Who Saves a Damsel These Days? [Closed]

A hazy cloud of dust rose from the ground, small eddies that danced in the wind in front of Tristain as he walked. He was not ashamed to admit that he was scuffing the dirt on the wagon trail that he was following, taking out some small measure of his irritation as he strode along the trail. His irritation wasn't at the trail, nor the woods around him - even if he was getting sick and tired of the monotony of the path he was walking along.

No, the man was still agitated and upset about being tossed out of his troop with little warning, and only the command to “go make a name for yourself” to guide him. While Captain Edelven had prevented Tristain from actually feeling betrayed or abandoned - the fact that he let the younger man take his name proof of that - Tristain was still not happy with the turn of events. And so, he kicked at the ground as he walked, the toes of his leather boots sending up small plumes of dirt with each staccato beat.

It wasn't that he couldn't see where they were coming from either. Most of the members of the Danse had been, if not famous, at least known before they joined. He was the odd one out, considering he had joined as a runaway from a terrible parent, looking for anyone to give him a chance. That Captain Edelven had given him that chance, taking him on as a camp hand, had meant the world to Tristain when he was younger.

So the young man was left with no direction for his irritation, just a discontent that toiled in his stomach like an angry fire. He was forced to bite back a snarl as he realized that while he was thinking, he had reached a small town. A few people were walking along the road now, casually trying to ignore the tense visage of the armor clad man. So he choked down his anger, and plastered on an attempt at a pleasant smile as he walked past them. No need to scare people away - when he was told to make a name for himself, the intent hadn't been for him to make himself infamous.

As he moved through the small town’s streets, he paused with the wooden smile freezing in place as he grew confused. Ahead, there was a small cluster of people surrounding the side of a building, packed in close together in a loose arc as they stared inwards. Tristain’s puzzled frown became more pronounced as he approached, trying to figure out what was going on ahead of him. From what he knew, crowds of people didn't usually just cluster like this, not without some kind of cause - but the location was all wrong for some kind of street performer or someone making a speech. If anything, against the side of a building, somewhat out of the way, was more like where a street beggar would be. Why would people be there?

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Trigger warning: reference to sexual abuse, suicidal thoughts.

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Broken and tossed aside like trash. The girl sat bundled up in filthy rags, a foul odour emanating from her unwashed form. What was once a brilliant purple shawl was now dirtied browns and blacks, tattered beyond recognition. The fetid stench of months on the street. She sat crumpled up against the side of a building with tiny hands wrapped around the remnants of her tattered clothes. Unseeing eyes stared blankly out before her. It was better than Salvar, here the sun warmed her long fingers, and any skin that chanced to slip out from beneath the cover of her clothing.

Aynur was aware there were people walking to and fro in front of her. She just didn’t care. They paid her no mind so why should she pay them any? The only time they did approach her was to harass her.

And...as if right on cue with her own thoughts...

“What do we ‘ave here?” A voice as harsh as gravel. An inflection of superiority and one that promised unsavory tidings. Aynur heard the smack of tongue against lips, and the guttural snort of snot. It belonged to a male. Sometimes… sometimes this would happen. Someone would find her, notice her. Most of the time they nudged her for some sort of reaction, spat on her, or muttered insults under their breath. Other times they’d chance a look, it was usually the men who did this. They’d tear at her clothing they’d pull her up on her feet and- well. Some things were better left unsaid.

And it was why Aynur barely reacted anymore, nor reacted now when the man ripped the tattered hood from her head revealing milky unseeing eyes. She barely made a sound when she felt two rough hands dig into her shoulders and drag her back up against the cold unrelenting wall behind her. A unwilling breath was pressed out of her as he stepped closer to grab her chin. The calloused pads of his fingers rough against her pale and scorched skin.

“You deaf and blind lass?”

Aynur didn’t answer. It was better if she didn’t. She wrinkled her nose. He smelt like smoke. Cigar smoke from a cheap blend of tobacco and soot and poor red wine.She already knew what would come next. No one would stop the man, no one would intervene.

She was trash.

All Aynur could do was wish, pray, and hope… that this man. This awful man who smelt of smoke and felt like coarse gravel would be the one to kill her after he was done.

For she was too much of a coward to take her own life.

Tristain’s breath caught in his throat, as the bubbling anger in his stomach roared to life, a fire stoked with rage. The man was a drunkard, even from here, halfway through the onlookers, Tristain could smell the booze, unwashed and fetid, mixing with another unpleasant odor. The second source was easy to tell as well - the poor figure that was being accosted, stick thin and dressed in tattered rags had clearly not been bathed in a long while.

The drunkard infuriated Tristain. It was far, far too easy for the mercenary to envision his own father in the man’s place. While his lout of a father had never openly abused someone, there had been times when Tristain hadn't been sure about just how willing his partners were. The confused frown gave way into an angry snarl, and Tristain bodily shoved people aside, knocking over a small knot of onlookers as he furiously strode over.

“You disgust me.” His voice, unused to speaking, was a raspy growl as Tristain’s gloved fingers dug into one of the drunkard’s shoulders. The man has time to blink, once, in confusion, before a leather clad fist smashed into the side of his face, sending him sprawling away from his would-be victim. One of Tristain’s hands shot out and grasped the figure’s upper arm, holding them upright, before he twisted, planting himself squarely in front of the rag-clad figure, hauling them behind him and largely out of sight.

With the almost-victim behind him, against his shield, Tristain let out a snarl as he saw the drunkard getting back up to his feet, shaking his head woozily. Bloodshot eyes locked onto brown ones, and Tristain smashed his right hand, curled into a fist, into his left palm. “You want to have a go, scum? Come then, I am sure I am more than enough for you.” He spat out the words, his voice harsh and grating from disuse. The drunkard seemed confused, and looked to be working up his courage, so Tristain shot a look over his shoulder at the person he had rescued.

Thin, delicate features beneath film-covered eyes. The woman - or feminine man, perhaps - would have been delicate even under the best of circumstances, and it was clear that times had not been good for her for a while. Tristain was almost, almost glad that this had happened now - it gave him a way to vent his irritation, now anger, and it looked like this person needed legitimate help, not just a few coins tossed their way. He refocused his angry gaze on the drunkard, brown eyes narrowed as he moved to get ready for a fight.

Aynur didn’t see it, but she heard and felt it. The shuffle of movement, the shout of a man and the sudden wind then presence of another before her. He smelt of leather and road dust, and there was the distinct scent of metal polish in the air. Aynur bit her lower lip. A guard? No. They had never paid her any mind before, some had even taken their own liberties. Aynur pressed her back tightly against the wall and drew in a sharp breath. Maybe if she stayed perfectly still they’d all ignore her.

The man...no, knight before her barked at the drunkard. Then there was the shift of movement. The sliding of feet against ground then the small clink of armour. Whoever was before her was standing his ground and readying himself for a fight. Aynur shrunk further back, only to realize that the cold hard wall behind her would not relent. Instead she slid down toward the ground and covered her head with her trembling hands.

“Tha fuck do you care? She’s just a beggar. Hell, maybe a good fuck will-”

There was the sound of movement, the clutter of metal against metal then the sickening snap of fist against bone. There were hushed whispers and mutters of disappointment throughout the crowd. They wanted a fight, they wanted a scene, a show. Anything. Instead it was over in an instant.

Aynur didn’t know who won. She didn’t know who lay unconscious on the floor, bleeding - for she could smell the metallic scent of blood in the air. She couldn’t see, may never see again. She couldn’t fight for herself. She couldn’t protest, that would end in more violence toward her. All she could do was exist.

Exist another minute.

Another hour.

Another day.

Until her time came, until she died.

Footsteps, slow and even approached her. Then came the sound of someone kneeling. Aynur flinched as she felt the presence of a hand reach out to her.

“P-please. I do not have anything of value. I am sorry.”

Then there was a pause, and she heard a sigh. Aynur opened her eyes. Before her was the usual blurry swirl of colour. She wished she still had her ability to see peoples inner light, their intention. But that was stripped from her, as was everything else.

“I-I’m sorry…” Aynur muttered again as she lowered her head to her knees as she bought them to her chest. Maybe, just maybe whomever it was would leave her alone.

’just leave me to die’

Tristain’s right hand stung just slightly - he had punched the drunkard a little harder than he had intended to originally, but it had proved to be very, very cathartic to see those bloodshot eyes flare in pain as his jaw cracked under the impact of Tristain’s fist. The drunkard hit the ground in a loose slump, consciousness driven from his body.

The armor-clad man glared around at the others who had clustered around to watch the ‘show’. The angry gaze made most of them quail and hide away, and those few that had an inkling to try to provoke him any further only paused to look down at the unconsciousness man, blood dribbling from his mouth, and the ‘courage’ in their hearts failed. Tristain let out a loud snort when the crowd melted away, none of them attempting anything else. That dealt with, he turned around to look at the person that he had rescued.

At some point the thin, bedraggled woman had slumped down, and dropped her head into her hands. Tristain frowned deeply - what was wrong with these people, this woman clearly needed help, not - not what that bastard had intended. Slowly, carefully he approached the woman, his face tightening when she seemed to shrink in on herself even more. Ever so patiently he reached out one hand, pausing in place when the woman flinched.

“I might be a mercenary, girl, but I did not save you for some expectation that you would reward me.” Tristain’s voice rasped out, a low growl that still bore the rust of disuse. The woman kept babbling apologies to him, and shrinking down like a wilting flower, and the man had to suppress the urge to go over and break a few more of the drunkard’s bones. Instead he let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Peace, girl, peace. I am not going to harm you.” Tristain sat back on one foot, and propped his arm over his knee as he studied the girl. She was shy, reticent, and quite clearly afraid, shaking like a leaf in a strong wind as he stayed in front of her. He chewed on the inside of his lip as he thought, then let out a slow breath through his nose.

The brown-haired man was no counselor, to guide this girl through whatever had traumatized her. All he knew how to do was treat her like he had been when he had shown up at the camp of the Danse Indomitable as a runaway. Namely, throw her into a wash and get some hot food into her.

“Come on.” He gently took her wrist and stood up, pulling her with him. He knew she wouldn't resist - if she was going to do that, she would have fought harder against the drunk. He could see where an inn was nearby, and that would have both of the things he needed to care for this waif.

Aynur felt him grab her wrist, gingerly, gently. Almost as if he was afraid that if he gripped it tight he’d snap it. She followed him of course. How could she not? She had no fight in her. He said he wouldn’t harm her but the broken shell of a woman had no reason to believe him. How could she? Lucifer said the same thing, so did David. They both…

Aynur pursed her lips. As she followed him awkwardly behind. She had gotten used to the blur of colours and shapes that was now her vision, but it did not make walking any easier. Especially when being pulled by someone who felt as though they towered over her in height.

The brown haired girl was silent as she listened to the clinks and clanks of his armour. Until the questions started bubbling up in her head. “Are you a knight? You do not belong to this city do you? The guardsmen here don’t wear as much metal. They don’t meddle in the affairs of street trash.”

There were no words, but the man replied with a loud snort as his grip tightened on her wrist. His pace increased then there was the sound of a door. The ambiance changed.

He had dragged her inside someplace. The sounds were merry and the scents plentiful. Had he bought her to an inn?

“Why are we here? I’m not allowed inside. They’ll kick me out. I should go.” Aynur gave a light tug on her hand but found resistance.

“A bath. Then a hot meal.” Came the gravelly reply of his voice.

No matter the case...being lead to a place that was inside, that was warm...and the promise of a hot meal. It was far more than she could ever expect, and if she were to endure pain afterward… then at least she had a moment of reprieve.

Aynur wasn’t sure what to say.

She stopped tugging away from his grip. “I have nothing to give. I-uhm. I’m not sure…” She tilted her head. The sentiment she held so desperately onto, equal exchange. To do favours in return of favours. Even now the desire to repay him lingered in her broken psyche. “All I have are stories and songs. If that...is suitable for your needs. I...I am afraid I’m not...a good…”

Aynur trailed off. She was not a good lay. She didn’t want to say as such for fear that she’d place the thought into his mind and he’d do just that. Instead she cleared her throat. “Did you know in Salvar they prefer fatty meals and meats?”

It was a poor attempt at shifting the conversation to something else, anything else.

It was an odd segue, and one that made Tristain pause and blink several times before he looked over his shoulder at the girl. “That is.. An odd tidbit to be aware of. I wonder if it is because of the colder weather in that region. Hm.” He was no fool, he could tell that she was trying to distract him from thoughts of repayment. The blind girl need not have worried - he had no intentions of trying to get reimbursement of any kind from her.

Without releasing his grip on her he strode over to the matron of the inn he had brought her to. The older woman started to give the blind beggar girl a dirty glare, only to pause when she saw the steady gaze the heavily armored man was giving her. “I require a room with a bath, and a meal delivered to it.” The woman curled her lip in disgust.

“We don't take nicely to filthy beggars renting rooms, ser.” The disdain in her voice was clear and evident. Tristain let out a dismissive snort and leaned forward, invading the woman’s space over the counter.

“That may be. But I did not state that she would be renting the room. I am. If you continue to obstruct me, I shall endeavor to find out just how many of your walls I can tear down with my hammer. I suppose I shall start with the one your head is in front of?” The woman froze as Tristain very slowly, and deliberately, dropped one hand to the hilt of his large warhammer. Without breaking his haze gaze from the matron he began lifting it from the hooks on his side, clearly eyeing her up.

“No, no no, no need for that good sir! A thousand pardons. Ah, here,” she hurriedly grabbed a key from one of the key hooks behind her, glanced at it to confirm something, then thrust it out to him. Tristain slowly let the hammer drop back down, and gave the woman a wintry smile. “Th-that’ll be fifteen copper.” He inclined his head, still with that cold smile in place, and fished out the coins from a pouch. They were firmly placed down on the scarred wooden counter, and he took the key. With it in hand, he turned on his heel and strode towards the stairwell to the side, where there hung a sign proclaiming rooms were in this direction.

His hold on the girl remained implacable - if his estimate was correct, she would probably be feeling like trash because of the way the matron had been speaking, and he was not going to give her a chance to pull away and flee because of it. So up the stairs they went, though Tristain did slow down when they actually reached the stairs, making sure the girl was able to climb the steps without too many problems.

Once he spotted the room that the key matched to, he let out a soft grunt and headed towards it. The key stuck in the lock for a moment, but he was able to get it to twist and unlatch, and pushed his way in. Inside was a simple wide, low bed, a desk with a mirror atop it, and a chair in front of it. Set into one wall was a window, and in another wall was a open door to a bath chamber. Tristain guided the girl to the desk and sat her down in the chair.

“Stay. I am going to draw a bath. Do you prefer warm or cool waters?” His voice was still rough, but it was clearing up slightly - this was the most he had talked in months.

She wanted to pull away. Had tried to. Aynur knew this would happen, that she would be turned away the moment anyone set eyes on her. “I-It’s ok. You tried…” She mumbled, but the man wouldn’t hear it. The tin-can man kept a tight hold on her small wrist.

The threat of tearing down walls with a hammer… Aynur cringed. What possessed him to think such a thing? To want to destroy an establishment in this town, whatever the town was… regardless… why? Why for her? Her brows furrowed in confusion as the exchange continued. She couldn’t see it but she heard the reserved fear in the womans voice. The bubbling anger in his.

Then, before she knew it away she was whisked! “I uhm- you didn’t have to do that.” She muttered as they took the steps slowly, one by one. She gave another tug. He wasn’t letting go. Instead he lead her up the stairs being sure to not let her trip or fall.

“I did not have to. But I did.” His voice rasped out as they moved, as firm and unyielding as the grasp on her wrist, the armor he wore.

Their footsteps creaked upon wooden floorboards as he lead her down a hallway. One, two, four, eight...eight large strides till they stopped in front of a door and with the jingle of keys Aynur was pulled into a room.

There was only a moment of silence before he spoke again. His voice was soft=spoken but rough around the edges. The sudden sound still caused the blind woman to jump. “A...a bath? I - warm waters but…” Before she could continue she heard his footsteps move away from her.

Desperately she reached out, only for her hand to hit nothing. Aynur took two blind steps forward - still flailing. Her hand finally hit something. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was. His outstretched arm. “I uhm. Ah.” She felt him shift, slowly, taking a few steps backward which allowed her to follow with his guidance. He was leading her to the bathroom.

“I’m..my name is Aynur.”

There was a pause then a response. “I am Tristain.” Came his gruff reply.

The blind woman let that mull around in her mind as she continued to let the man lead her into the bathroom. She felt a shift in the air. It was a little cooler now, and she assumed they were now in the adjacent room. She felt him clasp her hand and press it to a cool, hard surface. The rim of the bath.

Then, came the sound of rushing water. HIs silence unnerved her. She wasn’t sure if he was disgusted with her appearance, curious, or just not a very talkative person. Aynur used a free hand to reach up to her face and let her fingers graze over the claw-like scars on her face. “It wasn’t an animal.” She commented. There was no response from the man.

“A group of people did this. It hurt...a lot. They ripped out my eyes. I wouldn’t have any, if it weren’t for a woman named Amari. I think… I’d be dead if it weren’t for her.” Aynur tilted her head to the side as she lifted it up. That seemed like such a long time ago now. Of course Lucifer… a man she thought she adored, had forced her to live a lifetime of pain and solitude. Aynur had lived an entire lifetime and had to endure a lifetime of false memories floating around in her mind.

Sometimes, she questioned what was real.

Was this even real?

“Are you real?”

“People are… Scum. Finding those who are not is a far more arduous task than it should be. And yes. I am real. I have the scars to prove it.” Not that he was going to be taking off his armor to show her most of his, but - Tristain shoved back the sleeve on his right arm, which was just clad in cotton and thin leather, and took one of her hands. He placed the hand against his arm, and let her fingertips roam along the skin as he spoke.

“Now.” He shifted away from her hand, and focused his attention on the bath. The water had filled to a decent level, and was warm but not hot. One broad hand clasped one of hers and guided it to the water, letting her test it.

“This is fine thank you.”

Aynur stepped away from him and started to remove her dirtied rags. There wasn’t much left of the clothing. Her body was littered with scars and her entire right arm was marred with the signs of severe burning. Her back was turned to him and on it looked like a crudely draw half sun with an eye in its center. Tristain blinked several times, the only motion as his body froze when her rags began hitting the floor.

I - I know the women in the Danse don't have shame, but I thought normal women did. Oh, my. I definitely did not see clearly with those rags. Wow. Uhm. He shook his head sharply behind her, forcibly dragging his attention away from the figure, instead looking at the network of scars that littered her body. From behind her, he could see the edge of a thin net of scars on one side of her body, wispy and jagged. They looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

As his eyes dipped lower, he bit his lip, hard, the sharp taste of copper focusing his mind. He coughed, once. “I - will leave you to your bath. I will be outside, call for me if you need assistance with something.” Staying in here was not something he was fully comfortable with doing. At all. Without really waiting for a reply, the mercenary snatched the rags from the ground and strode out - not quite a run, but more than a walk.

He closed the door to the bathroom most of the way, leaving it ajar so he could hear if the woman called for help - if Aynur called for help, he had to associate her name with her. He found the rubbish bin, tucked into a corner of the room, and shoved the rags into it. The fighter was not going to let that poor woman stay in that torn attire, not of he could help it. And he could. With her taking a bath, she would be occupied for a time - long enough for him to make a trip to a nearby market, or store, and find some clothes. He had gotten an… unexpectedly good view of her body, so he had a fair guess what size she was.

As he locked the door to the inn room, he ran one hand over his head. She had said someone had done that to her, indicating her face. It was a safe bet that the rest of the scars across her body had also been inflicted by people. She seemed harmless enough - blind, now, and broken inside, to the point of not fighting back when that drunkard had been about to - Tristain cut off his line of thought forcibly, not wanting to get angry all over again.

Back on topic, she seemed to have had a rough go of things. A few days, hot meals, and safety, might help her immensely. He had time to spare, and paying the favor forward of helping someone down on their luck sat well with him. He took a deep breath, and headed out, stopping one of the serving girls to ask for directions to the nearby market before he continued on his way.

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Trigger warning: suicide attempt, references to suicide and depression

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She was left to her own devices, sitting in the warm water. Aynur slowly began to scrub herself with a soap filled washcloth. Unsure if she was even denting the caked layers of dirt upon her skin. What did it matter anyway? She couldn’t see. The water felt nice. Aynur had to admit it was...enjoyable. When was the last time she had felt such warmth?

…

When would she fell it again. The brown haired woman dropped the rag and it slowly fell to the bottom of the tub. What was the point in all of this? Bathing? Cleaning the grime from her skin? Who was she trying to fool. She’d inevitably climb back into the tattered remains of her clothing, she’d find herself back on the streets. Tristain’s kindness could only go so far and she had nothing to offer him.

Nothing…

’I’m nothing…’

The thought screamed at her, drowning out anything else in her mind. The bath water felt cold and numb against her skin and as she rubbed her arms she felt goosebumps form. The temperature hadn’t changed just her attitude. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. This...there was no way this could ever last.

Aynur pulled herself from the bath. Slowly. One foot, then the other. Step by step she shuffled till she bumped into something hard. It sat above the ground around waist height. Her fingers danced oer the cold, circular concave. Oh… It was a sink. Her fingers brushed across something else.

’Scissors’

Her hand clasped over the cold metal and she turned on her heel to shuffle back into the bath. The air was cold against her bare skin and the touch of the water welcomed her like a warm embrace. Something she felt she had long since forgotten. When was she ever held with a tender emotion. Lucifer? No… that was under false pretences. Before that? Her brow furrowed.

She wished she could concentrate on a time before that but his mental torture, his sick and twisted magic made that nearly impossible. If there were good memories they were long gone and buried. Aynur found herself sliding further and further into the waters of the tub til her head was completely submerged.

She could feel the thump of her own heart.

Ba-thump
Ba-thump
Ba-thump

A calming sound that rang in her ears. She felt...at peace. Even as her chest began to burn she felt an odd sense of peace and an overwhelming desire to stay like this. In this moment. Forever. Floating forever in the warmth of these tepid waters.

As her thoughts drifted to such things she realized she still had the scissors in her hand. She ran a finger tip along its edge and felt a prick. They were sharp.

She was going to die someday soon anyway. Why not here, why not on her own terms and in peace.

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The crimson tide danced in circles amongst the water, rising to the surface in little hurricanes of life. Life being leached from one who had lost the will to live. Her body felt cold but she was barely aware of it.

’This is...peaceful’

Barely aware, unable to hear anything but the beat of her own heart amidst the waters.

Ba-thump
Ba-thump
Ba-thump

The room was still quiet as Tristain let himself back in, fresh clothes draped over his arm. He dropped them on the back of the chair - and froze. There was something in the air, something that he recognized. Something that should not be there. It was faint, distorted, but growing more potent with each breath he drew.

The tang of copper in the air. Some might have missed it, but Tristain had been trained in a mercenary camp. This smell was something he was painfully familiar with, the scent of blood. In the air. As that realization crystallized in his mind, the man burst into motion. The door to the bathroom as still partially ajar, thankfully - if it had not been, there was every chance Tristain would have broken it down, slamming into it in a rush.

The woman - Aynur - was floating, her hair drifting around her frame. The scene was almost peaceful and serene, and might have been, if it wasn't spoiled by the fact that the water around her was slowly being stained red. Scissors lay on the floor beside the tub, by an outstretched hand, one edge gleaming red. Sharp brown eyes quickly scanned the woman, the urgency of this situation breaking past any modesty he might have had.

For a moment, Tristain’s breath hung up. Her other wrist, floating in the water, was pulsing red out into the water, like a perverted fountain. A pair of scars, a reminder of a dark time, twinged in phantom pain, and for a brief second the mercenary was back in the woods, the scent of blood filling his nose as warmth left his body. The creak of the boards under his feet were replaced with the rustling of tree branches, as red spread on dirt beneath his knees -

With an inarticulate growl, fury, shame, pain mixing indistinguishably on his voice, Tristain tore himself from painful memories. He snatched her arm out of the water, strong fingers curling around her wrist and pinching the wound shut. He felt eyes on him, but ignored them as he shoved his other arm into the water, dragging her out of it. She was light, painfully so.

“It’s ok. It would have been...peaceful.” came her tired voice as she pressed her head into the crook of his neck. He bit back the snarl. He knew where she was, had been there. Had been worse - because he had been dedicated to it, had known exactly what to do. If - not the time for memories.

She was lucky. For whatever reason, she had missed a few things. Only one wrist was cut, and it had been a horizontal cut, not a vertical one. And scissors, even if sharp, were not the best tool for this kind of thing. The problem had been the water, keeping her blood from clotting up, but he didn't know if that had been on purpose or not.

“Peaceful or not, you deserve better than to die in the bathtub of a near total stranger.” Tristain shifted his arms, cradling her against his chest as he headed back into the main room. His pack - it had supplies to bandage wounds, though he'd been expecting to need to use them to fix himself up after fights. They would work though. She would live.

She waited passively as he worked so hard to save her. Truth be told, she hadn’t even been fully aware of her actions. Did she do that? Aynur knew she did, but she didn’t remember making a conscious effort to do so. The woman glanced down at her now bandaged wrist and slowly turned it to and fro. She couldn’t see it, but she felt it tightly wrapped around her. She winced at the movement.

“It stings…” She whispered. “But I feel it is wrong for me to complain, it is self inflicted. It is nothing compared to having your fingernails ripped out and your fingers broken.” She drew her eyes up to where she assumed his face was. He drew in a sharp breath and from the feel, she knew he was close and for once. She was actually looking him straight in the eyes.

“There is nothing wrong with complaining. It - sometimes, you need to share pain. It -” He broke off, and she heard his hair sway as he turned away, and she felt his fingers on her arm tremble slightly before resuming working on her bandages.

Share pain…why? He was trembling? Was he cold? As he continued to ensure her wound was properly bandaged Aynur could feel the broken way he breathed in and out. It wasn’t just his hands, the tremble was on his lips. She cocked her head, ear toward him to catch sound of him better. He remained wordless as he continued to work.

She reached out to place an arm over his shoulder, her wet form was slowly sliding off his lap. Should she care that she was naked? He didn’t care. She forgot it was a thing, shame, decency. Those things were torn from her. Just like her eyes. She shut them and pressed her tired head against his form.

“Tristain...why are you helping me?” For a moment, he was silent, and so still she could tell he wasn't breathing. His fingers tightened on her wrist, and it was then he finally spoke. His voice, raspy and rusty, sounded discordant, off kilter.

“Because I have been here. And it is not a good place for anyone to be.” A heartbeat passed. “Someone helped me when I was there. It would be an insult to them not to help you.”

His words and actions implied just that. At some point he had tried to take his own life. Her heart sank at the thought. The thought that someone so strong, so kind and well of was in a place where they could not climb away from the dark hands of despair that clawed at her. Those very cold, dead hands and him in their grips too. Did this mean she had no hope of ever climbing out? Or was this his way of reaching out to her…?

Aynur lifted a hand to trace the marks against his skin. Bumps and ridges up his arm. She imagined the sort of things he may have done to himself to cause such marr on his body. Aynur wasn’t sure she’d ever understand him. She couldn’t do much. Hell, she was sitting here naked against him and she couldn’t even try to do anything physical with him. She didn’t have it in her.

Instead, she did the only thing she knew she was good at. She sang. She sang the song of serenity, a song taught to her from the clan up in the mountains. One that was sung in another language, in Ar’Tuel. It warbled and lilted around the room. Slowly rising and falling in a steady rhythm, a gentle current of a melody. Her hand drifted idly up and down his arm as she continued.

If only she had some sort of power, if only she too could help him.

Tristain held his hand against Aynur’s wrist - pressing gently on the wound through the bandages, stemming some of the flow of blood with pressure. Beneath his fingers, the bandaged were becoming stained a ruddy red- the knowledge of what lay beneath stirring dark memories inside of him. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

This waif, lost and abandoned, blind, it was easy to see why she had sunk into that dark despair and decided to try ending things. The death held a glamour of a kind, to someone who was trapped in a terrible life, he well knew it. The mercenary would - stay, for a time, help her get back on her feet before moving on. He couldn't afford to stay and get attached, not here, and he didn't know if she would want to come on travels with him.

As she sang, softly, a tune in words he did not recognize, he closed his eyes and breathed slowly, still gently holding her wrist. The song washed over him, and he felt tension long carried ease from his shoulders - despite the fact that the situation he was in was one where he would normally be feeling more tense then ever. Still, with the calm that came with it came the decision to make the offer.

He suited action to thought, and spoke up. “I do not have much in the way of security to offer you, Aynur. I am a mercenary, not a knight, I have no land, no title to myself, nothing of that sort. I have skills etched into my body by the man who pulled me out of my own dark place, he gave me a new life and taught me how to live. I - can stay for a time, and help you here, but eventually I will need to move on, and I do not know if you would wish to accompany me. That is your own decision. But for the immediate future, at the least, you have my hand.” He stood up, and lifted her up again, cradling her against his chest for a moment. While not the stick thin figure he originally thought she was, she was still far lighter than she should have been, and he had no trouble lifting her up.

Slow, steady steps, with care taken not to jostle her, and he set her down on the bed. His dark eyes scanned the room, looking for the pile of clothes he had dropped when he returned - when he saw them, he picked them up and placed them on the bed beside her, then guided one of her hands onto it. They were simple clothes, white cotton shirt, black pants, and an emerald crushed velvet cape. While her hand rested on them, he spoke again.

“You can get dressed. I will go get you some food.” He was already thinking about what to get. Red meats, to help rebuild what was lost to the tub. The tub. He would need to clean that out, to make sure the staff remained unaware of what happened here. The girl was already dealing with being ostracized for her blindness, she didn't need them having other reasons to look askance at her. If they tried, he would probably end up legitimately breaking down this building.

But that wasn't a concern, for now. For now, he'd give the girl a little privacy unless she stopped him, and get her some food. He started to stand up slowly, to give her time to speak up before he left the room.

Go with him? Have a companion? Not be alone…. Those thoughts appealed to Aynur, but - what good was she? She was nothing. She couldn’t even offer an extra pair of eyes or a warm meal. She could hear his slow footfalls move away from her, and with it the warmth he provided.

“U-uh..I would.” She quickly said before she heard him close the door behind him to leave. There was a silence in the air, stilled and for a moment Aynur wasn’t sure if he was actually there or not. “Come with you- I mean. If it wouldn’t be a burden or a bother or I mean… I’m not, I can’t fight. I can’t see - but I want to learn to do things and I mean I guess I can’t do that if i just sit here I want to be more, I don’t.I ah…” She drew a deep breath and pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. Wasn’t this the exact scenario she found herself in last time?

No...Lucifer had been an Ar’tuel, and she had followed him because she was certain she’d be able to aid him. This was different. She would need a few days at the very least to gain any semblance of strength. Even now she felt dizzy, lightheaded. “I -perhaps I should stay.” She mumbled. Tristain hadn’t replied.

The click of the door signalled his departure and Aynur assumed she was now alone in the room. She couldn’t hear his footsteps. So she was alone, right?

“What was I thinking…” She sighed as she gripped the clothing he had given her in her fists. He had just saved her life. Aynur knew she wanted… still, a part of her wants to die.. Aynur didn’t want to be here, to be a burden. She didn’t want to deal with this wretched life. Aynur pulled the clothing to her face and buried her nose into the soft fabric. They smelt as though they were freshly laundered. The broken girl managed a small laugh, god… I was so pathetic, I couldn’t even take my own life. I failed at the one thing that should have been the easiest. Dammit…

Aynur pushed herself off the bed as she fumbled with the clothes. First, a long sleeved shirt with no buttons. she could feel a criss-cross pattern of cord in the front. They felt to be the typical thing a man would wear. Tristain got what he could. Aynur pulled it on over herself then followed suit with the pants. It felt weird...to have clean clothes. They were baggy but they suited. She picked up the last of the three articles he had given me. It felt heavy, plush...and nice between her fingers. It felt like a thick piece of material and took the woman several minutes to realize it was a cape.

The warmth sunk into shivering flesh and Aynur wondered if she truly deserved such a thing. How long could this possibly last? How long before he was fed up with her? Aynur felt a heavy weight hit her chest like a tonne of bricks. It tore at her and she felt like she was drowning. She felt like she wasn’t in control. The only time she had control...

Where were those scissors?

She slowly made her way back to the bathroom and felt around for the cool metal. She’d feel better having them on her. Just in case. She found them….in the corner of the room and breathed a sigh of relief as her hands wrapped around the metal. Temptation ebbed at Aynur, to finish what she started. Her brows furrowed as she managed to find her way out of the bathroom and back to resting on the bed. Aynur bought her bare feet up to sit cross legged on the sheets.

She began to open and close the scissors, listening to the ‘snip’, ‘snip’ sound. It’d...it’d be easier this time right? She’d just have to press harder -have to make them big enough so Tristain wouldn’t be able to fix it with a bandage.

Aynur flicked the scissors open and pressed them to her skin, just enough for it to prickle. She winced at the slight pain and felt a small pool of wetness slide down her arm. She had drawn blood. Aynur pursed her lips. Dare she continue? The pain wouldn’t last forever…

And…

It’d be better than any sort of alternative.

Aynur pressed again but stopped when the sound of Tristains voice filled her mind. His worried tone, the way he tried so hard to stop her wounds. The warmth of his skin, the shaking of his voice as he admitted he was once in a bad place.

Then…

His offer for her to join him.

Even though she could barely stand, was blind… and virtually useless.

He had offered.

Aynur sighed and pulled the scissors away, hiding them in a deep pocket in her pants. No. She couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t have him walk in on a dying person. If she were to die, it’d be when she was alone.

Tristain drummed his fingers on the countertop as he glared impatiently at the matron of the inn, who had taken his order a few minutes ago. Although he had not shown a reaction to her when he had left, the mercenary was actually rather concerned for Aynur, and did not want to leave her alone for too long. So he had ordered whatever food would be finished the fastest that had meat in it, and was now waiting for it to come out. The matron, the same woman he had threatened earlier, was fidgeting nervously under his heavy glare.

“Ye shouldn't stay too long with the girl, sir. She's not right you know, she just sits there when people -” the shrew of a woman began to speak, only to be cut off when Tristain's fingers gouged the wood they were tapping against.

“Do not mistake the fact that I strive to be a good one, to mean that I am necessarily a kind man, matron. Your words imply that you have seen people abusing her before and done nothing - which says that you are a far worse person than she is. Be. Silent.” The mercenary punctuated his words by tearing his fingers out of the divots in the wooden counter that he had made. The woman blanched when she saw the blood that dripped from his fingertips, from thin pieces of wood that had cut into him.

She was saved from having Tristain stare at her any longer by the ring of the bell that indicated his food was ready. The platter that he was handed had a thin, watery stew with, thankfully, hearty chunks of meat inside of it, along with carrots and potatoes, and other things that he couldn't recognize right away. Beside the bowl the stew rested in was a piece of bread, and a spoon. A small cup sat at the corner, holding some water. Tristain took the platter and dropped the payment on the counter before striding back to the room that Aynur was in.

His legs carried him past rambunctious patrons going about their days - a few of them stopping to stare at the out of place, heavily armored individual in their midst - and up the stairs. Heavy boots thunked against the wood of the stairway, carrying him upwards to the second floor, and then long strides moved him down the thin carpet on the floor in the hall. It took a moment to adjust the platter so he could hold it in one hand without risking spilling it, so that he could pull out the key to the room. Tristain unlocked the door and pushed it open, and paused just inside the threshold.

The smell of blood from earlier still hung in the air, fainter now, but still noticeable with its copper tang. The mercenary swiftly shut the door behind him - he did not want any of the other patrons of the inn to smell the blood before it had time to dissipate - then looked at the blind woman. She was staring vaguely off in one direction from the bed, though she had started to turn her head back towards him when she heard the door open and shut. That was not caught his attention though, what made him pause in his steps. No, what made him freeze up was the fresh patch of rusty red spreading across her arm and into the bandages and the fabric of her shirt - coming from a cut that had not been there before.

He inhaled, deeply, then exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. It seemed that he would have to keep a close eye on her for the time being - something he should have already been doing, if he had been honest with himself. But Tristain had needed to get away and clear his head for a moment, to think about her response to his offer. Finally he spoke again, as he strode over to the bed.

“It will be hard to eat with that open cut, girl.” His voice was gruff as he set the platter on the edge of the bed near her. He took her good hand and pressed it to the platter. “Stew, bread, water. Take care, or wait. I will be bandaging this wound as well.”

Once more, he was tending her wound, and once more, she couldn’t understand why. The cut this time hadn’t been that bad, and she had thought she had stopped in time to prevent him from noticing it. But he had - and once more, he was being oddly gentle as he took another bandage and wound it around her arm, pressing the edges of the cut together as he did so. “My offer is sincere, girl. I do not know if I will always be able to provide well, I am a mercenary after all. But as long as you wish it, I have no issue with you being at my side. The roads are far better to travel when there is company with you on them. Are you certain you wish to walk them with me?”

“No. I am not. I'm scared. I'm worried I will be a burden. I know not of how to protect myself. I… will be a burden to you. I worry I will be left alone again.”. Her hand landed on the bread roll and she bought it up to her face and took a small bite.

“I am not well enough to travel now…” She felt his hands tighten the fresh bandage on her arm, and he moved back. She heard the chair at the desk nearby creak as he sank into it, the wood beneath him groaning at the weight of his body and armor. He was silent for a moment, not immediately responding to what she had said, and she knew he was already planning on how to tell her he would be leaving her in that case.

“Then I can wait, as I said I have time to spare here in town, I am on no schedule. If you wish to learn how to protect yourself, I can teach you - I was trained in a mercenary band, in a variety of things. And yes, you might be a burden - but it is one that I am willing to shoulder. I was of no use when the man who saved me found me, but he gave me the chance to make something of myself. I will do the same for you.” When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, and the rough, grating edge to it had finally smoothed out, leaving him a smooth, deeper tone that coiled in her ears like a warm blanket.


Aynur smiled as she set the half eaten bread on the bed in front of her, completely missing the tray of food. “I would… Like that…”

There was a long silence between the two before Aynur broke it.

“I wish…” She pushed herself off the bed and shuffled over toward him. Stopping only when her feet hit the chair and she reached out to brace her fall. Small hands landed on the metallic pauldrons on his shoulders. She heard a confused grunt as he caught her elbows and steadied her as she fell against him. He was sitting with one leg crossed over his other knee,. Aynur quickly pulled away and smoothed down her cape. She was trying to be nice, trying to offer some form of sentimentality. Of course she'd mess even that up. One of his arms gently wrapped around her waist, anchoring her in place so she couldn't fall off.

Aynur turned her face away, tugging on chocolate brown tendrils. “I… I want to see again, so maybe I can see my friend.” There was a pause, then he let out a breath that sounded faintly amused. His hands shifted from her elbows to one of her wrists, and he guided her hand up to his face.

“You have other ways of knowing the world around you, girl. Do not sell yourself short just yet, before you learn what you can do.”

Her fingers danced delicately over his face she felt a little embarrassed, was this considered intimate? Aynur wasn't entirely sure. His eyebrows were thick with wisps of hair jutting out and he didn't feel Iike he had too many wrinkles..so he was younger than he sounded. Aynur thought he may be in his mid 30’s

“I… oh I thought you were older…” He let out a sharp bark of a laugh, a sound that started deep in his chest.

Her hands continued to trace down his face, ignoring the rumblings in his features as he laughed. It wasn't her fault. “it's your voice!” she muttered.

“I typically do not speak much, I prefer to listen. It leaves me - a bit rusty, at times.” His voice, and face, showed clear amusement as he spoke. Her fingers kept wandering as he explained the roughness to his tone. His nose was crooked, and she felt stubble then a scar just on the side of his lip. He felt like he was smiling.

Aynur quickly pulled away when her fingers brushed against the soft skin of his lips. Cursing herself. That may have been too much. “I Uhm.. Sorry.”

She could feel Tristain’s arms gripping her own, one to steady her and the other holding near the second cut. She felt guilty about it. She caused him more concern.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Now then.” Tristain stood up smoothly, shifting his arms to hold Aynur. He strode back over to the bed and gently deposited her back down, and stood near the head of the bed. He let one hand rest on her shoulder, clasping it gently.

“You, Aynur, need two things in the immediate future. Food, and rest. I will be here, you need not worry about that. So eat as much as you can of the stew and bread, then allow yourself to rest. You are safe. I will let nothing else happen to you today.” His tone was stern, but not harsh, as he took one of her hands and guided it to the platter resting on the bed near her.

“And if you have any other questions, do not hesitate to ask. I have few things I will refuse to talk about. And for your information - I have only seen twenty three winters all told, not that I remember the earliest ones.”


She struggled to eat the stew, hand trembling as she did her best not to spill something couldn't see. Giving up, Aynur instead picked up the bowl and ate directly from it, tilting it to her mouth to eat. He shook his head slightly, his hair swaying as he did so. He would have to remember in the future to purchase things that were simpler to eat, until she had regained confidence in herself.

“We… Are similar in age… “she mused. More silence as she slowly struggled to eat her stew. “I can… tell you about myself If you do not like talking. It is the least I can do.” Tristain tilted his head to one side and considered her offer. In all truth he would prefer it if she talked - her own voice was far more pleasant to listen to than his own, to him at least, and his throat was already feeling a bit sore from all the speaking he had done of late. Still -

“Share only what you are comfortable with speaking about. I will listen, and will not judge you.” He settled himself down on the edge of the bed the had noticed that she seemed to desire knowing where he was, and preferred that knowledge came by having some form of physical contact with him. When she finally spoke, the words seemed to be dredged up almost against her will.

“Do… You think it foolish I hold no will for the damage down to my body? The man who tortured me… He claimed he loved me then left. He tore holes in my skin and burnt me. Had my eyes ripped out and yet… I Can't seem to find anger in my heart.” He was silent in response to that. She spun the bowl in her hands.

“I don't wish harm on anyone. I was told by him that was my biggest weakness. That I was unable to understand or Harbour hate.” Tristain sat back on the bed, and reached one hand up to run his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face as he contemplated her words. He chewed on the inside of his mouth for a moment before she spoke up again, distracting him.

She looked in his direction. “I was told I had ice blue eyes before they were ripped out. What color are yours?”

“I - brown. My eyes are brown.” He blinked. “And I would not say not knowing hate is a weakness. Hate is not necessary for violence something I know well. Sometimes, one does violence out of - affection. A need to protect something, against those who would harm it. And as for your first question.” He drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“No. I do not think it is foolish, at all. I - my father was not a good man. Not to me, at least. He is the one who drove me to the actions you almost carried out earlier. And yet, I cannot hate him myself. Rather - I wish nothing to do with him at all. I would be content never hearing word of him again, but at the same time… I would be sad to learn he had died. He is, was, my father, for whatever that was worth, once.”

She offered him a smile and reached out to place a hand on his knee to comfort him. It took three tries till she actually managed to find his knee instead of the bed. Aynur offered him a smile. “I think he would be proud of the man you have become. Tristain let out a sharp bark of a laugh.

“I doubt that. He was far more like that drunk I stopped from accosting you, than he was like me. I make some choices about how to act to be precisely counter to how he would have been.” She subsided for a moment, unsure of how to respond to that response - or to the bitter tone that laid behind it. Eventually she pressed on, her words pulling Tristain out of his mire of thought.

“I lived in a sect.. Amidst the Dheathain mountains. This world is so new… Would you believe I didn't even know what running water was till a year ago? We all bathed in the natural springs.. “ she smiled faintly at the memory. Tristain’s right eyebrow rose. That was a bit odd, he hadn’t known of any groups living out in that region. Then again, it wasn’t like his education, spotty as it had been before the Danse, had really included comprehensive information about the world around him.

“I see. Then some of the things people take for granted around here are a bit… surprising, to you?” He mused softly, studying her face as her emotions danced across it. Perhaps it was because of her blindness, but she seemed to wear her heart on her face for the world to see.

“Yes!” Aynur said exasperated, she felt Tristain jolt from the sudden loud outburst. “I was so ill prepared. I was supposed to go on a pilgrimage and… And… And I knew nothing! I didn't know about things like fancy food or… or…”

She trailed off as she struggled to remember. It was difficult. Why? Why did lucifer do those things to her? The excitement quickly wore off. “Lucifer did some sort of magic. He forced me to live a lifetime of false memories and…I get confused. The time before he put me under it is. Blur.”

She felt the bed shift as the man near her adjusted his weight. “That is… strange. An unpleasant fellow, it seems. I am sorry to hear that. Have you tried to return to the sect’s grounds? Perhaps returning to familiar environs would jog your old memories.”

She shook her head. “It's.. Stupid.. You think one would be able to differentiate the memories but I can't. It felt so real. I suffered so much and now I have to live it all again.”

“It is not stupid, girl. Magics that affect the mind are potent, and it sounds like this man knew precisely what he was doing. Given time, I am sure you will be able to separate the real from the fake, but expecting it of yourself immediately, without support, is - unreasonable. Especially if you have had no one to rely on to keep you grounded in the present as you try to work out your past.”

Aynur face scrunched up. She felt like her insides were being torn. She moved her hand away from his knee to wrap around her waist. She could feel herself shaking and her eyes sting. His words were so simple yet impossible for her. She wouldn't have that. “Even if I did go home I may be… unwelcome. My entire life was indebted to a deity I found to be false. My people. My entire reason of living… “ Aynur tried to move on when she found Alkieth nothing more than an eternal man.

“Easy, easy girl.” The bed swayed, and she felt arms wrap around her shoulder, and she was pulled into an awkward embrace, against the hard armor that Tristain was still wearing. “You are welcome at my side. I did not mean to imply you needed to go back permanently, but a visit. If you do not wish that, then I will leave the matter alone. If your memories of the past are unretrievable, then we will simply have to give you new ones - the proper way, by living.”

Aynur tried, she tried so hard to hold it back but couldn't. The tears came hard and fast, salty streams staining her face with ache and regret. “I can't…” She sobbed, and between those sobs she explained that she was the oracle. Chosen because she had a near perfect fertility rate with the AR’Tuel species. She cried as she confessed lucifer was one of them, an he had laid eith her and if she was indeed pregnant.. She would soon die for that was to be her sacrifice.

Aynur pulled away from the man, hiccuping and gulping back tears. She couldn't do this to him. She should just leave. She shifted off the bed and to the floor.

“Well then. I suppose we will have to handle that if - and I do mean if - it happens. The offer to walk beside me is - taken back. You do not have the option anymore, because I do not think it safe for you to be alone. No, you are stuck with me.” She heard him stand, his boots thudding heavily against the ground.

“I.. I do not think… Th-that fair.” That short, sharp laugh came from him again.

“Life is rarely fair, Aynur.” She had noticed that even though he knew it, he rarely used her name. “You have experienced bad turns time and again alone. That, was unfair. You were driven to the last point of desperation, that, was unfair. Now, you have a friend and companion. Good things can happen too, it is not just bad ones that life will give.” She felt his hand grip her shoulder, a solid, firm grasp.

Aynur wrenched herself away, or tried to. His grip on her shoulder was strong. “stop that…” She muttered as she wiped her tears away on the oversized cotton shirt. “Stop… Stop saying things…” If he kept saying such things with such an even and kind voice she would eventually start to believe them. Aynur tried to back away from him.

“Speech is something I tend to dislike, you are not wrong. But actions speak louder.You are safe, Aynur. Now then.” Without warning, she felt his hand leave her shoulder - and then heavy steps away, towards the door. She heard the lock click, and then something odd. The sound of straps and buckles popping and shifting, and then a slight groan. A heavy thump, oddly metallic, came from near the door. “There. I feel much lighter without that armor on.” She had a feeling he said that purely for her benefit. Why take off his armor? A few more thumps followed. “Alright. I will be in the bath for the next few minutes, I need to remove some of the grime of the road. You should get some rest.”

What was his plan? Actions speak louder than words? She found his footsteps much quieter without the armor. So much so that she struggled to hear him. She couldn't be a burden on him. A large part of her wanted to stay To just have the warmth of another and to have someone listen to her stories, her songs...but if she got accustomed to that it’d just hurt more when it was taken away from her.

Aynur waited a few moments till she heard running water then pushed herself up off the floor. No one would stop her if she were to leave. She was hated. They’d be more than willing to have her throw herself back on the streets.

Tristain stared down at the water as it swirled into the tub. Despite his words to her, he wasn’t actually going to be getting into the bath - he wanted to be able to react if he heard his armor being moved. Instead he was just planning on stripping down and scrubbing himself next to the bath. He had also not been entirely honest with her about why he was taking the bath. While he truly did need to remove some travel dust, the real reason was to get himself away from her because he did not know how to handle a crying woman. The women of the Danse had all been rather rough and tumble sort, and he couldn’t remember them ever crying where he could see. He exhaled softly, and closed his eyes as water poured into the tub.


Sounds of movement came from the next room, sniffles and bumps, and he paused, his head tilting towards the door so he could hear better. Was she trying to leave? There was a bang against the other side of the wall followed by a pained sound and an exclamation. “Ough..”
and he frowned before shaking his head slightly, sighing as he realized she had apparently walked into a wall. She had been right by the bed - why hadn’t she gone for that, instead? It was right there. At least she wasn’t going for the door, not yet - he had left his armor scattered in front of it, balanced against each other so if they were moved they would clatter about.

When silence came, he closed his eyes again and turned back to the tub. He cut the flow of water, and dunked his head into the water, immersing himself in the water. The mercenary wanted to do this first, so he could be ready to react sooner. He had a few moments, he was sure. When he came back out, he didn’t process right away that the door between the rooms had been pushed open, nor that light was spilling in.

Her shadow blocked the light from the other room as she entered the bathroom. Hands on either side of the doorway. “Tristain?” She was staring right at him. He froze in place, his own eyes widening as he glanced down. His clothes were laying in a pile beside him.. His face, neck, and upper shoulders flushed red under her unblinking gaze.

“Ah- uh - wha- I am nake-” Right. She couldn’t see that. Tristain cut himself off. His blush deepened, and he cleared his throat. “What do you need, girl?” He tried to keep his embarrassment from creeping into his words. By the Thaynes, he’d been naked around the Danse before - they rarely had any care or concern for who was in the baths. But that was different, it was usually groups, never a one on one situation like this. He swallowed, and stepped around the tub, placing it between himself and Aynur, silently.

She walked forward. “I heard you?” She carefully shuffled forward. “look...I just...maybe I should leave. I-Ahg..” She hit the side of the tub, faltered, then grabbed the rim. His hand shot out and clasped her bicep, steadying her and preventing her from unbalancing. She looked up at him again with her milky unrelenting gaze. She was close. He could see the tiny freckles that dotted her cheeks and nose, the way her skin glistened. Stained by tears. The broken capillaries in her red-rimmed eyes.

“You do not have to, girl. You need help, and a shoulder to lean on. Perhaps once you have recovered, and are in a better place, we can part ways. But you do not truly wish to leave, do you?” It was a struggle to keep his voice even and calm, but Tristain somehow pulled it off. He thanked whoever was listening that she couldn't see him at the moment, else he might have died of mortification.

She reached out with her other hand, it fell into empty space and her eyes widened. “Oh… you haven’t bathed yet…” She must have assumed he was still clothed.

“Not yet, no.” Milky eyes regarded him for a moment, then dropped to where his hand held onto her arm.

“I’m tired…” She admitted as she circled the tub toward him. He swallowed once, and cast his eyes about for at least his pants - but they were by her feet, on the other side of the tub, and she was holding onto his outstretched arm for support as she moved. A step, and she was on the same side of the tub as he was, then she carefully slide her hand up to his shoulder. “I just...want to..to…” She paused and shifted her weight. “You...are not clothed?”

“No.” His voice was tight, strangled. She was close now, close enough that he could count the tiny freckles dotting her face.

The woman offered him a small, forced smile. “I can’t see. I do not notice these things. I apologise… nudity was never regarded as a taboo in my home. We all bathed together.” She carefully let him go and took a step back. She didn’t look embarrassed, nor put off by the fact.

“I… Am aware. Hence why I did not make an issue of it. It is fine, Aynur. You can spend time here and rest. Recover. Get your bearings.”

“I was...just …” She said softly. Aynur pulled away from his grasp and took a step back. Her heel landed on a puddle of water and her eyes widened in shock as she tried to brace herself. She slipped forward, tumbling into Tristain. Without thinking about it, the mercenary shifted slightly, twisting himself and catching her. Her head thumped against his chest, and her fingers scrabble for a second against his ribs as she tried to catch herself before realizing she was safe. He could feel her trembling body pressed tight into his. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Easy, easy. You do not need to be sorry, it was an accident.” He held onto her for a moment as she recovered her bearings, then helped her stand back up straight. He took her uninjured wrist in his hand and guided her back around the tub, to the door to the room. “Go, sit or lay down on the bed. Get some rest.” He gave a sigh of relief when she agreed to be lead to the bed and climbed in. Clothes and all. The man shook his head slightly, bemused, before making his way back to the tub. He still had to wash off, and get dressed again.

And give himself a little time away from her. Aynur was stirring up a confusing tumult of emotions, and Tristain wanted to let them settle. He took a slow breath as he closed the door most of the way, leaving a crack so he could hear if she tripped, or called out, then moved to the tub and began scrubbing himself.

It took some time, and when he was finished, the water was distinctly cool. Tristain let it swirl down the drain, carrying away some of the mix of emotions. The ache in his heart had faded,she was safe, and had not ended herself. And hopefully, would not try again any time soon. He could deal with the other emotions later. He smoothly got dressed and stepped back outside, feet padding across the ground near silently, and he paused.

For all her insecurities when awake she looked pleasantly peaceful in her sleep. She slept on her back, one arm draped across her stomach. Her hair, still matted and patchy fell around her small round face. As he drew closer she stirred, groaned then shifted. Rolling over to the side of the bed, leaving a wide space behind her. He shook his head slightly - they did not know each other well enough for him to feel comfortable sharing a bed with her, even if they were both dressed.

Instead, he gently pushed her back onto her back, ignoring her sleepy mumbles, and plopped himself down on the floor, his back resting against one of the walls. The floor was at least mostly clean, so he had definite slept in worse conditions. He didn't sleep right away though, instead staring ahead as his mind churned and turned. Taking on a second person would add onto his travels, would make earning a name for himself a bit more difficult - but as he had said, he could not ignore someone who needed the same help that he had once so desperately needed.

Not without being unable to look his surrogate father in the eye, if and when he returned to the Danse. These thoughts chased each other around in his head as he sat there, listening to Aynur shift and stir every so often in her sleep. When sleep finally overtook him, it did so subtly, without warning, drawing him into its dark embrace without a whisper.

Thread Title: who Saves a Damsel These Days?
Participants: Aegis and Aynur
Basic Rewards

Aegis receives 1215 EXP and 165 GP!
Aynur receives 1200 EXP and 150 GP!

Congratulations!

Rewards added.

Aynur reaches Level 3!