Hydaelyn Role-Players

Warren read and reread the letter after the door clicked locked before him. He had been sitting with Jancis quietly, his mind running through the dozen or so predicaments colluding at the time to keep his focus scattered.

He said nothing for a long time, his eyes just going over the script and he fought back the pressure in his eyes. Eventually he folded the note as best as he could and got wearily back to his feet.

"I'll take that healing now, Miss Milburga, if you don't mind." His voice was strained and near-silent. "Please."

Jancis stared at her own letter long enough, her lips pursed up. Cici knew her far too well: she knew Alveo would be beyond concern, she knew the conjurer would provide little help, she knew exactly what to say. And Jancis knew she was right.

She held back a sigh, keeping her braver face for Sir Castille's sake; she had said something similar to the knight herself so how could she complain being told the same in turn?

"Of course I do not mind," she replied quietly.

Out of basic hearing distance now from Crofte, and being told to leave as it was would not compromise the lady knight's position, Jancis began healing Sir Castille. She lost track of time as she worked through the words, regenerating the damaged frostbitten flesh on his extremities and doing what she could for the trauma his body experienced. Even though the worst of the damage had been partially repaired, it was obvious a lesser man would have perished or not been able to stand in the state the knight had been in. Jancis completed her work and leaned against the wall, exhausted from the task.

"Pray take care of yourself."

Warren kept quiet while Jancis set about the arduous task of mending him. She was methodical and worked diligently and without complaint despite the obvious wear it was placing on her. When she had finally finished, she looked like she was in need of a healer herself.

Don't let this be for nothing fix this you have to find a way

"Thank you, Jancis." His words were still quiet. The cleric's skills were able to mend flesh and heal wounds but these weren't the only things affecting him. He was strong bodily but not mentally or emotionally, though he set his jaw and tried to keep these thoughts far away from the surface. He'd been enough of a burden already.

"I'll come up with something. Oschon guide us both."

Coatleque blew out the lantern and curled herself into a ball. She softly sobbed herself to sleep alone in the inn room. Once again she belonged to another against her will. As sleep came her last thoughts were a prayer for guidance.

There was none.

Only darkness and silence... until morning.

* * *

Coatleque stood in her room at the Hourglass. The room provided her by Ser Castille for the week following the events at the Palace. She had just finished preparing for the day, dressed in her usual finery rather than uniform, she had intended to pick up her previous investigation as soon as she could. There were other people's lives still at stake after all.

She turned to leave, adjusting her beret, when there was a knock at the door. She paused momentarily almost unsure if she had heard it.

"Yes? You may enter!"

The door opens quietly and reveals Warren on the other side, clad in heavy armor and peering in curiously. He straightens visibly once he keys into her appearance and looks ahead.

"I was just checking in on you. If you were on your way out, I won't keep you." He maintains the facade of reporting guard on duty.

"Oh!", she started.

"No, I have time. Please... I had actually wanted to speak with you. I was unable to since Camp Drybone because... Well, you understand I am sure."

She crossed the room to the far side where a desk was set against the wall, her back turned to him. Looking down and to the side she continued. "I wanted to thank you for freeing me, Ser Castille. I am in your debt."

Warren nodded and stepped inside behind her, closing the door shut behind him and leaning against it. At once his demeanor changed, his gaze softening and concern overflowing the stoic expression.

"It was Askier's work. I was just doing what he showed me. There's no debt; your money's no good here." He tried a small smile, hoping it would come through in the playful teasing. She wasn't looking at him but he didn't want to set her at unease.

"I'm just sorry it had to happen at all. I could have done something, been there... Anything."

"The debt is more than one of mere gil, Ser Castille. I.. I had planned to die that night, twice over. You saved me from the the second fate." Her voice quivered at her own words. This was not the time to break down once more, however. She pushed the thoughts from her mind as best she could.

"It is not something we should be thinking of now, regardless. Forgive my dwelling on the matter. I should turn the topic to something surely more pleasant."

She turned to face him.

"You were to return to Coerthas, were you not? I had not heard news of the last expedition. I am sure the inspector was most helpful? Did you find your friends? Please say they are well."

Warren listened as she spoke, his spirits momentarily lifting as she turned the subject towards more pleasant things. Then she mentioned Coerthas and the joy ran from his face.

"My time in Coerthas is over, that much is certain. I met with the Inspector a fortnight ago, roughly, and..." He trails off, unsure how much of the tale to reveal. "I was a fool for suspecting him, but I learned the truth of the matter on account of it. I have no regrets in that light." His fingers twitched, thinking back to the burn that his muscles still remembered like phantoms sometimes in the moments before truly waking.

She crossed the room towards him as he spoke, trying to read his expression.

"If you do not want to tell me what happened, I shall not pry. Though I do sense some measure of betrayal was had. What of your friends though? You did not say if they were found. Warren?"

She attempted to meet his gaze with as caring and hopeful a look as she could muster.

Warren looks away, briefly trying to evade her gaze but the act speaking louder than words. He closed his eyes and sighed to himself, resigned.

"They left me halfway up the mountain. Drugged. It was the smallest of miracles I survived; Found by an escaping captive at the camp the Inspector delivered them both to." He hesitates, sparing an eye in her direction to appraise her reaction.

"They're being turned into living weapons. Likely have been by now, if the Inspector's words were true."

Coatleque listened to his words and looked away with eyes closed in thought.
"It seems we have both cheated fate then, for good or ill. Would that you were able to tell me sooner, I might have been there with you. I am sorry Warren."

She looked back to him. "But you do know they are alive at least. Does that not stir at least some hope?"

The paladin nodded at her question, his expression still one of conflict.

"It does. But it also conjures fear in me. The Inspector mentioned his son going through the same 'training' and it turned him into a hardened, uncaring murderer. The man I met in the hills was more than half-mad and was convinced the man running it was voidsent, and any who survived would return as demons."

He looked into her face plainly, his ever-present resolve having since faltered. "I don't know if they will return, or who they will be. I've failed them."

She could see his expression faltering, his will about to collapse. The pain of her own failings still too fresh in her mind, she scrambled for words.

Without thinking she reached out to him, to brush one of his braids from the side of his face. "You haven't failed anyone. Not them. Not yourself. Not me."