milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

Arithon enters the bar, and then leaves it again. To the lake, not out the front door. He has a pipe and a small leather pouch in one hand.

Upon getting out there he heads to the spot by the trees that he finds most comfortable, and begins to pack the pouch with dried herbs.

A couple of deep drags on the thick, choking smoke later the seer's weed encounters a body wasted by; stress, war, more war, stress, fasting, dehydration, and did we mention six years of war?, and with a quiet sigh he drops the pipe and quietly falls over.

Note to the sane: using tienelle when not at peak form is very stupid.

((This post is slow-timed. There is breaking, and doom, but of the sort that will be fixable in the end. Special thanks goes to Aspen, without whom this would have just been more flailing and pain and suffering. Aspen deserves love. SparklyJess, Star, and Madb, thus, love her.))

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The lake is not the sea, but it is a sizeably body of water and soothing in it's own right. Archie steps outside into the warm summer evening and walks slowly down to the moonlit shore.

He notices the peculiar smell long before he sees the small, dark form sprawled on the lawn like a broken thing, and it isn't until he reaches the body's side that he realizes who it is laying there.

"Arithon, God..."

Arithon is, as they say, out like a light.

He is breathing, which is good, but he's also not responding beyond eyes flickering behind shut lids in the manner of someone having a terrible nightmare, and incapable of waking up.

Archie's hands flutter above the smaller man's body like pale, panicked butterflies. He sees no outward sign of injury, but it is dark, and Archie is only human. He shakes the small sorcerer gently.

"Arithon? Can you hear me? ...Goddamnit, Arithon..."

Receiving no response, and despite warnings in his mind saying that it might not be the best of ideas to move him, Archie finally scoops up the other man and heads back inside. He's so light, Archie's afraid he'll simply shatter in his arms.

Another millitime, and Svava's still reading Afterlives. The back door opens, and she looks up-

And then is scrambling to her feet.

"Archie- what happened? He's back? When did he get back?" There's just one wince, but despite the hurt, she hurries over.

A quick, confused look to Svava, Archie hadn't been aware that Arithon had gone anywhere except to the House of Arch.

"I... I don't know. I went out to the lake and he was there. He's breathing, but I don't... I don't know what's wrong with him."

Svava nods at Archie, and motions for him to put Arithon down on one of the booth benches, carefully. Her nose wrinkles, as she smells the tienelle smoke from his clothes.

"... gods. Why, Arithon?" A quiet sigh. "He'll need water, and food. And more rest afterwards, but figure as if he's not had any of those things for a week or more?"

Archie puts Arithon down, and Svava moves over. She starts tracing runes carefully right above Arithon's forehead. Sowulo glowing gold, crossed with Gebo flickering green, until the two runes form a third, Dagaz which shines blue and yellow like sunlight pushing through clouds. The symbols fade, the light melting into Arithon. A deep breath, and Svava sits back on her heels.

He blinks up at her from across Arithon's too-still form.

"Did it work?

He sits up, looks at them and his face closes down.

Something short, but heartfelt, is said in Paravian. It probably wasn't very nice. It is followed by him struggling to sit up, and saying with chill formality,

"My thanks, Lady."

Svava lowers her eyes to her hands, and nods.

Saying not a thing.

A waitrat with a silver necklace is nearby, squeaking and fretting. Svava looks to her, and quietly orders- first a large glass of water, then a bowl of stew and bread, for Arithon here at the booth.

Svava rises to her feet. "I won't see you hurt, though I won't anger you with my presence. Good night, Arithon."

"I suppose it did work, then...

Archie looks back and forth between the other two and, as Svava tries to leave, he stands and gently takes her arm, trusting that, for the moment, Arithon might still be too disoriented to go far.

"Svava, please. You two need to not let things become more bitter than they already are..."

He tries to stand up.

And fails.

So there is just a silent snarl and he glares at the universe.

He's good at that.

Svava glances at Archie, frowning faintly, then sits down across from Arithon, silently.

Eyes on her hands, though there is a glance up at Arithon.

Taska does return quickly with the glass of water. Svava reaches down, picks up the glass, and sets it on the table for Arithon.

Archie sighs deeply.

"You two need to talk, shout at eachother or something. I don't know which would be better, but I know that things can't continue this way."

A pause.

"Please?"

Silence, and he takes a drink of the water.

No, he really isn't helping.

Several deep breaths, thinking, and as thoughts and feelings chase each other around in her mind- Svava stands back up, hands on the table.

"Fjandinn, Arithon! I don't understand. I've tried talking to you, and you won't. What's wrong? Talk to me, please. I don't know!"

Archie stands as she does, touching her arm gently. He looks desperately back and forth between the other two.

"If you would just talk to each other... somehow..."

He trails off, nothing he's said thus far has made any difference other than to make things worse.

He would stand if he could, instead he laughs helplessly and says;

"You do not understand? You would?"

And he flings a hand toward them;

shock, pain, and a shattering feeling that makes the sting on the face as to nothing as months of thoughts, months of open and free interaction are brought to this for words; and at that words far less than he could have come up with: less than his world would have had fathers say to daughters or brothers to sisters. A breaking like a pane of glass so fragile and weak that air could cause it to shiver struck by a rock tossed hard.

From his point of view he (they) manage by pure, cussed will power to walk to the door, already dying inside and attempting to find a way to die in body without losing his (their) soul to an oath torn from him by the last betrayal from one he let in; when unicorns were used to force him to take a crown he does not want.

A following day, when nearly the first words said were an addition of guilt to one who can barely move through the pain, a desperate attempt to get out of the so-called conversation, and finally a panicked flight into the hell of war...

And before they suffer that with him, he cuts the contact.

A near-silent cry, and Svava collapses back into the seat she had vacated a moment before.

Weeping.

Archie is on his knees, his hands over his ears as if that would stop the pain, the memory, like tiny whips peeling the skin off, flaying him alive. And when Arithon shuts down the connection, Archie is back in El Ferrol, wanting, wishing, waiting to die.

But he is not there, he is here, and slowly, so slowly, he raises his eyes to Arithons, showing only regret and not a little fear.

And the bitter, bitter knowledge that they only caught a bit of what he has spent six long years remembering sparks those dead green eyes of his before he puts the distant mask back over his features before the rest of the bar can see him.

He can't walk away right now. He can't even stand up.

""

Wide, stunned blue eyes barely manage to look up to him.

""

Archie simply stares at him, eyes too wide, his breaths too shallow, a fine trembling through his limbs.

"How do you breathe?"

First to Svava, and very simply;

"You hit me."

And then to Archie,

"I have no choice but to live."

Or, quite simply, he would not do so.

If anyone else had caused him such pain-

Svava would be the first to go after them. (When Lysaer had shown up, she had.)

Except this time? It was her.

She lowers her head to her arms, on the table, crying softly.

Archie? Is lost. And it probably shows in the way he's still staring wide-eyed and frightened at Arithon. At the quiet sound of Svava's sobs, however, he slides next to her, pulling her gently against his chest, stroking her hair. His eyes never leave Arithon's face.

"Ama'idan."

He says it quietly, and the weight of their fear and sorrow seems to draw his eyes closed. He doesn't know what to say, and he can't leave, and thus...

She hears Arithon, and takes a deep breath, to slow and calm the tears. Another, and another, until she's quiet, and can reach out a hand across the table to him.

Archie doesn't move for a few moments, except for the hand that is still, automatically stroking Svava's hair. Finally though, he blinks and, swallowing hard, he looks down at the hand Svava's offered to the other man.

He sets his hand in it, frail and light as a bird, for a moment before taking it away again.

She should understand, now, that it isn't hate. He just can't right now.

Svava does understand. 'Can't right now' isn't forever, which is what broke her the other day. There will be later, and that's enough.

More than enough.

There's a faint nod to Arithon, her eyes still saddened, but there's relief there as well. Later, and they'll speak more, and fix things-

But at least now there's the hope that they can be perhaps fixed. A quiet sigh, and she settles against Archie.

Archie nods and closes his eyes for a moment in gratitude and relief. When he opens them again, the fear is still there, though not as open and near panicked as before. Things will be better. Someday.

"You should rest, Arithon, we should... leave you for now.

He hugs Svava close, supporting her as much as she'll let him.

"Good night."

He says it quietly, and he does look ready to sleep where he is.

"Some rest, yes. Tashka will make sure you have food and water." Svava nods, quietly, and slowly stands.

Archie nods again, avoiding Arithon's eyes, his arm still protectively around Svava. He scans the area looking for the little silver-necklaced rat, knowing that she wouldn't have to be asked to take care fo him.

"Come, sweetest, you need rest too."

Gently, he guides Svava towards the stairs. He doesn't look back.

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