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A cheerful tune pierces through the stillness of the night. A human bard, a flower crown braided into his hair, starts strumming his lute. Two small pixies, previously engaged in the struggle of carrying a wine glass heavier than the both of them combined, drop their burden and begin to whoop and dance. They’re not the only ones.
The Golden Orchard may lie in ruin, but not all its people have fallen prey to Tachonis machinations. The refugees they managed to save are grateful - and jubilant, to find a safe harbor.
Vaelus absently hums along to the music before catching herself. On the other end of the camp, Thaisha and Julien are arguing about one thing or another - but they're both smirking faintly, so Vaelus knows it's more for sport than true contention. Occtis has been in deep conversation with Thimble's family ever since they’ve met, and Aranessa… Aranessa has been watching her.
***
The sky is dark above them, a blanket of clouds blotting out the stars entirely. It's the first night since they've set out from Dol-Makjar where they found no inn nearby, their group forced to make camp in the wilderness.
Vaelus is on watch technically, but then again, she always watches Aranessa.
“Thjazi.” it tumbles softly from her lips, a lament, a plea. Her brows are furrowed, limbs beginning to twitch, a precursor to trashing. “No, no, n-”
Aranessa doesn't scream, her breath just hitches and her eyes shoot open. She sits up and her gaze darts to Julien first, to the deceptively peaceful rise and fall of his chest. She relaxes, ever so slightly - and then she spots Vaelus.
“Oh, hello, my lady Vaelus.” she whispers, quiet not in secret but considerateness of the rare moment of respite their party has found. “Where is Occtis?”
“Checking on his stitches by the stream. It bled through a little. He didn't want company.”
“I see.”
Nothing further follows. Vaelus would be lying if she said she wasn't a bit curious about the briefest illicit glimpse she caught of Aranessa's grief. Perhaps, when she was younger and more brash she would have barreled on and asked, much to her brother's despair. (You loved him and you left him and you mourn him. Why didn’t you go with him? How long will you mourn?)
Now though, she just lets the uncomfortable moment stretch on.
“Well,” Aranessa says, awkwardly patting her bedroll. “Thank you for keeping watch and good night.”
“Good night.” Vaelus echoes, some small childish part of her relishing in the clear discomfort she manages to elicit, with barely any effort. But Aranessa doesn't immediately go to sleep. After a heartbeat, she cracks her eyes open once more and studies Vaelus.
“When you trance, do you dream?”
“In a way. I try to recall happy memories and draw my rest from them.”
Aranessa’s expression pinches, pain flashing through. “That sounds lovely. I almost envy that, the ability to focus only on the good.”
Vaelus thinks about nights when she was too preoccupied, too heartbroken to focus on joy, when her trance trapped her in an endless loop of an arrow flying for her goddess’ heart. She inclines her head.
“But,” Aranessa continues “perhaps bearing the curse of nightmares is worth it, for the blissful glimpses of what never was and could never be.”
This time it's Aranessa that draws out the moment until it prickles, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Vaelus like she too is searching for something. Vaelus has to wonder if, like her, Aranessa doesn’t know what that something is either.
“I'm sorry.” Vaelus says, finally.
Perhaps, Lady Aranessa finds what it is she is looking for, or perhaps she simply gives up. She nods, closes her eyes and tries to sleep.
Vaelus, ever vigilant, knows that it's about an hour until sleep finds her again.
***
“Do you dance, my lady Vaelus?” Aranessa asks suddenly. Vaelus turns to look at her, head cocked.
She remembers laughter, ribbons flying in the air, her brother twirling her around, dancing until the stars were swallowed up by the dawn, her feet sore but her heart light.
“I did.”
If nothing else, Vaelus can count on her curt non-answers reliably flustering Lady Aranessa. Though they do little to deter her. “My apologies if I misspoke. Perhaps a more accurate question would be: my lady Vaelus, will you dance with me?”
Vaelus doesn't think Aranessa is the evil mastermind behind all their troubles. But there is something deeply off-putting about her that has her turn even this innocent question over and over in her mind, looking for the dishonest intent behind it. Finding none leaves her all the more flummoxed and wary.
“Why?”
“Because I wish to dance and everyone in our party is otherwise occupied.”
“I'm sure Julien could raincheck arguing with Thaisha, if you asked him to.”
“He would,” Aranessa allows easily “but I asked you, not him.”
“Why?” Vaelus repeats, more emphatically this time. Lady Aranessa squares her shoulders, like she's marching off into battle. In a way, she may. Vaelus certainly doesn’t feel like making it easy for her.
“Because peculiar as it may be, Sir Julien seems perfectly happy right where he is, while you look, forgive me, for a lack of a better word: miserable.”
“I'm not miserable.” Vaelus counters, even if her mind unhelpfully reminds her that Arthas used to say that for all her proclivity for joy, she had a positively wet cat look about her when unhappy. And she can't say she shares the festive spirit of those around her.
“Regardless, will you dance with me, or not?”
Vaelus hesitates. Then she raises her hand, palm up. “Alright.”
***
Aranessa's absence is… strange. There is a hole in their group, Thaisha and Julien feeling it most keenly, but even Occtis notes the lack, his fingers moving deftly across a thumb-piano, the melody itself a tribute to a woman who rushed to greet death, if not already claimed by it.
But Vaelus is largely unaffected. Aranessa Royce hasn't taken down roots deep enough into the soil of her life that her disappearance would disturb her.
She doesn't look behind her, trying to prompt an opinion from a woman who is no longer there, nor does she spend a considerable time wondering over her wellbeing.
My sisters probably haven't received my letter yet, Vaelus thinks as she listens to Occtis play.
The spring charm burns in her pocket, but she refuses to give in to the urge to wrap her hand around it.
***
Aranessa takes her hand and puts her own on Vaelus’ waist, the touch light, barely there. Vaelus at first assumes it has to do with a reticence to hold her, personally, but that idea is quickly disproven as Aranessa moves and tries to lead her in a waltz - try being the key word.
“You’re not used to leading, are you?” Vaelus asks, humoring her anyway. Aranessa’s fingers flex across her waist, her grip firmer if but a little bit.
“No.” she admits, without a hint of embarrassment. “I’ve always had partners who were more than happy to do so.”
The bard’s song is lively, and Vaelus itches to let it carry her like it used to, to jump, to clap, to twirl madly instead of counting one, two, three in her head and stumbling to keep the rhythm Aranessa dictates.
(The problem with Aranessa leading is that to follow is to trust and Vaelus does not trust her, not even in this.)
“Why did you ask me to dance, then?”
Aranessa pauses, thinks. She has a tendency to weigh her words very carefully; Vaelus has learnt by now when she will receive no reply and when she simply has to wait for one.
“I wished to cheer you up. I can see now that that was a rather foolish notion.” Aranessa sighs, straightening her spine to appear a little taller, though even so she has to tilt her head up to look Vaelus directly in the eyes. “You do not like me very much, Vaelus.”
It isn’t a question, but it begs a reply all the same. “I do not dislike you.”
Aranessa’s lips twitch upward. “A politician’s answer. The truth and yet not. You will find there is a world of difference between not disliking someone and liking them.”
“There is.”
“Might I ask what I’ve done to have earned your determined indifference?”
“Why is it so important that I like you?” Vaelus shoots back, aware that that is what this entire conversation boils down to: ever and always why. “Why are you trying to be kind to me?”
“Well,” Aranessa starts slowly, a melancholy air about her now. She flubs the next step - she moves a beat too early and Vaelus almost trips up. “I had an opportunity to do something kind once, and I didn’t, and I’ve been regretting it all these years. So now, when the world gives me the chance, I will take it. Every single time. Is that answer satisfactory?”
“Perhaps.” this time it’s Vaelus who takes time to consider her words. She listens to the laughter around her, to a drunken voice joining in song to the lute. She inhales the scent of a garden in bloom, too many flowers all at once to name, clinging to Aranessa’s skin. “You have done nothing to earn my determined indifference.”
“But?”
“But I don’t know if I trust you, Lady Royce.”
***
A ghoul is trapped mid-lunge, green vines erupting and wrapping around its body before it could land a hit on Vaelus. Thorns sprout from the vine, piercing the creature's skin. Lady Aranessa Royce is wreathed in a green glow, translucent, golden butterflies swirling around her.
There is no righteous fury about her, no great divine wrath. She doesn't so much save Vaelus’ life, but rather spares her an inconvenient injury. Their eyes meet briefly in acknowledgement, before they're off to focus on different foes once more.
Something in Vaelus’ chest that was coiled tight eases its grip. Aranessa Royce, against all odds, is still alive.
***
They move to a stop, but Aranessa doesn’t drop her hand. At Vaelus’ admission, she looks contemplative rather than offended.
“I do not think you are a liar,” Vaelus clarifies, even herself unsure if she means to soothe or simply to set the record straight “but you are clearly hiding something.”
“Not all things hidden are secrets.” Aranessa points out calmly “And not all secrets are treacherous. I suspect there are things even you do not wish to be seen, are there not?”
Arthas’ face, coughing up blood as he spits out -
“Yes.”
Aranessa gives a slow nod. “I cannot ask you to trust me, but I promise no secret, no great wish that I keep close to my chest is or ever will be a threat to you or anyone here.”
Vaelus stares at their linked hands. Aranessa could have lied, could have denied it all. But she did not play the fool and did not take Vaelus for one either. No, her words will not earn her trust, only those from the Sisters of Sylandri could. But she accepts that this, her honesty and her effort, even the clumsy dance was a kindness, sincerely meant, and it spurs her to be kind in turn.
“This is not a tune to dance a waltz to.” Vaelus says suddenly. Aranessa frowns and frowns even more when Vaelus pries her hand from her waist to hold in her own.
“What is it the tune for?”
“This.”
She takes both of Aranessa’s hands and all but drags her, hopping around in a small circle, their movements uncoordinated, uncounted. She pushes Aranessa away and pulls her back in, feeling rather silly and rather young again. She hears her sisters’ laugh as she hooks her arm with Aranessa’s and they spin around, her other arm outstretched like she is holding a purple ribbon that is whipping through in the air.
It takes her a moment to realize there is a laugh, in earnest, not just a phantom one in her ear. It spills free from Aranessa, girlish and unrestrained, and it puts a sparkle in her eye that Vaelus is rather charmed by.
“Oh my,” Aranessa says a little breathlessly “what a ridiculous sight we must make!”
Vaelus’ follows her gaze to a gaping Julien and a boisterously cackling Thaisha. Occtis whips his head up from his discussion and he gives them a smile. Vaelus turns back to Aranessa, or she would if not for Aranessa’s disastrous attempt to twirl her. It’s not a gentle prompt, but an outright tug made all the more difficult by their pronounced height difference. It’s messy and it’s inelegant, but Vaelus goes anyway.
Aranessa gives her a helpless look, the joy in her eyes undimmed even as she whispers: “I’m terribly sorry, I’m usually more graceful than that.”
Vaelus surprises herself by the force with which she has to press her lips together, the puffs of air slipping through her nostrils all in a bid to fight back a chuckle that warms her insides even trapped within her lungs. Aranessa catches the humor all the same, because her expression softens from riotous amusement to something else.
Something almost fond.
“Let me win back my dignity and try again, yes?”
Aranessa lifts her arm slowly and Vaelus waits. Her twirl is just as slow, just as careful, her heartbeat faster than her feet. There is a smile on her face, tentative and fragile, that she has no desire to weed out, confident that her veil covers it up sufficiently.
Her own secret, neither dark nor dangerous.
***
Vaelus stays on the fringes of the reunion, watching Aranessa embrace and be embraced by her companions. She listens to the stories she weaves about the Golden Orchard, about the flight back, about the refugees she is tracking down who have escaped the destruction of their home.
She thinks: this woman is loved.
She thinks: this love blinds them.
She expects to be forgotten in the wake of such adoration, but she isn’t. Aranessa stops before her, looks at the spring charm hanging from her neck and gives her a smile.
“I am glad to see you in one piece, Vaelus.”
Wearing it doesn’t mean I accept that we’re family, Vaelus wants to say, but wearing it saved her life and knowledge of that would make Aranessa even more pleased. So she holds her tongue.
“The same goes for you too, Lady Aranessa.” she replies and despite all her conflicted feelings, that is the truth.
***
Vaelus settles down for the night, looking for a happy memory to lose herself in. Three breaths come in even puffs, and she is unsettled to realize that even with her eyes closed, she can make a fairly good guess which belongs to Lady Aranessa.
She remembers a warm hand in hers, sparkling eyes and a laugh that almost slipped past her lips and she is aghast to discover the recollection causes her to smile, even now. But still - every attempt to think about the past is overshadowed by lute music ringing in her ears, and try as she might to pick any other memory, tonight she finds solace only in this one.
And more than ever, she is glad that elves do not dream. A memory is far less damning than a glimpse into what never was and could never be.