Cold stones, warm hearth. (Oriah)

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick’s mind felt as if it were whirling out of control. The silence that followed his statement was only interrupted by the maddening drip drip drip of some distant pipe that had not been sealed properly and it now drizzled droplets of water in some personal vendetta against him. ‘What did Oi ever do to yah, yah bloody faucet!’ he thought as his brow furrowed in frustration. On the outside his skin felt numb. As if he could feel the impending dread. He knew that she was going to climb out of the bathwater and never speak to him again. On the outside the Dark Haired squire could project confidence like a singer in a tavern casts their voice, but inside he felt as though he might fall apart. His breathing was shallow, and quick. The tension felt as if he were being tortured on a rack, and he was but a hairs breath from snapping. That was, until she spoke. His breath caught in his throat, though he still kept his eyes closed. Her greatest temptation, she called him and his heart sank, but only for a moment. What did that mean! By Yahal, and Sylir both what did she mean? As his mental whirlwind came crashing down on him this new development caused the wave of emotional turmoil rise again and threaten to crush him once more. With a pained sigh he exhaled when next she spoke. Her best tempation, and she was grateful for it. She was glad he lived and that statement struck harder than any hammer and cut him deeper than any blade. It was not pain he felt, yet two tears he shed all the same. He lifted and bowed his head till his chin dabbed at the warm water and he felt the turbulence in the water as she drew closer to him. His back stiffened, as he listened and his breath grew quiet. He dared not muffle out the Benshira’s words. She said such sweet things, and his heart and mind cried out for action. Like an angry mob every ounce of his being took up that call. Her descriptions of him left him both barren, and sprung with feeling. He imagined those things. Cold mountain spring water after riding for a day. A meal of mushrooms from the forest, and how it filled him with warmth. The memories of Kindness. It was then her voice grew hushed, and he felt her arms brush against him beneath the turbulent waters which sloshed softly against the sides of the heated pool. A long sigh escaped his lips and his shoulders slumped and he relaxed. Somewhere inside him he searched for some truth to her words. Somehow, perhaps because she spoke them, or that maybe they rang true. He felt she was right. Her hands and head came to rest against his chest and he heaved a mighty breath. “M’inshufi” The Benshiran’s words echoed softly in the darkness of the room, yet he felt as though they had found their way through his soul. What magic his beloved had. Those words burned like a white hot brand in his mind, and his eyes parted weakly so he might glimpse her there, and remember. Remember till he was old and grizzled, and his mind nearly gone. Finally. Finally he had found someone. Someone he knew would not harm him. Someone that would love him as no other could. Her tenderness, made her seem more fragile than glass, and it was with a delicate hand that he stroked a handful of wet hair over the curve of her ear. Her embrace made the bath water seem cool, and his heart beat felt quickened as his chest burned with a yearning to fold into her. She had confessed her love back to him and it made him ache inside. The whirlwind inside his mind died to a gentle breeze. Marrick’s arms enfolded her against him, in the cage that his arms made and all felt right in the world. The death they faced outside the wall meant nothing. His life before in Ravok was a dwindling memory. He felt the most serene and inexplicable feeling of peace. It was here he found his atonement. With a gentle lift of his hand he ran his fingers through Oriah’s wet mop of hair. For a moment he reveled in the sheer sensation of having her hair against his hand, until he rested his palm against her jaw. The gentle curve of her face would forever be imprinted there in his hand when it was empty, for nothing had ever felt so natural there. With a longing in his heart, he lifted her face to peer into her eyes and he imagined that the look she gave him was much like his own. The low light turned her azure blue eyes to twin deep blue sapphires that peered at him through the stray tendrils of sandy hair. He sunk in the water, and buoyed her up so that he might kiss her as his whole being desperately desired. His eyes closed, his fingers spread against her cheek, and he pressed his lips to hers. With a long breath through his nose he parted her lips and opened his mouth to her. A long slow rolling wave of sensation spread through his chest and limbs, and he felt the most overwhelming desire to consume every bit of her he could, for that was the only thing he knew would metaphorically sate his hunger. When their lips at last parted they burned with a desire for an encore. Yet something held him back. Something inside him told him he needed to tell her. A still small voice, urging him that it was alright. That she needed to know. It whispered to him that he would forever have to deceive her if he did not. It would be wrong unless. “Oriah. Ha’yati” He said as he opened his eyes, and leaned his head against hers. “Oi want…” He said, as his breath caught in his throat. “Oi want… to tell you.” Marrick’s over emphasis stifled his accent awkwardly, like his own voice was broken. “Oi need teh.” Why couldn’t he say this? Why could he not simply confess to the woman he loved that he was a Kelvic. What was wrong with him?! In what felt like pure agony, he pulled her from his breast to hold her at arm’s length and maneuvered them to a place in the pool where they could kneel together. His voice caught in his throat and he could feel that serenity and peace fill him again. He could do it. He had to do it or risk sanity forever. Marricks voice cracked as if he were about to speak, just as he heard the latch of the outer door click. “Hoide!” he whispered in a hushed hiss before he scrambled to get out of the bath. Water was useless when it came to moving swiftly and silently as he rushed to escape the pool. Marrick had just managed to climb out of the water when Ser Whitevine stepped through the doorway letting in a stiff breeze. Seeing his Patron, Marrick snapped to attention and pounded his fist to his chest even though he was naked and wet. The look that David gave his squire was somewhere between confusion and surprise. Though that passed in what seemed like the brief moment of three ticks. “What were you doing?” he said before he threw up his hands. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Put some clothes on, we need to talk.” Ser Whitevine about faced and stepped outside, and the latch closed behind him. The Kelvic’s long exhale made him feel like an empty bellows. Sadness filled him as he turned and Oriah was nowhere in the pool. For the briefest of moments he wondered if he had dreamt that she had been there at all. He looked around for a tick and realized that the sooner he was outside the sooner she could make her escape as well. Yet, somewhere inside him he felt broken. Like he’d missed his chance to finally reach peace in himself, and it cut him deep as any knife. When her head slowly peaked up out of the water, Marrick stifled a laugh. It came out like half a snicker and a snort, but he laid down at the pools edge regardless. A stifled smile on his face. He reached out a hand to pull her close for a final kiss goodbye, and was glad when she was again near. With a longing more intense than overgiving he kissed her. When their lips parted he could swear he felt her ache as much as his at their separation. “Oi need teh go. Ser Whoitevoine needs somethin. Lock the door behoind me.” His brow furrowed as if he were in pain as he drew away from her. Somewhere inside him he felt as if he were leaving a part of himself behind. At the very least he hoped that he was putting on an amusing show as he pranced about the bath in the nude, as he desperately dried off and put on his uniform before he darted out into the cold, leaving naught but a pained glance and a wave goodbye to his beloved.

[Oriah]

Oriah felt a rush of exhilaration as Marrick pushed her higher up against his chest. The water ended just where the small of her back began, though neither squire seemed to pay much mind to their nudity.

His kissed wiped all other thoughts from her mind. There was only him, and her, and their lips parting for one another in feverish agreement. Oriah had never known a sensation quite so intoxicating. More than wine, more than hot baths and soft beds, more than dancing itself. Her breath was shaky and gasping by the time they broke their kiss. The Benshira could sense Marrick wanted more, and she was helplessly in concurrence, but something held him back.

"What's wrong?" Oriah whispered, heart rate somewhat steadier but no less alarmed. "What do you wish to tell me?"

The words, whatever they were, wanted to come, she could see that plain as day. But Marrick's mouth remained closed in mystifying rebellion. It was clearly something important, and yet perhaps it was for this reason that the truth on the tip of his tongue would not leave its safe perch.

Her worry only grew as Marrick held her at arm's length and floated them over to a more shallow part of the pool. Kneeling before one another, it seemed the squire was finally ready to share whatever had been eating at him.

He was just about to speak when the outer door of the baths clicked open. Oriah's heart leaped to her throat--if they were caught together, the best they could hope for was embarrassment, and the worst outright punishment. By the time Marrick whispered to her to hide, she was already dunking her head underwater, turning around in the obscurity of mist and water to press herself against the wall. It required a good deal of effort to remain submerged while simultaneously holding her breath. All the while, her heart beat wildly, threatening to cut her efforts short any moment.

Through the hazy depths of pool water, she was able to see Marrick's feet leave her vision and disappearing somewhere up into the surface. There were voices, but they were muffled and impossible to understand, though Oriah was able to discern both were male. One had to be Marrick, but the other...

Footsteps, booted ones, scraped in a half-arch before storming out of the baths. The latch to the outer door clicked open once more. Then it slammed shut again with a sort of harried finality. Taking this as her cue--and frankly unable to hold her breath for much longer--the Benshira let her body slowly rise out of the water. She did so cautiously, her eyes first to break the surface, then the rest of her nose and mouth and she gasped for air.

It was hard to see, at first. But as Marrick approached, some of the mist cleared, and Oriah suddenly remembered very pointedly that he was still, in fact, naked. He was lying at the pool's edge so all that she could see was his handsome face, the ends of his broad shoulders, and a damp, inviting stretch of masculine neck.

He laughed as her head poked out of the water, the sound forever reverberating like music in the Benshira's sopping head. Before she could ask who their untimely visitor had been, Marrick reached out a hand to pull her closer, kissing her one more time before he was inevitably pulled away for some duty or other. This time, the kiss caught her less off guard and she was able to return it in full. Awkwardly, without any trace of experience or method, but earnest all the same.

It took every ounce of self discipline and reasoning left in her body not to grab for the other squire and pull him back when he broke the locking of their lips yet again. But, as it turned out, his patron had summoned him. There was no arguing with that; Oriah knew so better than most.

She nodded sadly at his words, keeping her eyes lowered as Marrick got up to prepare himself. Water dripped steadily from her hair as the sound of his wet, bare footsteps pattered to and fro. The Benshira lost her self control, once, and glanced up to see the naked expanse of his muscled back. Her eyes traveled lower, even as her cheeks heated to burn like a hundred Synas, and it was only at the last tick before he turned to retrieve another article of clothing that Oriah flicked her gaze elsewhere, barely able to believe her own audacity.

Alas, it wasn't long before Marrick was ready to depart. He glanced back at her, waving once, before ducking out to attend to his patron. She managed to wave back and give a wan little smile. And then he was gone, leaving the baths all the colder for it. With a sigh, Oriah grabbed the edge of the pool and pushed herself out. She was clean enough, the squire reasoned, and there was no point in getting caught for good by someone else. This was after all still the men's side of the baths.

Locking the door temporarily as Marrick had suggested, Oriah set to ensuring her own escape. Her belongings were still set to one side, hopefully unnoticed by whoever had barged in on the two squires, and she picked at them with deft movements. Within a matter of chimes, she was dried, dressed, and ready to sneak herself out before someone caught her. Not knowing whether she should wait for Marrick to return and risk looking suspicious, or simply retire to her quarters, Oriah stood indecisively in one spot for a few breaths. Then she shook her head and started making her way back to her bunk. It was the most logical place for Marrick to find her once he'd seen to his whatever it is his patron wanted, and less conspicuous than if she had decided to wait in his room instead.

So it was that the Benshira found herself in her temporary quarters once more. Alone and slightly damp, but none the worse for wear. She was quite happy in fact. Almost giddy with unnamed feelings, floating about in her mind and generally making it hard to concentrate on any one thing. In an attempt to remedy this, Oriah decided to try and rekindle the fire in her hearth. She arranged some of the tinder set on one side of the fireplace, brought out her flint and steel, and struck once, twice, thrice before a tiny flame sparked to life.

She made sure the fire was steady and strong before shuffling over to her bed and sinking down into its impossible comfort. The Benshira was warm, clean, fed, and exhausted. And still her heart felt like it was ready to burst. She made a valiant attempt to stay awake for Marrick, but it wasn't long before her eyes began to droop. Not even the wild state of her emotions could keep her awake, and soon she was drifting off into oblivion, able to be wakened only by the familiar touch of a certain, raven haired squire.

[Marrick Corvis]

As the door to the bathes closed the Kelvic inwardly cursed his Patron. There has teh be a term for a man that interrupts yeh when yeh’are in the middle of trying teh make magic happen. The Kelvic thought as he rubbed the bridge of his nose and ground his teeth. He approached the Knight respectively though, giving his veteran Patron a salute when he stood by him. “Ser. What can Oi do fer yah?” “Be at peace Marrick.” Ser Whitevine told him with a wave of his dark gloved hand. Encouraging the Kelvic to take on a more relaxed posture. “Walk with me Squire. Something has happened.” The Icy eyes of the squire focused on Ser Whitevine’s face in the torch light. A pair of icy disks beneath a furrowed brow, a sign of his certainly impending punishment for being caught getting naughty with a fellow squire in the baths. “Sera Mora, has brought me some disturbing news. A season or two ago you may recall you and Oriah had a visitor in the Bronze Wood. The day the wolves wounded your arm.” The Knights words made Marrick let out a furtive sigh of relief, though the content of his statement left him with a new set of questions and concerns. “Aye, she was dressed in animal skins, and she had a long bow. What’s goin on?” The dark haired squire’s breath puffed out of him in wafts of steam, while his wet hair began to freeze from the cold. What had happened? Was there some sort of danger? The Kelvic could have chewed a hole in his lip from the stress this new uncertainty created. “Someone similar appeared in Syliras and has been asking around the Kelvic community about a young man with dark hair, and icy blue eyes.” The Knights words seemed unimaginable to Marrick for only just a moment and the weight of the situation fell on him like a loose roof tile. The Ser halted as his squire did, though only just for a tick. “You mean she was askin about me?” he said with confused look crossing over his face. The lilt his head leaned at spoke volumes for the little turning and churning that his pensive mind was going through. Though, the pair began their walk anew and the Kelvic waited for the other shoe to drop. “All the little bits of information I’ve been able to gather about our guest tells me she is indeed looking for you. Though she hasn’t been very overt about it.” The ground made a dull thumping as their boots echoed against the flagstones of the yard. “After a few days of me asking questions she disappeared, and no one has seen her leave Syliras, or within the cities walls. That’s a difficult magic trick to pull off with Knights on every corner and a citizenry eager to earn a boon with the Order.” The Kelvic searched his Patrons worried face for some sign of a resolution though none could be found. “Well, what will we do?” Marrick was at a loss for plans. He’d never had a person asking for him before. He was an unknown in Syliras, All the ties to his past in Ravok were dead, or were glad he was gone. His last Owner had sold him, the one before that was dead, and the one before that had sold him as well. No one wanted him, or would be looking for him. Or so he thought. “This makes no sense.” Ser Whitevine nodded sagely at his squires words. “So you’re just as confused as we are.” The Knight’s words were a gentle blow to Marrick’s sense of honor though he the focused look on the Ser’s face told Marrick it was not meant to be so. “There isn’t anything you need to tell me… About your time in Ravok little brother?” The Kelvic felt a little wounded as the pair slowly wandered through the yard. “No Ser! Oi Don’t think there is anyone left teh give two hai’s about me. Oi doubt even the Gods care where Oi am.” The squires icy disks focused on a shadow that moved against the torchlight near the Squires dorms. It was likely Oriah, though he couldn’t be sure. He hoped she made it out without getting caught. The pair walked in silence for a chime or two while Marrick tried to think who in all of Miz would even care to track him down. It was a frustrating mystery, and one that tugged at the tethers of his guts with an unpleasant feeling like he was forgetting something. As they reached the squires dormitories Ser Whitevine stopped in cold and held a hand against the wall, while his other stroked his chin in thought. “I’m going to send you with Sera Mora in the morning you’ll spend the rest of the winter with her and Oriah in the wilds. If your interested party is in the city, you’ll be safest where she won’t expect you to be.” With a long exhale of misty breath Marrick watched his Patron stand straight for a moment before he continued. “Listen to her, and do what she says. She’s very wise, and you could use a re-introduction to your other half.” The Kelvic eyed his Patron suspiciously, especially since it was maybe a bell or two since he’d seem him smothering his fellow knight with passionate kisses. He nearly said something, though he decided better of it. “What will you do then, Ser?” he said, his curiosity leading his tongue. With a blink and a nod the Knight began to lay out a plan. “I will go to the City and try to ferret out our guest. She couldn’t just disappear. Even magic leaves traces. The Knights are far busier with other things, besides if this is some sort of personal vendetta, best I not get them involved for your sake. The last thing we need is the Order questioning whether or not Squire Corvis is some sort of spy for Ravok. Especially not after the incident this fall at the gates.” Ser Whitevine licked his lips in thought before he laid a warm hand on Marrick’s shoulder. “I want you safe little brother. Be careful. Take care of Sera Mora, and Squire Azari. They’ll take care of you too.” The Dark haired squire nodded thoughtfully as he heaved a great sigh. The weight of this new development felt heavier than anything he’d dealt with before. The stress was carving a knot work of new creases in his forehead as possible scenarios began to evolve in his head. In the end there was nothing more to say, argue or collaborate on. The Kelvic knew that his Patron was wiser than he in these matters. There was but one thing more to know. “When will Oi see yeh again, Ser?” The squire’s voice grew small as the words of his question tumbled from his mouth. He hadn’t even realized just how much he had grown attached to Ser Whitevine. “I will send word every seven days. If I go out of contact, come find me in the city.” The picturesque knight gave his squire’s shoulder a final squeeze and he abandoned him there at the squire’s dormitory door. Marrick watched him go, a silent statue that faded into the dark. Surely he was headed back to his quarters on the second floor with Sera Mora. A little smirk formed at the corner of his mouth for just a moment as he silently said a prayer that his Patron have a pleasant evening. It had been a long night. Only a half dozen bells, and he’d gone from guard duty, to enjoying a good meal with Oriah, to catching his Patron and Sera Mora in a passionate embrace, to nearly having one himself, struggling with his conscience, finding out there was some sort of ghost from his past after him, and finally that he was going to be staying with someone elses Patron for a while. The Kelvic sighed one final time into the cold night before he quickly entered the dorms and shut the door behind him. There was a cheery fire burning in both of the hearths and the few folk that were still up, spoke in hushed voices. While others slept in their bunks. His mind was awash with questions. Turbulent with concerns, he sought the only comfort that made sense. After hanging up his cloak, and his Gambeson he found his way to Oriah’s bunk. He watched her for just a moment before he sat down with his back to the head board. As she stirred he found himself unable to keep a mysterious smile from forming on his lips before he reached down and ran his fingers through her mop of damp hair. His fingers ran lightly through her sandy locks, as the tips of his fingers raked her scalp gently. When her eyes at last opened to look at him, he smiled down at her afraid that the weight of the evening showed plainly on the lines of his face. “Ya Letha, Habibi.” He said softly to her as his eyes blinked with slow purpose. “You are the moon, my love.” He whispered. “Oi’m sorry fer tonoight. So much has happened in only a few bells.” The Kelvic sighed as the exhaustion showed on his face. He wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through her hair. It was a simple pleasure, like drinking cold water on a hot day, or warm blankets when the night grew cold.

[Oriah]

She had been dreaming of something. Or was it real and merely half remembered in her groggy state? Oriah couldn't be sure, but she knew it had vaguely something to do with...with their patrons and...and talking birds...

Perhaps it was a dream after all.

The Benshira stirred slowly to the gentle sinking of the space beside her and warm, calloused fingers running through her damp hair. She shivered under the divine ministrations. And would have purred, too, if she could, relishing every tender sweep of Marrick's hand. She didn't even need to open her eyes to know it was him, able to smell, feel, and sense him long before she could recognize him by sight or sound.

For a moment at once endless and far too short, Oriah found herself entranced beneath Marrick's soothing touch. There were few things in this world that brought her more pleasure than having her hair played with, and the Benshira reveled in it shamelessly, not daring to move a muscle for fear that the slightest motion might chase away that attentive hand. Her breathing grew deeper, slower, and her limbs helplessly lax. It felt too good to be true.

When Marrick spoke, however, she forced herself to open her eyes at last. His words were sweet, but there was something troubled in his tone. More than just a simple apology for his hasty summons.

Oriah stared at him with drowsy and slightly alarmed, azure eyes. It hadn't even crossed her mind until now that the other squires and Knights might find it somewhat shocking to see the two of them sharing a bed, fully dressed and over the covers as they were. Or maybe they wouldn't, considering all the knowing smiles and whispers that seemed to follow just a step behind them where ever they went. But the thought was almost irrelevant in how trivial it was. Oriah simply did what she felt was right and natural, and there was nothing about the man laying wearily across from her that defied either.

She wanted to indulge in the pleasure of his gentle fingers, but the weight behind his eyes would not allow it. Shifting as lightly as she could, Oriah brought up a hand to place it against the outline of Marrick's jaw. She looked upon him with guileless eyes, adoration, concerns, contentedness, all worn as plainly as the dye on her sleeves.

"What is wrong?" she asked softly. The question was but a mere whisper of breath that rolled across the smooth sheet between them. "What did Ser David want with you? Was it something...not good?"

The Benshira struggled with the last word, not knowing the Common equivalent for distressing, worrisome, unpleasant, and the like.

"Or is it something I cannot know?" she added a beat later. It was a regular condition for squires like them, not being privy to certain information concerning the rest of the Order. Oriah thought she had grown used to it by now, but when it came to the pale eyed squire before her, there was no amount of information concerning him she wished to be barred from. All the same, she would understand if such was the case.

She rubbed her thumb absently back and forth against Marrick's cheek, marveling at its closeness. "Oasis in the night," Oriah murmured without thinking. "What troubles you?"

[Marrick Corvis]

He sighed in furtive delight at the Benshira’s reaction to his touch. He took simple pleasure in knowing that he could make her feel so good. It took all his will not to brood over her like a mothering hen as her lithe frame shifted lightly on the bed. Her motions drew a sigh from his nostrils, much like the sound of the ocean as it rushed against the shore. When her hand reached out, he watched it with tired eyes, until her palm met gently with the curve of his jaw. His icy disks to the tenderness of her touch, so full of warmth. Especially as the curve of his face was cold still from the outside. Her whispered breath came with kind words of concern, pleasant as the mourning doves call. “Aye, yeh moight say that.” With a slow breath he shrugged his shoulders. “But you need to know, or will know soon enough.” The Kelvic grasped the turf of her hair for but a tick and gently pulled and released in a gentle massage. If his memory served at all, it would be pleasant. Though every woman was different. “Oi’m goin with you.” He said, paying close attention to annunciate the word ‘you’. “When Syna roises, Sera Mora, you, and Oi will be leavin. Ser Whoitevoine says that Oi’m in danger here, and in Syliras. Lady Mora knows what is going on, so you’ll have me with yeh fer the rest of the winter.” Marricks hand ceased its consistent movement, as his eyes blinked slowly. Almost as if he were a lazy cat, and the very idea of doing anything other than sleep bore great stress. He sighed away a chest full of woe, pulled away from the Benshira’s pleasant touch, and rested his back against the headboard again. He shut his eyes and rubbed the cleft of his brow. “As excoited as Oi am teh at last spend more than an evenin with you, it troubles me that Ser Whoitevoine is concerned enough teh tell me about what is happennin.” Marrick’s breathing grew soft and he leaned in closely to the Benshira, if only to look her in her azure eyes. If he was accused of Kissing, that would be the worst of it. The last thing he wanted was for others there in garrison to spread rumors, better they be that the Dark haired squire was an exhibitionist, and not a traitor. “Ser Whoitvoine is worried that someone from Ravok has followed me here. Do yeh remember the woman from the forest durin the warm season? She appeared in Syliras and has been asking for a dark haired, icy eyed squire, from Ravok.” His voice came out in a silken whisper. “Oi’m terrifoid that one of my old owners has come teh claim me. Though Oi can’t imagine how they’d expect teh compel the Order teh turn me over legally. Oi wasn’t worth much in the first place anyhow, so none of it makes any sense.” His icy disks that had focused so intensely on the warm azure pools of Oriah’s own eyes, turned away. He sat in silence, until he couldn’t stand how close he was, and he pulled the Sandy haired Benshira into a firm hug. “Oi’m sorry Oi was so forward with yeh t’noight. Yeh are too koind. Yer loife, yer god, yer path. Oi feel selfish teh steal yeh away from it. Loike a teef.” His words tickled at the sandy locks so close to Oriah’s ear that he could see his breath playing with her hair like wind in the reeds. “Oi’m naught an oasis, Oi’m a Mirage, n’ yer far safer keepin me at arm’s length.” The Kelvic felt the lows of self-deprecation and believed his words to be true. He had made a vow to protect her that warm night so long ago, and here his past came swooping in to threaten that now. “Oi’m nothing but a teef, that’s wantin teh steal yer heart. But Oi don’ deserve it. Oi don’ deserve such a foine thing in meh clumsy hands.” Marrick was about to confess, the whole thing to her. He wanted to bleed his lies away, and show her just how much of a fool he was. He wanted it all to be over, and he hated the black tarnish that it made on his soul. If something happened to him and her in the next coming seasons he would never forgive himself the transgression he would have committed. As he pulled away he was about to open his mouth and let it all off his chest, though something stopped him. Something agonizingly painful, and unbearably exquisite. Like sweet nectar, on your lips when you lick them after tasting honey.

[Oriah]

Oriah was so lost in the bliss of Marrick's gentle tugs against her hair that she almost missed what he said next. The words slowly pieced themselves together before their meaning finally sunk in. He was going with her. They would be leaving upon Syna's rising, together. No dreaded countdown of the bells left before morning's rays peeked through, no heart wrenching good byes, no cold, sleepless night to follow as she stared up at Leth's light, wishing to be somewhere else. All of that made obsolete, just with Marrick's accompanying presence alone.

But not all was happy news. There was a reason for the temporary alteration of arrangements, one dark and worrying. Apparently, the other squire was in some kind of danger. What exactly that danger was, Oriah couldn't even begin to guess. Marrick wasn't the type to make lethal enemies so suddenly and there were no dangers he faced that all the members of the Order didn't face in kind.

The answer came soon enough as he continued explaining. It turned out that the woman they'd seen out in that muddy ravine, a stranger wearing all manner of skins and feral airs, had been asking for a squire of his description. But why would that immediately mean danger? The woman had saved them, after all, felling one of the wolves before it could attack them. Of course, she hadn't introduced herself, nor made any effort at all to communicate with the Syliran trio, but she had not killed any of them outright.

So why had she been deemed dangerous? What did Ser David know that he was not telling them? That both he and Sera Mora most certainly shared?

As Marrick spoke on, Oriah's fear grew along side his. An old owner come to reclaim him? That was, as Marrick had said himself, a bit of a stretch and none of it made any sense. The Benshira knew there were some slave owners out there who grew obsessively attached to their property, but even so...

It was the darker haired squire's following words, however, that brought true horror into Oriah's heart. He called himself selfish, a thief, apologizing for his actions and involving her in this predicament before suggesting she keep him at arm's length. The Benshira almost leaped to her feet right then and there in anger. She wanted to shake him, violently, at the very thought of asking her to be anywhere else but here.

In the end, she did neither. Instead, Oriah placed her hand over Marrick's, halting his divine ministrations for a moment, and brought it to hover over her heart. She then wrapped both hands around his to keep it pinned securely to her chest.

"Listen to me," came her earnest, deadly serious response. Even her accent seemed to fade a little in the face of such candid confessions. "Life is danger. Every breath we take, risk. But if we let our fear become what we value most, then we will be unable to sow happiness because we have poisoned ourselves."

Oriah brought Marrick's hand to her lips and gave it a gentle kiss. "I am not safe anywhere. None of us are. But I know in my heart and my mind that we are safer together. We can watch over each other, fight for each other. And how many people in this world can say the same?" She lifted one hand to rest it against the strong curve of Marrick's jaw. "And you are no thief. It is only stealing if you take what does not belong to you."

There was a tinge of sadness in her eyes as she said this, memories of Priah and the ring that condemned her to death floating through her consciousness. But she pushed those old ghosts and wounds aside to focus on the present. "And that is why I give my heart to you. Freely, of my own will. That way no one, not even you, can ever say you are a thief. "

Oriah shifted closer and reached over Marrick to pull the blanket over them both, wrapping them like some kind of giant clam. "As for what you deserve," she murmured, reveling in the warmth and security of his arms, "I understand. I feel the same about the protection Yahal has blessed me with. But it is because of his faith in me that I try to be good. To be worthy of that faith. And it is because of you that I believe it is working."

She was drifting. Slipping under the tides of drowsiness. The last words her lips managed to shape before sleep finally claimed her were, "And you...your hands are...are not clumsy... they strong......good......"

And then she was gone, lost in the sea of peaceful slumber.

[Marrick Corvis]

What is woman? What magic is it that they possess that allows them to rebuild the ruins of a man. Bring one so humbled to lofty heights like the wind of Zulrav’s very breath. The warmth of Oriah’s hand as it covered his was a soothing balm to his tortured soul. His breath caught in his throat when she moved his hand to her breast, just over her heart and his spine felt as if it were caked with the ice that whirled outside. Her hands were almost like an anchor that tethered him to her. He could feel the pulse of her heartbeat as it throbbed in her chest, and his breath came slow and laboriously. While his words had been cold and sorrowful as cold stone, hers were warm and stable as the hearth by a lit fire. She urged him to listen, and what else could he do, captivated and tied as he felt he was to her? He felt dumb as those cold rocks. She was right. Mizahar was a dangerous place, and every precious measure of joy needed to be nurtured, and brought into the light. That was his fault though. She had to know the truth before he could truly give everything to her. Her gentle kiss on his hand made all the stress and discomfort he’d felt wash over him until it melted into exhaustion in his bones. She was a beautiful sage, and a breath of life in the desert of his self-torment. Though it was her last words that both sealed his fate, and laid his fear to rest. He both knew that Oriah loved him, and that he would tell her when the time was right, or she would discover it on her own. What he was, who he was, and she would understand. She may hate him for a time, but she would understand. As she drew the blanket around him the little voice of self-doubt in his mind seemed to change its tune. ‘Pech it! The order can kick you out tomorrow, take her words to heart yah big oaf. Revel in this while you can!’ it said to him as he wrapped his arms around Oriah. The warmth that filled him, drove away any concerns he had that people would talk or even reveal that he had shared a bunk with the Benshira for the night. Perhaps… Perhaps they may even believe simply that it had become extremely cold at night and that it was a good idea. Regardless he didn’t care. At that moment, the order didn’t exist, and the night full of ice and darkness was miles away. In their little swaddle of warm blankets they were safe, warm, and complete. He hoped that he was what she needed. That he was indeed a messenger of Yahal. Regardless of what gods moved him about as a puzzle piece or plucked him like a string in the tapestry of life he would be what she needed. As her words grew drowsy, he stroked the hair from her eyes in soothing repetition. He hummed softly to her. It was the same old song, though its tempo may have been a bit slower. It was the same one they had heard the first night they had met. Though for whatever reason he couldn’t remember the words, but that didn’t matter. When her breath grew soft, he found the gentle strokes of his hands had grown slower and more whimsical. Almost as if he were no longer controlling it’s slow and gentle drag across her mop of hair. He didn’t even realize had fallen asleep.

[Oriah]

She let herself become enveloped in his warmth, lulled by their heartfelt exchange and his gentle humming. Had this been any other place with any other squire, Oriah might have felt the compulsion to shy away, to maintain the integrity of her faith. But it was not. They were in the safety of the outpost, surrounded by those they worked and trusted with. And most importantly of all, they had each other. By then there was nothing in the world that could have convinced the Benshira to doubt her heart. That even a sliver of shame could lay between herself and the man lying beside her.

Alas, 'twas such...until morning came.

She woke with a start. Someone was hammering at the door. There was a moment of confusion as Oriah tried to get up but was hindered by rather heavy appendages. A man's arms, Marrick's arms...warm, protective, strong arms...

"Up you get, squire! Before I have to break this door down and drag you out myself."

The Benshira recognized the voice as one of the older, gruffer knights usually on guard duty. "I'm up, Ser! I'll be out in a moment!"

"Private meeting in the common room. Your patrons are waiting."

And with that and a quick scrape of the heels, he was gone, marching down the hall to go terrorize some other hapless squire into dutiful alertness. It wasn't until Oriah had practically rolled right off the bed and begun stuffing her feet into her boots that she realized the old knight had said your patrons.

Her face heated for a moment at the knowledge that Marrick spending the night in her rooms, albeit accidentally, was not the private matter they'd hoped it would be. Still, there was no time to dally. Fortunately for both of them, that had slept fully clothed that night, so preparations were a simple matter. Right before they left the room together, Oriah turned and stared up at her fellow squire with bold, bright eyes. And then, rising on tip toe, she kissed him softly on the lips.

"In case we are in trouble, and we are never allowed to do that again."

The very thought made her stomach roil with dread. But what could they do at this point? The damage was done, and the verdict rested with their awaiting patrons. The only thing left for them to do was to face their sentence with courage, whatever that sentence may be, and carry on as best they could.

When they arrived at the common room, however, and Oriah saw both Sera Mora and Ser Whitevine standing side by side near the hearth, something told her she had been overreacting for the completely wrong reasons. Their faces looked serious, but not angry. There was distress but...not directed at their squires, that much was obvious. They even exchanged a fleeting, worried glance at one another upon the squires' arrival, like two concerned parents over the safety of their brood.

"Morning, Squire Azari, Squire Corvis," Ser Whitevine greeted amiable, though the unease still lingered in his gaze. His counter part, however, was not nearly as diplomatic.

"You are both to pack your things and leave with me at once," Sera Mora intoned, her voice holding no sign of emotion. "The sooner the better. Our days are growing shorter and we have much distance--and learning--to cover."

Oriah looked up at both knights in utter confusion. "I trust your wisdom, Sera, Ser. But I must ask...why?"