She appears on the far end of the path to the High Pass, her face white, and splattered with blood. There is death in her pale grey eyes. Those who know her, would name her Fiona, the peculiar woman of the Shaws. Scanning the faces of the people gathered, her breath coming in laboured gasps, she quickly makes her way into the camp, bounding through snow with surprising agility. Fiona's long hair streams out loose behind her, parts of it still in a braid, as if it were loosed in some struggle.
Fiona's eyes find Brodigh, and widen once again, white and grey. "Brodigh!"
she says, once she's close enough to him, unheeding of anyone around. She
puts her hands flat on his shoulders, gently, her brows contorted in a
grimace of sorrow. "You're hurt!" It is a declaration, not a question.
Caolin lays his hand on the bandage, hands trembling.
Cylara shudders at the change of touch, her side numb but the rest of her body more sesitive in comparison. "I......need.....water........water...." Her words trail off as her eyes flash a swirl of thoughts and emotions.
Brodigh's eyes widen when he spots Fiona and his shoulders sag with relief. "Fiona, oh," he says, his breath leaving him. He winces at her touch, but only because his wound is tender. A jagged slash runs from his left breast up to the top of his shoulder, and it has stained his torso red with its blood. "It's not... bad," he mumbles, his face losing color. His eyes shut, forcefully, and he exhales sharply. "You're okay. That's not... not your blood?"
Lindir removes her hand from the injured elf's side. "I shall return, mellon." As the elf calls for water, the Hirdan looks about at the still clean snow. "Use some snow, if you can. I shall bring water soon. I promise." With that she stands and walks toward the other injured with no one to care for them yet.
Fiona retracts her hand as Brodigh winces in pain, and looks at her hand, now stained with his blood, mingled with black blood, and her own. She pales again, trembling. "I met with--something out there--killed it dead," she says with some hesitation. Her grey eyes leave Brodigh's for a moment to watch those about her. "A little of my blood, but nothing serious. Scratches really... but you!" Fiona's hand trembles as she puts it to Brodigh's face, "It is bad, I can see it in your face, Brodigh. Sit down, or relax or something... please. Let me help you--let me see it." Once again, a command.
Caolin looks up and nods sharply to Lindir. "I-i will." He gathers snow with his free hand, and compacts it in his hand til it melts. Then he lifts it to the wounded's mouth, and hopes it will suffice somewhat.
"It's... just a knife wound," the Dunlending says, looking down at it, perhaps for the first time. Slowly, he reaches a hand up and moves aside the torn layers of blood-soaked fabric, revealing the horrendous rip. Apparently this pains the Dunlending and he drops his sword to the ground. Tilting his head up to the starry sky, he gulps down the cold, clean air, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.
Cylara wraps her hand around Caolin's, finally releasing her sword to
sip the drops of water from the hand held to her lips. Sighing, she settles
back, her face slightly less pallid.
Caolin grins, glad he helped. "Anything else, mellon?"
Cylara smiles slightly..."If I...listed what I needed, I think it.....would
go beyond you, even an Uruk slayer."
With her long experienced fingers, Fiona gently pulls at the skin around the wound, not touching it directly. "That's going to hurt," she says, squinting her eyes at the gaping tear in the Dunlending's skin. She curses. "I should've been here." For a moment her countenance shifts, and she appears almost lighthearted--"Drake, how did he fare?" she asks, a suspicious curiosity in her voice. Fiona reaches down and scoops up some clean snow, quickly applying it to Brodigh's wound.
Cylara rolls her eyes up to look at Caolin, her hand still clutching his wrist. "More snow, a fur to keep me warm, water.....water.......please, thirsty....."
Caolin's eyes light up in surprise and astonishment. "Uruk slayer? N-no, more like a lucky quende, who had an adan nearby. But I will still help in any way I can. Just say the word."
Lindir returns to Caolin and Cylara, sword sheathed at her side and a healer with a littler in tow. "Come now, let's bring her to a tent. We can keep her warmer there"
Cylara chuckles, the sound out of plafce and eerie. "More so than me, my blow only angered them, my gesture only hurt my allies."
The Dunlending bares his teeth, gritting them as the woman puts the cold snow on his wound. "Damn!" he shouts, shaking with pain. He shudders, closing his eyes part way, and it seems like the man might lose consciousness. Instead, his lids still down, he mutters, "No clue. Last I saw, he was helping one of the damned elves. Maybe he caught an arrow..." He lets out another breath and seems to sway on his feet. "And... and we can leave this place." He's struggling to hold onto lucidity.
Caolin nods to Lindir, and puts his arms around the head of Cylara. "You did your best, mellon. Now it is time to move.."
Cylara shakes her head, the action exaggerated because she feels nothing. "Numbness is more painful than death. Please, please. Don't move me.....uhn....." Her breath slows, and she collapses into an almost unconscious state, barely aware of her surroundings.
"Leave?" asks Fiona, blinking dumbly a moment as she cleans the Dunlending's wound. She looks back to her business, biting her lower lip in concentration. "An arrow's all, then, well, if he's lucky he took a rear shot," spits Fiona spitefully, shuddering a little in the cold. "Drake is a fool to lead us in to danger like this... a damned fool. Hold still!" Fiona puts one hand gently on Brodigh's cheek, while attending to the wound. She rips off a large section of her cloak, and binds it up, pulling tightly on the cloth with her teeth. "There," she says when she's finished. "For a moment at least, that should stop the bleeding. Don't let me catch you walking around seeping blood again."
Lindir takes and middle portion of the elleth while the healer takes her feet. The healer directs them, "On the count of three. One, two, three," and trio lift her unto the litter.
"Lucky," Brodigh says, his voice dreamy and distant. His eyes squint hard and his face constricts, and suddenly they are open again. "Mmm," he says, glancing down at the bandage. "Again, you save m'useless arse." A weak smile before he winces again and stumbles. "For... sake..." he mutters, reaching up and grabbing Fiona's hand. "We... should find him, I suppose." He says this last bit in a dark voice, his voice low and almost angry.
"Find Drake?" Fiona pipes, almost hysterically. Her eyes widen, and she gestures around. "Find the imbecile that's led us here? That's led you to this--" she indicates the wound, already seeping through the thin material bound across it. She sighs, frustrated. Fiona's eyes reflect a supressed ire. "I don't know what I think right now."
Caolin glances up to the edain. "Well, met, men. If you see the nice man with the axe, tell him I said thanks!"
Brodigh glances up at Fiona, his eyes wide and concerned. "I just thought..." He glances down again and shakes his head. "Never mind." He coughs, violently, and his hand moves to his chest, near the wound. "Oh, my," he says, out of breath. "I..." Again, he straightens up, weakly, and looks at Fiona with his volumous black eyes. "I was so worried. I didn't know where you were."
Cylara stirs, her motions making the need for healing seem more urgent.
Lindir takes the end of the litter. "Carry the front, mellon. The healer will direct us where to go."
Caolin grabs ahold of the front, and speaks softly to Cylara. "Uh-up we go." He says, grunting.
"I'm fine. I'm always fine," says Fiona abruptly, crossing her arms over her chest, and sweeping her gaze over the scene. "What in the blazes happened here, anyway? I think I caught one of the wounded ones on his way out, or his attempt to get out. He was coughing blood and wheezing something fierce. I finished him off in spite of the fight he gave me on his departure..." Fiona sighs miserably. "This is such a mess."
"One, two, three, lift." Lindir says, raising the litter. The healer begins to direct them toward one of the tents.
Drake suddenly appears round the side of a wagon. "Yeah, it's a mess," he says, "But you gotta admit the blonde one and his horse boys made'em run."
Cylara moves, her hand grasping what she can reach to steady herself. She grabs a hold of someone's tunic, not sure who is at her head and who at her feet.
Cylara tightens her hand repetitively, still holding on to the twisted piece of wood she'd found just before the disaster.
The Dunlending gives Drake a dark look and then glances back at Fiona. "No such luck," he mutters under his breath, barely audible to anyone nearby. "Where the hell is Zar?" he asks, standing as straight as possible and scowling out across the bodies of orc, man, and elf alike.
Drake looks at Brodigh, and says approvingly, "Good job defending the wagon. They didn't get any of the pipeweed, and only one of ours dead ... the one who never talked much. You not hurt too bad, I hope?"
Drake says, "Zar was out looting bodies last I saw him."
Cylara sighs.
Fiona purses her lips until they're a straight white line. "I don't know, Drake, I missed the heart of the battle. I was on watch, and was led away from the camp," she says curtly. She sneers at the mention of Zar. "Was it that--woman?--that was with him who died?" she inquires.
Drake's eyes narrow slightly. "Cai? I think she's up by the elf camp somewhere. Wants more of their bread and wine maybe," he says with just a touch of a sneer.
"Two are dead," Brodigh mutters, looking down at the earth. "The one called Iain was speared. The little bastard got away, though." He glances at Fiona and shakes his head. "No, she is well..." A sigh, and he sheaths his sword.
The quartet of quendi walk slowly so as to not spill their charge to one of the tents and disappear inside of it.
Caolin pushes aside the flap and enters the tent.
Cylara has left.
Cylara pushes aside the flap and enters the tent.
Taking a deep breath, Fiona wipes some of the dark blood from her face, shaking her head. Her hair is in complete disarray, falling into her face. "What are you planning to do now, Drake?" she snaps, clearly irritated.
Drake grins at Fiona. "We have our chaperones ... " and he gestures towards the elves. "And if we'd tried to come up here without them we'd be dead after these gentlemen came to call. We're staying right with them. Camping right next to them next time, if we have to, and anyone who doesn't act polite as an old lady to them can go ask the orcs if they want company."
"What a damned mess," Brodigh says, lowly, looking out over the chaos. He glances at Drake, his expression growing dour at the man's word. "Let's just hope none of them cut us open for declining supper." He shakes his head and tilts it back, stretching his neck.
"Camp with them?" whispers Fiona harshly, leaning toward Drake, getting dangerously close. "Are you mad? Camp with them? Next to them? Share food with them?" A hint of the old, less stable Fiona, seems to seep through in her continuing elaboration. "Do not confuse a moment's gallantry with ... necessity, Drake."
Caolin pushes out through the flap and exits the tent.
Caolin has arrived.
Drake laughs harshly, though the whole conversation is low enough it is unlikely to be overheard by their "chaperones".
"Fiona," he says sharply, "If that yellow-haired elf and his crew hadn't ridden in, we'd all be cooking over a pot somewhere down below. If the orcs had had a commander with brains, they'd have hit us hard first, and grabbed the wagons, and we'd not have had a chance. Most of them went after the elves, and we only had a small band of looters to fight off. Say the elves keep going and we turn back, and the orcs send out their scouts and find our wagon wheels. What then, pray tell?"
Caolin smiles as he sees the axe-wielder who saved his skin. "Well-met, adan. You are in my debt, as it were. Thank you for your impeccable timing." his bow is slung over his shoulder, on the same side as his quiver.
Brodigh sighs and tilts his head down, putting his good hand up to his forehead. "He's right, damn it," he says, and it's clear that he wants to disagree with Drake more than anything. Looking up, though, and staring into Drake's eyes, Brodigh shakes his head. "I see a number of your men leaving after this, though. The sane ones, at least." His lips threaten to smile, but the sting of his wound sends them back into a frown and he slumps over.
Fiona is silent. She just stares at Drake with her near colourless eyes. She takes her time before answering. "What then? I'm not the one that's led us here--but I'll tell you something--it's been nothing but trouble since they arrived. I am not even myself anymore, what good that is to you. I don't understand why you insist on doing everything the hard way, the stupid way, the get-ourselves-killed way. I for one, Drake, don't fear death. I know it's dancing on my shoulder. What I don't think you realize is how close you are to that endless darkness yourself." It does, indeed, sound like a threat. The fiery Fiona is on a roll, it would seem.
Drake smiles to Brodigh, saying softly, "That will be after they get their pay, I think. If it's this hard to get across, the price for pipeweed on the other side of the mountains ... then he glares at Fiona and smiles simultaneously if that is possible. "Try it," he tells her, "If you think you're up to it, try it right now." And he deliberately turns his back to her, which brings the elf into view just as he begins to speak, so he may or may not have heard their conversation. He nods to him in a friendly way
Brodigh's face looks up, despite his pain, and he beholds Fiona with wide-eyes. He knows that less has provoked her to violence before... in the past. He winces, opening his mouth to attempt to say something, but only lets a slight groan escape his lips.
Caolin grins at the edain about him, wondering what in the world they speak of, but deciedes it isnt his buisness. He still stands there, however, not listening, so much as looking around the battlefield for familiar faces on the ground.
Fiona shakes her head slowly, her shoulders relaxing in her relief. "No," she says slowly, quietly. "It's not in me. Not now. Why don't you just finish me off, Drake? You tried once." She spits the accusation. "I saw it in your eyes. You wanted it. You wanted it more than you ever wanted me."
Drake nods to the elf and says to him politely though a bit whinily, "If you'll excuse us, and give us some privacy, my folk are grieving. We lost two of ours. Would you excuse me?"
Brodigh's eyes shift down to the snowy earth and he stares at the whiteness for a moment. His breathing grows ragged but he continues to stare... Lazily, he moves his attention up to Drake, then back to Fiona. His dark pupils move over space slowly...
Caolin nods courteously to the man, and talks in the Common Speech as best he can. "Of course, I owe you that much." He then wanders near the wagon, searching for an orc weapon to ponder on.
Drake turns then back to the two, and his eyes fix on Fiona. He smiles to her then, a smile that seems inhumanly calm, and almost it seems he is unaware of Brodigh's presence as he speaks ...
Fiona stands silent, staring at Drake. Her breathing comes slolwy, for she seems calm as well; yet still, there is a edge about her... as usual.
"Want you?" he says softly, "Of course I want you. You're a viper with a golden tail, and it's so tempting to try to avoid getting bitten for the sweetness behind the sting, but I struck at you when the orc attacked because you showed yourself for a fool. If you want to stay alive, you'll learn to obey me or stay far away from me. I'll kill you if you get in my way, I'll kill anyone who gets in my way, crush them like snakes, though I would much rather feed some elves to the orcs just now. Pity. We can't always get what we want."
Caolin is so immersed in his own thoughts and questions to himself that
the conversation held by the men is completely unheard and unnoticed.
Caolin has left.
Caolin pushes aside the flap and enters the tent.
Brodigh watches Drake, his mouth coming open slowly. He loses focus, his pupils shrinking, and is forced to put a hand back to the wagon for support. His eyes widen and his mouth continues to hang slightly agape, but he says nothing. Whether this is out of necessity or desire is unknown. His motions are very calm, very smooth, and hardly noticable, even to those near...
In spite of her coolness, Fiona's cheeks flare with a crimson stain as Drake speaks to her; other than that, she makes no motion of shock. "Just don't forget that the viper has the ability," says Fiona, her voice low and rough, "That only a little bite from a viper can prove most deadly... At first it might feel euphoric, but the danger is always there." She shudders with rage, for the moment, checked. "And don't forget, Drake, because I am reminded of it every day, that it is you--you and that golden haired monster--who are responsible for this horror that has happened to me. What I am now, what I have become, it is your fault, and your doing. You shall have to deal with those concequences--be it what it may."
Drake laughs then, and now the laugh is a bit wilder. "What you have become?" he says. "I became what I am when my brother had me drugged and then put me on a stake on the beach, leaving me for the tide to drown. I became strong. If you bite me, still I will crush you. But together we could make this part of the world our own private hunting ground. The elves think I'm just a greedy merchant. Let them. They'll learn what hate can do to them when it takes them in secret. We could do that together."
Brodigh attempts to stand, trying to push off of the wagon. "Wh-- what the hell?" he mutters, shaking his head. The shock and bewilderment on his pale face is surprising. "You bastard." He lets out one last sharp breath and his body goes slack, falling back into the wagon. A crack is heard as his head hits the wood and the cart supports him for a moment. Then, slowly, he slides down onto the cold ground, his eyes half-closed. A small trickle of blood dribbles from his mouth.
"I have become nothing but a void of hate, Drake," says Fiona, her eyes dancing with anger at Drake's laughter. "Together? You think I would trust you? After this--" she gives a moment's glance to Brodigh. "You may be strong, you may tempt me, but you must think me a fool to believe all you say at face value. How do I know you're not in cahoots with these strange elves? How do I know this is nothing but a trap?" She raises her eyebrows prettilly--her anger subsiding for a moment, washing away, as it were, like a tide, as she falls to Brodigh's side.
Fiona slaps Brodigh's face, "Brodigh?"
Nothing. He makes no noises whatsoever. His eyes flutter open, then completely close. His jaw, clenched tightly, loosens, and his mouth falls open. Teeth lined with crimson and a mangled tongue are visible.
Drake smiles very slowly. "Aye," he says, "Who cares about trust? That's
half the game. Though of course you've got precious little choice now if
you want to live." And suddenly ... in this space sheltered from view from
the elves by the line of the wagons, while the others are away searching
the field ... he draws his axe, saying softly, "Of course, Brodigh has
to die. He has heard to much. Are you with me or against me?"
Drake draws an axe from the holster on his belt.
Reluctantly, Fiona stands. "I knew it, the moment I saw you, Drake," she says, shaking her head slowly, a sort of sadness residing there--sadness tinged with hatred. "I thought to myself--'That man is too much like me'--and so, it is true. You have beaten me at my own game." She closes her eyes, just for a moment, as her long fingered hands reach for her daggers, already blackened from recent blood. "You cannot have Brodigh. He will not die--he might, but not by your hand. This is between us." She takes a step away, positioning herself before Drake, her fingers bringing her dagger to view.
COMBAT - Wielded: Dagger
Drake smiles at her. "So be it. You can kill him, and live, or defend him and die."
Fiona frowns. "I love him," she declares, her love as apparent in her eyes as her hate. "With Brodigh... it is the only other emotion I have left besides hate. I cannot let you have him, Drake. I had thought once, perhaps I could stop loving him, and love you--then, only, could I have been your partner in all of this." She closes her eyes again, tears making her eyes redden. "Now, I see how much of a cruel joke my life has been... at least... I know he loved me as well... at least I know that." She grits her teeth.
>> @emit A look of relief floods across Fiona's face, and she is still a moment, sweat pouring down her face. "I see you... can't grace me with words... because you know by destroying me... you kill part... part of all of this... and part of you... You'll never have me like Brodigh did. He was my only love... my lover... my friend..." She uses her love as a sort of strange ammunition. "You shall never know me... as he did..." With a deep laugh, she--still rather agile for one seeping her life on the ground--tries again.
>> @emit Fiona frowns. "I love him," she declares, her love as apparent in her eyes as her hate. "With Brodigh... it is the only other emotion I have left besides hate. I cannot let you have him, Drake. I had thought once, perhaps I could stop loving him, and love you--then, only, could I have been your partner in all of this." She closes her eyes again, tears making her eyes redden. "Now, I see how much of a cruel joke my life has been... at least... I know he loved me as well... at least I know that." She grits her teeth.
Drake grimaces. "Love is for fools," he declares ... and with that he strikes ... but at the last moment his blow goes not toward Fiona, but toward Brodigh.
The scream that Fiona lets out rings through the camp, through the pass, and up into the mountains themselves; a scream of blind rage, hatred, and deepest sorrow. She throws herself at Drake, aiming for his tender neck with her long dagger. "I will not let you do this your way!" she yells. "The deal is I die!"
Drake's blow strikes his shoulder and he grimaces ... and screams, "She's crazy! Crazy! CRazy" as he strikes back.
Spinning out of the way, in spite of Drake's well aimed axe, Fiona seethes as she looks upon Drake. Then, her rage turns to laughter. "Just a few moments now," she says. "But I know the truth, and you know the truth--and that's all I need." She shakes her dagger in the air, then lunges again, aiming for Drake's tender neck once again.
The axe blade gets Fiona's thigh, and immediately she begins to bleed. She shows little of the wound, though, and only limps a little. Her face is crimson in anger. "I will go down fighting, you bastard," she hisses, and lunges again.
Drake screams again. "She's crazy! She's attacking me!" and strikes again...
The real pain sets in, and the real tears. "Ai!" she cries, stumbling, grabbing her arm as blood seeps through her fingers. "Good of you... to take advantage... when I'm... ill-equipped," she manages, grimacing against the pain. Her eyes keep straying to Brodigh... But, shuddering agatinst the pain, she attempts yet again...
Drake grimaces as her dagger hits him, scratching his side. He stops shouting, perhaps calculating the time left until someone reaches the scene from the elven camp, and attacks again ...
A look of relief floods across Fiona's face as she is spared for amoment, and she is still, sweat pouring down her face. "I see you... can't grace me with words... because you know by destroying me... you kill part... part of all of this... and part of you... You'll never have me like Brodigh did. He was my only love... my lover... my friend..." She uses her love as a sort of strange ammunition. "You shall never know me... as he did..." With a deep laugh, she--still rather agile for one seeping her life on the ground--tries again.
Drake does not answer ... instead with horrid concentration he strikes again, aiming to finish her off quickly and with little thought for his own safety.
The pain now comes in waves, but not so bad was this attack as the last. Fiona begins to pale, however, the color draining from her smooth cheeks, from her pink lips, from her neck... draining as more and more blood is lost. This recent cut is on other leg, but seems not to bleed as much as the rest. She grits her teeth against the pain, her forehead slick and white. "Grand... just... grand," she says, with another laugh. Fiona, summoning a scream from deep within her, attacks once again.
Fiona's attack is surprising effective and pierces through his vest,
and blood seeps out ....
With a groan he steps back, countering angrily.
"Hah!" says Fiona, her spirit lifted a moment. She looks at Brodigh again, and a vestige of a smile creeps its way to her face, almost ghostlike. "I swear, by all that is sacred, if I can, I will haunt you..." she lets out a little cry and holds her arm, tears filling her eyes. "I'll haunt you... all your life..."
She flails at Drake, with waning power...
Again, Fiona's attack strikes home ... more blood wells, the blade only partly turned by one of the metal disks on his vest. He strikes again, snakelike, even though injured.
She is struck to the ground this time, the blow hitting her shoulder. There is a grotesque spray of blood. Her eyelids flutter between waking pain and sleeping pain. With all her power, she manages to stand, her knees buckling. "I'll make you sting," she says, "even if you crush me." Pathetically, she attempts another strike, as more blood seeps from her numerous wounds... spilling to the ground about her... staining it red...
Drake grins triumphantly now and strikes, seeking to finish her off once and for all.
The blow gets her side, and knocks her down, her dagger still in her gloved hand. Her fingers twitch, her breathing rasps, her eyelides threaten to close on her forever. Soon, soon, the sleep will come, the sleep she has searched so hard for. Fiona cannot stand again. There is too much blood. Her eyes find Brodigh. A trickle of blood falls from her fair lip, and tears fall down her face. "You will never forget me, Drake...." she coughs, straining to get air, suffering, like a fish out of water. "And I will never love you." She continues to look at Brodigh. With one more effort, the dying woman casts her dagger at Drake, it flies through the air... and she falls, unconscious.
Drake grunts as she still strikes even dying. He still strikes now, utterly heedless of his own safety, to finish her off once and for all.
Drake reaches where the blade lies embedded in his shoulder and pulls it out. Triumphantly grinning he begins to step toward Brodigh to use the Fiona's blade to finish him, too ...
When the blow hits, her eyes open--only to see Brodigh. As finally, mercifully, she stops breathing, her eyes remain on her love... the only good thing ever to find her in life. All the pain, all the madness, slowly slips from her limbs and mind... Her brow furrows a moment, but she does not close her eyes... she watches Brodigh until her eyes see no more.... Fiona slips from this world into the next.
Slowly, Brodigh's eyes open and he gazes up at Drake, his mouth full of blood. He blinks, unaware of his surroundings. The confusion in his eyes is unparalleled...
Drake suddenly lurches, as a wave of dizziness passes through him. He pauses, pulling himself up, his heart suddenly racing in a strange way. Suddenly he looks at the dagger, and his eyes narrow.
A long pause ... he whispers, "Poison on the blade ... of course ..." ...
And suddenly he falls over dead, on top of Fiona.
The confusion doesn't disappear... only magnifies with the assistance of horror. Brodigh watches Drake stumble to the ground. He slowly leans up, wincing in pain from his wound, and then... then he sees the entire scene. The color drains from his face and his voice cracks. His eyes widen in shock and terror and his face falls. "No..."
"Oh, no," he mutters, climbing to his knees, ignoring the pain, ignoring everything around him but... Fiona. "No," he croaks, stumbling to her, over the fallen corpse of Drake. He leans his head into hers and puts his hand to her neck, to her wounds. "Oh, God," he says, staring into her eyes. Her dead grey eyes. "What..." His voice is lost. His eyes are deep and he cannot fathom this.
Tilting his head over Fiona's face, he strokes a finger across her pale face, smearing blood. "No. You can't be," he whispers, tears finally falling freely from his eyes, down his dirty face, and onto hers. They dilute the blood... but not enough. His hair hangs down, brushing against her face. "I couldn't... save you." His voice breaks into sobs and the reality of the situation comes to full effect.
Slowly, the Dunlending leans his entire body down on the woman. He buries his face into her neck, his hand searching below for hers. Finally, he finds it and lays like this for a time, his body shaking with sobs. Slowly he tilts his head and stares at Drake, tears still making paths down his bloody face. "Why?" he asks. Whether to Drake, Fiona, or something even greater, is unknown.
Zar kneels up from one fallen and closeup his pouch, shaking his head at the man who called him for his friend, "Nothing I can do more now." Zar sombrely states and looks around for the next requiring help. In all battles, some are lucky, some are cowards, some are smart, Zar could be the three for he appears and is quite unscathed and moves with his usual, understand little grace, even with some hurryness today. The entanglement of bodies is particulary bloody there and it is with litte wnder Zar recognizes the dunlending. "Brodigh !" he calls and starts to move toward him, his eyes who saw many horror already widening on this new madness. "What ?"
Brodigh pushes up from his position and looks back down at Fiona. The sobbing has subsided and his face is pale, tear-streaked, and... void. He doesn't move at all when Zar arrives. Only swallows, the noise audible even above what goes on around them. "She's dead," he says. "Drake... killed her. He..." His voice cracks and he shakes his head, holding back sobs. He reaches down and traces Fiona's blood-spattered face, from temple to chin, then up to her open eyes.
Zar observes somewhat longly the couple, and as Brodigh rolls off from Fiona, the healer need no more examination to deem her wounds mortal. "I am sorry for you Brodigh" Zar says, all hardened he is the distress of the man moving him, unlike the act of Drake. He reaches and offers the dunlending a hand which healed more than killed today "And you killed Drake after ?"
The Dunlending finally tears his eyes away from Fiona, but keeps his hand on her face. He stares at Zar's hand and then past it, to the man's face. "If only I had," he says, quietly, before giving Drake a quick glance. His eyes grow cold and distant and he turns them back to Fiona. "She did. But not... before..." Shaking his head, Brodigh looks up to the sky. To the millions of stars there. He closes his eyes and, as he does, his fingers gently close Fiona's. For a moment, he remains like this, his face raised to the heavens, one hand holding Fiona's lifeless hand, the other caressing her face. Then his shoulders slump and he stares back down at her... squeezes her hand, and lovingly strokes her face. Slowly, he leans forward and kisses her on the lips, brushing them softly with his. A sob bubbles up from within and he bows his head, resting it on her lips.
Zar lets the man all the privacy a living and a dead could need and nods, turning his attention to Drake with interest aglow in his eyes. Probing fingers comes around Drake neck, looking expertly for any hint of life and he doesnt speak anymore, focusing on his task. His hand then drifts to the man wrist.
"I love you," he whispers. "I will, always." Again, he squeezes her
hand. "Thank you," he says, kissing her again. Then, slowly, painfully,
he rises to his feet and stares down at her. Without a second glance at
Zar, he walks to Drake and gazes down at the man. His jaw is clenched,
the muscles in his neck standing out. And his sword is in his hand, sliding
from its sheath without a sound. "Move," he says to Zar in a tired voice.
"If he is not dead now..." Without ceremony, the Dunlending sticks the
blade into Drake's exposed neck, driving it hard, into the ground beneath.
Brodigh's face is steel, his eyes covered in tears. He tilts his head to
Zar, looking for argument, before pulling the sword back up and spitting
down onto the corpse.