ages cast unto the fire (aeotha)
For days on end the only thing he'd seen was a hard rolling set of hills that were bastards to climb. Not because the horses tired quickly, though they did, or because of the dust, which was awful, but because they hardly said two words to each other. Skandra found it was easier to keep his mouth shut than to be chastised for his language. And he didn't want to talk about the past, or how fantastic and special Ithacles was, or why he was an idiot, or what made priestesses look most virginal. So he stuck to eating the dried beef he'd brought along with him and wishing for his flask. A flask. It could be filled with anything. Anything that was alcoholic, anyway. Aeotha was useless when it came to carrying drinks. Skandra couldn't even hope for a sip of some fortified wine, and she was supposed to be a gods-damned healer. If he had to do this sober it was going to make his life a lot more difficult. And probably a lot less fun.
It happened that way.
On the bright side, Ithacles did owe him a bit of money for going twenty gold down at a card game. They were friends and Skandra would have guarded his back against anything but twenty gold was twenty gold and the bastard was a prince. Even if Aeotha didn't pay, or didn't pay what he wanted, he still had a payday waiting for him. Turned out that wasn't nearly as fun as being drunk. Turned out it wasn't nearly as relaxing as being drunk. Skandra could have used a couple more drinks to deal with what little Aeotha did say to him. She had to put her nose in against a temple full of war-mongering paladin whores that trained for decades in the use of a sword and would have cut her in half without a second thought. Her cause was just, but Skandra liked to pick his battles, and then make sure nobody could walk away from them. Half of him was surprised she'd lasted this long in the real world. The other half was wondering if she was going to last half as long again, and whether or not she was going to suck him down into the quagmire of her demise. He'd made her troubles his troubles. Killing the big woman just meant they were going to send someone else.
Someone less pleasant in a fight.
Skandra couldn't fucking wait.
Just couldn't fucking wait.
Shantar would have praised him for doing this, as long as Shantar thought he was doing it for free. Ithacles would no doubt become overly sentimental and womanish about his kinsman's favored priestess or some such nonsense. Skandra wondered why he gave a care what happened to Aeotha. They'd shared that time together, true, but when a woman remembered you fondly there were ways she showed it. Especially after the nights they'd had. She inclined her body toward you, hung on every word like it was a prayer for salvation and her last chance at such. Men had the same indicators, but since he didn't get down with men, it wasn't something to concern him. Aeotha showed none of those signs. She didn't incline her body toward him. If anything she leaned away. Out of habit she said. Because she was used to him smelling like a tavern floor, she said. Skandra didn't know why being blindsided by insults counted as acceptable behavior. Maybe she was used to servants that tolerated whatever nonsense from her. Skandra didn't have an interest in whatever nonsense. It wasn't why he'd taken the job.
So why was he here? That was the question Shantar would have asked him.
Why was he here?
"Not that I don't enjoy the company," Skandra said as he hunkered down next to the fire, a fire he'd just finished starting. "But if you said any less to me I'd think you were planning on killing me in my sleep."
Traveling for as long as they had, in the saddle for most of it, he'd finally insisted on a rest. The limp had turned into something more serious. A knot of bruised muscle in his thigh. So they'd stopped for camp, to let him apply some salve and to eat something more substantial than dried beef and water. Skandra thought he had some salted pork. Somewhere. A loose circle of stones surrounded the flame. This Skandra had built with his own hands, since she couldn't be trusted for such things. Now he was looking for the salve he needed. And while he was searching he figured he'd say a few words to her. When she didn't respond Skandra halted his search momentarily. Long enough to cast a jaundiced eye in her direction.
Not even a smile.
"Did I figure out your plan? Use a knife. It's more personal."
There was more bite to his words than he'd intended. With the horses tied off to a pair of infant trees and his pack on the ground there was more than enough to occupy Skandra's attention. He didn't bother with a priestess who was more interested in stargazing than conversation.