Erissa gazed to the south; she shook her head in awe at the ground Jensen had covered while she slept securely in his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his jacket. The bulk of the mountains were behind them, with but a stone's throw left to surmount. The elf's face weighed with concern for her companion; his sleep was deep but troubled. Jensen groaned, his arms weakly twitching as if he were trying to fend off something only he could see. Erissa's own dreams had been strange: of night, of stars, and of a smiling dark-haired girl she had never met. A piercing cry pulled the high elf from her reflections, and she crawled on her knees toward the man. Ever so gently, she raised the immortal's head as she sat and rested it on her lap. Erissa began to softly sing his song, the Heartsong of Jensen Ambrose, as she stroked his hair, trying to calm him.
~------------------------------------------------------~
Barrum will roll the drum at the morrow's first light
Barrum will come the call, a thundering war to fight
So sleep weary soldier; rest weary knight
Barrum the call will come at the morrow's first light
Washed away is the blood from the edge of your blade
But to forget what was spilled, your noble heart forbade
If you find the sharp edge of your soul has decayed
Remember, my knight, all the helpless ones you aid
At the morrow's first light, like a lion you will rise,
Roaring with laughter and malice in your eyes
From you shall they flee, or shall meet their own demise
But now, worthy knight, rest before the grand reprise
Barrum will roll the drum at the morrow's first light
Barrum will come the call, a thundering war to fight
So sleep weary soldier; rest weary knight
Barrum the call will come at the morrow's first light
Come rest your head on your lover's offered breast
Reap the gentle peace you have sown in your gest
For a moment forget tomorrow's sure unrest
And remember what it means to be truly blessed
~------------------------------------------------------~
As the magic of her song caused Jensen's heartbeat to reverberate within her, she almost panicked at its frantic pace; Erissa had never heart his heart beat so quickly, even in battle. The elf continued her song, however, and within a few moments, the beating slowed. She brushed the hair from his brow; in spite of the frigid night, sweat dappled his face. Erissa wiped it away, smiling softly.
“Would it make a difference if I told you?” she whispered gently, stroking his hair. “Or would you complain that you would have to endure my scent for an eternity?” The elf smiled sadly, shaking her head. “You do not have to be alone; is that not what frightens you the most?”
With a sigh, she scanned the rocky terrain around them; the silence was so thick it felt as though her ears were plugged. The horses slept nose to tail, huddled for warmth and weary from their exertion. Erissa rummaged through Jensen's open bag and rested her hand against the small, perfectly round stone, filled with the essence of the corrupt ambrosia fruit. As the night wore on, Erissa thought of Akashima; she had never seen the wonder of the small empire, though she had seen the artwork of and produced by its people. The elf was intrigued by the oddness of it all, the clothing, the design, the ceremonious culture, and she understood why Oblivion would choose this, of all places, from which to operate - if indeed he did. Akashima was an extremely xenophobic nation, suspicious of outsiders, and it was no easy task to work across its borders. One had to be very resourceful, or very well connected, to do any sort of business in Akashima, and Erissa wondered how she and Jensen would manage.
Before the sun crept above the edge of the world, Jensen's eyes popped open, and he stared up at the distracted elf for a moment.
“Ummmm... is there any particular reason I'm in your lap?” he asked, a confused look on his face. Erissa's head snapped down, eyes wide and mouth agape. “And why is your hand there?” he asked, the confused visage giving way to a frown. Erissa recoiled her hand from his satchel and scooted away, leaving his head to plop down on the ground.
“Well,” Erissa said nervously, “you were having a nightmare. And I was not pilfering your things; I kept my hand on the essence in case I dozed off myself.”
“Mmmkay,” he said suspiciously, rising from the ground. He glanced down at his body, as if he were making sure it was still there, then back at Erissa as she fidgeted for a long moment, his eyes narrowed all the while. “Let's get moving,” the immortal finally said, laughing as he scratched the back of his head. “And I'll take my jacket back now. Too much longer and I won't be able to get the smell out.” She quickly nodded as she tossed him the jacket, and Erissa trotted over to rouse the horses. Within minutes, the Knights were on the trail again, navigating the last few rocky obstacles in the descent that would place them north of the Combe Mountains. Akashima was a little more than a day's ride away, and they would travel across the country, avoiding main roads.
“How are we actually going to get into Akashima?” Erissa asked Jensen as they cut twin swaths through the undergrowth beneath the forest that dressed the land north of the mountains to the border.
“We're Ixian Knights, remember? There's not many problems that name won't solve,” he said, shrugging, the typical grin stretched across his face.
“We shall see,” Erissa said, a smile-veiled warning in her voice.
The midday sun robbed the air of its morning chill, and the Knights continued on, comfortably making small talk between longer silences. By afternoon, Erissa began to feel the effects of another sleepless night; her body made known its contempt for the conditions under which she pressed it. Jensen's stomach rumbled like a bear, and she laughed at him before tossing him the last of the food in her bag.
“We can eat while we ride,” she said, smiling. “How much longer until we get there?” Jensen rasped at her.
“Don't you dare start that,” he said, taking a bite out of a hunk of bread.
“Start what?” she asked innocently, staring up into the canopy of branch and leaf, trying to discern the sun's position. “How much longer?”
“That,” he said, pointing at her, bread still in hand. Erissa frowned at him as he chewed contentedly.
“Well? Are you going to tell me?” she asked several minutes later, and the immortal tossed a crumpled paper wrapper at her, and she rolled her eyes in annoyance. “I guess that is a 'no.'” Late afternoon gave way to cool evening, until the light of the sun could no longer be seen, and the pregnant moon was the only source to guide the Ixians. Erissa clapped her hands happily as she spied lights in the distance through the ever more sparse trees.
“Look! There it is: Akashima!” she said excitedly, her weariness temporarily forgotten. Jensen perked up in his saddle, straining to see what the elf did, but his eyes were not as sharp. “I suppose it is time to find out just how much influence the name of the Ixian Knights actually has.” Jensen smirked at her, still scanning the lands north of them, until finally, he, too, could see the tiny points of light that marked the border.
“<Here we are, gentlemen!> Jensen said to the horses. <“Well done!”> He patted Magnus' neck, and urged the horse forward; the group quickly covered the last bit of ground between them and their destination. Erissa and Jensen angled themselves to a road and followed it to the Akashima's more civilized entrance.
“Mmmmm, I cannot wait for a real bed and a warm bath!” Erissa said with palpable anticipation and an extravagant yawn.