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Life's Journey (The_Gladiator & darkangel76)

It felt like a thousand daggers had been thrust directly into her chest. Thrust only to be twisted mercilessly as the blades mutilated and cut at her fragile heart beating beneath her breast. Brandon's words were cruel and unfair, so very cold as they spilled from his mouth and filled that dark and hollow cave where they sat in the dim light of the lantern as the flames moved and danced, orange hues giving the dank place an eerie ambiance.

A shiver ran along Rhonwhyn's spine, her pale eyes shifting toward the food tossed into her lap. As she stared at it, she found her want for food waning more than before. She was not hungry, not now. Not after what had just transpired. Of course, she knew she should eat something, especially after the magic she'd cast to heal her new protector's wounds, but... her mouth went dry at the thought of eating, her tummy turning as a nauseous flutter flitted through her gut.

Rhonwhyn watched Brandon get up, his body almost looming like an angry beast as he began to pace the cave that was to be their sanctuary for the night. He looked ready to pounce anything that came near, anything that dared... touch... At that, she looked down at her hands, clasping them together in her lap. They felt oddly cold as if an icy chill had run through her body, threatening to swallow her whole. But gone were those chilly waters from earlier. She was dry now thanks to her guardian, her protector. She shifted a bit, the tunic sliding along her bare legs, revealing more flesh than it should since she had nothing else to wear given their current circumstances. Carefully, she set the food aside, her body shivering, and she stood up.

Glancing over her shoulder, pale eyes peering through platinum locks, Rhonwhyn looked over at Brandon. He was so angry, so jaded, so... Her thoughts were spinning and that bit of anger she'd felt when he'd compared her to Shyra was resurfacing once again, bubbling up to the forefront. She understood he must be harboring great pains, yes. His life indeed had to have been troubling for him to react as he was. But, if he was protecting her now, if he was guarding her life and she had to trust him with it... didn't she deserve to know at least a little about him? She wasn't asking much and she genuinely did care. Who was he to say otherwise and judge her person so harshly, so cruelly? Did he truly think so ill of everyone? That there was only ugliness in the world?

Rhonwhyn couldn't believe that beauty did not exist. She couldn't and she wouldn't. Even the darkest corners had to have some, she was certain. Though she wasn't foolish enough to believe that all could be swayed, that all was rosy and wonderful. She understood that there was a price to be paid with certain things, that often times there was unfairness of fate. She knew how cruel she could be, how hateful and spiteful. Quickly, she said a prayer to Brigantia and padded over to Brandon, her pale eyes flashing as she watched the half-elven man pace like some beast ready to strike anyone who came near.

She figured she must be insane. But Rhonwhyn knew she could not rest with her protector in the state that he was nor with her tummy so twisted. As she looked upon him, she swallowed hard and mustered up her courage from within.

"It is my right to know about my protector," Rhonwhyn boldly stated, her insides turning as she spoke. The tunic hung carelessly about her slim body, her hands fidgeting as if seeking something... anything. "And it is not wrong," she added, daring to take a step closer. "For me to request that," she raised up one hand, her index finger pointed as she tapped Brandon's chest lightly. "And it is wrong for you to think ill of me for inquiring," she stated, tapping him again. "And it is wrong for you to think ill of me for caring."
 
Taurean was beginning to bleed off anger with his pacing, his highly trained mind working, striving to reign in his temper, the long buried emotions. This was uncharacteristic of him and he would master himself, he was not this weak.

He watched her rise and move towards him. In that moment he wondered if she were very brave – or just that stupid. Everyone feared him, just the look of his cold gray eyes or the sight of his pointed ears even, for there were few half-elves in ersheath. Any of these things could send someone into a paroxysm of fear. They all feared him. So had her cloistered life not let her learn of who he was? Perhaps then, it was not boldness or stupidity, but ignorance that made her confront him.

Whatever her reasoning he found that he admired her guts. “You treat me differently than anyone else.” He said. His gray eyes meeting hers as she continued to poke him in the chest. After the third poke his hand had clamped over hers holding the small digits in his one muscled hand. He could feel the delicate bone structure beneath her soft skin, and in that second he remembered the way she had touched him. He supposed the only way to describe it had been tenderly. “You will forgive me if I am unaccustomed to such treatment. I come from a world of kill or be killed, fuck someone over before they fuck you.” His voice was low, his words gentle, a stark contrast to his earlier venom, and the tight way he gripped her hand. “You are right; I should take my own advice and should not pass judgment before I know you.” His hand loosens on hers, touching her almost gently, his fingers tracing her soft skin before he slowly released her.

The half-elf took a deep breath and blew out a sigh, breathing away the emotion he had been exhibiting. He was calm once again. “I suppose your words have some truth. You do deserve to know some about who I am and my past, to learn more about me. You get ten questions, and then you will never ask me about myself or my past again.” His gray eyes met hers again, “Does this sound fair to you?” he half asked, half demanded.

His hand came out to rest on her shoulder, “Come back and sit. You should eat, and I myself should eat some more.” He still seemed gruff, but in his way he had apologized. He certainly was no teddy bear, but he had at least crossed the line from hostile back into polite. There were a lot of things he could have said to her, he could have pointed out how he could see down her shirt, or that she was actually kind of cute when she got angry, but he kept his mouth shut, kept the majority of his thoughts to himself. He figured he had already done enough damage, and this was typically his way, Taurean had always been someone who played his cards close to his chest.

He took a seat back on the ground, and offered her a hand, to steady her, so she could lower herself more gracefully to the ground, perhaps saving her from flashing him as she would have if she had been left to scrabble and scoot to get down to a seated position. That was Taurean; he was a confusing mix of manners and crudeness, class, and darkness.
 
Rhonwhyn felt herself wince as Brandon grabbed at her hand, his expression one of ruthless calm as he spoke plainly to her. He'd made no attempt to sweeten his words or hide his demeanor. Simple honesty had seemed to be at the forefront and though terrifying, she'd had no choice but both admire and accept that. This man, her protector... he was true to himself—or at least tried to be—and though she might not always like it or be comfortable with it, she knew she had no business dictating he change such things to suit her. It wouldn't be fair or right.

Besides, it was this man—this half-elf—that had saved her. And Rhonwhyn would never forget that. Not ever. No matter where fate took them in the end, it was something she'd always remember about Brandon even if he long forgot about her. Just then a lump formed in her throat and try as she might, it was becoming difficult to swallow, the knot in her tummy growing stronger as her thoughts swirled.

So far, her pilgrimage hadn't gone as planned. Not even remotely. Rhonwhyn wasn't quite sure as to what she was expecting, but it certainly hadn't been this. And to think it had barely begun. She'd only just started to get to know Torth and he'd ended up betraying her entirely, murdered by the man she was with now—her new protector. But... how long until she was placed with a new protector? She recalled how the man had insinuated this arrangement wouldn't last long, if possible—words that made her feel disposable, like some trinket to be passed about until used up without a care.

But she couldn't think on that now, let her thoughts dwell and drift. Such thoughts only served to frustrated and dishearten, to scare and...

"Yes," Rhonwhyn said softly, her head nodding in response to Brandon's statements about his past and the questions she'd be allotted. "That is fair." Finally finding it within to swallow, she quietly made her way to sit down. She reached for the food she'd set aside though still she found herself lacking the desire to eat.

As Rhonwhyn stared at the food in her hands, she tried to find the will to eat. She knew she needed to. She needed the energy, the strength. They had a long journey ahead of themselves and still had to worry about people pursuing them and who knew what else. She was unaccustomed to traversing the wild lands they were in and what little they'd been through had certainly taken its toll. Surely it would take more the following day even if things were relatively quiet. Who knew what amount of forests or hill they'd have to cross before reaching town where they could finally rest in some semblance of comfort.

Deciding to procrastinate, Rhonwhyn curled up slightly where she sat, her pale curls cascading in waves over slender shoulders, the tunic hanging on her small form in an odd manner. She licked at her lips and began to fidget, her blues fixed on the food she had no desire to eat. Reaching out a hand, she touched Brandon's leg. "If I may ask my first question," she then said breaking the small bit of silence. "What was your childhood like?"
 
She accepted his hand and lowered herself to the stone floor where she than reached for the previously abandoned food. She fidgeted, seeming unwilling to eat. She had been through a lot, and he had to take into account that she did not have his training. He was trained to eat no matter what the situation was that he found himself in, just as he could sleep anywhere, it was crucial that he keep up his strength. However she was not him, did not have his ruthless iron will. That being said, he found himself admiring her more and more with each passing moment together.

Cold gray eyes dropped to where she had again touched his leg and then up into her eyes as she asked the first of her questions. He had to hand it to her; she did not mess around, and asked very good open ended questions that would demand that he provide more than a simple yes or no. He almost smiled at his carelessness which had put him in this position; he really should have said yes or no questions only. It was too late now. He seriously contemplated refusing to answer or providing her a one word answer. This latter, he actually did at first, “It was unpleasant.” He said his expression emotionless, he had found a loophole, he could still only give her a 1 word answer. However he found that he felt like he had cheated her, he had promised she could ask questions, and he would tell her the answers honestly.

As his eyes locked with hers his hands moved taking up the medical supplies. He gestured to her leg, indicating she should give him her ankle. He did not want her to lose the limb do to infection – or so he initially told himself – however, he knew it also had to do with the fact that he did not want her to suffer any more than she was. She had treated his injuries, he might not have magic, but he could still help her. His hands were gentle as he took her foot, laying it across his lap so he could begin to clean the wounds. “This may sting.” He murmured as he dabbed the ointment into the cuts and lacerations on her ankle, the injuries raw red wounds against her perfect alabaster skin. His hands were more professional than her touches on him had been, yet there was a growing pattern with Taurean, his mouth often spewed venom and acid towards her, yet his touch almost always said something different. With the exception of the time when he had grabbed her hand to stop her poking, his touches had always been gentle solicitous of her. Sometimes the touches had even been in stark contrast to his verbal assaults, such as when he had offered her his arm back by the falls after he had just insulted her. Even when he had just grabbed her hand a moment ago, his grip had been firm but not hurtful, and even that had softened to something much more gentle as he had reigned in the powerful emotions that ruled him.

He worked in silence for a few moments before he cleared his throat. He started to say one thing and bit back the sarcastic comment he had been prepared to throw at her. “Just what do you think my childhood was like?” he took a deep breath and seemed to start again, “My mother was a Whore on the streets of Belbarren major. My father was an elf, a nobleman.” Here he shrugged, “It is unimportant who he was,” those words suggesting he knew more about who the elf was, but was unwilling to share, “What is important is he sired me on my mother and abandoned us. My mother was a poor whore with two children, both bastards, myself a mongrel half-elf, and my sister. My sister was sired by a man who promised he would get my mother and her son off the streets. He gave her another child, and got her addicted to wine and painkilling leaves.” He shrugged, “I will spare you all the details of my childhood, but it was as I said, unpleasant. I was never accepted among the humans, but I was sure as hell accepted in ersheath far more than I ever was or would be in Kierielle.” He said softly. Here, a flash of almost pain came over his face. “Therefore I call the human lands home… well if I am said to have any home.” He shrugged. His hands paused in their actions of wiping at her wounds his eyes lifting hers away from his work. His eyes locked with hers, “Does that answer your question?” he asked, his voice sounding somewhat tired, however he seemed to have squashed his anger and set aside some of the venom with which he had been addressing her with for the past little while.
 
A sweeping heat rose up on Rhonwhyn's cheeks the moment Brandon's gaze shifted toward her hand. It ran along the length of her neck—a stark contrast against her porcelain pale flesh—but it hardly stopped there. The heat continued to make its way ever downward across her chest and even across the swells of her breasts that peeked out due to the low-cut neckline of the tunic. As she felt the heat grow stronger, so did the urge to move her hand, to pull it away from that beckoning warmth in which it rested upon so easily. She fought the urge as he bit out his venomous words, which dared her to recoil and cower. However, she mustered up her resolve and stood her ground, blue eyes fixed to stormy gray.

As Brandon continued to talk about his childhood in response to her question, his words softening—but only just—Rhonwhyn began to shift where she sat. As if on cue, she followed his lead, his gestures as he indicated, making it clear that it was in fact his turn to help her just as she had done for him in return. The moment he began to minister to her ankle, she felt a flutter deep in her core, her thoughts flitting for the briefest of moments as she focused on his touch. He was definitely skilled, something that impressed her greatly, and no doubt would be something she'd be grateful to learn from him if he'd be willing to teach her. But the ointment stung, though only briefly, fleetingly, and then the pain was gone.

Rhonwhyn's eyes looked up into Brandon's, her mind focusing on two things—his words, his touch. Such stark contrast, such... There truly was no way to describe it. As her protector tended to her wounds, she listened to him speak of his childhood, a time he clearly didn't wish to revisit or relive. Though from the little he stated, she could understand why. He'd been abandoned, cast out, thrown away, all but ignored by those he'd needed most. It tore her heart into two as she listened to him, his own words placing himself at a distance between himself and his own flesh and blood—mother and sister. She frowned slightly as she thought on that... on the distance. Her heart suddenly felt cold and she shivered as she pondered the notion. The man always seemed distant when it came to anything about... himself.

Deciding not to dwell on it too much for the time being, as there would be ample time for such things later, Rhonwhyn began to ponder her next question. One that had been on her mind since... At that, her face went hot. One hand moving to gently touch a cheek while the other began to fidget nervously in her lap as her thoughts began to run away with her. Licking her lips, her mouth going slightly dry, her thoughts began to finally focus, turning to when Brandon had changed his clothes not too long ago. She had willed herself not to peek, but her eyes had betrayed her, slowly peering up beneath lashes so they could glance upon him as he'd removed the wet attire only to replace it with the dry and warm ones he was now donning.

Rhonwhyn swallowed hard and bit down on her lower lip. She looked at Brandon, blue eyes locking with steely gray, and she felt a tiny tremor course throughout her body. "It does answer it," she said with a nod. "And I thank you for such an honest reply." She gave him a warm smile, a hand hesitantly reaching out to touch him, resting against his arm as she spoke. "Though, I'd like to ask one more before going to bed for the night," she then added, her cheeks turning redder as she sat there, her leg still in his lap as he finished tending her wound. Of course, she knew her question would remind all present that she'd peeked, but even still, it was something she wanted to know about him... about her protector. "I'd like to know about the tattoo on your back. What are the names on your back?" she asked, hoping she get yet another honest answer.
 
As he spoke his hands continued to work on rhonwhyn’s leg. He finished cleaning the wounds and he was soon knotting a bandage around the leg, just above her ankle. His hands then moved down, inspecting the bottom of her foot for injuries, for stones or splinters that might have gotten stuck in the bottom of her foot. He saw one sliver of wood embedded in the skin and began to pick at it. With steady hands he pulled out a needle he might use to sew a wound closed and began to dig at the splinter seeking to remove it, he did not want it to fester. “This may hurt.” He murmured as he worked.

He focused on his work to keep his mind off the things he was speaking about the things she was asking him to revisit. He showed no major reaction to her hand brushing his arm however she got a reaction with her question as his typically steady hands slipped and he jabbed her with the needle. He regained control and in a few more seconds had removed the sliver from her foot. His hands continued to run over the soul of her foot before running up her leg, beginning to massage the muscles. It could almost be called absently, however he was so controlled that it was probably deliberate, but as to why he was doing it was not directly evident.

His gray eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Looked then, did you?” he smiled, although it was devoid of genuine amusement, it was more a slight smirk. “Somehow I suspected you might. That is human nature to want to do what they are told not to do.” It was clear that he was teasing her, in his somewhat twisted way, his sense of humor was a little sarcastic a little rough. His expression then darkened again, “I have already referenced that earlier. I told you to never forget, to never forget that you will fail people, you will let them down, that not only will others betray you as Torth did to you, but you will however unintentionally hurt another. What you ask about is a reminder, something to remind me of my failures, something to remember them by. To remember that all they ever wanted to be was more than what they were and they trusted others, and that trust got them killed. They are gone, but I will never forget.” He had not directly answered the question but he had given more of an answer than he had expected to give. Initially he had considered not answering at all, just as he had for the first question. However this answer had been more vague than the other answer, but she was asking of things that no one else had. He had been with Shyra Lath for years, and she had never asked him about the tattoo, asked who the names were, even known they were names. Rhonwhyn had recognized they were names, even with the elvish script, even in the half dark, what did that say to her powers of observation. Perhaps he should give her more credit than he initially had.
 
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