Chapter 19 - What we dream of ...(2)

The first light of morning was cast timidly through the half open flap of his tent when Merran Bladeweaver awoke. For a moment he couldn’t tell why, then suddenly he became aware of the small, pitiful sobs drifting from the other side of the tent. There was not a great deal of space inside, only enough that two people could sleep comfortably – yet he had trouble in the beginning identifying the source of those whimpers.

The woman stood on the ground, knees pressed against her chest and face pressed against her knees. She wore only a shirt and leather trousers – but his eyes could discern bits and pieces of amour discarded at the entrance of the tent, probably because she couldn’t curl up like that in plate.

Pulling himself and his blanket up with a groan - he didn’t have much underneath – he reached for her, worry overcoming the irritation at being waken up like that.
“Dar? What the hell happened?”

“No..n…nothing..”

She lifted her head for a brief moment, giving him a red-rimmed eye stare, then slumped back. Her blond hair hang sodden around her shoulders and she shivered. It must have rained during the night, Merran thought.

“What happened, girl?” Forgetting to think whether he was properly dressed or not after all, he crawled toward the tent entrance and put a protective arm around her. And the blanket. The girl was truly silly if she thought a man could remain indifferent to her. She had just picked the wrong one to fall for, that was all. Eireannan Sarälondé would never view her as anything else than his sister…Merran was one of the very few to know he had had a sister, dead in the siege of Dalaran. They had talked about it one day…and many other things, Daria included, though she would have been appalled to know what had been said.

Well, everything had been very proper: the way a man would ask another – a friend, for that matter - the permission to court his sister. But the blind woman would not see anyone else but Eireannan if it poked her in the eye! And Eireannan was aware of that, yet any attempts to set Daria straight in a delicate manner had proved unsuccessful. He couldn’t make himself hurt her – and neither could Merran. On that they had agreed. In time Merran hoped she would grow to understand what feelings himself had for her. In time. Light, he was so tired of waiting…!

She sobbed helplessly, sagging against his shoulder. She was dripping, the shirt clinging to her skin in a much more revealing way that Merran would have desired at that point.

Forcing his thoughts on a safer path – what in the name of the Light could have happened to have her so shaken – he gently lifted Daria’s chin with a finger and forced her eyes to meet his.

“What is it, girl?”

“Nothing.” This time the word came out firm. “Just…I just did not know…where to go…”
“You’re scaring the hell out of me.” Eireannan, Merran thought. The girl had just returned from a week’s mission somewhere north, towards Hearthglen. She did not know about sister Mayhrin – she was probably the only one except for Eireannan and the woman herself, who both seemed blind like moles in daylight. Well, maybe Lainné Mayhrin had some sense left, from what Merran could tell. She may have behaved as if she had just swallowed a fishing pole when Eireannan was around, but her eyes left no doubt about her feelings. The man was hopeless though. He would go to any lengths to find a thousand and one reasons for which he could not allow himself the tiniest shred of happiness. Maybe this entire damnation thing was just fanciful elven philosophy – Merran understood nothing of it. Under the Light there should have be forgivness and peace of mind for the worst of men, should he decide to repent for his wrong doings. And he could not remember Eireannan ever doing something less than fair. He was a shadow wielder, true…but as far as he was concerned, he could only wish more people had Eireannan’s honor, or sense of duty…

“I just…I just…I…” She tried to take hold of herself and failed. Tears streamed down her face and she kept her eyes tightly shut, as if by not seeing him the shame of breaking down like that would become less. The girl was stubborn and proud. Too proud for her own sake.

He took her in his arms, rocking her slightly Daria she reached out too, gripping his shoulders with cold fingers. He wished there were words that could lighten her pain – yet he could find none. She would suffer for a while. Eireannan loved her – he would have given his life for her at any time…just not the way in which Daria wanted him to love her…

The thought fled instantly as her lips touched his. Merran tried to push her away, but she flung all her weight against him and he lost his balance for a second. He landed flat on his back, Daria on top of him, her mouth hungrily searching for his. It wasn’t fair, he thought– all because she was upset about Eireannan and that woman…and he would be the last to take advantage of her grief.

Yet her kiss grew insistent, crushing his lips with hers. Through the wet, clinging linen shirt he could feel every soft curve in her toned body – the warmth seeping into his own skin…His mind was still protesting at the idea when he took hold of her arms and rolled Daria over on the blankets. He kissed her roughly, drinking her frantic whimpers, somehow hoping she would be scared enough to run… but Daria just moaned and arched upwards, pressing harder against him…and then he lost all scrap of lucidity in the delighted exploration of that perfect body as he gently took her for the first time…