InsaneJournal

Narrative: Entering Civilization
Who: Brennan Wulfe and NPCs
When: Late 9:42
Where: Southern Orlais
Rating: M for suggestive content
Summary: Brennan finds a stopping place, a trap.

He had not really meant for this to happen.

Of course, he doubted anyone would believe that, but he would always know the truth of it. He had not meant for this to happen...but in truth he was the only one to blame. He could have stopped himself, he could have done something! He could have left. But the truth was he could not bring himself to do that. Anything but that. He had only started feeling comfortable here, and he did not want to give that up.

Brennan stared up at the ceiling, idly running his fingers through Jorianne’s long, wheat colored hair. His fingers caught momentarily on smalls tangles that he mindlessly set about untangling before carding through her hair again. Lost in his thoughts, it was a soothing action that helped keep him focused. Although still asleep, Jorianne clearly liked it as well, for she moved closer to him as her head shifted slightly from where it rested on his chest. Her felt her lithe body conform to his side and looked down, even though they were covered by a blanket to ward off the evening’s chill. In the fading daylight, her lightly bronzed skin was a sharp contrast to his tan, and he could not help a guilty smile that crossed his face. She was so beautiful, and he had not meant to do it.

In sleep, she was still in a way that she could never be when awake. Much like him, she was a person full of boundless energy that needed to be spent. He could easily remember the first day he met her. He had been walking, lost because he knew not what was behind him or what could be ahead of him, when after a long time he had come across cultivated lands. After countless days wandering untended lands, untouched woods and resistant marshes, the change had taken him by surprise. However, he still knew no caution. Growing up, he had never really had to fear anything but the weather, their constant companion, so he stepped over the line from wilderness to civilization without further hesitation.

Sometime later, he had come across Jorianne and two people who he came to know as her parents. While they, old and full of aching bones as they were, stayed back, Jorianne had quickly bounced across the field to welcome him. Although he guessed that she was only a few years younger than he, she had a childish hop in her step. Her long hair was pulled back in a braid from her face and then wound around her head to keep it out of the way. Her skin was warmly tinted and shone with good health although her tan was uneven, a result of working long hours bent over in their fields. Although thin, she was muscular and moved with the natural grace of someone who had great control over her body and movement. As she came closer, he could see that that she had an eagre and welcoming grin on her face as she babbled at him. He was surprised, not at the clear joy and interest in her tone, but at the fact he could not understand her at all.

He said hello, which only caused her to frown in confusion at first. However, that expression did not stay long on her fluid face, as she quickly gave him a pitying and compassionate look as he found himself the object of her scrutiny. She looked him up and down, not in a sexual manner, but still clearly assessing him. For the first time, Brennan became aware of how he must look. In the confusion of the early days, he had not had time to give thought to his appearance, and as the days dragged on finding food and potable water had become far more important than maintaining his good looks. Although he had washed and tended to his wounds, a dark and bushy beard had grown in while his clothes were partially sacrificed for bandages. He had also lost some weight, as he was unused to foraging for his food. That had not been his job in the village, but luckily he knew some of what was edible. As for what was not, he learned that quickly enough. Brennan felt himself flush under his slightly sunburnt tan.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to her elderly parents and a rapid fire conversation started between the three of them. Brennan could hear the hesitation and reluctance on the part of her parents, but she easily won them to her side. Even though he could not understand the words, he could understand their faces and body language. However, once the three of them turn to him, he tried to put up his hands and walk away. While initially he had been thrilled to see people, the first people that he had seen since the village had been attacked, he was now feeling a bit uneasy. When he took a step backwards, the young woman’s face fell, and Brennan felt like a horrible person. Then his stomach rumbled and he pulled a face, while she giggled.

He learned in time that she loved to laugh.

At first he only planned to stay a day, and then that became two, which became three, and that turned into a week. Soon enough, he found that he had been there for a whole month and he even had his own makeshift place in this small family on the outskirts of what they called Orlais. As the parents were in their declining years, and they only had a daughter, his help around the farm was welcomed. Jorianne started teaching him their language that first day, and he was improving rapidly although he still made countless mistakes. Sometimes, he started to think that maybe, just maybe, he could stay and make a life here for himself. After all, there was nothing driving him forward but some strange instinct. Her parents even started to let go of their suspicions, and started giving him knowing looks whenever they caught him looking at their daughter.

And then, one day her father died. Brennan was helping him move barrels in the barn when the older man became increasingly pale and started to sweat profusely. He clutched at his chest before falling over and Brennan could do nothing about it. He had heard of this happening before, back in the village, but had never seen it happen right before his eyes. It was also the first time that he experienced these people’s strange way of burning their dead. Brennan had built the pyre himself, as neither of the women were able to do it. As they watched him burn, Jorianne had clung to him and cried until she was spent. Once the fires died down, Brennan had carried her up to her room and he was going to leave her there.

She kept a deathgrip on his shirt and refused to let go. That was the first night that he spent in her bed, still clothed but holding her tightly to his chest as if she would drift away if he let go. He knew what bone deep grief could do, he had seen it in others and experienced it himself. Although she had tried to kiss him, the desperation in her blood shot eyes and soaking wet cheeks were what made him stop at one kiss.

He took up most of the manual labor on the farm, and his lean figure took on slightly more definition. She taught him to swim in the murky irrigation pond out back, but he would never achieve the same grace in the water that she possessed. Instead, he took after the shaggy herder dog, paddling quickly in place.

They came together a few more times, sweet and gentle, passionate and longing, but he always left her at her door. What flirtation they had possessed before her father’s death was eclipsed by her loneliness and need to feel alive. Brennan only saw it for he recognized it in himself. He could feel the hole in his heart the size of his village, but he had lived with it longer. His too had started when his father died, and that never went away. He just became adept at hiding from it and hiding it from other people.

So he taught her that skill, coaxing smiles out of her and accepting her tears, and slowly she recovered her former verve. Only when she tempted him over the threshold of her room with a smile lurking in the corners of her lips and without tears welling in her eyes did he come to her. And now he was wondering what he had done, and what he would do.