what is this place [ Eragos ]
Evening crept softly into the Manor as if to hide that Night was to visit again. The day had blurred by, her fingers felt bare from disuse. Grief stole her hunger and concentration, so she moved. Vera walked the halls in simple clothes -- pants, a tunic just small enough and a thin robe that tied at her waist. Her hair was in a lazy tie at her neck, warming the cool skin of her shoulder. Her weapons were left to be cleaned by others. Normally she would do this herself, but her heart made it impossible this once. There were dresses she could wear and mourning colors to display. Vera's tolerance was too destroyed. She longed to move freely. With all of her uniforms ruined, this was the only way.
She should have worn a uniform in coming to see him. The White was like an iron mold and he deserved someone with spine at his bedside. Eragos took many injuries from the Libraries, so much that he hadn't left the room given to him since he was brought here. When she visited Hasna, the old Rider kept cycling back to Vera's concern for Eragos (and subsequently made Vera vow never to say anything if questioned). The others had been healed enough to go to a tavern. Eithne asked her along. She could not leave, not even to find a way to forget. The younger Rider seemed to know her answer before she voiced it.
Talented elemental healers were scarce and Bahn was exhausted. She never liked seeing Eragos so wounded; it was difficult to acknowledge that she could do nothing for his pain. Vera's hand pressed gently against the oak of Eragos' door, which was cracked open an inch. She paused and looked to the guard who stood off to the side.
"Is he awake?" she whispered.
"If he is he makes no noise, Lady," the guard replied in an equally quiet voice.
Vera nodded and stepped through, careful to close the door behind her. The room was dark because the curtains had not been drawn open earlier. The air here carried a faint, musty smell from the old books that lined the wall opposite the bed. She had been in this room before. A dim lantern light sat on the table in the corner, making it possible to see where Eragos lay, but not his face. She imagined the lantern was more for the healers than him, so that they could check his bandages. Vera silently picked up a wooden chair from against the wall and placed it next to the bed, careful with how the legs rested against the carpet.
The sudden transition from the well-lit hall to a dark room blinded her. She did not know if Eragos' eyes were open when she sat in the chair. Instead of waiting and staring into the blackness, Vera gently touched Eragos' forehead, his cheek, with her fingertips. How bright a soul must be, to heal another. How fortunate. She could only sit and hope the feather-like warmth brought him some comfort.