#me 5 min later: actually nvm i wanna post it so bad

[displacer-beasts]

In Zarbinzet

@lisa-and-shadow and @swindlefingrs. So this takes place when they get to Zarbinzet the first time. Before they split off into seperate groups to deal with the soulstone and Elias.

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“So, what is the deal with you and the Wanderer?”

They had just reached Zarbinzet and were preparing to head out once more. Donan and Nico would go to prepare the soulstone for Lilith, while Lorath and Neyrelle would hunt down the secret to Elias’ immortality. There were a number of items they would need to gather for their journey through the swamp. 

Nico and Neyrelle had volunteered to collect the supplies. Zarbinzet did not exactly have a bustling marketplace, but as the last bastion of ‘civilization’ before entering the swamp proper, there were a number of merchants selling supplies to whatever travelers were brave enough (or foolish enough) to travel to Hawezar.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lorath gave Donan a sharp look, “Have you noticed anything? Signs that Lilith’s blood is beginning to corrupt him?”

The possibility of it haunted Lorath. In his time he had seen and read numerous accounts of people–good, noble people–corrupted by demonic influence. King Leoric. Aidan the Dark Wanderer. Leah. The history of Sanctuary was in part a history of humanity’s corruption by evil. Nico might end up as just another name on that dark, bloody list.

And yet for all that Lorath watched intently, he could see no sign of it. Other than a few frustrated outbursts, Nico had kept remarkably composed throughout their travels. But between Lilith’s blood, the blessings from all three Prime Evils, and Mephisto apparently appearing to him in the form of a bloodied wolf, it seems almost an inevitability that at some point Nico would falter.

(Lorath knew he needed to ask about the wolf. But, just like talking to Donan about Scosglen, when he tried the words turned to ash in his mouth. He didn’t know what to say, what words could offer meager comfort, had no solutions to offer, nothing that could make a difference. No, better to just focus on stopping Lilith and Elias. Everything else could wait.)

“Oh no, nothing like that. On the contrary, he and Y–” Donan faltered for a moment. 

Lorath’s fingers tightened on his polearm. He could say something now. Anything. I’m sorry about your son. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out at any point these last few decades. Why didn’t you write to me about the soulstone? I would have come. I would have put up with the bloody Cathedral of Light. I would have helped you bear that weight.

He said nothing and Donan continued.

“He and Yorin apparently ran around volunteering their aid to many villagers in Braestaig. And he’s made a name for himself. On my journey here I heard more than one inn talking about the strange Wanderer who cleared out a demon infestation, or found someone’s missing husband, or delivered food to someone’s sick bairn. Truthfully, I thought most of it to be an exaggeration.”

Lorath snorted, “No, he’s been like that the entire time I’ve known him.”

A part of Lorath urged to snap at Nico for it. Wasting time helping a poor villager when, if Lilith and Elias got their way, said villager would just be carrion for their ‘new world’ soon enough. 

And yet. 

When Lorath saw the way Nico threw himself into helping anyone who asked, the way he seemed to care so deeply, his voice turning gentle and soothing even the most terrified child, the way he didn’t make a big show of it like the Knights Penitent did, just as if it were another step on his list. Upgrade his weapons, save a poisoned man on the road, buy a new water canteen, infiltrate a city overrun with cannibals and save a woman. 

There was a hot, feathery tightening in his chest whenever Lorath thought about it. A sensation he resolutely ignored throughout their journey, but which haunted his dreams as much as his nightmares did.

“But you haven’t answered my question, Lorath. What is it with you and the Wanderer?” Donan watched him with eyes far too sharp and knowing. 

Lorath resolutely kept his gaze forward. 

“He was drugged by villagers and fed Lilith’s blood. He was rescued by a lone monk, who sent him to me. I sent him to you. I believe you know the rest of the story.”

“Hmm. And that was the first time you two met?”

Lorath hesitated.

Donan picked up on the hesitation and his gaze grew more intense. “Well?”

“No. We had met before,” Lorath scratched at his beard, “He came to my cabin seeking information about demons, curses. I believe he wanted something that might help the druids at Túr Dúlra. We spoke about the nature of demons, the history of Sanctuary.”

“All that in one night?”

Again, Lorath hesitated, “No, he visited a handful of times.”

Donan raised an eyebrow, “Braving that journey through the mountains multiple times just to ask for history lessons?”

Lorath grit his teeth. He was not going to gossip about his personal life like one of those widows in Kyovashad. He was not going to tell Donan about that first moment of weakness in his cabin, when he had commented about seeking distraction in drink and Nico had joked about better ways to forget. When Lorath had challenged him on it and then took him up on that offered comfort.

It was a moment of weakness that Lorath didn’t intend to repeat.

And he told himself that each time. When that weakness happened again in Ked Bardu. And again after Nico returned from Orbei Monastery, haunted by what he’d seen. And again after Ghuulran. And Mt. Ciro. And after Andariel. And–

Well, Lorath had had decades of experience avoiding his own roiling emotions. He could deal with this complication later. After they stopped Lilith.

“Why don’t you ask him about it then if you’re so bloody curious?”

His attention was caught by movement, and he saw Neyrelle and Nico beginning to approach, carrying bags of supplies. Neyrelle was animatedly saying something, one hand gesturing in the air. Nico walked in step beside her, his ear tilted in her direction to listen, but his eyes carefully scanning the surroundings, one hand resting lightly on his sword. 

He had a tense frown on his face and–paired with his dark kohl-smeared eyes, the tattoo markings on his face and muscled arms, wild hair sticking up, long, curved blades at his side, and a large, wicked-looking crossbow along his back–he looked no different from any of the numerous bandits that plagued Sanctuary. 

Dangerous. 

As they walked the people gave them a wide berth, eyeing the strangers in their midst with suspicion. Perhaps he felt Lorath’s gaze in particular burning into him, because he lifted his head and met Lorath’s eyes.

And oh, how the expression changed. The frown falling away to reveal a grin, eyes shining (too far to see the color at this distance, but Lorath knew it was a deep green, the same vibrant shade as one of the leaves of Glór-an-Fháidha), tense shoulders loosening in relaxation, pace picking up a bit to reach them faster. 

“Hmm, I think I already have my answer.” Donan sounded smug and far too knowing as Lorath jerked his head around to glare at his old friend. He had perhaps been staring. He wasn’t sure what expression was on his face, but whatever it was made Donan’s grin widen in amusement. 

Before he could retort, Neyrelle and Nico reached them.

“Hey! We got some water resistant bags, food that should last even in this humidity, snake venom antidote, plenty of water,” Neyrelle handed a large satchel each to Donan and Lorath, “There’s an oil that, according to one of the merchants, should ‘discourage all but the most persistent of bloodflies’.”

Nico nodded along in agreement. “I got us all some new boots as well. These are coated with a special oil that makes them extra resistant to water. So it should keep our feet dry even in the swamp.”

Neyrelle lifted her foot to show off her new boots, and Nico handed a pair to both Donan and Lorath.

“And here, Lorath,” Nico held out a pair of gloves, “I saw that yours got damaged when we were in the desert.”

Lorath reached out and took the gloves. Turned them over in his hands. They were soft, of excellent quality, dyed a dark grey, simple and not ostentatious at all, with the fingers free just as Lorath preferred. 

In other words, they were perfect.

He looked up to thank him and his breath caught in his throat at the soft look in Nico’s eyes, the smile tugging at his lips. It was a simple, practical gift for a– a– fellow comrade-in-arms and should not have made Lorath’s ears feel as hot as they did. 

Donan coughed loudly. 

Lorath cleared his throat, “Right well. We need to be off. We’ve wasted enough time as is.”