forum мαттєяѕ σƒ тнє нєαят | CLOSED, STALKERS WELCOME | 3/3

Started October 31, 2022 by @Veere group

tune

The sun was just beginning to break over the horizon, casting gentle rays of light on the courtyard of the garrison. One of the soldiers dutifully put out the torches that had been helping them to see, a few more in the distance opening the gate to begin their morning routine.

All of this escaped Damen, however, as another bucket of freezing water was dumped over the back of his head. The mender was forced to lean forward, palms pressed flat against the stone wall as rivulets of water trailed down his shivering body.

Soldiers had stormed into his cell an hour before dawn, scaring him half to death with their chains and even a few weapons drawn, yelling about a visitor and travel arrangements, before manhandling him into the courtyard and promptly robbing him of his tunic. Any residual sleepiness was quite literally washed away with the first bucket of water.

From what he could gather, the soldiers wanted him to look presentable for someone. But who? And what was with the traveling arrangements? Was he actually going somewhere?

The thought excited him almost as much as it terrified him. Save for the very courtyard he was in now, Damen had never seen the world outside his cell.

A sudden, sharp tug on his hair brought him back to the present, and he fought off a wince as he was made to kneel on the ground. Gravel dug into his knees through the fabric of his trousers, while one of the soldiers dumped a towel over his shoulders and told him to dry off.

With arms still shaking from the cold, Damen obeyed.

When they deemed him to be dry enough, they tossed a new tunic at him and told him to put it on. The fabric caught on one of his horns due to his rush, but he managed in time to be pulled to his feet. This time, thankfully, by his arms and not his hair.

"I'll be glad to finally be rid of you," a soldier, one Damen recognized as Reef, hissed into his ear. Reef fostered a particular hatred towards Damen for reasons he could never understand, and it showed in the many miserable days when Mr. Hirentien was away. Like today.

A thought struck him, eyes widening and causing his heart to race. Would he get to say goodbye to Mr. Hirentien? He instinctively looked around the courtyard as if the man himself would suddenly appear.

A hand gripped the back of his neck while he was distracted and another soldier quickly stepped forward and seized his wrists. Damen made the mistake of making eye contact with Felenst, a fire spirit who'd had it out for him ever since he was a young child. That, of course, was before the introduction of the silver cuffs that now lived on his wrists; back when he'd discerned without a moment's hesitation that Felenst was suffering a broken heart and offered to heal it.

Looking into his eyes now, Damen could see the same repulsion in them as that day. He quickly averted his gaze, but it didn't stop Felenst from being far rougher than necessary in binding his wrists with a coarse rope. The knot he used left the end of the rope free, and Damen instantly knew it was meant to act as a leash.

As if to confirm it, Felenst yanked on the end of the rope, dislodging Reef's hold on his neck and sending Damen stumbling forward in time to grab him by the collar of his tunic. "If you fuck this up, I'll kill you myself," Felenst swore, sending a chill unrelated to his "bath" running down his spine. Damen had no clue what he was talking about—the rope, maybe?—and resorted to keeping his eyes downcast in an effort to not piss the soldier off any further.

"That's enough!" a deep voice rang out. Felenst dropped Damen's tunic as if it burned him—ironic, for a fire spirit—and took a step backward, seeming nervous all of a sudden.

Damen's head snapped up and he turned to see Mr. Hirentien exit the door leading to the mess hall, accompanied by a young man he had never seen before. Damen only had eyes for the commander, however, relief flooding his heart at the sight of him. Mr. Hirentien was here! He would help him—would explain what on earth was going on.

The commander looked furious as he fixed his steely gaze on the soldiers responsible for Damen's treatment. "Who ordered your group to care for Damen this morning?"

Damen heard an audible gulp from Reef. "General Smixeth, sir," he responded.

"I see." Mr. Hirentien narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased, but unwilling to address the issue any further in front of their guest. "You all are dismissed. Damen, come here."

Damen obeyed, the leash of rope slipping from Felenst's hands and dragging across the ground behind him as he came to stand in front of Mr. Hirentien. The commander tsked and retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket that he used to dry Damen's hair.

The mender's eyes fluttered shut, relaxing at the gentle motions.

"I apologize that you had to witness that, Mr. Dali. As you can see, this here is Damen—the last mender in Egril," Mr. Hirentien said. Damen opened his eyes at the introduction, peering up at the guest curiously—and noting, privately, that the man was quite beautiful. He wondered, with a sinking realization, how much Mr. Dali had witnessed that Mr. Hirentien had felt the need to apologize.

"Damen," Mr. Hirentien continued. Damen's gaze flicked back to him. "This here is Anthurium Dali, one of the queen's guards. He's here to escort you to the palace." Damen's eyes widened considerably at the information, once again looking at the pretty stranger. "The queen has fallen ill and none of the healers have been able to treat her. They suspect her illness is due to heartbreak, and that only a mender's powers can save her from death."

Damen's heart pounded. Such an important task was being entrusted to him? He understood there wasn't exactly a list of other menders to choose from, but he would've thought the royal family would rather die than require help from a mender. The late king was the one who sanctioned the massacre of his kind, after all.

Like normal, he didn't have a choice; something he realized as the commander reached for the rope on his wrists. While Mr. Hirentien kindly loosened the bindings for him, Damen was dismayed when it wasn't removed altogether. Instead, the end of it was passed to Anthurium.

"I'm sorry, Damen. You deserve more of an explanation, but I'm afraid we don't have the time. Mr. Dali can inform you of the rest when you leave," Mr. Hirentien told him, seeming truly sympathetic. "I've packed you both some provisions," the commander added, unslinging the bags around his shoulder. One he handed to Anthurium while he personally buckled the other onto Damen, whose tail flicked forlornly when he made eye contact.

He gave Damen a final head pat before pulling away, saying, "If there's anything else you need before departing, the soldiers at the gate can acquire it for you. Please, travel safely, both of you."

With that the commander was gone, leaving Damen—quite literally—in the hands of a total stranger.

The journey here had been long and tiresome, and Anthurium’s normally pristine appearance was starting to fall apart by the time the garrison’s commander had met them at the gate. He had arrived late the previous night, and decided to stay and leave in the morning, just to recuperate. After that, there could be no more delay.
After getting ready and a light meal, Commander Hirentien took them through the garrison and to Anthurium’s main purpose for being here. However, when they came into the mess hall, Anthurium spotted something going on in the courtyard outside. It looked like some guards were being rough with a prisoner… wait, was that the mender? After pointing it out to the commander, he stormed out of the mess hall.
And so he looked on from a distance, deciding to enjoy the show. It seemed the guards were more brutish than back at the palace, which he found rather distasteful, regardless of the fact that they were holding a mender here.
When the mender approached them, Anthurium studied him with interest. He’d never seen one before, and though he wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting, it wasn’t something so… cute, frankly. Their gaze flickered from the commander, then back to the mender. Damen. He would try to remember that. They nodded to him as they were introduced. His expression was firm and grave.
He took the rope that kept the mender bound, looking at it a little uncertainly, then accepted the bag and slung it over their shoulder. “Thank you, commander,” he said as Hirentien left.
They turned back to Damen and nodded to him. “You can call me Mr. Dali or Mx. Dali, I don’t mind. And if there’s nothing else, let us leave quickly. There’s no time to waste.”