#thank you kirimun for the prompt

[ancientechos]

Omen of Beginning

Emet-Selch/Arianna ♡ 2714 words ♡ Revenant AU

This idyllic little town is so very boring...

But for the moment it suits Solus dus Galvus fine.

There’s little to do, he can even nap on the job...so long as Cyrus doesn’t see fit to nag him...

Next

“Say, Sol,” Speak of the devil, and he arrives. “I think that girl might be a revenant.”

A sharp exhale leaves the Garlean soldier’s nose as he levels an unimpressed stare at his supposed best friend.

“And which girl might you be referring to?” They’re standing in the middle of a mostly crowded marketplace...aside from the obvious berth most of the residents give them. “There are many here, as I’m sure you can see...and none of them have any obvious traits.”

“That one.” Cyrus jerks his head slightly. “The girl with the black hair, and the basket. She might be hiding a tail or something underneath that skirt of hers, you never know...”

Another sigh.

Unfortunately, this time Orphus sees fit to interrupt their conversation.

“You should check.” He claps Solus on the shoulder, and he has to resist the urge to shake the hand off. Annoyance bridles in his stomach.

“Why don’t you do it?” he snaps with a thinly veiled glare. The other man shrugs.

“You’re supposed to be good at that revenant finding stuff. Even Cyrus says so...right?”

“Indeed! So I think you should take the chance, old friend, let us know what you find.”

“There’s no reason for me -- “

Just as he begins speaking, some sort of commotion rises up. It’s from the direction Cyrus had pointed in the first place.

Someone appears to be heckling the dark-haired woman for something; a second later, it becomes clear. Someone is attempting to pull something out of her grasp.

When neither Orphus nor Cyrus make a move, Solus sighs yet again, rolling his shoulders as he pushes himself away from the wall. One hand goes to his gunblade as he strides forth. The crowd disperses almost immediately, but the scruffy-looking girl grappling at the woman’s -- belongings? -- does not.

“Some sort of problem here?” Solus asks boredly. It’s almost comical how quickly the red-haired girl halts. She turns slowly -- one eye is obscured by an eyepatch. The remaining one glowers at him until she spies the blade.

Then she runs off and down an alley.

He doesn’t bother making chase, instead looking to the dark-haired woman. The one Cyrus had said might be a revenant. Up close, she certainly doesn’t look it. How on earth had he come to that conclusion?

“Are you all right?” he supposes he should ask, if only because she stares at that -- ahh, it’s a book. Dimly, he wonders why a brigand would want to steal something like that.

The woman gives a short nod, her gaze meeting his as she clutches the book close to her chest. Something feels odd, so he prompts her again.

“What’s your name?”

Instead of responding to him, she opens her book. Again, Solus cannot help the sense of wrongness -- why does she not simply speak?

A moment later, after an apologetic glance up with furrowed brows, the dark-haired woman holds the book up to face him. He squints at the words written neatly there. 

My name is Arianna Rowen.

One of his brows lifts.

“A mute...?” So that was the reason for the lack of verbal acknowledgment? Well, he supposes it matters little, assuming it does not hinder her ability to work. Certainly does not make her someone especially abnormal. “And what do you do?”

There’s no prefix by her name. Likely she’s missed one of the tribunus’ announcements...or, rather, all of them. Perhaps she’s merely a traveller...though she doesn’t exactly wear the garb of one.

He shifts his weight to one leg as he awaits her response, watching her scribble in that book of hers. His golden gaze flicks away a moment to watch the other passersby, until she holds up the tome again. Of course neither Cyrus nor Orphus are anywhere to be found.

I am an herbalist. I make poultices and teas at home.

“And you live here?”

Yes.

Arianna...

The murmurs of his colleagues reverberates in his ears. If she has anything to hide, she should deny him his request.

“Say, miss Rowen, I’m afraid I’m awfully thirsty. Would you mind if I joined you for a cup of one of those teas of yours? I’d pay you, of course.” He makes a vague gesture toward his coin pouch at his belt. He watches her watch him, as her green eyes flick from his face to the gunblade strapped at his back.

Not exactly what he’d wanted, but still —

Arianna gives a small nod of assent.

Solus’ brow quirks again, though he makes no comment. Perhaps she really does have nothing to hide. He is...relieved? The prickly sensation fades.

When she makes note that she still has some shopping to do, he bids her to go on her way.

“There’s no need for me to escort you, I assume...unless you’re worried about a repeat of this incident.”

No, thank you. It is all right.

He hasn’t asked if it was all right, and frankly he doesn’t think he cares. He’s simply curious.

Will she try to slip away? Surely that’s what a revenant might do. Use the opportunity to escape to whatever little hole she might have for herself...

Maybe he’s daring her to do so.

He leans lightly against the brick wall, eyes hawklike as he scans the crowd. There are other exit points to the market, of course, but he is ever so intrigued. If she’ll simply try to leave.

The minutes feel too long. The sense of unease returns, burdening him with its weight. He wants to snap his teeth at a nonexistent bit -- he has no idea why he’s this annoyed --

And suddenly she is there, coming to a nervous halt in front of him. Her basket is full of various plants and small cloths, wrapping...something. One of her hands lifts to run a hand through her hair as she fidgets.

“...Oh.” He can’t tell whether he’s disappointingly surprised or surprisingly disappointed. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

He doesn’t miss the confused glances the other residents send his way, and doesn’t miss the way she tenses beneath their heavy stares.

“All done, then? Shall we go?”

________

The prickly unease returns as they walk. Not only does she not take him to any of the surrounding homes, as he’d assumed she would...

She leads him outside the town, into the surrounding woods.

Her footsteps are weary as she glances back at him every few moments. He doesn’t expect her to speak, and he doesn’t attempt to make conversation. Instead, he glances between the trees, trying to discern just why he feels so uncomfortable.

There is always a catch.

If she truly thinks she might be able to overpower him here...he snorts at the very thought. She doesn’t say anything, of course.

Perhaps she has friends, waiting in ambush.

Before long, they’ve turned off the main road onto a well-trodden path. She has to push some of the branches back as she walks, thoughtfully holding them just a moment longer for him. Charming, but unnecessary. The way opens up to show him a small quaint cottage. As the woman’s strides grow more confident, he knows without having to ask that this is her home.

The smell of the woods gives way to the scent of various herbs as they approach. Some are vaguely recognisable, others he has no idea of. She leads him into the wooden home; the slats are dark, the room feels small, yet somehow it feels oddly warm.

Arianna bids him with a gentle gesture to sit at the table in her kitchen. He reclines in his seat, glancing about. Charming.

“What a nice place.” He can’t see anything especially out of the ordinary, either. “I like it.” She reddens slightly at the compliment, setting her basket down.

Thank you, sir...

He stares at the formality for a moment.

“Oh, I didn’t introduce myself, did I? How terribly rude of me. My apologies. My name is Solus dus Galvus. No need for sir.” He takes one last look around the oddly comforting space. “You should introduce yourself as Arianna bas Rowen. I don’t suppose you have any Garlean licenses...?”

Her blank stare speaks volumes. He waves a hand carelessly. Understandable. He’s beginning to get a hang of her situation. He sympathises; why go anywhere when you can simply stay somewhere safe and warm?

“I’ll have someone send them over. Now, about that tea...” The subject finished, his smile is easy and light as he prompts her. With a start, she quickly begins to prepare a cup of drink for him as water heats on a modest flame.

There is nothing here. There’s no reason to even begin to suspect her. Simply a quiet herbalist making ends meet in her little home in the woods...

Nothing fantastical or otherworldly about her. She is normal.

The tea is warm, sweet; he asks on a whim whether she has any blends for sleep, and she promises to give him some. The longer he stays, the more she relaxes, whatever apparent misgivings she’d had to his presence disappearing. Just as his of hers.

And all the better for it.

Once it’s eventually time to take his leave, he stands from her presence and fishes open his coin pouch.

“Here you are, for the tea and...the other tea, I suppose. Thank you.”

That anxious sensation returns, and he’s reminded once more --

There is always a catch...

But there is none this time. She merely smiles serenely at him and sends him on his way with a small bag of dried herbs. A different sort to the one she’d used in her tea for him. It serves him well, up until he scrapes the bottom of the bag with his spoon and has to tip the remainders of the leaves out. Never has he slept so well as when he brews a cup of this before bed.

________

When she approaches him this day, she seems almost pleased to see him. Solus tries not to allow such a fact to cloud his ego.

A difficult thing, all things considered.

She holds out a greeting for him, asking how he is today.

“I’m quite exhausted.” His head tilts slightly as he observes her. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I snuck to your bed for a nap...?”

Her reaction has the corner of his mouth curving in amusement. Almost immediately, her entire face reddens as she stares at him with wide eyes. Before she can fumble to reply, he continues.

“I was just joking.” He sighs quietly. “Though I suppose I wouldn’t really turn down a chance to sleep. I likely shouldn’t.”

Arianna regards him, her expression strangely resolute. She turns to a new page in her book.

I could bring you tea. Not for sleeping, for staying awake.

Solus blinks at the paper for a moment.

“Would you? I’d appreciate it.” Did she have a drink for everything?

With a soft nod, she goes back the way she had come; when she returns, along with her basket, she holds a mug of hot tea.

Holding the cup in one hand, be brings it to up to inhale the steam. Already he can feel the weight on his eyelids lessening. Curious. And it tastes just as delicious as it smells. He thinks he can feel the remnants of sugar crystals on his tongue.

“Marvelous, thank you.” The soldier gives her a small smile, and makes to reach for his coin purse; she quickly shakes her head, reaching out a hand as if to stop him. She halts just short of touching his wrist.

“No money? Are you sure?” She nods. Unfortunately, he can’t resist the urge to prod at her again. “I know I’m your favourite customer, but preferential treatment is still a bit...I do hope no one is listening to us...”

He cannot help but laugh at her reaction as she gapes at him, then turns her face away.

________

It’s ridiculous for him to feel anxious of anyone finding him here. He’s merely enjoying a cup of tea on his break.

There’s nothing, no one to find.

So it vexes him that he can never shake off that sensation as he approaches the cottage. As if he’s doing something he shouldn’t.

It’s not as if he cares. he does what he wants. And if any of his colleagues have anything to say about it, it hasn’t been to his face.

So Solus doesn’t care.

The irritating feeling fades with every sip of warm, soothing tea.

________

There is something.

Something in the air. It nags and prickles against his skin, if only he could scratch it out. Then maybe he might feel some relief. But he knows not what it is, not even where it is, so there is nothing he can do but grit his teeth and bear with it.

Perhaps it is simply the poor weather striking at his nerves. It’s dark. It’s been raining for hours; he’s soaking wet and cold. Annoyed, mostly. He wants to go home, drink tea, sleep. But there’s no rest for the righteous; he’ll wait until his turn to leave. He glances at the chronometer on his wrist. It should be about time...

A sharp clicking of heels on pavement behind him catches his attention; the sound stifles and grows hesitant as their owner approaches. He turns.

It’s her. His previously tense muscles relax as he lets loose a sigh past his lips.

“Oh, the fine maiden from the woods.” Solus cocks a brow; her basket this time is covered in cloth, her head burdened by a large cap. Even her hands are covered now. The rain? Ah, she cannot write like this, can she —

“Going to the market?”

She gives a small nod.

“At a time like this? I assume it must be some sort of dire emergency.” He’s vaguely disappointed she can’t stay and chat. One curse of the rain is that there’s no one to even watch.

All he gets in response is another nod -- stiffer this time, but a new expression all on its own. “Well, I shan’t keep you. Go on.”  No sense in causing the woman undue stress, with whatever it is on her mind...

He shifts away. Something about her motion is oddly clumsy this time as she makes to trot past him. The sensation grows and grows like a bubble threatening to burst.

Her foot stubs against the uneven pavement. He reaches to grasp her upper arm, but she flinches away and sprawls onto the ground. There’s indignation and confusion at her reaction --

Ah, there it is. Her dress.

The bubble swells and deflates all in a singular moment.

Where her feet should be are not heels, but hooves.

His mind goes blank. He can hear nothing but the rain and empty noise in his head.

Her...?

His tongue clicks sharply against his teeth. If this were a dream, it would be quite nice if he could wake up now...

Arianna’s fearful expression as she stares up at him tells him otherwise. Another soft sigh leaves him, and he reaches a hand to grasp at hers, pulling her to her feet.

It all makes sense. All of it. He almost feels dizzy.

All because he hadn’t wanted to...

One blessing of the rain is that there is no one else here to see.

Clenching his jaw, he gives her hand a squeeze -- not to bruise, nor to intimidate, but some vague reassurance. He isn’t mute, but he’s lost his words for the moment, and he doesn’t want her to run away.

Deep in thought, he pulls her in the direction of the woods, and she follows. They have a lot of talking to do, after all.

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