ruinations | adsom: reunions

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.

As Neria disappeared behind the curtain, Calla's dark eyes met Kell's across a rack of clothes, searching, assessing, and Kell couldn't quite meet them.

There were no battlefields in Arnes, and there hadn't been since the King had been a young man. Calla knew this; and knew Kell could touch other worlds, places most of London knew precious little of. The look became thoughtful, and then she turned back to her work, selecting more items to put aside.

"Anesh," she said happily as Neria reappeared, putting down the cloth in her arms to go to Neria's side, making an adjustment here, there -- the whisper of magic flowed against her skin, brushing like a cat. The clothes, when she stepped back, fit Neria even better. She smiled warmly and indicated the full-length looking glass nearby.

Kell, meanwhile, was wide-eyed and quiet. A dusting of pink had appeared across his cheeks. After a moment he seemed to realized Neria had asked a question.

"Good," he answered, straightening, looking her over again, eyes flickering back up to her face.

"... very good."

Before he could embarrass himself further, Calla brought the clothes she'd selected to Neria to try on. More tunics and pants -- but a dark overcoat with blue patterning showing through -- slippers and a soft bronze gown.

The last was lovely but not particularly remarkable in this light. It wasn't until one moved the cloth nearer to candlelight that the bronze seemed to warm like bits of sunrise. Even more remarkable was when one shifted the skirts, showing the layers meant to peek through when the wearer moved or walked. They were a deep midnight blue, soft dusky indigo, shot through with bits of winking gold.

Edited 2018-09-18 04:14 (UTC)

The magic licked over her skin pleasantly and she shivered only once, delighted at the freedom there was in being touched by magic that was natural to these people, that was common and beloved. It still baffled her. She adjusted the tunic somewhat as Calla worked and, for a moment, she looked at herself in the mirror. Symon's blue and her strange silver eyes had changed back to what they once were, perhaps a sign that her connection to Asora and Emorr had grown weaker, its hold tentative. The person she saw in the mirror looked healthier, stronger, than she'd seen in weeks - though she knew she had also avoided mirrors since the fight in Aallotar, for more than one reason.

Briefly, she looked back at Kell from the mirror, and she gave him a warm smile at his approval.

Calla brought other clothes which she tried on, one by one, letting her fit them to Neria's specifications. They flattered her form very well, each and every one, and she did not know how to thank her.

The gown was the last to be tried on. It took Neria some time to step out from behind the curtain, so enamored was she with the material, the color, and the way it looked when she moved. Further still, she did not know what she would look like, and she hesitated.

But in the mirror, she looked...different. The tops of her shoulders and back were visible here, enough that she could see the top of the scars that ran down her back, and the whorls of the brand on her left shoulder. The person that stared back at her, even with her hair up, small strands askew from the various clothing changes, she looked foreign and strange. She appeared regal, as if she was someone important. The gown flattered her figure, even the places where she was still too thin, and the bronze accentuated her skin color in ways that hid the lingering paleness that was nearly gone.

She was silent, looking at herself, looking at this stranger. The gown made her feel...beautiful and worthy in ways she had not felt in months. Her throat tightened and kept her unable to say anything. But when she recovered, she turned to Calla. Her smile was heartfelt, if sad. "This is... I don't know what to say. It's perfect." It was a far greater gift than she deserved or could ever repay, just to look at herself in the mirror and to see this. "Thank you."

Kell was experienced in standing to one side, being patient while he companion tried on clothes -- he was Rhy's brother, after all. But something about this was different. It was old hat, or routine. The look in Neria's eyes, the way she fluttered her fingers over the fabric to smooth it down, the way her gaze caught in disbelief on her own reflection-

This was more than clothes, this was... something being sewn back together, maybe even remade.

It was the last one that made his breath catch. He'd seen her scars before, but he hadn't seen these. Not the ones from the dungeons of Aallotar... the brand.

Hot, sick guilt threatened to come up his throat, and he was grateful that Neria hadn't been looking at his face while the knowledge settled. It would have hurt her more. Instead he dragged his eyes to her face, to that look of wonder in her expression, and felt his heart skip a strange, elated beat, tasting of something bittersweet.

"Then it is yours. And the others." Calla nodded, pressing Neria's hand, then moving to start boxing them up, smiling widely to herself -- and then she paused, tilting her head to one side, walking over to a shining display of small masks, hairpieces...

She plucked something small and bronze-gold and brought it back to her, laying the delicate thing in Neria's hands.

"This will go well, I think."

The mask was pressed into her hands, intricate and fragile, and she held it as if it was made of porcelain. Neria's eyes were wide as she watched Calla begin to wrap the things she had offered, and she moved to take up the blue coat and the dark trousers, for walking around the city. She couldn't very well go around in gown, after all. She looked only once to Kell, a wide-eyed and uncertain sort of expression, before she disappeared to change. She unwound the long plaited braid and pulled her hair back up into a tie that allowed it to hang down for once, rather than always pulled back so tightly.

When she emerged, wearing the first set Calla had given her, she turned to the woman. "I cannot repay you for this kindness." Kell could pay her in gold, of course, but would forever be unable to put a price on the humanity Calla restored to her. The dignity she had given back. "If there is anything I can do for you, name it, and I will do my best to see it done." It was the very least she could offer her.

As Neria stepped out to change, Kell briefly conferred with Calla, his Arnesian low and musical, difficult to make out even if one did understand it. Neria hadn't precisely refused to let Kell take care of it, and he didn't intend to ask again. But he still stepped back to suddenly become very interested in the masks when Neria came back out, giving them space.

Calla was not a young woman, in body or in spirit. She watched Neria with steady, wistful eyes as she brought back the dress after she'd changed, taking it from her to box it up, carefully folding it and drawing the charms to keep it from wrinkling or creasing.

Like before, she reached out and grasped Neria's hand, squeezing.

"So concerned with debts," she said, shaking her head. "These things will balance." She drew Neria closer by the hand, taking advantage of Kell's distance and distraction. She squeezed, then looked into Neria's eyes.

"What I would ask you," she said quietly, nodding meaningfully toward Kell. "You already intend to do."

She wasn't foolish enough to believe that Kell wouldn't pay for it. Calla had to have coin on the table and if Neria did not stay very long, then the truth was that all of her efforts would be for nothing. Kell was a king's son. He could give her the coin she needed. But she still wanted to give Calla something; she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she walked around this world without providing anything in return for her stay.

Calla took her hand and, not for the first time, Neria was surprised at how...easy it was to let her do this. She did not flinch, not from her. And even as she was tugged closer, she did not feel afraid. When Calla's glance turned to Kell, she knew she had assumed rightly. Slowly, she nodded, her gaze briefly on Kell's back. "Of course," she whispered. She squeezed Calla's hand for a moment and then straightened.

Gently, she called to Kell, as if she wasn't acutely aware how he was pretending to be distracted. "Do you need anything before we go?" she asked him, knowing she had a few boxes of her own to carry now.

Kell looked up, straightened as Neria called out to him, fingers loosening from where they'd been fixed on his sleeve, arms dropping to his side. He turned his head to the left, sifting through his mind -- or considering.

Rather than answering immediately, he instead made his way back through the displays to Calla, where she was boxing up the things.

When he asked, it was almost uncomfortable, though he didn't seem to be hiding it.

"... the debt, is it...?"

Calla shook her head, and Kell's expression settled, but his shoulders dipped. He nodded, reaching up to brush his hair back from his face.

Turning, Calla held out the boxes. Kell automatically put his arms out to accept them, balancing everything. Calla showed no real reverence for his status, loading him up like this, and a part of him deeply appreciated it. Even if he pulled a face.

"To the palace?" he asked Neria, turning his head to glance at her through his blue eye.

The debt? Her brows lifted as Kell asked, uncertain how to take that, or even if she wished to ask. Calla shook her head and Kell seemed...appeased by the answer, though she could not completely read his expression. Neria was silent as she moved to help him with the boxes, making a sound when he took them all. "Kell--" He had already paid for them; he couldn't carry them too. "I can take half at least, you know."

For a moment, she paused, silent, questioning. She hadn't considered they were going to go to the palace. Neria had assumed she would go back to the sanctuary and Kell would continue on until they sent for her. But he was...going to carry her things to the castle. Kell Maresh, Antari, bound brother to the crowned prince, was going to carry an outsider's clothing boxes to the palace for people to see.

Really, she didn't know why she was very surprised.

Quietly, she exhaled the trepidation in her frame. "I suppose so." So long as you're with me...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject