The Tarnished had turned around, now back in the forests he'd navigated to reach the Gatefront Ruins, his journey towards sorcery abandoned.
Not because he'd been crushed by a strength greater than his meager capabilities. Not because of fear instilled within him by the countless dangers that prowled Limgrave. Not due to a lack of will or motivation.
The breath of the woman in his arms was faint, death soon to take her.
Melina did not understand his decision.
Few tarnished would've offered aid to the people of The Lands Between. Those merciful few would've cut the woman down and spare her a slow painful death while the more sensible ignored her entirely. He'd firmly separated himself from those camps by not only bandaging the woman's wound but waiting by her side until she woke, his own rest sacrificed.
It made little sense.
Then she'd seen what he tried to do.
His hand had been on his blade, the Tarnished words away from offering her the merciful end others would've quickly dispensed. Perhaps he'd bet against the odds in a bid to give the woman a chance to offer any final words or make the decision on her own. There was sense in that. It was a luxury that most wouldn't offer in his situation but there was sense to find in it.
But, after her unfinished request, he picked the unconscious woman up, kicked out his campsite and took off beneath the Erdtree's far reaching glow.
He could not save her. He knew no sorceries, no incantations. Nor did the few herbs he'd come to understand through the help of his demihuman ally stand any chance of helping. Perhaps he thought that that traveling merchant possessed some matter of medicine? That could be but by the time he reached him the woman will have perished.
His course of action went against all logic.
The earnest enjoyment of battle. The way he trained himself. His sharpening awareness of her and Torrent. His open minded nature towards those who were clearly his enemies. A myriad of things about him sparked curiosity but none of it had called for her to reveal herself.
Even now, she wasn't sure this nonsensible decision called for such a thing.
As he stepped into a clearing, Melina allowed the weight of a physical form to befall her, appearing at its center.
He stopped.
"Oh, it's you." He picked his stride back up, barely a second thought spared for her, dedicated to whatever naïve goal he convinced himself was possible.
"She is dying." Melina said plainly. He simply grunted as he passed her. "Admirable as it may be, this effort is pointless." She said as she turned after him. He knew that just as well as she did. "Why do so much for one of those who care little for your kind?"
He stopped. Then turned to her. "It is pointless." He agreed. Surprising. If he wasn't convincing himself otherwise why-
"But is that any reason not to do something I want to?"
That was it? All the reasoning behind his actions could be attributed to following whims and nothing else? Or did his words hold some other meaning that alluded her?
He turned, taking off.
"Hold a moment." Melina called out as he reached the other end of the clearing. She walked over as he turned to face her, a hand slipping from beneath her cloak. A golden wispy glow trailed off that hand as she took a breath and focused on the blonde in his arms.
Strength returned to her breaths and color to her face.
Melina stepped back, allowing the warm rejuvenating glow to recede, along with the weight of what constituted a physical form for her. Even so, it felt as though his dark eyes gazed directly into her single one before falling away as he checked the woman's pulse. He looked up once more, not quite catching her eye this time, but nodding, fully aware that she was still near.
It was nothing worthy of thanks. Just a little aid to keep the woman breathing a little longer.
How did he plan to help this woman? How far would he go for one beneath the order that had spurned his kind? How much of it would his fledgling strength see done?
She did not understand the man nor did she share his naïve notions but there was much that separated him from others. It would be foolish not to take a chance to test what kind of man he was.
More than that, it would be short sighted to disregard the possibilities that came with such peculiarities.
XOXO
"-like that. With enough practice you should be able to use that technique to create studier pieces while keeping a pretty decent look."
"Is…is that really possible, lord Onyx. For me I mean?"
"That's all up to you. Tailoring is a skill and all skills are developed through time and effort. Talent helps but doesn't make that any less true."
Voices.
One was shaky. Timid. As if every word was staggered by worries and concerns.
The other was the polar opposite. Firm and sure, his words flowed out carelessly yet held such a steadiness to them that it reminded her of the confidence those looked up to as leaders spoke with. Something she hadn't heard much of in recent years.
It was the very same voice of the man who treated her wound. The one who assured her of her death. She'd thought the meeting a dream, a delirious conjuration brought about by blood loss and sickness but that didn't seem to be the case.
Yet she drew breath. She was alive.
Irina tried to rise up but a flair of pain stopped her, a weak whimper she was too slow to muffle leaving her.
"Oh, hey, you're awake. You're pretty resilient." The man, the foreigner she no doubt owed her life to, said, voice drawing closer to her. "But you're still sick. Best to get some rest rather than straining yourself."
Irina only managed a groan in response.
Sweat gathered along her skin. Every part of her body felt heavy and foreign. The few sounds she was capable of making sent her stomach swirling, what little food might remain in her stomach threatening to leave it at a moment's notice. And it was hot. Horribly hot. As if a fire were cooking her insides hot.
The relief she felt at still being alive was quickly replaced by a world of pain she'd never experienced.
How could she get any rest through this?
How could she think about rest at all?!
Her father. The others back at the castle. She needed to find help. To bring back some kind of reinforcements and-
"You heard me didn't you? You need rest." Something cool pressed to her forehead, a smell rising above the ashen scent of the nearby crackling fire. Herbs and something else she couldn't quite place. "Whatever your circumstances they won't be solved if you force your way into an early grave. Give yourself time to recover."
She wanted to say something. Anything that could get Father the help he needed but even the strength to make pitiful whimpers left her.
She should've been angry with herself. Remorseful that in what could very well be her last moments that she couldn't even find enough strength to send the help her Father needed.
But, whether it be the firm voice, the familiar sounds and smells of a boiling meal alongside the nearby fire, Irina found herself falling into a strange sense of ease. This stranger, whoever he might be, had already shown her far more kindness than any owed her. She could trust him. She was sure of it.
And, useless as she was, what other choice did she have?