Drybone
Roen,
I’ve need of you. Please forgive my silence. Please forgive me.
Meet with me in Drybone. It is safer there.
Please.
D.
Roen approached the cliffs overlooking Drybone with a tightness in her chest that she could not dismiss. Dark clouds gathered above, the desert sun quickly giving way to the thick press of humid air and ominous shadows. It mirrored the dread that choked her breath and weighed her thoughts.
She had never heard such grim tidings from the Highlander before, the dark-skinned woman always ready with words of wit or comfort. Delial had been Roen’s confidant in her times of need since their meeting in Little Ala Mhigo; she had been there after the conflict at the Nanawa Mines, to lend a sympathetic ear to Roen’s distressed thoughts regarding her two mentors. Roen had despaired over her seeming betrayal of her Master at Arms, and the near deadly confrontation between her Sultansworn mentor and the Resistance.
Delial had reassured her that both mentors would come to believe her innocence in the matter, and the misunderstanding would work itself out. And she was right, Master Gharen did forgive her, and Natalie had decided not to pursue the Resistance in favor of tracking down the Rose.
But now this letter came for her, written in Delial’s hand. Roen did not know what to think. Even when Master Gharen warned her of Delial, and then decided to tail the Highlander for clues, Roen did not want to believe that she had anything to do with Aylard’s disappearance. But now…
She was not so certain. She had not heard from Master Gharen in suns. But if he was tailing her, and she was to meet Delial, perhaps there was hope that she could see that he was well. Surely he would give her some sign, or perhaps even tell her that he had found nothing on Miss Delial to support his suspicions.
So why was she finding it harder to believe it as she approached the lone Highlander overlooking Drybone?
Delial waited alone in silence, a palpable heaviness in the air as Roen approached. Perhaps it was the woman’s posture: her head was lowered, eyes closed, and her lips coiled into a sharp frown. This was not the usual coy and confident Highlander Roen had come to know. Stranger still was the wooden box that rested at her feet.
Roen approached, though even as she did so, her grey eyes darted about, looking for any other figures in the area. There was a part of her that hoped to catch just a glimpse.
“You came,†Delial broke the silence, her eyes opening.
“Your missive was alarming.â€
“My apologies. I did not know what to say.†Delial turned to face her, although her gaze did not rise to meet her. Indeed, there was an uncharacteristic uncertainly drawing tension to the woman’s jaw.
“Something is wrong,†Roen tried to ignore the sudden dryness in her throat.
"I've... I've come to learn a great deal these past suns. Thinking I might take the initiative, I..." Delial frowned deeply as she paused. "I must apologise. I am so very sorry, my dearest Roen. I had to..." She drew her breath and looked down to the box at her feet. “I had no choice. I…â€
Roen blinked quickly, her eyes shooting to the box. “What is… what is this?â€
"It is probably better not to see. I needed to deliver it. She wouldn't… If it was not done, she would know. She knows everything."
Roen’s gaze darted between Delial and the box, dread drawing her brows low. "What is in the box, Miss Delial?"
Delial Grimsong closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. "I believe he is ...was... called Greyarm."
Roen felt all her breath leave her then. She darted forward, falling to her knees, her hands going to the box.
“Roen, don’t--†was the only warning that was offered before the lid was opened. And soon as it was given air, an overwhelming stench of decay erupted from the box. The severed head inside wore a furious and pained expression even in death, his grey skin taut and dried, eyes sunken and shrivelled into dark black things. Roen staggered back from the parcel, her hand rising to her lips to stave off the wave of nausea that rose.
"Do you know who -- no -- what it is that hunts us, Roen?" Delial asked, her eyes turned away from the grisly content of the package. "A monstrous woman. A Garlean. She seemed so…†Delial paused, shaking her head as if to correct herself. “I thought I might learn something. I didn't think she'd..."
Roen was still staring at the severed head, its mouth opened in a silent scream. The face was screaming at her even in death. “She… she did this?† She could not pry her eyes from the dead man’s face.
There was a long pause before Delial answered, as she wrapped her arms around herself. “No. I… I’m so sorry. I had no choice.†Her voice was strained whisper.
“You…? You did this?!†Roen turned to Delial in horror.
Heavy raindrops began to fall then, drumming against box and streaking the gruesome countenance. Roen’s hand trembled as she slowly closed the lid over it, as if giving it shelter would give it some reprieve from the violence that was visited upon it.
"She knew everything. Aylard, Hroch. Shael and Ruva." Delial hesitated a moment as she leveled her gaze at Roen. "And... Gharen."
Roen felt a chill run down her spine, and she stiffened. She met the woman’s gaze with dread. “Miss Delial." Her voice shook. "Have you seen... Master Gharen?"
The Highlander nodded slowly. "He's alive. He is." Her eyes dropped down to the box, the closed with a frown. "She's had me watching him. I had to... prove myself. She wanted proof that I could be trusted."
The rain and wind were pelting the two women now, tossing their hair and robes haphazardly about them. “...Alive..??†Roen stared at her eyes wide with fear.
"I don't know what she means to do with him. Kill him, probably. Take what information she can from  him, as she did with Greyarm...."
"No... no!" Roen bolted to her feet, stepping towards the woman. "Where? Where is he?"
"I-- I'm so... so sorry, dear Roen, please believe me. I can't... tell you. I can't. You must understand."
Her thoughts whirled even as distant thunder rumbled above. She felt her panic give way to something else, her hands curling into a fist at her side. "Miss Delial, you did not call me here to apologize for his impending death." She gritted her teeth. "You called me here, because you knew I cannot let that be. You need to give me something."
"No. I... You must understand. You... your friends... You stormed a Castrum, did you not? They're on edge now. That I even told you is a risk. They have ears and eyes all over Thanalan. Everywhere. It is safer here , but... If they know that you know..." Delial grimaced. "I know it is not what you want to  hear. But... please. Give me time."
“Give you time? For what?â€
"I swore that I would help you. Let me protect Gharen. I ... I think I can find a way. He is the key to everything. I must..."
Roen spun away, her hands digging into her hair as panicked eyes looked to the greyness all around. A part of her was desperate to see a figure, some sign, to show her that what Delial was saying was untrue. That she would see the his face, out there, watching them. But all she saw were whirling and spinning leaves ripped from trees bent by the storm.
"I... misjudged. One forgets that not everyone is as they seem. Please, believe me when I say I thought I was working for the good of Ala Mhigo. I was wrong." The Highlander let out a heavy breath. “Call it haste, or desperation. I needed to act, to do something... and in doing so, mayhaps I sealed my own fate. I do not expect to walk away from any of this alive. But seeing what I have had to do... it would be but a fitting punishment."
Roen still stared out into the dark stark landscape, clinging to the last vestige of hope. "You said he is alive..?"
"He is. She's keeping him safe."
"Who is she, this woman you speak of?" Roen turned to face Delial, her hands trembling.
"She is called Banurein. A cold woman, heartless. I would dare say she is a voidsent in a hyur's skin, so... so empty and cruel as she is. I expect that my usefulness will run low soon, and I will likely vanish as well. Time has never been more important. So I am begging you, Roen.†Delial took a step towards her, her pale eyes pleading. “Let me help. Let me atone for my wrongdoing. Give me time to fix this."
"What will you do?†Roen narrowed her eyes, suspicion now steeling her voice.
"She's been doing something to him. Some sort of wicked magic, the likes of which I have not seen before. I need to attend to him, ensure he survives it. And when he is strong enough, I will... I will send him on his way. Break him out. I think. I don't know." Her voice lowered morosely. "I'm no hero, Roen. I'm no adventurer. But I must do what I can."
All the air left her chest and Roen felt herself grow cold. "So what are you asking me to do…?"
"Nothing. Go on as if nothing is amiss. I know it is difficult, I know it is... infuriating. But that is what you must do."
"As if nothing is amiss..?" She asked incredulously.
"This woman, she is... it is an unnatural spirit she carries about her, this knowledge of things believed secret. The Garleans are here far more entrenched than either of us could imagine. Eyes and ears all over Thanalan, and all over Ul'dah itself." Single pale amber eye stared at Roen with a warning. "One false word and she will know. And she may kill Gharen rather than risk another attack."
Roen turned her gaze back down toward Drybone, the torrential downpour now having soaked through her hair; water was running in rivulets down her face. Was Delial to be believed? Roen desperately looked about as if to search for any other option than to accept what the Highlander was telling her. If she were to arrest the woman… then what of his fate? What did the woman have to gain by telling her all this? By bringing her Greyarm’s decapitated head? Did she have any other choice than to believe the woman? To save his life?
"... I could not risk exposing this within earshot of anyone down there. There is no telling who is who. People are not as they seem, my dearest. You are with the Sultansworn, yes? Do you truly know everyone who wears the title?"
Roen Deneith twisted her lips, not liking the answer that rose from her lips. "Nay. I do not."
"Then you know I am not wrong in asking this of you."
Roen narrowed her eyes, taking a step towards the Highlander woman. “Miss Delial, perhaps I can do something. They wanted me back. They were willing to trade for a man’s life, for my return.†She pleaded desperately, her mind racing. “I will return. This time with no deceit. I need to help him. If there is anything that they want from me..!â€
Delial stared back at her, certain keen intensity gathering about the woman. “I know, Roen. I understand. Believe me, I do. I can only promise you that I will come to you, and only you, if I think I may need your help.†Delial rubbed at her temple and gave her a small pitiful grin. "You are of stronger stuff than me, I expect, though I may carry myself otherwise. If there is anyone I can trust, if there is anyone I could turn to... It could only be you, naturally."
There was naught she could do. She felt her stomach twist with a pit of despair. “I will continue as if... nothing is amiss." She surrendered.
Delial stepped closer to her, clasping her hands about Roen’s shoulders. “I swear to you, Roen. If it is the last thing I do, you will see Gharen Wolfsong again. I will do whatever it takes to get him back.â€
Roen struggled to remain stoic, meeting the Highlander’s gaze. “Please. Keep him alive.â€
"I will keep you informed. But please. Burn the letters after." The darker woman canted her head. “We will be... strong for him. Together, yes?" her gaze drifted to the box at their feet. "Please beg the son for my forgiveness. I ... wish I could in person. It is a most painful thing I have done to him. It is not only to you whom I must atone."
"I do hope you find your atonement, Miss Delial." Roen heard her own voice, dull to her ears. She was still trying to grip with this news. Her eyes sought that of the Highlander. "I am taking you at your word. That you will do whatever you can to bring Master Gharen back."
"It will be so. Trust in me." Delial nodded once, then glanced about cautiously before she walked off into the swirling grey winds.
Roen watched her leave, her silhouette slowly swallowed by the dark storm. She turned then to the rest of the desert, desperation tightening its grip around her heart.
It was a long moment before she buried her face in her hands and wept.
