Closed [The Mortal Solace] A Peculiar Headcase

[Reisen Widerspruch]

76th of Spring, 516 AV, 1st Bell 15th Chime.

It was not a good time to be Reisen right now. In fact it was a horrible time as he limped tiredly through the streets looking for the one place to help heal his wounds. It was hours after the ordeal with the two men and the Rujarro and these hours felt like an eternity filled with panic, fear and lightheadedness. His clothes were dirty from the mud of the swamp yet feeling that he’d have little choice, he’d ripped off the cleanest bit of fabric off his shirt and used it’s a tourniquet for his shoulder.

He’d been lucky to have been let through when one of the Magistrate patrols happened to examine the gate and one of them recognized him as under the employment of Collin Askara, allowing him passage after a quick and brief interrogation that was summed up ‘Went out for a walk, saw Rujaro, now need healing’. He was acutely aware that was barely enough but seeing him in his delirious state they’d thought it best to direct him to the Mortal Solace, one of the Lorak run establishments.

With a frantic nod and an unbalanced step, he’d left them behind though the Magistrate patrol were certainly watching his back, tailing him from a safe distance. Eventually they’d need a full tale and if the Rujaro was involved then they’d need to hear more.

Reisen didn’t bother checking if he was being followed, all he knew was that he needed to head to Dry Island Plaza if he wanted to get the healing he needed. His body seemed to burn with pain with each step, the view of the world looked like a slightly blurry shape that kept moving about. It was clear he was on the verge of collapse yet Reisen was a stubborn one, he had quite an allergy to death after all and it would do his complexion no good for him to submit to it.

It felt like another eternity and he briefly found himself leaning against a tree, panting as the memories of what transpired replayed itself in his mind over and over and over and over….

‘Damn it, is this what I get for looking over a bush with mild curiousity?’ The answer was yes, but he refused to acknowledge that for now as he had bigger concerns, forcing himself to carry forward en route to his salvation.

After what felt like another eternity, he had finally reached the establishment called ‘ The Mortal Solace’ and silently he hoped it lived up to its name because he could surely used some. However, as he reached the door his body decided to give out on him, too tired to carry forward.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, it decided to fall forward instead and thus Reisin’s forehead decided to meet with the Solace’s door in a very loud, very painful, knock.

[Verena Lorak]

The end of the season was approaching fast and Verena could not shake away the sense of foreboding that had shrouded her for quite some time. It was not because the date of her wedding was closing in, for she had known that it was inevitable since the day she stood facing Cas for the first time. It was also not because of the treacherous rumors that threatened her. It was... something she could not describe, and that made things much worse.

It also did not help that sleep eluded her tonight. She hated nights like this, when storms of thoughts threatened to knock her down.

A distraction was what she needed.

The young woman walked over to the white box that had been delivered to her clinic only yesterday. She did not have the courage or the time to inspect its inside, but she could guess what it would be. Opening it, Verena was not surprised to be right. It was the wedding dress that Lorana had picked out for her. The rich fabric was in beautiful shades of blue, most likely to match their wedding location which will be the beach at Stormsgrace. Carefully, she pulled it out of the box, letting the floor-length dress hanging in all its glory.

Hallan was mindlessly flipping through the records of their most recent patients when the door of his owner’s opened soundlessly. He wasn’t surprised that Verena wasn’t asleep yet – she had been especially restless ever since she returned from her week-long trip outside Kenash. Standing up from his seat, the slave cleared his throat. “My lady, may I help you with something?”

“Help me put on a dress,” was all she said. Nodding, the Benshiran followed the young woman into her office, closing the door behind him.

Accustomed to his mistress’s ways, Hallan was not at all surprised or puzzled at Verena’s boldness as she immediately shrugged off her robe. Things that might embarrass most people didn’t faze her in the same way. Still, the Benshiran slave knew his eyes had lingered too long on her body, which was barely hidden under the thin chemise.

When Verena moved her gaze, it was her turn to look at the slave who now had his back facing her. It gave her the full view of his bare back. Raised scars crisscrossed his back, disfiguring his skin. She was suddenly transported back to that horrible night. Her hands shaking as she painstakingly stitched every wound, knowing that each of them was her fault. The whole time he reassured her that he was fine, as if she was the patient instead.

Having taken off her chemise, Verena stepped into the lavish dress and stood in front of the tall mirror installed in the room. Something weighed heavily in her heart as she imagined herself doing the same thing on the day of her wedding. It was easier now to imagine spending her whole life with Cas. After all, she had spent most of her time with him anyway. He cared for her. At least you are given the time to know each other, Verena, most people do not even have that chance before they were married off – that’s what Zorane had told her countless times.

“Hallan,” she called out softly. The slave swiveled, his gaze stubbornly pinned on the ground. Wordlessly, he tightened and tied the ribbons that held the dress together, painstakingly avoiding to touch the healer’s bare back.

Verena watched him closely from the mirror, remembering that night that he was brought to her. The days she had spent to nurse him back to health. “Do you want to leave, Hallan?” she asked quietly. “Find your family? Learn who you were before you were–”

The Benshiran straightened, his hypnotic eyes looking straight at her from the mirror. He knew what his mistress was going to say, knew her well enough to know that the Lorak had the tendency to blame herself for not being able to save everyone. “Saved by a beautiful healer? Brought back to life by a stranger? I am content with my life here. Besides, I have told you that I remembered nothing and there is nothing for me to return to.”

“But you are a slave because of me,” Verena pointed out as she ran her fingers down the smooth fabric.

“Yes, I am,” he admitted. “I am also alive because of you.”

This was not the first time they had such a conversation. Every time she thought about Hallan, all she could do was wonder what his life would be if he had never had the bad luck of being brought to Kenash. Verena still remembered how severe the Benshiran’s injury was and she knew perfectly well that he would have died if he was not treated, but still… “Do you not want to be free? I can help you leave.”

Hallan did not answer immediately as he focused on tying the corset. The thought had crossed his mind before and it would be a horrendous lie to say he liked being a slave. Yet, he did not quite know how to respond to that offer. He couldn’t leave, if only for Verena’s sake. “Your sister will not be thrilled if she knew what you just said, Verena.”

What the slave said was true. Verena could not even imagine what Lorana would do to her if she found out that her sister had freed a slave willingly. Both of them knew it and so there was nothing else to say. Once Hallan was done, he took a step back and still avoided looking directly at her.

“You look enchanting, my lady,” he said, his eyes resting on the skirt of her dress. She was breathtaking, actually, and he feared that he might do something that would get them both into deep trouble.

Even Verena had to admit that the gown looked wondrous on her. The dressmaker had gotten her measurements perfectly, accentuating her every curve and hiding her imperfections. Lorana will be pleased. She could already imagine her older sister lecturing her about being a proper wife for Cas. Then she thought of Caedmon, watching her from afar. The young woman thought about her exiled mother next, wondering where she was now and whether if she was alright. The small fires of anger started to flicker inside her again.

“That’s it,” the Lorak announced abruptly, wanting to stop the emotions from flooding her. “Untie me.”

As her slave assisted her to step out of the dress, they were both startled by a sudden crash. Their heads turned toward the door, guessing that the noise came from outside.

“What was that?”

Hallan bowed. “I shall see what it was, my lady. You should finish undressing.”

Eager to place some distance between them, Hallan left the stuffy office. Sometimes he wished that he had gotten a crueler owner, one who would not treat him so kindly, one who would not make him forget that they were from different worlds. Back inside, there was a brief tick when he wanted to embrace and comfort her, to have her in his arms. He shook his head as he glanced toward the front door. Those were the kind of thoughts that would get them both killed.

When the slave saw the man lying on the ground just outside their clinic, he calmly opened the door and knelt beside him. He shook the man’s shoulder gently. “Sir, are you alright? Can you hear me?”

Ticks later, Verena would follow, still tying her robes together as her eyes quickly took note of the man’s injuries.

[Reisen Widerspruch]

In the haze of his bare consciousness, Reisen looked through blurry sight at whomever it was. It didn’t matter who this person was be they slave, freeborn or dynast. In the end what he needed was a savior to heal the wounds he had sustained. Preferreably he would be saved and not lose an arm….. he was quite attached to them after all.

“What? I’m I ok? Oh sure if you count the wound on my face and arm as merely decorations, then yes I am indeed ok” He would have said those words, but fortunately perhaps for all involved only mumbles came out and the words themselves were now merely thoughts that would be soon forgotten in the depths of Reis’ memories.

He tried to move, but the motions escaped him and against his will memories of what happened assaulted his mind like the tide against a boulder. Memries of a burning corpse, of dead Rujaro, of a spear, and of tall man with a hat and his rotund compatriot.

He tried to speak again but instead of mumbles no sound came out at all, everything a dance of hazes preventing him of coherent thought. All he could do was perhaps point to his shoulder weakly with his unharmed hand. It was the best he could do. The rest were up to their eyes and skills.

They would see him dirty with the muk of the swamps and that a torn shoulder sleeve was red with blood. They would see the cuts to his right shoulder and the gash on his left cheek as well as a bump on his forehead from his rather improvised knock on the door. Overalll his appearance made it look like he’d survived an enraged animal of sorts, which wouldn’t be too far from the truth in the eyes of some.

He had lost a fair amount of blood and exhaustion had taken its toll to once more deliver Reisen to sweet unconsciousness….