knights (vera)
Eragos sat back on his heels as the fire roared to life. Somewhere in the deep wood beyond the gates, beyond the walls with their collapsing stone and vicious twisting paths, Eragos could allow himself just a slight amount of rest. Lady Cithia and the King had already taken to dreams. Dreams where the world was not so ugly, or dreams where its ugliness defied description? He would have asked if he thought the answer was worth knowing. He was almost certain of which, and didn't want to know. Hopefully he could convince himself that they were not so bad. The dreams. Despite the cold he'd stripped off the tunic - it was in tatters now, and not worth wearing - to get a closer look at his wound. Or rather, to let the Lady Vera stitch it. Patching his own injuries was not a talent of Eragos Feareborne. There were few enough things that were these days.
Like the dreams.
She was shifting beside him. Gathering the things she'd need. Eragos only stared at the fire and wondered. What kind of world would allow a creature like Barada to exist? What kind of world would allow something so disgusting to persist? Barada had not been as he was when they'd left. Somewhere along the way he'd become twisted. And he hadn't died, apparently, in the terrible crashing battle on the road to the gate. Someone had done something to him. Maybe that was the most worrisome thing. Not that a creature like that could exist, but that somewhere a creature existed who could bring them into being. Forge them from unreality. A nightmare given flesh. How many more were there standing between this party and their destination? Eragos wished he could have said that Barada was the only one. Confidently. But that wasn't to be, and he knew it.
Knew it in his bones.
"You saved my life, you know," Eragos told her quietly.
What would have happened if he'd found them dead at his feet a thousand yards away? He would have brought the entire mountain down, and fine with the cost he'd pay to do it. Barada was dead now, and so were the men in grey, but they were not the best that these mystery opponents had to offer. They couldn't be. If they were, this party would already be in the capitol, riding through showers of rose petals and claiming to know the secrets of men. All of them. He wondered at how easily the Lady Cithia could sleep after such a grotesque display.
Perhaps she just missed the worst of it.
"I couldn't sleep that easily," he must be drunk with exhaustion; normally his words didn't flow so freely. "Today I feel like I'll never sleep again."
If he did, he'd just see that face, with its white eyes filmed by death.
"Thank you for stitching my arm. I think I'd sew it to my leg at the rate I'm going, Lady Vera."
It was definitely time to be quiet. He thought of his father and his brother, wondered if they'd either of them seen something so hideous as what Eragos had seen. Did she have any siblings? He wanted to know quite suddenly and not just because he was tired. In all the time he'd spent on the road, in the soutland, she was the first person he'd met who could be called that word which mattered so much to him. Knight. It seemed an impossible dream to meet a knight, even of a different code, in the lands to which he'd been banished. She was a knight. He'd thought before about her, that her code was not... but it was. Only a knight would stop to rescue a comrade. A soldier would have gone on, and written a comrade off as an acceptable loss.
"I'm glad you aren't a soldier," he professed without explanation. "Do you have any siblings?"
He really should be quiet. In the narrow valley which sheltered them you couldn't see the rocky hills nearby - trees were meant to give cover, but they worked both ways. As soon as the sun went down they'd have to kick out the fire. Eragos just wanted to be warm for a few minutes before he went back to sleep under a blanket and ruined cloak. Doubling up on the Lady Vera's horse had been an experience - it reminded him of the horse he'd owned before... well, he'd been a good horse. Valos had insisted that Eragos train the horse himself as often as possible. As a result he thought the Lady Vera's horse had an easier time with a new rider, as well. Being conscientious in your care of your animals was an important mark of a man. Or a woman. He almost spoke again, but didn't, for fear of exposing himself as a true fool.