wasn’t sure if she was offering solace or more pain and concentrated on his skin instead. Fingers easing over the scars of the war they’d fought so far.

“Marcus knew about your ability and if I worked out how it could be…resisted I imagine that your son’s have figured the same,” she suggested, “they could be keeping their heart-rates controlled, Mal.” There was no reproach in her voice, no claim that Marcus deserved all that he got. Marcus was two separate people to her. Malcolm’s son was separate from her tormentor. She’d made a clear divide in her mind. She was afraid of what would happen when she was face to face with Marcus and Malcom at the same time, but it was a scenario she’d hoped to avoid. Whenever she thought of the man who’d abused her, and kept her in a small room, she felt all the strength sap from her bones and the air catch in her own lungs – so she didn’t. Instead she understood that Malcolm loved his children and to find one hurt, or…worse could undo him.

“Hope Mal,” she pressed a kiss to his temple, “from all you’ve told me of your sons, they’re strong, and they’re clever.” She closed her eyes, "do you need to know anything about Yoreth?" She offered. From a tactical point of view, she probably knew more than she'd ever wanted to share about the man.

[Malcolm]

“Vaughn,” the man could barely say the name. Sure Vaughn had been a wayward, irresponsible, and troublesome young man sometimes, but unlike his older brother, he had never hurt anything in his all his days, he hadn't even enjoyed hunting with them when he was a child. Marcus had always been fearless, but Vaughn was a soft touch, his mother's son.
“I would have felt it,” he mouthed, “surely I would have felt it if he was gone.” Malcolm twisted a plain gold ring he wore on his right forefinger, decorated with a small, blue stone, one he had given to Vaughn on his seventeenth birthday. He had retrieved it earlier in the day when the note Murphy had discovered had led them to its whereabouts.
Ava would know, one touch of the tooth and she could tell him. Godric wasn't due to arrive in camp until the morning of the twentieth, until then Malcolm wondered if he would be able to get any sleep. He could give the ring to Godric, and Godric would be able to tell him about anyone who had come into contact with the ring, and what had happened to the man it had belonged to before it was taken. Until then Malcolm would just need to have faith, as Elyna had encouraged, all he could do was hope for the best, but was that enough?
Malcolm lay back against the bed on top of the covers, he didn't want to know anything about Yoreth, not from Elyna’s lips. The knight had been tracking that man for many seasons, and now he was closer than ever to catching him. The mortalborn made no attempt to crawl under the covers, finding the small inn room too hot for now, though that could have also been his own skin.
“You know him,” Malcolm said without seeking out Elyna’s eyes in the darkness. “Is he capable of that? Would he hurt my son?”

[Elyna]

The sides of her mouth twitched as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. They wanted to pull down at the corners as sadness threatened to overwhelm. It wasn’t her deep sadness though, it was Malcolm’s. Vaughn had been…no, he was an interesting young man. Carefree, thoughtless and full of energy. She was sure that he’d once climbed out of a window and across a roof to avoid a date with her. Not that she’d wanted any part of the hopeful arranged marriage but the memory in recent seasons, had made her smile. Malcolm didn’t respond to her touch, as though she wasn’t there he lay back and sent her scrambling back over the covers.

She sat at the foot of the bed as the candles ran their course and flickered out one by one. “I’m sure you would know,” she assured him, “you’d know if he was gone.” That had to be the truth, she believed it with her whole heart. Vaughn was many things but she had no reason to believe he was anything other than a good man.

In some ways she and Vaughn were similar, restless souls and prone to action rather than thought. It was unusual for the skyrider to sit or stand still but that habit had also changed in the recent seasons. It was hard to tell if Malcolm wanted her to be there or not, if her presence was a comfort or an irritant. After all, this was all her fault. Yoreth, was her fault. The woman, sat with her legs crossed, lifted her hand and ran her fingertip along the base board of the bed. Smoothing her touch over the grain that had been worn down over arcs and oiled into submission. Even so close, with the heat radiating from his body, Malcolm was distant.

The wood warmed beneath her hand and she nodded. She knew Yoreth. Once she’d thought she’d known him better than anyone else in the whole of Idalos.”I do,” she gave voice to her agreement, Malcolm couldn’t see her nod, she realised too late. “Or rather, I did,” she frowned, “I thought that I did.” She shifted her weight, crossing her legs the other way to ease the sense of pins and needles.

“They called him the Hangman. When we met, he was known as being ruthless on the seas. All the stories said that he never gave mercy to the enemies of Rynmere, Edmund was excited to be on his ship and to have him as a mentor. They used to scrabble for his approval, do these stupid…brave things for his attention,” and she’d listened to the stories and she’d felt proud of her lover in those times. Such a legendary man, the deference of his underlings had made her feel like a queen. Those who had known about the affair anyway, the careful, chosen few. To protect her, he’d always promised, and her reputation from scandal. In the end, it hadn’t been worth it. The noblewoman had learnt that she’d rather embrace who she was and face the fallout then hide. She’d learnt that with Malcolm.

“He could do it,” she admitted and felt sick, “but I don’t…see that he would,” she forced herself to look across at him, even if she couldn’t see him in the dark. There was the bang of stable doors below followed by the yapping of a small dog chasing a cat. “Hurting Vaughn would alienate, Marcus, surely?” And Vanessa, she suspected the old crone was still tied up in all of the mess, “I know brothers can hate each other, but to let your younger brother….” She shook her head, “it doesn’t make any sense. The Qe’Dreki need to unite, not splinter.”

[Malcolm]

Malcolm felt sick, and though he was thankful for the truth, there was a small part of him that had not been prepared for it. He wasn’t going to get upset, Elyna had to be right, siblings always fought, just as the boys always had, but surely Marcus could not agree with the torture or slaughter of his own brother? The boys had never been very close, Marcus had been the golden boy, and Vaughn had shown no interest in trying to keep up with him. Marcus had followed in Malcolm’s footsteps, choosing to work for the law, while Vaughn had opted to travel, to taste and experience everything life had to offer.
The Hangman, Malcolm had heard the rumours too, Yoreth Blackwood was more pirate than sailor of the Iron Hand. He worked on fear tactics and shock value, inflating the fables of his conquests to make them seem bigger and better than they were, which in itself had been impressive. If Yoreth had learned anything from working with the U’frek sailors, it was how to avoid the law, keep his secrets, secret, and protect those he held dear.
The warden didn't have anything to say in light of this new information, nor did he want to know how or why Elyna knew so much beyond his suspicions, and things she might have mentioned long ago. “It's late,” he said, “and we must get up early. I'll be all right here if you want to return to your room,” he gave her the option of staying. “I admire your discipline, Elyna… had you left me in charge of sorting accommodation,” he didn't finish the line of thought. “I'm sorry I've wasted the evening… I can check in on Elsie tomorrow?”

[Elyna]

He wasn’t pleased with what he heard and she couldn’t blame him. Some of her wayward hair had already escaped and fallen forward to cover her features. She continued to sit at the edge of the bed and let out a slow breath. Malcolm had never asked her about Yoreth. They’d had a strained conversation and he’d been the one to tell her that Yoreth was not dead, but very much alive. Since that night, they’d barely exchanged three sentences about her former lover. Her first lover… even now, she knew that the man still held claim to a part of her heart. Yet love, true love was the choice. She loved Malcolm, not matter what had come before. She belonged to the mortalborn, married or not.

His displeasure stung and the woman nodded. She stood up, stumbling as she found her feet on the floorboards. The wood was cool beneath her socks as she padded around the bed, silent in her search of her boots. Dismissed she bent to collect the stiff leather and pushed her free hand into her pocket. “I left the spell bound paper with my father,” she reminded the man, “I’ll write him in the morning, you don’t need to use your abilities. I trust Pavoo to tell us if she is well…would you like any other messages sent, ser?” She slid into a more business-like frame of mind as she retreated through the shadows toward the door.

The woman wanted to offer him comfort, but felt that she’d be pushing her luck to stay. He’d as much as asked her to return to her own room, a place that she’d never had any intention of sleeping in.

“Mal?” She asked and the words slid quietly through the darkness, “do you want me to stay?”

[Malcolm]

Of course, the scroll, how had he forgotten? He was not needed then, not for Elsie or anything else, that was why she had gotten the second room was is not? Perhaps it was for the best, he had a lot to think about, they both did. Elyna got up and fumbled around for her boots, it seemed she planned to go. Should he get up and see her off, or avoid the risk of being spotted by anyone who saw them at the door?
As he sat up, Elyna asked if he wanted her to stay or not. Malcolm hesitated, was that a trick question? He reached out and set his hands on her hips, and without answering with words, drew her closer to the edge of the bed until she had no other option but to collapse against him. He didn't care if nothing eventuated as long as he could keep her close tonight.