Fanfic:Fight Club
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The events unfolding here occur just before O brave new world, That has such people in't!.
The Jumai pass stretched out endlessly ahead - a series of rising hills bounded by the insurmountable peaks of the Spine of the World on either side. Caithlan raced his horse through those small peaks and valleys. Or he did, until he noticed that there seemed to be someone waiting at the top of the next hill. The sun was behind him, so Caithlan only saw a silhouette. He slowed as he approached, and slowly the figure on horseback became clearer, until . . .
"It's about Liana, isn't it?" demanded Lembirt, the man on the horse. "She is in the Waste, and you are rushing with all haste toward the Waste. So it can only be Liana. What has happened?"
A mixture of surprise, bewilderment, and irrepressible irritation crossed Caith's face. But I lost him at the Gate three days ago. He shaded his eyes with his gloved hand.
It was still Lembirt.
How did he bloody get here? And before me?! He managed to frown down his wounded pride while looking up. "What do you care?"
"It is really that difficult to believe that I could have some concern for a fellow Sitter of my Ajah, then?" Lembirt was too tired, and too worried, to deliver that comment in the biting tone that it deserved. He managed to make it sound flat - that was lucky. He had worried himself half-mad about Liana, but he wasn't about to let Caith know that. He had an image to maintain.
Caith huffed, but he didn't object. He had more important things to worry about. Like the feeling that that any moment Liana might die, his regret that he had not argued with her more, the certainty that he had failed her, and what he would say if he did manage to find her in time. "I do not know, specifically." He heeled his borrowed horse to gain the speed he needed to ascend the rise. "I intend to find out."
When Caithlan reached Lembirt, he paused and looked past him, again towards the northeast. The sun struck his eyes and he squinted thoughtfully, as if straining to see league away. "She is . . . not well."
As Caith rode past him, Lembirt turned his own horse to follow closely behind. "You realize that I am going with you," he said. It was another flat statement, not a question.
Caith snorted, and was glad it came out as a laugh rather than surprise. Lembirt was too selfish to hazard anything, for anyone, but his own dainty self. "You wouldn't survive the first league." he snorted, and turned his steed to criss-cross down the slope. A puff of dust drifted up in his wake. "If you want to do something useful," he said, "gate back to the Tower and send aid." He couldn't know what kind of opposition he would face in the Waste, and a few more spears (or even better, a channeler) would certainly help.
Lembirt wasn't about to admit that he couldn't Travel. Not to Caith, certainly - it was bad enough that Liana knew how weak he was, he wasn't about to let on to her Warder that he his strength in the One Power was roughly comparable to the average Accepted. He wildly grasped for an excuse.
"If we both go, we have a far better chance to aid Liana Sedai than if you go alone. Please attempt to think with your brain, and not your muscles, Dear Uncle."
He paused a moment, and then said, "Furthermore, of the two of us, I am the one who is more likely to survive the Aiel Waste.
At that, Caithlan reared his steed about. The sun beat heavily against his back, and challenge was clear in his bearing. He spoke in a dry but cool voice, plainly that he suspected something. Perhaps a threat, in whatever form it came. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
Lembirt smiled his taxidermist's smile once again. "The Aiel kill 'Oathbreakers' on sight if they stray into the 'Threefold Land.' I gather that this was not a topic much taught in Mayene."
"You are just as Cairhienin as I am, Nephew." Caith replied briskly.
"Moreso, in fact, Uncle. However, I have the distinct advantage that I Channel. I suspect that the Aiel will regard me as being like an Aes Sedai, or else as being one of those chosen to travel to the Blight and fight the Dark One. Either way, I suspect that they shall not molest me. Perhaps, then, you should be the one to return to the Tower and send Aid?"
Caith bristled. It showed not in his face, but in how his posture straightened.
Ah, a point gained, Lembirt remarked to himself.
"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Caithlan turned his steed about. Obviously Lembirt had not intended a threat on his life, but that didn't mean he (or more importantly, Liana) had time for his foolishness. "You would only slow my advance. If you think I am going to let you tag along so that you can play at being a hero, then you are wasting your time. This is serious."
"I am also serious," Lembirt snapped. He kicked his horse a little harder than perhaps he should have, and the animal snorted as it trotted ahead to cut Caith off. "I am not 'Playing the Hero.' I have better things to do than to toy with the likes of you - I am only here because I care for LianaSedai's safety. We stand a greater chance at aiding her if we go together." He admitted the next item with the same difficulty as a man explaining to the Yellows that he had swallowed a safety-pin and needed help removing it. "I doubt that I can find her own my own."
Caithlan also advanced, and passed Lembirt by. His tone remained dubious, "And how would you propose to help me?"
Lembirt didn't answer with words, at least not right away. He spurred his horse again, though more gently, and rode ahead until he was a few spans ahead of Caith - the better to dramatise his performance. "I am an Asha'man," he stated. Then he produced a flask from within his wekk organized saddlebags, and promptly upended it. The contents poured out, soaking immediately into the dry mountain trail. He shook the vessle a few times to demonstrate its emptiness, before turning it rightside up. Then, he did something that Caithlan would not be able to observe so clearly - he siezed saidinand channeled a thread of water and spirit into the flask. This activated the ter'angreal secreted inside. He then released saidin, and upended the flask once more - again, the now-full flask discharged its contents onto the road.
"You might have enough water in those saddlebags for yourself, Warder," Lembirt drawled, "but I doubt that there could be enough for your faithful steed. The waste is a very large place when one travels on foot."
There was a pause as Caithlan considered this. Perhaps Lembirt was better than no channeler at all.
Caith heeled Spade once more to pass him by. As Caith's fancloak caught in the morning breeze, he called, "I'm not going to wait for you to catch up. Don't expect me to mollycoddle you, because I won't."
Lembirt's nodded sharply, and they heeled their horses and sped eastward.
Three days of bickering later found the two men deep in the Waste, out of sight of the Dragonwall but hemmed in by crazed mounds of broken stone, stacked up into piles as though by an enormous, demented child. The way was rough even with the Bond to point Caithlan in the right direction, for it was nearly impossible to travel in straight lines - instead they had to make long detours around precipitous ravines and steep sided buttes that their horses could not climb. They had quickly depleted Caithlan's stored water, and now relied entirely upon Lembirt's ter'angreal flask.
The harshness of the landscape was reflected in their harshness toward one another - hardly an hour went by that they did not bicker over one thing or another. Lembirt argued that they were pushing the horses too hard - Caithlan argued that they were not travelling fast enough. Lembirt criticized Caithlan's education and upbringing - Caithlin pointed out the inferiority of Lembirt's family line. Caithlan claimed that he was the taller of the two - Lembirt retaliated that he had nicer hair.
The sun was so intense that it seemed to beat down on the red rock like a miner's hammer. Lembirt thought that he could almost hear the sound it should make - irregular thwacks and thuds, like warders sparring with wooden weapons . . .
. . . And then he realised that he could hear it. The noise, growing louder, echoed down the twisting gulch. Obviously, Caith could hear it too - he had a hand on that odd pole-weapon that he carried, and was staring intently in the sound of the commotion. The Asha'man nervously regarded the Warder, wondering what he should do. Before he could speak his question aloud, though, the source of the commotion finally came into view, backing around a bend in the canyon wall.
It was a tall, burly Aielman, armed with spears and buckler, defending himself with such ferocity that Lembirt could barely follow the movements of his shield and spear, let alone make sense of them. He was a strange sight, with sun darkened skin and hair that was so blond as to be nearly white, but Lembirt barely paid him any mind in light of what the man was fighting.
It was a pair of creatures quite unlike anything Lembirt had seen before. They towered over even the tall Aielman, but were no more substantial than wicker puppets. They appeared to be woven from the debris of the desert floor - thorny branches, sharply broken stones, whole uprooted bushed and shrubs. Occasionally, rocks broke off from the canyon walls and moulded themselves onto the cactus-men.
"This isn't another Illusion, is it?" asked Caithlan dryly.
"If it is, it certainly isn't mine," Lembirt replied. He would have said more, but the Aielman's retreat brought him directly into the Cairhienin men's path, and they were faced with the immediate decision to render aid or to flee.
They couldn't know if this Aielman was friend of foe, actually, it was quite probable that he would turn foe; but there was no doubt that this monstrosity was the immediate threat. Even more importantly, it stood between them and Liana.
"Get out of range." Caith barked before launching into an attack.
He gripped his ashandareinear the butt to take full advantage of its length and swept horizontally in a circle above his head. Spade was not a warhorse, but he kneed him about to advance. With the momentum behind him Caith's first strike landed hard on the closest of the . . . Waste-things. Chips of debris and dry bramble hurdled in all directions. It felt more like chizzling away at stone in an avalanche than fighting an opponent.
For once, Lembirt didn't argue with the Warder - he wheeled his horse (whose wide, rolling eyes indicated that it wasn't any more eager to be around the rock-and-cactus-monsters than its rider was) and galloped a short distance away. He twisted in his saddle, keeping his eyes locked on the combatants as he circled them. He siezed saidin, reveling in the hightened senses and glowing vitality the One Power granted him even as he remarked upon the irony that he could find the raging torrent of magma and ice could be so reassuring.
He could see no weaves of saidin in the monstrosities, and there was no telltale prickling of gooseflesh on his arms, so it could not be a work of the One Power.
"It is a bubble of evil," he shouted to Caithlan. More of the creations seemed to boil up from the very ground, though these newer, smaller ones seemed to lack the coordination of their larger brethren. The young monstrosities struck out randomly, their sluggish doing as much damage to their fellows as to either Caithlan or the Aielman.
Lembirt struck out from his vantage point, hurling balls of flame that seemed to splash like fluid when they hit their targets, clinging to the stone surfaces like oil. Unfortunately, this did not seem to bother the rubble-monsters - although the dry plant material that made up parts of their frames burned readily, they took no notice of it. Thus, the two melee fighters were faced now not with simple rock-monsters, but with flaming rock-monsters.
That certainly did not go according to plan, mused Lembirt. Perhaps lightning would be more effective? Too bad he didn't know the weave . . .
"Thanks for the help!" Caith called sarcastically. A tight cluster of brilliant firebrick hurdled towards his head. Caith did what anyone in his situation would've done. He ducked. A voice somewhere in the back of his head prayed fervently to the Creator, demanding to know what he had done in life to deserve this. He could feel the arm of Rock-monster swoosh over him. Fueled by the fear that he would never reach Liana, and the rush of battle, and attacked again.
Still gripping the end of his ashandarei he swept low across the ground with a variation of Harvesting Wheat.
"Sorry!' shouted Lembirt. Oddly, he actually sounded apologetic. He channeled Fire to suck the heat away from the monsters, instantly extinguishing the fires.
"How do I kill these things, if you know so much?!" He stole a glance at the Aielman before backing into Holding the Line. "I -," Lembirt hesitated, thinking back to what he had learned in his years of studies about the Shadow's effects on the Pattern. "I don't know, it's different in every instance. But these things usually have a limited range. If we retreat to higher ground, they might not be able to follow." Lembirt followed his own advice, and spurred his gelding back the way they came. There was a cut in the side of the ravine, where water might have poured down in another Age. It was rough, but Lembirt thought his horse could manage the climb.
Unable to think of a more viable option, Caith agreed that a tactical retreat was best. He motioned for the Aielman to follow, and the blond man did, running at Spade's heels and blocking hurled stones with his buckler The Warder continued his series of feints, short pushes, and thrusts to hold their opponents at a distance. The form was better used in a formation, thus it only bought them a few seconds before the infantile rock-monsters surrounded him. Spade reared in panic and Caithlan pulled him back, just as a meaty boulder came pummeling towards him. He swerved around a tangle of bramble made haste after Lembirt.
As the Asha'man, Warder, and Aielman rushed up the steep embankment, Lembirt was struck by a bit of phenomenally bad luck. Shae'drelle, the dapple gelding that had faithfully carried Lembirt since before the man ever came to the Grey Tower, lost his footing on the loose scree and went down. Lembirt managed to fall sideways out of the saddle and land badly on his hip - his horse had a much worse fate, sliding, screaming down the embankment into the waiting maws of the rock-monsters.
But although he was unhurt for the moment, the Asha'man certainly wasn't safe. He was not far enough out of the raving to be beyond the edge of the bubble of evil, and the monstrosities were advancing. Without his horse, Lembirt was sure he couldn't outrun them, and his attempts at fighting them with the One Power were dismal at best.
And then, quite unexpectedly, there was Caithlan, offering Lembirt a hand and a stirrup. The Asha'man gratefully took the hand and gracelessly scrambled onto Spade's back behind Caith. Then, Caith heeled Spade again and soon they were up and out of harm's reach, on the broken plain above the gulch.
Below, the twisting gully writhed with the animated debris like an unpleasant stew on the boil. It was not unlike an avalanche, after all, though this one moved across level ground instead of falling down a slope. Well, that was an exercise in futility. Caith mused. Now that the conflict was more or less over, Caith appraised their conditions, "Are you injured?" he asked - dark green eyes darting over his nephew and the Aeilman both.
"I am fine," Lembirt began to shakily answer. He was cut off mid-reply by the Aielman, who was still rather distressingly wearing his black veil.
The Aielman said only one word.
"Treekillers."
And then he advanced.
Caith felt he had been a good sport about this entire ordeal. He had permitted Lembirt to tag along so long as he attempted to pull his weight, he had shared his provisions, engaged him in more of less friendly banter, slowed his pace as much as his duty to Liana would permit, defended him and this strange Aeilman both from almost-certain annihilation from a flaming-bubble-of-shadow-spawned-evil, saved Lembirt again from almost certain death, and now this!
"Light burn your eyes, you ungrateful black-veiled lunatic! I flaming saved your bloody-be-damned hide!" Caith protested, even as he dismounted.
With all that taken to account, all Caith really wanted at this moment was one bloody brandy.
Caith slapped Spade on the hide with his free hand to send him away and clear of the skirmish. With Lembirt's frail sensibilities, and his fall down the ravine, he didn't count on him to have the sense to stay out of trouble. So Caith advanced to meet the Aielman and steel met steel there on the high ridge. As he stepped forward to engage him, he secreted himself in the void. All else, including his desperate need to see his Aes Sedai safe as soon as possible, remained on the periphery of that absence of feeling.
Lembirt attempted to help, he really did. After all, the Warder had probably just saved his life. He thought to rain fire on the Aielman, as various forms of fireballs were the only battleweave he knew. He formed the weave, prepared to launch it at his adversary . . . and was so abruptly halted that the only comparison his mind could make was that of walking into a very clean, clear window. One moment, he saw no obstruction in his path to setting the savage alight - and the next he was stunned into inaction. Caithlan was not his Warder, and Lembirt himself was not in immediate danger. The Oaths were preventing him from frivolous use of the One Power.
The Aeilman began with a thrust akin to Climbing the Mountain, and Caith countered with a Wrapping - a circular motion used to lead the Aielman's spear out of the way so that Caith could advance on him. Caith stepped in with Dropping Anchorl and the Aielman countered with The Wave Breaks on Rock. They danced so for seconds, which felt more like hours as the sweat trailed down Caithlan's brow-line and into his eyes. They stung with the salt and blurred his vision. Wrapped in the void as he was, his entire focus was on anticipating the Aeilman's attacks and his weaknesses. The man's shield arm was weak, perhaps his wrist was even sprained, and he was bruised heavily. Caith was only mildly fatigued by his brush with the bubble of evil and he drew on the vitality of the bond. When the Aeilman advanced, Caith stepped forward into Tipping the Pitcher and hooked the back of the other man's thigh on the blade of his ashendari. The Aeilman fell bleeding heavily there on the dusty rock.
The Aielman dropped his weapons and clamped his hands on the dreadful gash on his thigh, his tanned skin going pale from the shock and the loss of blood. His eyes soon drifted closed, and the man passed into unconsciousness.
And then, something that was perhaps the strangest event yet in a strange series of events took place - Lembirt dismounted from Spade, and approached the prone, dying warrior. The Asha'man crouched at the man's side, seemed to consider something. Then, he took a deep breath, and leaning over the other man, firmly kissed him.
"What under the Light are you doing?!" demanded Caithlan.
"Not doing," said Lembirt, "done. I've bonded him."
The sun had lowered in its climb across the wide desert sky. Dusk had settled upon earth when they had retrieved Lembirt's saddlebags and made camp. The Aeilman remained unconscious and his fate remained uncertain. Caith felt his headache, which had started as gentle pressure, rising to throbbing. He repeated himself yet again.
"That is not how it is done."
"The weave is different when performed by an Asha'man as when performed by an Aes Sedai," Lembirt repeated. "And I cannot heal - I Bonded him to save his life."
Caith could not shake the feeling of utter wrongness after the event. Yes, the strange Aeilman's death would have been unfortunate, but he had attacked first, and Caith was obliged by oath to survive long enough to die for his Aes Sedai. His dedication and loyalty to her went through blood, ash, and darkness. It permeated earth, sea, and stone. It would not fail before light was gone, and his heart stopped and hand grew cold. He would not, could not, perish out here.
And yet, what Lembirt had done out of charity violated that very ethic of the bond. It . . . cheapened it. There was no other word for it. By custom the Warder must agree to the bond, and bonding him against his will was regarded as akin to rape. I imagine I'll be obliged to teach the poor fool his new responsibilities. His hands clenched and then relaxed. I really need a brandy now.
With that thought, Caith hammered the last spike into the ground. They were forced to camp here for the Aeilman's sake, and Caith cast several worried looks beyond the rise towards the direction the bond pulled him in. At least she is still alive. he told himself. Tonight, they would have to survive the cold. He had learned quickly in the past nights in the Waste that the nights here could do more than freeze water, and the stranger would need to be inside one of their tents if he was to live to see the sun rise again.
"You take the other one." Caith said, and wrapped his fancloak around him. He settled on the ground to keep watch. The stars had begun to glitter against the failing light.
Lembirt didn't argue, at least not at first. He was tired from days without sleep (both before and after meeting Caith in the Jumai Pass, for one didn't catch up an Warder rushing to the aid of his Aes Sedai by taking many naps.) He was sore from his tumble down the ravine. He was cold, for nights in the Aiel Waste were cold inside a tent or outside a tent. He grieved the death of Shae'drelle, for the horse had been with him longer than he had worn the black coat of an Asha'man. And worse of all, he was troubled by the unfamilliar, uncomfortable knot of sensation in the back of his mind. To call it distracting would be to call the Sun Palace a hovel. To the best of Lembirt's knowledge, there was only one thing to do when one felt this way, and that was to consume copious amounts of alcohol. Luckily, Lembirt never left home without his brandy flask - a Lady's flask emblazoned with the ominous sigil of a skull and crossed bones. He located the flask - he had taken off his coat for the evening, with the intention of mending some small tears - and screwed off the top. He took only a small sip before he was reminded of Caithlin, sitting outside by the fire. One shouldn't have to face the cold of a Threefold land night without at least a little brandy for bracing!
The Asha'man un-buttoned the tent flap and made his way outside, taking a long moment to locate the fancloth-draped Warder. Even beside the fire, that cloak made him difficult to see. Lembirt walked briskly over, holding the flask out at arms length.
"One would suspect that you would not find a spot of brandy amiss, Uncle Caithlan," he said mildly.
Just as Caith had thought, yet again, on how there wasn't enough brandy this evening, Lembirt appeared with a flask. With his headache growing to piercing sharpness, he was not about to pass up this generous offer. Caith accepted the flask with a slight nod of thanks. He didn't even glance at it until after the smooth spirit slid like velvet over his tongue. It left an aftertaste of oak, which he savored for a moment. "Good year." he said. Yet when he did appraise the flask he commented, with the barest breath of a question.
"This is a lady's flask." furthermore, it appeared oddly familiar. But Caith couldn't quite place it. He glanced back to Lembirt in the growing darkness and realized he was not wearing his coat. Caith couldn't remember the last time he had seen the man anything short of fully appareled, even under the sweltering heat of the sun over the Waste. No wonder they had depleted his water supplies so rapidly.
Lembirt answered the unspoken question uncomfortably. "It was a gift from a Sitter," he explained. He didn't elaborate as to who the gift might have been from - he preferred the thought of the Warder puzzling over it. Perhaps he would assume that it had come from Liana, thoughLiana did not really seem the type to carry a flask.
Caith nodded as if he understood, and downed another swig. It felt good, so good to soften his headache and feel warmed by a good stiff drink. He gazed across the expanse to the northeast. Then he lifted the curved silver into the air, "I'll consider this that toast I never raised with you," he surprised himself by saying, "to Liana." and sipped once more.
Lembirt smiled faintly and inclined his head in reply. Apparently, it took a bubble of evil to get Caithlan to accept a drink from him. If he had known the task would be this difficult, he never would have set foot in the Quill and Ink. He raised his empty hand, and said, "To Liana." Perhaps Caith would get the hint and give back the brandy - Lembirt hadn't intended him to drink the whole thing!
Perhaps it was the partially empty feeling in his gut, by rationed food or how long it had been since Liana had invited him inside her bedchamber, but the brandy seemed to affect Caith. He smiled, a little, and mused, "This wouldn't happen to be a never-empty flask of brandy, would it?"
"No," Lembirt sadly replied, "I do not believe that such a thing is possible." Or, if it was, then Lembirt certainly didn't have the skill with ter'angrealto create such a thing. Perhaps he could speak to Aric Asha'man about the possibility.
"I didn't think so." he answered, and offered it back.
Lembirt took a long drink from the flask, grateful that Caith had finally thought to give it back, and that it wasn't empty. "The ter'angreal in the water-flask works by wringing water out of the air, much like the weave used to dry wet clothing. It's essentially the same idea as the endless waterfall in the Gardens." He wasn't sure why he was explaining the workings of the ter'angreal - Warders were usually uncomfortable at best around the One Power. "I made it while enroute from The City to the Jumai Pass," he concluded, rather proud of his success.
Caithlan raised his eyebrows appreciatively. He didn't understand the workings of the One Power, but he had come to recognize what could be done with it by virtue of Liana's explanations. "Quite a trick." he remarked. And then he did something he thought he would never do for Lembirt. "She isn't any worse," he said in a low voice. "She was knocked out of her senses there," he pointed in a direction slightly south of where they were headed, "and was moved there," and pointed back to the original direction he was drawn to, like one load stone to another. "She is awake now. Yet, I will know more as we draw more. No doubt she will be surrounded by the enemy." Caith watched for Lembirt's reaction carefully, noting the slightest hint of his true feeling for her.
"Thank you for informing me," he said very flatly, not letting his feelings colour his words."I had hoped that perhaps the Aielman might enlighten us as to how to approach an Aiel settlement, if that is where she is being held."
And then Caith remembered the Aeilman in his tent, and glanced that way. He wondered how the larger man would take to being bonded to a Cairhienin Asha'man, and as such, didn't look forward to the man's inevitable waking.
"We ought to put out the fire." Caith said, his dark-green eyes captivated by the dancing flames. They warmed him as much as the brandy had. "Who knows if he," there was no question as to whom Caith referred to, "was separated from a larger band. They may be looking for him."
"You make an excellent point," Lembirt agreed. For all he knew, there was a Aiel town, or hold, or whatever it was they called their dwellings, nearby.
They doused the fire quickly enough. It had been a pathetic thing to begin with, made out of twigs they had salvaged from the ravine, and a few swift kicks put an end to it. With the fire out, the cold returned with a vengeance. Lembirt did not let it effect him, of course, but it was somewhat concerning none-the-less. He speculated that a night out of doors in these conditions could result in frost bite, or worse.
So, he felt he had no other reasonable option, when he said to the Warder, "You are welcome to share my tent, Caithlan Gaidin. It would be markedly ungrateful of me to allow you freeze out here after you rescued me when I was unhorsed."
Caith hesitated. "No, I couldn't." and paused awkwardly, "But thank you." he added.
"I insist," replied Lembirt. "I am clearly indebted to you, and that is not a condition I relish. Please do not bar me from repaying you. If you're concerned about security, I can Ward the campsite."
It was ironic that at that particular moment, the remaining warmth lent by the fire left him and the cold enveloped him. Caithlan suppressed a shiver. He could ignore the cold, but how well would he recover that night, and how would he fare the next day if he didn't take advantage of the opportunity now. Even a Warder needed to sleep at times.
" . . . very well." Caith nodded once in agreement. In absence of fire, only his face was visible as he moved towards the tent. He ducked inside after Lembirt and took the place nearest the tent-flap. On the chance that the wards did sound alarm, the Warder was fully prepared to leap to the defense of the camp. He wrapped his fancloak around him for warmth and settled against the hard ground. Even through his cloak it sucked the warmth out of him, and Caith was silently thankful for the presence of another warm body.
The night passed more or less uneventfully. Apparently, the Aielman was indeed alone, for no-one came looking for him. Their fire apparently went unnoticed as well, for no-one came to check on their encampment - or at least if anyone did, they did not venture close enough to trigger Lembirt's wards. The rock was uncomfortable, but it was considerably better than trying to sleep in the saddle, and the Asha'man slept until just before dawn, when the early morning light was just beginning to stain the sky. He was pleasantly warm, most likely due to the form nestled at his back and the arm loosely draped across his torso.
Wait... body? Arm?
Lembirt suddenly recollected where he was, and just who it was sleeping at his back, and abruptly batted the arm away. "Eh," he muttered, "Get off me, Caithlan."
Caithlan rested half-consciously, barely stirring as Liana reached for his arm and wrapped it around her waist. Light it had been so long since he had been close to her, and he coveted the warmth of her body against his chest. It didn't matter that that they had been separated, all that mattered was that they were reunited. He breathed in the soft perfume of her hair and sighed back to sleep.
And then, it wasn't Liana anymore. It was a long-haired impostor. The assassin flung Caith's arm violently out of the way, bearing a sharp blade that shined like silver in the morning light. Shock. Surprise. Confusion. How had he replaced her? How had Caith allowed this to happen? Lianawas distant again; as far as a star blinking her radiance in the northern sky. His instincts drove him, his training focused him, and his body reacted based solely on reflex. He had the assassin, and his knife-hand, pinned to the ground.
He moved his free hand to clench the scruff of the neck and pressed the assassin against the cold stone floor. His senses bombarding him with information that could potentially be useful. Slight build, ruffled, groggy, and not nearly strong enough to overpower the Warder by force. But stealthy as he was cunning.
This felt oddly familiar. Had he dreamed this before?
Caithlan blinked as his eyes focused in the dim light.
It was Lembirt, and there was no knife at all. Had he dreamed it? Lembirt was trying in vain to push Caith away. But Caith wasn't sure Lembirt really wanted to get away. Had he . . was he . . . ? Caith shook his head from the haze. His heart was still beating rapidly, he still breathed hard, and he could not banish the memory of that warmth. And . . he liked holding the man there against the ground. It ushered provoking and terribly confusing desires where there had once been hostility and suspicion.
Lembirt took advantage of Caithlan's lapse in concentration to worm his way out of the Gaidin's grip. Somehow, he managed to get an arm around the other man's neck, immobilizing his neck. "I do not know what sort of strange Warder game this is, Caithlan, but-" he did not finish he sentence before Caith countered.
Whoever has your head controls your body. It was an odd time to think on that, but it was true. Caith could do nothing while his head was locked in Lembirt's grip, and he countered with a Warder's strength to do the same . . but only enough to hold him there. Caith had Lembirt by the head, and there they were bound in a stalemate.
What happened next was pure impulse. Absent of thought, logic, or reason. Perhaps invoked by the sight of Lembirt bonding the Aeilman the day before, or the strange mixed dream he was so rudely wakened from, Caith did something else he thought he would never do for Lembirt. He kissed him.
To be continued . . .
