Rogar and Rainath Going Home

Though she'd vowed to flee the heat on the next caravan headed north, Rainath stayed on in the desert. For one, the inns were cheap- though the price of ale was more than enough to make the difference, she didn't drink so much for it to matter to her. The gold was plentiful, too, and once one got accustomed to avoiding the searing daytime heat, it could be nice to live with bare limbs and swim by moonlight, without feeling the bite of bitter cold.

Seeing him, not seeing him, and seeing him again, was a torment and a relief unto itself, like prodding at an aching tooth. One day she'd feel flippant and sashay across the bazaar in his view, the next, she'd hide out, ashamed. At times she wanted to rail at him and pound him with fists, others she wanted to weep on his chest. Mostly she wanted him to look at her, talk to her, tell her what was wrong with her and why things had gone the way they had, the way they always did for her.

He seemed to want nothing from her. He'd meet her eye and nod politely, but otherwise gave no indication he knew her, or wanted to know more of her. She thought she'd almost rather him lord his triumph; at least then she could seethe consummately.

For his part, Rogar did not precisely avoid Rainath, but he did notice particular establishments she was not typically at, and by consequence, spent a lot of the summer in brothels. It wasn't such a trial; they served drink and ran card tables like any other aleroom and generally smelled a bit better besides. Cost a fair bit more, but the company was... upbeat, at least.

Still, she crossed his path every other day, cornered him in pubs to glower at him, and occasionally he caught her watching him with a sort of longing on her face that he was sure he wanted no part of. By midsummer, he knew something had to be done. He even knew what had to be done, but the thought made his stomach knot. She was a sweet girl, and he pitied her mightily... but, gods.

He put it off as long as he could. For most of the summer he stashed extra gold, gems and jewelry, but otherwise made no preparations. None, other than to lay aside a good pair of ice-proof boots. He wished he could talk to Mellisandre about what he had planned, but he didn't see her again that summer, and it wasn't the sort of thing he'd put to writing. Every day he hoped it would go another way, that another man would catch her fancy or she'd hare off on the next adventure, never to be seen again, as so many did. But the next day he'd see her again, even if it was just her silhouette momentarily blotting the light from a scarf-draped window.

Summer in the desert feels as though the world has gone mad, each day hotter than the last, with no end on the cloudless horizon. Wait long enough, though, and there always comes the morning when the world's fever has broken and the dawn brings the fresh breath of the mountain. On that day, Rogar knew it was time. Still he wished he wouldn't see her, up until he saw her.

It was still morning, too early to justify putting it off to another day. Rainath was examining weapons at the blacksmith's forge, and Rogar could find no good excuse not to make his proposal.

"Uh... ahm..." Rogar said quietly, right behind her, and Rainath nearly jumped out of her skin. Her hip bumped a quenching barrel, making the water slosh. She whirled, face burning, to face him.

"Yes?" She demanded, their first re-encounter not going at all as she'd imagined it. How could a man that size sneak around in a crowded market, she asked herself.

"Sorry," he started, nodding at the barrel. "I didn't mean to startle you, I have a, uhm," he looked desperately up and down the road, for inspiration or imminent disaster, he wasn't particular. Rainath gaped at him like an angry-looking fish.

"I have a personal errand that I need to... see... to," he explained, with the fluency of a poet. "I thought you might come along. If you'd like," he wasn't sure what to do with his hands, a problem he couldn't remember ever having in the past.

Before his eyes her skeptical countenance froze, morphed queerly, and organized itself into an expression of surprise.

"Oh," she said, dumbstruck. "I wasn't expecting-"

"That's alright," excused Rogar readily.

"No, I can. I mean, yes. When do we leave?"

It was his turn to be dumbstruck.

"Ah..." he glanced at the angle of the sun, and the pace of the market. Checked the sharpness on his ax, for good measure.

"Have you eaten?" He asked, hoping to buy time. She nodded expectantly. "Good," he fumbled, stomach growling. "Ready your things, then, and we'll set off at noon," she nodded and walked away, back straight, more complacent than he'd yet seen her. Unfortunately he'd only given himself about an hour to pack and find something to eat, and he needed a drink.

He left most of his things in his room, paid for two weeks' rent and put a stout lock on the door for good measure. His cache of gold and valuables he wore on his belt for safekeeping, and he economized drinking and breakfast by dropping in at the brothel. Rainath was waiting for him at the town portal when he arrived. He hoped he wasn't making a terrible mistake.

"I thought we'd head south," he said, unrolling a map, "we can resupply in Tristram, or Wortham if you prefer. Camp in the ruins, and head up the southern slope in the morning." Rainath stared at his map as though she didn't have one just like it. Rogar went on awkwardly. "That's better, really. If you come in at the peak, there's the battlefields to cross, and the first winter blizzards always hit from the northeast. More treacherous, likely to take longer..." he trailed off, Rainath still staring at the ink that marked their destination.

"I didn't know," she murmured, mind reeling. She'd been intending to return to the mountain, exactly never.

"If you don't want to," he offered. Rainath regained herself, squaring her shoulders subtly.

"I meant, I didn't know about the blizzards. In the northeast. Let's travel through Wortham, have some fish stew for supper." She stepped into the portal and Rogar barely made it through before it snapped closed.

They worked a handful of bounties, saving Wortham for last. Rainath knew an inn that served a very good stew indeed, and they arrived at the ruins waypoint with enough time to clear the area of hellspawn before nightfall.

Rogar had the luck to find a corner structure that was mostly intact and fortuitously piled with drifts of autumn leaves blown in by the wind. He scraped them into two piles and threw his blanket over one. When Rainath joined him, she did the same with hers. They debated whether to light a fire, but Rogar was of the opinion that it would draw more attention than it discouraged.

"It's a full moon, and there's a mob of ravens roosting in yonder tree," he told her, yawning wide and settling into his crackling bed, "the noisy bastards will wake us if anything comes calling. They won't be able to contain themselves, w' the intrigue," he muttered darkly, drifting to sleep.

He was half right. Throughout the night, the ravens cawed and cackled whenever hellspawn or wild beasts ranged near their camp, and each time Rainath woke to investigate the threat, while Rogar snored placidly.

She lay regretting whatever notion had brought her here, to a freezing and prickly bed of leaves on a mountain the devil could take, with a man the devil could have as well, up every hour to defend his sorry carcass...

When Rainath woke, bright sunshine beamed through the deficiencies in their shelter, warming patches of stone and leaf where it fell. She found Rogar in a courtyard nearby, roasting two rabbits over a small fire and drinking a mug of steaming liquid. She felt surprisingly well- rested, given her busy night.

"Morning," he told her, gruff but far more relaxed than the day before.

"What time is it?" she accepted the mug he'd been drinking from, she hadn't brought one of her own. The drink was strong and bitter-sweet.

"Kaf," he answered her puzzled look. "I never drink it in the desert. Too hot, and it grows up here. The beans that make it that far are rubbish." He pulled the rabbits off the fire and propped the spits against a stone to cool.

"It's about noon, I'd guess," he said to her first inquiry. "Though time reads a bit funny, up this high."

"I'm sorry," she muttered, awkwardly. "I didn't mean to delay us. You could have woken me-" Rogar waved her off, shrugging.

"Makes no difference to me, I'm in no hurry." He poked gingerly at a rabbit, but it was still searing hot. Rainath returned the empty mug and he set it to heat with a fresh dose of water and blackened grit.

"There's a fountain," he gestured vaguely behind himself, "with some fresh rainwater in it, if you'd like to wash-" Rainath needed to piss, badly, and she was deeply grateful for the excuse to step away.

Rogar chuckled at her modesty as he shaved sugar lumps into his kaf and drank it contentedly while his rabbits cooled. So far things weren't going half badly, he thought.

***

"Why do you pray at Khazra shrines?" Sweating and terrorized by brambles, Rainath was feeling antagonistic. "They're a scourge, filthy pests-"

They'd come upon one such shrine, crudely erected, and slaughtered the patrons in short order. It was the moment of silence Rogar observed at it that lingered with her, long after they'd moved on. Rogar sighed. He'd vowed to be patient and gentle with her, but the afternoon was wearing on them both.

"Goatmen are sensitive to places of power. They make their shrines where the veil is thin so their dark magic will have more strength. When I pray, I offer that place back to the ancients, that the taint may be cleansed." A true answer, and if not comprehensive, it was as much as he was willing to share.

He might've knocked Rainath over with a feather. They trudged in silence while she recovered. It was slow going, over uneven ground that was thick with undergrowth and covered in leaf fall that crunched and rattled with every step.

"Are there no roads?" Rainath had muttered testily to herself, as the forest thickened and obscured the ruins from view, though they'd been at them only an hour before. Rogar chuckled.

"Not where we're going," he told her, beating at the brush with a longstaff. "Sescheron used to be the farthest reach of the trade route. The tribes would come down the Mount to sell their goods. Now there's nothing to come down for, and most of 'em would just as soon nobody ever came up."

They slogged dully through brambles for most of the afternoon, the only diversion coming in the form of three startled goatmen flushed from a glen and quickly dispatched. Their shrine was a pitiful pile of rocks and sticks draped in tattered hide; Rogar dismantled it and scattered the pieces dispassionately. When he dropped to one knee, Rainath froze in abject fascination. It took a long moment for her to realize she should step away and give him privacy.

Rogar debated forgoing his personal ritual this time. He knew it would set her off and he wanted to avoid that, but being so close to home made it feel more important to him. In the end he did it without thinking, still in the blood haze, and afterwards he told himself it hardly mattered. She was going to know as much as she wanted about him, soon enough.

"Why not burn it?" She asked of the shrine, as they continued on their way.

"Fire has power, and danger. It's more honor than they deserve," he waved his off-hand dismissively, "they're near harmless, really." Rainath stopped to stare at him in horror.

"I knew there was something about you, and them! How can you say that?" She demanded. "They slaughter innocent people! They're demonic, hell-worshipping-"

"Animals," Rogar finished for her, passing the time by exercising his patience. He kept walking and Rainath was forced to abandon her indignant pose to keep up. "They're animals, and they weren't demonic, once. The dark ones made them so, and I pity them for it, aye." Rainath snorted, and they lapsed into silence.

As they traveled up the slope, the brush had gradually thinned away so that as they approached the treeline, they were struggling against the incline rather than foliage. When the trees thinned they turned and headed through them laterally, away from the setting sun, to navigate around a sheer face and head toward a valley nestled beyond. Rainath thought she could see smoke rising faintly in the distance, and there just might be a path that she could make out, as they veered away from the treeline.

They'd hardly taken six steps out from the cover of the trees when a resounding whoop cracked the brittle air. Rogar's shoulders slumped in resignation, but he kept walking. Rainath drew her weapon, heart pounding, looking around wildly to judge the source of the assault. The calls seemed to build in intensity, until they suddenly formed words.

"Rogar, is that truly you!" A man had materialized on the rocky landscape, sweeping in to batter Rogar's back like a landslide.

"Kyl!" Rogar returned the brutal affection. "Getting a bit old for the watch, aren't ye, man? Run into trouble w' the counsel, eh?"

The man, Kyl, ducked his head and laughed with Rogar. "Keepin' me out of it, more like. I train the lads now, actually-" he said it casually, but the pride was unmistakable.

"You!" Rogar shouted joyfully. "Well, you've got the experience," they laughed an uproar and clapped one another on the back endlessly, while Rainath watched the dying sun bleed.

"Come to think of it," said Kyl, quieter, wiping streaming eyes, "you didn't see any of my boys out there, eh?" He frowned indignantly. "Gods, how could the little bastards miss the two of you coming through the perimeter? And her smelling of that city lady perfume-" he gestured helplessly and sighed, staring out into the trees. Rainath's cheeks burned. .

"Ah, go easy on 'em, Kyl." Rogar chuckled. "What are they, twelve?"

"Ten, most of 'em" Kyl agreed with a sheepish grin. "I didn't mean to offend, missus...?"

"Miss," Rogar corrected, not knowing her last name. "This is Rainath, Rainath, Kyl is my clanbrother, and an old friend." He inclined his head. Kyl considered Rogar with raised eyebrows, and stepped in to take Rainath's hand.

"Honored to meet you, sister," he bowed his head in a respectful nod to her, and then Rogar.

"If you'll both excuse me, I've words to have with some boys," Kyl said in grim farewell, trotting toward the treeline. Dusk was fading and a few snowflakes began to twirl and spiral through the gloom. Rogar led the way around a massive outcrop of stone and dozens of scattered sparkles became visible, nestled in a deep cleft of the mountain. As the trail became a path and the first chimneys became visible, Rainath's stomach began to twist.

She followed Rogar's purposeful stride along a ridge and down a track that was worn enough to be called a road. When a broad cabin came into view, with lights in the windows and smoke rising from a squat chimney, Rogar stayed his course right up to the door. Rainath's anxiety boiled over.

"Rogar, what are we doing?" She demanded suddenly, grabbing his arm just as he raised a fist to pound on the door. He stopped and met her eyes calmly. After a moment, he shrugged.

"I thought you should meet my family," he said simply, as he finished the act of knocking, her grip on his bicep proving no impediment to the task.

Rainath panicked and looked around for an escape. None was forthcoming, and before she could commit to fleeing outright, the heavy oak door swung open, spilling warm yellow light into a night that was rapidly becoming dark and cold.

The woman in the doorway was familiar to Rainath, and at first she thought it was only because she looked vaguely like Rogar. As the woman's bewildered frown dawned into delighted recognition, Rainath realized it was her self that she was being reminded of, a dizzying feeling. She smacked Rogar gleefully on the chest and turned to call into the house.

"Mam, you won't believe what the snow's chased in!" After a beat she exclaimed "feck, the pie!" and hurried away, leaving them alone in the doorway with warmth from inside carrying the smell of food and unfamiliar people out to meet them. A curious adolescent face with unruly hair popped into view and disappeared again.

"You'll have to take off your boots," Rogar muttered apologetically, leaning against the wall to pry his feet out of his own and step across the threshold in stocking feet. He took their boots and added them to a line of others standing just inside the door. There were pegs to hang their cloaks, and Rogar left his bag with his boots, so Rainath did the same. She followed him down a short passageway, to a broad doorway where surprised and curious faces gaped at them from around the fireplace that matched the wide chimney visible from outside. Rogar's sister bustled back in, beaming, and soon the rest of them shared her joyful expression.

"Hullo, everyone," Rogar nodded, awkwardly, and crossed the room to his mother. She rose to meet him, and hugged him firmly. He kissed her cheek, and Rainath thought the only good thing about being abandoned in the doorway was that all eyes were on him now, including hers.

For a woman near her seventies, Rogar's mother cut an imposing figure, and it was easier to see the resemblance between siblings with her for reference. Rainath watched as she embraced her son and spoke quiet words in his ear, to which Rogar nodded and murmured back. When they were finished, he turned to clap a man on the shoulder and tousel the hair of a boy sitting on the floor near his father's chair.

Masculine greetings appropriately exchanged, Rogar turned toward Rainath, directing everyone else's attention to her, as well. She blushed.

"Rainath, could I introduce you to my mother, Opal?" He said, gesturing. "The fool who married my sister, Cathon, and my nephew, Joran," he grinned effacingly and she nodded her hello to each of them.

"And I'm Jade," said his sister from behind her, laying a hand lightly on Rainath's shoulder and making her jump. She turned and pulled Rainath into a hug that she didn't know how to reciprocate.

"Well met, sister. We are glad to have you," she told Rainath with a formal nod.

"Have you eaten?" She asked, looking from Rainath to her brother. "We just finished, let me get you some-" she towed Rainath gently out of sight and Rogar's stomach groaned jealously, making his brother and nephew laugh.

When you've finished you can help me with some firewood, Rogar. If you remember how," joshed Cathon, as Rogar followed the women to the kitchen. Rainath was duly relieved to see that the whole family was not going to follow him in to watch them eat.

Jade scooped two bowls full of acorn porridge, thick with meat and wild mushrooms, and left them to eat at the hardwood table behind her while she straightened the kitchen.

Anxiety was making her stomach feel tight, but Rainath was deeply relieved to have a reason to sit quietly with her head down. Her first few bites were halfhearted, but soon the warm food had revived her appetite and she was eating as lustily as Rogar, whose appetite seemed not to be suffering in the least. He ate his way businesslike to the bottom of the bowl, grunted appreciatively, and then asked, "Is there more of that?" To no one in particular. Jade came to get his bowl and returned with it refilled.

"That's it, I've scraped the pot now," she warned him sternly as she placed it back in front of him and returned to her tasks.

"Nice of you to give the lad the night off," Rogar said conversationally to his bowl, a few bites later. Rainath jumped slightly when he spoke. "You might have her fooled, but I'm not supposed to believe you do the cooking and the washing, am I?"