ruinations | adsom: reunions

Sometime in the night, she began to breathe again. And her breath caught briefly in her throat at the sound of bells. A single eye opened as she turned her head sleepily. Light peeked in through the doorway. She softly groaned and closed her eye again, burying her face back into Kell's chest.

It took her several moments to remember where she was and who she was with. It did not encourage her to stir; being here with Kell was a sanctuary all to itself.

But slowly, she did start to rise. She blinked some sleep away and lifted herself just slightly onto an elbow. She turned her eyes upon Kell, still sleeping, his hair mussed, his hand on her side. Slowly, Neria smiled, and lifted a hand to brush pieces of his hair back from his face. So rarely had she ever seen him at peace. It was a shame to rouse him. "Kell," she whispered softly. "It's morning. We should get up."

Kell was so deeply asleep he didn't wake immediately, even with her moving against him. His brow creased, body heavy as she pushed against his chest, muscles slowly coiling as he willed himself from sleep, even if he didn't blink his eyes open until he felt Neria's fingers in his hair, running across his scalp.

He shivered before he knew to quell it, opened his eyes with a breath, and focused on her, his thoughts still thick with sleep.

"... hm?"

Not the most eloquent in the mornings.

Neria smiled down at him, brushing some hair over her shoulder so it did not fall into his face. "Good morning," she murmured. "They were ringing the bells a minute ago. It's light outside." And it would probably be best for them to get up, though she was warm beside him and it was good to see him so comfortable. It was a shame they couldn't linger.

"Someone's probably going to come looking for you soon." And finding him tangled up with her might not be the best first impression to give.

... she really was still there, even in the daylight.

Kell blinked back to the world of the waking, his expression softer, younger than she usually had cause to see on him, watching her and feeling... peaceful.

At least until the agenda of the day began to trickle in, lining up objectives, goals, appointments, the anticipation of the coming night.

"Not here," he assured her, shoulders tensing as he pushed himself slowly up, pulled his fingers through his slightly rumpled hair. The pillow had left a mark on his cheek. "Not openly."

He rubbed the heel of his hand over his blue eye, then seemed to remember.

"I think we wanted to see Calla?"

Neria watched his expression change from one of calm to tension once more as he sat up, the line in his shoulders pronounced. It was something she'd seen in Kell often - though, this time, it was a bit difficult to take him seriously when his hair was mussed and there was a mark on his face from where his face had been pressed to the cushions.

She couldn't help it. She smiled again for a moment, warmer this time, and tapped his cheek with a single finger. "Then we have a little time. Which means you won't look quite so bedraggled when someone sees us."

Leaning over, she picked up her tunic and began to pull it on. "From the Night Market, correct? She can help me get some better clothes to blend in." The tunic was partially over her head before she looked at Kell quizzically. "I... I don't have any coin to give her. Is there something else I can do instead?" Her lips briefly dipped into a frown. "I don't want you to need to pay my way here."

Kell frowned slightly at the tap, then seemed to catch her meaning, drawing a deeper breath and straightening up, sliding from the warmth of the bed to head to the basin, where he poured water from a pitcher to rinse his face, run through his hair, leaving it still a touch rumpled, but presentable.

He no longer wore it in a way that had it falling into his eye. Slowly but surely, Hakkyuu had changed that, and it had stuck.

"... if you insist, then I am sure Calla will find something," Kell answered, thinking on the debts yet to be repaid. Perhaps he would check on those as well. "But it would be no issue for me to take care of it."

He knew Neria would refuse, but he had to say so. Had to.

A sigh left her as he stood. "I didn't mean for you think it was a bad thing--" she called after him. It was endearing. But the moment came and went, and it was there she realized that Kell's hair was different. She could see both of his eyes clearly now.

The tunic came over her head and Neria smoothed it down as she stood, pushing her hair out of her eyes and beginning to comb it with her fingers into something more presentable.

"I don't want you to feel responsible for me, Kell," she murmured. "I..." She turned to him. "Wouldn't the king and queen know? I don't want it to be--" How could she put it into words? "Wouldn't it cause trouble for you to be seen doing things for a stranger? For a stranger from another world, even?"

Kell turned around a mite too fast, finding Neria smoothing her tunic back into place. Although she'd been fully covered, he found himself flushing, trying to cover it as she turned back to him, already speaking, already asking questions.

Not the time.

"Not likely," he answered, crossing his arms over his chest as if to physically hold everything in check. "It may spark a few whispers if I were to be open about it, but Calla is discreet in her work."

He paused, weighing the words. "You're not the first person from another world she's had dealings with."

Her fingers worked through the tangles in her curls, fashioning her long hair into a pleated braid. Her attention was there for the most part, and so she only saw a pass of red over Kell's face, which she mistook for embarrassment and little else. She was silent, considering his words up to the last, when he clarified she was not the first.

Slowly, she looked up, her fingers stilling in her hair. The first thought she had was all wrong. Who could have come before her? But then, she wondered. Remembered.

"Someone's come here from one of your other Londons?"

Kell turned back to watch her fingers travel over her hair, sorting his thoughts while she followed the lines of logic. He'd found it difficult to mention Lila, though he spoke of Holland and Rhy, and he ran his thumb along the edge of his sleeve with a sigh.

"Yes. Desperate times, calling for desperate measures."

Technically, bringing Lila across was a treason far worse than anything to do with the Stone, but without Lila's help, Kell might not have been able to save what and who he did.

"Though I couldn't say where she is now."

She tried to read into what Kell was not saying just as much as the words he gifted her, looking for the meaning within. Desperate times... Rhy, perhaps, or the kingdom being in jeopardy. Nothing would be more important in this life for Kell. Neria's gaze settled on his face. She considered him in silence for a time.

It wasn't like Kell to be careless. For him to bring someone out of a great need and then to lose track of them wasn't the way he was. Was he pulled to Asora at that time, or was something else happening?

She did not ask. She only wondered, "Do you think she's still here?"

"Who knows with her?" Kell's brow furrowed. "But unless she has far more powers than she let on, it's unlikely she'd be able to leave this world."

... that that didn't much narrow it down.

"The last I saw of her, she was heading towards the ships at the dock, and that was months past, even here."

He didn't seem concerned, but there was something in his eyes as he spoke, a sense of something missed, even if he hadn't mentioned it before.

It didn't narrow it down but it was, again, another concern. Kell had never mentioned this person before and it wasn't simply because it wasn't important. Something else was there. In the pinch of his narrowed eyes, the furrow of his brow, there was a story...and it was painful.

Neria lowered her hands from her braid. She stepped towards Kell and, gently, wound an arm around his own. Her hand slipped into his. She did not know what to say and perhaps there was nothing she could give. Whatever wound was there was something else Kell carried. Neria did not try to take it from him. She only remained there to remind him that she would carry it with him or sit with its weight without fear.

"I won't cause you or Calla any trouble."

There were few people who touched him so easily, and Kell hadn't been prepared for how much he would miss it when they were parted. His fingers closed around hers, grateful that she didn't press. In time he'd tell her, he was sure, but for now speaking about Lila was too strange, and he wasn't sure he had the right words.

"I know you would not."

Still holding her hand, Kell nodded toward the door, inviting her onward. There were already people moving through the halls, those who would see them, but as they left the room none would say anything. This was one of the few places Kell was a less-remarkable sight. It was likely why he was more comfortable here.

In the light the place seemed brighter, more welcoming, and as they passed outside and through the gardens everything was still cool, wet with morning dew, misty. There were a few people on the cobblestoned roads at dawn, but Kell pulled up his hood, and few gave them a glance without his hair to tip them off.

Neria followed Kell without a word. The entire beginning of their journey through the Sanctuary, the gardens, and onward, her grip was tight on his hand as if she truly was afraid they would be separated again. Her gaze was careful on those in the halls and beyond but grew to be wary as they took to the roads, her shoulders tense as they walked.

But in increments, this too fell away. As they took to the city, her eyes wandered, and she watched the light as it touched the cobblestones, the bricks, the high buildings. It painted everything in a faint glow where she had only seen it in darkness. And where Neria had found his London to be beautiful in the nighttime, it seemed infinitely more so in the day.

For the first time in weeks, her smile was finally one of wonderment and ease, rather than that of strain or sadness.

It was, though, a little like pulling a child through a shop: she lingered at times, entranced, but did her best to keep pace with Kell and not to slow him down.

At first it was just normal homes and shops, only a few of them open in he early hour, everything from bakeries to fripperies, inns and pubs. This area, so near the Isle, glowed with both the light of the soft down and the red of the river reflected. Even the voices of the people were hushed, muffled by the lingering mist.

Kell's breath puffed warmly around his face as Neria slowed, looking around, and Kell kept a firm, warm hold on her, slowing to indulge her curiosity as she began to grow comfortable.

Youngsters making deliveries had started their rounds to load up the shops for the day, and a few chased each other about, squealing as they caught each other with cold blasts of air. A worker tending to the street-lamps bent to correct a damaged runic spell-form, touching his fingers to the elegant wrought-iron. The glass globe flared briefly, then dimmed back down as the city began to wake.

They moved through the streets and instead into a winding world that seemed half built of tents, everything from lean-to to pavilion, selling everything from soup and tea to small globes of light, colorful masks, jewel-toned scarves, looking glasses and puzzle boxes.

It was quieter here -- most of the vendors had already packed up, or had already gone to sleep. Kell led Neria through the maze as if he were born to it, and swept aside a swath of cloth, tilting his head to invite Neria inside.

Calla was not immediately present -- but her wares were. Everything lined the walls, hung artistically from the ceiling, creating a tasteful riot of color and texture. From finely made leatherwork to delicately beaded cloth, butterfly-wing thin veils. Kell's coat looked rather at home here.

"Calla?" Kell asked, his voice low and carrying. He let go of Neria's hand to seek her out.

This was a world that ran on magic. It was a thing that was useful, beloved, nurtured. Neria was looking into a city that revered it as a necessary part of life, as integral as breathing. It was hard not to feel elated at the sight of those who used it so freely - even if something tightened in her chest.

Asora had been similar, in a way, with the Magisters. But this was...so different. Normal, every day people utilizing runic magic.

There would always be uncertainty and fear around power and the capabilities a single person might wield. But tolerance - acceptance - of magic was something else entirely.

The market drew her from her thoughts, beckoning her gaze with bright and lavish colors, trinkets and commodities. Kell beckoned her into one of the many shops and her eyes wandered to the beautiful fabrics, the leathers, every sort of pattern imaginable. He slipped his hand from hers and went looking for Calla. Neria remained to look at the fabrics there, remaining silent in her admiration, and watching the flap to ensure they were the only ones here.

As someone raised amidst this easy use of magic, Kell thought less of it than most. Despite knowing how little it was loved in Neria's world, he'd never truly experienced growing up the environment she had. He could appreciate her reaction only from afar, but it didn't mean he didn't enjoy being able to show her this.

He spoke quietly with someone beyond a cloth panel, the voices muffled. A round, short older woman with elaborately braided dark hair emerged from the back of the tent -- a mask was pinned to one side of her hair, elegant and beautifully made.

Catching sight of Neria, she gave her a warm smile that seemed to radiate from her eyes, outward.

"Hello." Her voice was warm, but firm, and she held out a hand to shake. Her grip was firm but not squeezing, her fingers dry, rough from constant use.

The sound of murmuring coaxed her to turn, and she watched the short woman come out from behind the cloth panel, her hair beautifully braided, a mask pinned there. There had been so many in the market that she had to wonder at the significance of them, but she kept her peace.

Instead, she offered the woman the same, warm smile, and shook her hand. "Good morning," she said, and felt a pang of guilt that she must have been up all night. "It's good to meet you." Her gaze flicked once to Kell. "I...was told you could help me with some better attire."

"Calla, Neria. Neria, Calla."

Kell added, a touch self-conscious, not used to introductions that weren't horribly formal. Calla smiled sidelong at him and squeezed Neria's hand warmly.

"You want to fit in here," she surmised with a nod, looking Neria up and down, taking in the obviously foreign cut and style of her clothes, the rough edges that made her stand out.

Gently keeping Neria's hand, she led her back beyond the panel, to an array of clothes. The style seemed to be a tight bodice and flowing skirts, jewel-tones, but that wasn't all she had out. There were darker colors too, tooled-leather pants and sturdy, form-fitting boots, things more suited for movement. It seemed she catered to everyone from court to merchant to working-class.

Calla watched her with large dark eyes, knowing.

"Tell. What do you want others to see?"

There was a faint smile on her lips for Kell as he introduced them, feeling a little shy herself. Calla took her hand and led her towards the back, where she saw a wide variety of clothes, different styles, all manner of fabric. Everything was beautiful. For a moment, she looked longingly at the skirts, remembering days of easier movement up and down stairs, where a robe had been fitting. Though she favored trousers, she could not remember the last time she wore a real dress or skirt, but desired better movement, free range of fighting. To be able to run if necessary.

In the end, it came down to that, didn't it?

Calla's assumption was correct on all counts: Neria wanted to fit in. And so the question seemed strange enough to her, that she could choose what others saw. A frown tugged at her lips as she looked around the room.

I don't want to be seen. Perhaps that would have been the easiest answer. She had wanted to disappear, to be in a place where she would not be harmed. Scars from her time in the dungeons had not healed yet; every new encounter brought the fear of great loss on her shoulders, and she was wary of danger if only for Cassian's sake. After all, Neria had stopped fearing death a very long time ago. But to be unseen felt...cowardly, even now, as she grew in the scope of her powers. Did she want to keep running, forever and ever, hiding away from anyone who might ask for her help simply out of fear of being betrayed or losing again?

Someone brushed against her thoughts. Cassian's voice rumbled in her mind like the grumble of a contented hound settling in his master's lap. He brought her comfort and courage. She looked, briefly, back towards Kell, and then her eyes wandered towards the fabric.

For a long time, she was silent. Then, she murmured, "I want people to see someone trustworthy." She looked around at the garments. "I want...I want them to see someone who wishes to help. I don't want them to see someone who is afraid." Fear was an opening for weakness, something she could not afford. Her eyes fell on Calla once more. "I want others to see me as a friend."

While Kell tried to make himself unobtrusive, Calla watched Neria, noticing as she always did. She nodded as Neria spoke, watching carefully what she most lingered on, what she gravitated toward.

There were people who chose what they liked, and there were people who chose what they thought they should. When Lila had come she had brushed aside all of Calla's suggestions to pick up the least suitable of garments -- this was going to be different.

Calla nodded, taking in the ideas, the wants, then disappeared among the racks, her braids and shining mask dipping in and out of sight. Kell shifted from his place near the wall. He had no idea.

"Master Kell," said Calla, "What was Miss Neria wearing? First meeting?"

Kell frowned, trying to remember that far back.

"Dirt," he answered, and Calla didn't laugh. She only barely paused in her shuffling.

Kell gave Neria a helpless look. He didn't remember.

Neria looked back at Kell with a quizzical look. Dirt? She shook her head, incredulous. "I... Kell and I met on a battlefield." She tried to remember the details of that day, so long ago. A lifetime ago. "I was--" What was she wearing? Neria chewed on her lip, her eyes on Kell, though her gaze was distant. Hazy details of that day floated back in pieces. She remembered speaking to him down by the water as she cleaned off her clothes; she remembered tearing the sleeves of her tunic to staunch the wounds of the soldiers who had been hurt. There had been so much blood that day, their first taste of fighting on the front lines as mercenaries for Irkalla. That afternoon, she healed who she could, and stayed with the worst off until they eased into sleep...and then their quiet, painless deaths.

A ragged, quiet exhale left her.

She remembered standing side-by-side with Kell, this stranger, getting angry that he had taken an arrow for her. Relying on him - even with a collar - to help her break the defenses of the enemy mage. There was the stark memory of blood in her mouth as her teeth had sunken into a soldier's torso. Screams in her ears.

Lifting her hands, she rubbed at her arms. She tried to remember. What was I wearing?

That night, Griffith had tugged on her ear. Archer had taken her by the hand and led her back to his tent.

"I... I was wearing blue." As she often did, in the beginning, before the slower transition to darker colors, browns, and reds. "My old tunic from home. It was ruined; I had to throw it away." The sleeves torn, the fabric soaked in blood. "I was wearing that and trousers. My boots, before they were taken." When Llyrath tricked her when she asked to be taught to lie better.

Dirt and blood.

Kell gave Neria a small shrug as she glanced at him. They both remembered that night, the wounds and the water barrels red with blood from her hair, the screaming coming from the tent after Griffith had entered it to interrogate the enemy mage, and how she’d patched up his wounds. How they’d spoken of Holland, and things carried. He could remember the touch of her hand and her magic, could remember casting alongside her and pushing what had been his limit…

But he couldn’t remember what she was wearing.

It wasn’t that that had made him consider her a friend.

As she spoke it came trickling back in flashes. Her sturdy leather boots. The blue of her torn tunic. Her scraped hands and long damp hair. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against one of the poles of the small pavilion, watching Calla make her selections.

“Blue,” she agreed, a murmur under her breath in Arnesian, something low enough for Kell not to catch. The rustling was leather, silken cloth and Kell found himself touching the glass bead tucked beneath his shirt. After a few more minutes, Calla came back with a few garments draped over her arm. Fine black woolen pants that would fit Neria’s shape, to be tucked into knee-high tooled-leather boots with metal fastenings. The color of the metal was something softer, that seemed to take the light and reflect it back as a few different shades of dark.

The top was a soft blue tunic held closed in the front with the same metal fastenings, form-fitting but not tight, belted and long enough to cover the tops of her thighs. It was not quite a dress, but it gave the impression of femininity while still allowing for full and practical movement. The belt matched the boots and held several different pockets, each carefully placed and balanced so they did not break the line of the outfit.

It was elegant, but not overt in its richness. Not precisely the local fashion, but not far from it. It would set Neria apart but still look like something that belonged. The way Kell’s coat did for him.

“Try these,” Calla offered, nodding to what looked like a small booth in the back of the tent, a curtain drawn across for privacy. Already, Calla was choosing another outfit.

Neria's gaze remained on Kell's for longer than a second set of heartbeats, uncertain, as if she was looking for something in his face that wasn't there. Her attention was drawn from him by Calla, who presented her with beautiful clothes that took her breath away. In the years after the Blight, Neria had more coin than she ever had in her life, and she'd never spent it on things like clothes. Armor, weapons, patches for the Keep. Salaries, investments, the occasional under-the-table bribe when she needed information. The armor she wore was enough. She hadn't worn dresses or anything so elegant since--

Since Sheatris. Since the masquerade and the officer's dinner. Or the nights after Ardismouth fell.

But these were something else entirely. The fabric was soft and lush in its beauty, and Neria looked almost a little too wide-eyed as Calla encouraged her to go try them on. She spent several moments simply touching them, looking them over. Like Kell's coat, they were rich and lovely. Unique. With care, she tried them on, folding the clothes she wore and setting them aside. After several minutes, she came out from behind the curtain, pulling her braid over one shoulder. She marveled at the way the tunic looked on her. Everything fit well and she felt as if she'd been given the raiment of a noble for all of its trappings. "How does it look?" she asked quietly, though she was already looking for a mirror.

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