Fare thee well

[Thadius Dhrin]

The last few days had been traumatic at best for Thadius. His body ached, his hand worse still. The dizziness seemed to have subsided, at least enough for him to walk about his room, even enough for him to make his way down to the common room to secure charcoal and parchment.

It was with these that he sat at the small table in his room, mint green eyes focused on what was, as yet, a blank page. How to begin, where to begin? Writing with his left hand had proven more challenging than he would have imagined, but he was sure he could at least make himself understood, though not in the flowing script he had come to pride himself on.

Nightingale,

I wished to thank you for all the care you and your friends have offered me. I am wonderously happy that your governor has recovered. The medicine worked, as I had hoped it would. No more nights watching over him for you, let us hope death leaves his door for a good long while.

My purpose here is finished. I can not think of a reason to keep me here. That is to say, no reason that makes any sense at all.

I trust you will be well, and keep your governor safe as well. Please tell Quincy that if she ever does wish to learn her letters I would be happy to help, when and if I venture back this way again. I am glad that you are safe, I was worried sick that my weakness against them had cost you your life.

I hope that when you remember me, it will be with some measure of fondness. I know it will be so when I remember you.

Always,

Thadius Dhrin

Had he been at home, he would have sealed the letter with some sealing wax, stamped with a pretty bird. Alas, he had no such luxuries here. Instead the paper was carefully folded into a shape roughly resembling a swan, the best he could do.

There was nothing to gather, as he had returned here with only his ruined tunic. Fortunately for him he was able to fashion a robe like garment from a clean sheet and some cord. He doubted anyone would care that he was dressed so lightly, given the weather.

With careful steps, Thadius began his trek from the room he had been left in, down toward the common room, to deliver the note to the keep, who could surely pass it on to Ariane.

[Carnath-Emory]

When she woke, it was with something less than the giddiness of the night before -- and from something other than nightmares. Perhaps Sawyer's to be thanked for that, for their conversation the evening before had been enlightening, lending Ariane Emory more optimism than she'd known in several months. Perhaps Treadwell is responsible -- or, more precisely, the bright satisfaction of crushing his pipe beneath her heel. She'd never quite been above minor pettiness, after all. Perhaps Quincy's cooking is to blame, or the Governor's --

Ahh, but this was a recollection she'd thought better of dwelling upon. It had a way of leaving her cheeks a-flame, her mind swimming with delight and mortification, in equal measures.

Perhaps some things, some moods, are best left unexplained altogether. This was certainly her opinion, when she dressed herself in fresh garments and well-fitting boots. It remained so as she allowed herself the luxury of cool water with which to wash her face, hands, hair; the excess of good spirits lingered even this morning, and demanded such little indulgences.

In any case, there simply isn't the time for such deliberation. There's so much work to do, she'd repeated yesterday, and it's this knowledge which had finally driven the memories from her mind (Sawyer's embrace, like a mother's gentle arms; Bromn, besieged by her own ellated audacity; sweet, sweet recollections). With the sword belted low about her hips, and the hair hanging damp about her cheeks, she'd closed the door behind her, stepped brightly into the corridor, and --

"Thadius? Is that you?"

In astonished disbelief, she'd pursued him, had fair chased the skirted figure down that narrow corridor. The sight is remarkable, for he'd lain still as if dead, the very day before, under the guard of Mikhail and Cy alike. But still, they may have fetched a doctor to him; may even have drawn upon D'zir for another Healing, which seems more like to her.

"Thadius, you are improved." Unbelievably so.

[Thadius Dhrin]

"Aye, it was mostly bruising."

Undamaged hand moves to gesture to his face, still a horror of blackberry markings. The bandaged hand had been wrapped, quite prettily, in the left over sheet and cord. It seemed to have stopped bleeding for the time.

"You, also, look well. I am glad for that, Nightingale. I had thought you dead, but perhaps I can thank that fear for bringing me from my stupor."

The carefully folded paper was held between two fingers, these he brought up before Ari. The delicate swan moved with the smallest movements of his finger tips, giving it the appearance of bobbing on the water.

"I was not going to leave without saying goodbye. I wrote you this letter."

Eyes, bright as sunlit seafoam from within the dark circles of midnight bruises, would sparkle with his smile. A soft shake of his head.

"It almost was not worth the price, saving your governor, we almost lost you in his sted."

With those words he was moving past her down toward the commons, the swan left within her fingertips, or fluttering gracefully to the floor.

[Carnath-Emory]

Until he turned about to face her, she hadn't realised the extent of those wounds. Oh, she'd seen them days before, yes; had been given the opportunity for a good, long inspection of the man's face, when he'd lain on that bed as if half-dead. But time has passed, and she has been Healed. In some distant portion of her mind, she'd quite expected that the enigma -- who'd appeared with remedies in a time of need -- could work similar miracles upon himself.

This isn't the first time she's been mistaken about him.

In these first moments, her attention is for the hand, rather than his face. She'd seen the extent of that wound, had glimpsed the severed finger he'd left behind him those many days ago, and her fear had been for bloodloss and rot. That the bandaging is entact and fresh gives her a measure of relief, despite his words. It would not do to lose him to death now. Not yet. Perhaps not at all, for her senses remain clouded, where this man's concerned, but --

"I would term it fortune, but that would be an error. They were careful with their wounding. Of this much, I am certain." But he speaks, has given her an opening for the many questions which have swum in her mind these last days, and her lips part to speak them -- only to be struck silent by the sight of what he offers her. The grey eye tracks its pretty, bobbing progress; it could as easily be a hypnotist's bauble, as a cleverly-folded parchment. But when it drops, her gaze snaps back into focus, her hand flashing out to catch the miniature swan. There it sits, a pretty artwork balancing neatly upon the center of her palm, and after all that work, Thadius Dhrin, inexplicable enigma, is recipient of a glowering frown.

"You have my thanks -- but you ought not to say such a thing." Is there a warning in her tone? She speaks evenly, with a measure of calm; her gaze remains fixed upon his eyes, then his shoulder, then his back as he passes her by. That much has become habit, for a woman whose learned wariness of white-robed men -- even when that robe is but a sheet. Still: "It is unjust. We have known no finer Governor. I have -- "

But he is intent in his departure, and she has no time to make good that protest. Left with no other option, with potential answers simply wandering away from her, she pursues him long enough for: "Thadius. There are matters on which we must speak, things which I have --" remembered "-- discovered. You must not leave before we speak on this. You cannot."

It is a plea, and one sufficient to pause his departure, if not halt it entirely. When he speaks once more, it's to negotiate a compromise, to speak of certain needs: a return to his home, a gathering of belongings -- the details are left vague; perhaps a day's journey, in total. Having little choice, she eventually nods her agreement to his departing back.

And with some small, malicious portion of her soul quite wishing that her allies had been present, to insist that he tarry with them. But still, he has returned to them from death itself, this Thadius Dhrin. He has returned to them from beatings and mutilations, and with some answers for their ready ears. Surely, surely he will return to them a third time.

Surely.