#i'm draaaaained after black friday weekend

[sezja]

Reaching the Crystarium

Set in @theferalscion's fantastic First AU, with permission, because it lives rent-free in my head these days

Previously (and, confusingly, chronologically later): A Lakeside Chat

They reach the Crystarium as the sun is inching toward the horizon - dusty, weary, and in foul moods. Despite Sammet’s best efforts, Guyson has proven himself to be thoroughly inescapable; he’d made no fewer than three attempts to slip away from his appointed guide beneath the violet trees of Lakeland, and each time, the hume simply chased him down - the final time quite literally. Sammet had attempted to simply run, relying on his superior stamina to outlast the hume and escape that way, only to be thwarted when the man simply pursued and then tackled him-

Heat creeps across his collar, remembering. The chase. The wild tumbling scuffle through the grass, wrestling to free himself from Guyson’s grip. The look of furious triumph in the man’s eyes when he’d successfully pinned Sammet to the earth, with no hope of escape. 

And the way his heart rattled against his ribs, torn between terror and… something else, something he didn’t recognize.

Now, with one hand clamped firmly on the viis’ arm, Guyson marches Sammet through the gates at the base of the towering crystal structure they’ve been approaching all afternoon. Sammet’s heart speeds once more, as the gates slide closed behind them once more - he is trapped here, for the immediate future; he does not know, he realizes, the intricacies of navigating life in a modern city. His own life has been removed from the structures of civilization; as a male viis, he’d spent much of his time in isolation in the tallest trees, watching for threats to the Greatwood and the ruins of Ronka - how peculiar it is, to see so many people in one place, men and women mingling freely… to say nothing of the many disparate races.

His hands itch for his bow. Though no threat has presented itself yet, he would feel better if he went forth with an arrow nocked. Their arrival - and his presence - garner no few curious stares. Viis are rare outside of the Greatwood, he knows… and a male viis leaving the forest is all but unheard-of. Most would sooner die.

It makes him feel very strange in his own skin.

Anxiety rises. His vision swims with each beat of his racing heart. There are so many people! People and buildings - where is he meant to begin? 

He turns to ask Guyson - when had the man let go of his arm? - and finds no one at his side.

Anxiety gives way to real fear.

“Guyson?” He peers around; the hume cannot have gone far… but he sees no familiar face, only more curious strangers, wondering at him, at his having left the forest at all. He imagines he can see disapproving judgment on their faces - though few of them know aught of the viis at all, let alone the distinctions of their culture - and he bites his tongue on the urge to explain to all and sundry that he has not abandoned his post. He is on a mission, a mission of great importance, if only he… if only he knew which way to go…

Guyson would know, a prickling voice in his mind reminds him. But you didn’t want a guide, did you?

Is that what has happened, he wonders, breathing hard, paralyzed - has the man escorted him to the Crystarium, as far as he ever intended? The agreement was to see Sammet safely through the world beyond Rak’tika, and home again - but the leaders of Fanow won’t know if Guy simply abandons him here, resuming his stewardship once Sammet is prepared to return home. A return that, he must confess, is sounding more and more welcome by the moment. 

If he bolts for the gates-

But to leave the quest incomplete-

He will not have this chance again…

But there are so many people here, so many unfamiliar paths and turns; he does not know how to-

“I take it you don’t like the taste of your own medicine.” There’s a hand clasping his arm once more, firm and - though he hates it - reassuring. Guyson, emerging from who-knows-where, taking up his place at Sammet’s side as if he hadn’t just caused the warder a near panic attack.

“You.”

“Aye.” The man tugs pointedly until Sammet follows, guiding the way to a destination he cannot guess. “I reckoned after all your determination to fly solo, you’d take off at the first sign of independence - but you just stood there like… well.” His gaze flicks upward, toward Sammet’s ears. “Like a scared little rabbit.”

Shame boils at his core, rousing a simmering fury. “I was not frightened.”

“Consider me fooled.”

“I do not need you!” He jerks against the hand on his arm, but Guyson’s grip only tightens. “Release me!”

Guyson jerks them both to a stop - and shoves Sammet against a wall, driving the air from his lungs with the impact. The hume pins him there, both arms held firmly against his sides, so they can look one another in the eye: though Guyson is an ilm or two shorter, his strength is undeniable - more so than Sammet would have anticipated in a gunman, at any rate. And his expression is quietly furious, blue eyes burning.

“What is your problem, anyhow?” Guyson demands, his grip growing even tighter. “I’m here to help you, you ungrateful little-”

“I did not ask for your help! It was thrust upon me by-”

“By people who know good and goddamn well the world’s still dangerous, Lightwardens or no. I’m not here to get involved in your hunt for bards. Wicked white, I just wanna get paid when all this is over, and I can’t do that if I don’t bring your self-centered little arse back to Rak’tika in one piece!” He heaves a heavy, exasperated sigh, releasing Sammet’s arms. They throb - likely to be bruised in the morning. 

And Sammet’s heart is racing again.

He says nothing, though, giving Guyson a chance to collect himself. He cannot fathom the humiliation of a wood-warder who cannot be trusted to perform whatever duties he must alone, nor the personal insult of being assigned a caretaker who cannot even see the importance of his quest. It matters little - he will be rid of this unwanted escort; he must simply bide his time and wait for a more opportune moment to escape. He may even be charitable enough to return to Guyson when his journey is concluded and he has the knowledge he seeks… that he may be safely escorted back to the Greatwood, and Guyson may receive whatever compensation he has been promised, if indeed that is the sum total of his concern for Sammet’s quest.

“Never mind.” Guyson rolls his shoulders, seemingly shrugging his frustration off at the same time. “It’s been a hell of a walk here, eh? Let’s get a room for the night. We’ll head for the Cabinet of Curiosities first thing in the morning.” 

“The Cabinet of…?”

“Curiosities.” The hume takes Sammet’s arm again, more gently this time, but firm enough to brook no argument as he once again takes the lead. “It’s a library of sorts. Books. All the books the Crystarium’s salvaged since the Flood.” He frowns. “You… can read, aye?”

Uncertainty rears its ugly head. He has read very little from beyond the ruins of Ronka - what if the texts here are in a different language? “Of course.”

“Of course,” Guyson echoes, his lips curling into a small smile as he glances back at Sammet. “Well, if you need a hand - or an extra set of eyes - there’s people there as’ll help you out. I bet Moren’ll even know exactly what book you need straightaway. We’ll have all the info you could possibly hope for on bards and then some by the time night comes tomorrow.”

“Moren,” he repeats, seizing on the one fragment of speech that registered as important. He truly has lost the knack of conversation since leaving Fanow as a child - it washes over him like an avalanche, leaving him grasping at a word here or there as they surge past.

As though amused by Sammet’s baffled repetition, Guyson’s small smile grows larger. “Aye, Moren. He’s in charge of things over there. I’ll introduce you.”

“He is… a friend of yours?”

“Not if you ask him.”

Sammet puzzles over this in silence as they continue ever southward, while the sky grows dark overhead. Like many, Guyson pauses a moment to gaze upward as the stars emerge, glittering in their miraculous darkness - Sammet joins him, marveling in how vast it is. Beneath the bright, blue sky when they’d first emerged from the Greatwood, the sight of the sky stretching endlessly overhead had been terrifying, daunting… but this is different, somehow. Far more reminiscent of the impenetrable dark boughs of Rak’tika, muffling the Light - this is comforting. Grounding. 

Were it not for the crystal spire piercing the view, he could very well be back home again.

But there is no time for homesickness, not here at the start of the journey.

“Hey.” Guyson tugs his arm, bringing him back to the present with surprising gentleness. “The sky’ll still be there tomorrow.” It’d be mocking, if the sky wasn’t so new a wonder. “Let’s get in for the night.”

He brings them to a peculiar building, tall and long, stretching into the distance. The Pendants, Guyson calls it, explaining as they walk that it serves as lodgings for those who live in the Crystarium - both temporarily and permanently. The vast size of the building is thus explained, if it must house the many people the Crystarium shelters. There isn’t always room, Guyson goes on to explain, particularly after Sin Eaters attack settlements and drive more people into the city… but there should be a good deal of room available now, now that the world is safer; now that people have begun to leave the assured safety of the Crystarium for the wider world beyond.

Sammet’s throat tightens as they pass through the door and he enters, for the first time in years, an enclosed building. He eyes the door - it isn’t locked, he knows; he could leave any time he pleased. Presuming he can tear his way free of Guyson, of course. Still, his mind screams trapped. Trapped!

“One room, two beds,” Guyson’s saying, to a weary-looking clerk who nevertheless greets them with a warm smile. Guyson eyes Sammet before adding, “On the highest floor you can give us.”

The clerk’s tired gaze moves to Sammet. “Are you quite alright, sir?” His eyes flick briefly toward Guyson’s grip on the viis’ arm; the slightly frenzied look in Sammet’s eyes.

“I… I-”

“This is his first time away from the forest,” Guyson says, quietly. “He’s a little bent out of shape. If you could get us a room with a good view of some greenery?” Oddly touched, Sammet blinks in surprise. If Guyson notices, he doesn’t show it, receiving the key to their new room with a word of thanks and not so much as a glance in Sammet’s direction. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I want a bath before bed.”

As well he might, after tumbling through the dirt with Sammet earlier. The viis simply nods his agreement - though he has been a good deal worse, and gone a good deal longer between baths, he expects the people of the Crystarium will be more inclined to aid him if he doesn’t look as though he has been… well. Rolling around in the grass with a furious hume.

The bathing chambers are on the bottom floor of the building, Guyson explains, leading the way… with one hand still firmly latched onto Sammet’s arm. He begins to wonder if Guyson means to ever release him again. “There’s baths and showers,” the man continues, opening a door to reveal several gleaming empty tubs… which briefly stymies Sammet, better-accustomed to washing up in waterfalls.

“How…?”

“Hm? Ah, right. You’re a proper barbarian, eh?” Guyson releases his arm at last to approach one of the tubs, turning one of the peculiar silver fixtures set atop it… and water pours out, startling Sammet with its abrupt loudness. “It can be as hot or cold as you like it,” the hume says, shouting to be heard over the running water. He continues explaining the workings of the device, letting Sammet adjust the temperature of the water pooling in the bottom of the tub - what a strange thing to create! And how very indulgent, hot water at a touch; in Rak’tika, when they desire hot water, it requires either heating over a fire, or a not insignificant amount of fire shards…

He watches Guyson ready his own tub… and then watches the hume strip off his own clothes, tossing them haphazardly onto a nearby bench, along with his weapons. Wreathed in steam, the man’s body is beautiful, despite its scars; Sammet has only ever seen his fellow viis naked, and every one of them had become familiar, unremarkable. It is strange, then, to see a body he doesn’t know. Strange and thrilling, nearly as daunting as the unfamiliar sky overhead.

Guyson sinks into his tub with a deep sigh. He casts a curious glance in Sammet’s direction… and smiles, asking, “Were you gonna bathe, or were you just here to enjoy the show?”

It makes Sammet’s heart flutter more than it ought.

Muttering, he strips off his own clothing, unties his hair, and - tentatively - steps into the impossibly warm water. “Oh,” he says, appreciatively, as the heat begins to sink into his weary muscles, making him drowsy.

There’s a quiet chuckle from the tub beside his. “Ah, Sammy. We’ll make a pampered city-dweller out of you yet.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I told you not to run off,” Guyson replies, unfazed. “Give me what I want, Sam, and I’ll give you what you want.”

To that, he makes no response, focusing instead on bathing. He does have bruises from Guyson’s hands, red marks ringing his arm where the man has gripped it for the past several bells. Sammet combs his hair with his fingers, thinking. It will be no easy matter to escape from Guyson here - for of course he must; his moment of panic at the gates was only that: a moment. He will acquaint himself with this place, learn all he can of the city, of the people… and when he finds his moment, he will seize it, slipping free of Guyson’s supervision and charting his own course. He cannot afford to grow soft on his journey, after all; he must return to his duties in the Greatwood.

But this is nice.

He dozes off more than once, only a few seconds. The heat of the water, the exhaustion of the day, the promise of safety for the night - it is enough to lull him into sleep…

The last time he wakes, it is to Guyson shaking his shoulder. The water has gone tepid.

Needing no encouragement, he rises, following the hume’s instructions to drain the tub, then drying off with the provided towels. He leaves his hair loose to dry; the evening is warm. Still half-dozing, he follows Guyson’s lead up the stairs… and up and up. On the highest floor you can give us, he recalls, wryly; the hume believes putting distance between Sammet and the ground will discourage him from escaping… through the window, perhaps. As though heights have ever been a deterrent to a wood-warder. He will have to put this theory to the test… in the morning, perhaps.

For tonight, at least, he’ll behave himself. He is too exhausted not to.

The room, when at last they reach it, is smaller than he’d hoped - it is cramped, the ceiling too low, the walls too close. He folds his arms, looking around in rising discomfort; he cannot breathe here-

“Steady.” Guyson crosses the room, pushes the window open. The night breeze wafts in, smelling of… trees and grass; Sammet approaches the window, peering out to see what appears to be a small park. It isn’t much, but it’s green, and it makes it easier to tolerate the cramped confines of their new room. The room which will be his home, for lack of a better word, until such time as they must return to Rak’tika…

He turns, eyeing the bed dubiously; far more accustomed to simply settling into a nook in a tree or slinging a hammock, this is altogether foreign.

Guyson snorts. “Can’t do anything about the bed, I’m afraid. Get used to it.” He strips down once more, drops himself heavily into his own bed, and rolls to face the wall, turning his back on Sammet. “Turn the light off before you bed down, eh?”

Sammet gazes out the window a while longer, shoving homesickness aside.

And thus ends the first night of his quest.

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #SORT OF. #my writing #first au #i want to write guy's side of things from leaving the greatwood to pretending to ditch sammy there at the start #but we'll see if my head cooperates #i'm draaaaained after black friday weekend