Kieran opened his eyes groggily, his entire body aching, and was confused as to how he had gotten into a soft bed. The room was dark and cold, and the shirtless assassin could barely make out Bren's sleeping form curled on the floor beside the bed, his wool cloak partially covering him.
Kieran immediately inspected his injuries, although it was hard to see them in the dark. The stab wound in his arm ached a little as he moved it, but it didn't feel as though there was any lasting damage. He carefully tested its limit until he was comfortable sitting up and supporting his weight on it. His hip was still sore from the ghostly blade's final attack, the deep gash covered with a thick bandage.
Relieved to have survived the ordeal with seemingly non-lethal injuries, he leaned back on the bed and tried to recall everything that had happened. He remembered him and the half-elf leaving the partially collapsed building. He had fallen in the street, struggling to maintain consciousness. What happened then?
Moving quietly, trying not to wake the sleeping thief, Kieran swung his legs off the side of the bed and tested putting his weight on the floor. The pressure made his wound throb, but the assassin gritted his teeth and stood up on wobbly legs, reeling from the sudden rush to his head that made his vision swirl.
He recognized the room from the previous night as he agonizingly tiptoed past Bren, heading to where he discerned the half-elf had piled his clothes and weapons. He hesitated for a second, spotting two packs sitting on the floor near the end table, brimming with provisions for their journey. The Half-Blood must have already gone shopping, he thought.
Kieran reached for his weapons first, looping the belt around his waist gingerly. He was in the process of systematically checking his weapons when he noticed the half-elf stir.
"Morning," he greeted hoarsely, his throat dry. "Or evening. Or whatever it is."
The sleepy thief blinked hard a couple times and partially sat up, looking at the assassin in confusion. "What are you doing?"
Kieran pulled out his main dagger, gently running his hand along the flat of the blade to check for nicks. Satisfied that everything was in order, he flipped it over in his hand habitually and returned it to his belt. "Getting ready to leave," he answered, grabbing his shirt and throwing it on
Bren rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "You can't," he told the assassin as the scarred man grabbed his boots. "You're hurt."
"If we stop moving, we're dead." He grimaced in pain as he leaned down to lace his boots. The agony in his hip intensified with leaning down, and the stab wound in his arm ached as it reached.
Bren noticed the assassin's discomfort and scrambled over to him, waving him away with his hand. "You can't even tie up your own boots," he argued as he helped his mentor with the painful task, "and you're thinking about travelling?"
The assassin chuckled haughtily. "Believe me, Half-Blood, I would love nothing more than to hide in a hole and lick my wounds, but that's not how life works. You don't always get to do what you want to."
Bren's shoulders slumped as he finished tying the boots. He leaned back, sitting comfortably with his legs crossed. "So what, then? We just stay on the run forever?"
Kieran sighed and ran his hand through his messy hair. He grabbed a shirt from the pile and balled it up, tossing it at the seated half-elf. "Exactly."
With a pout, Bren put the balled up shirt in his lap and grabbed his nearby cloak, flinging it around his shoulders and wrapping it around himself like a blanket. "Can't we wait till morning?"
The older man shook his head, and the half-elf fell backwards with an exasperated sigh.
"But Salud will get worried if we just leave without saying goodbye," he argued grumpily. "And his wife said she'd bring breakfast to our room in the morning."
At the mention of food, Kieran's stomach grumbled loudly. He tried to think back to when he'd last eaten a decent meal, but the last few days were a blur.
"How do you know Salud's wife?" he asked, trying to mask his stomach's embarrassing outburst.
"Who do you think dressed your wounds?" Bren explained. "She makes the best eggs, too," the thief continued, playing to the assassin's growing hunger. "She melts cheese over them, and then seasons it with this weird spice. It's so good."
Kieran's stomach growled again, and Bren couldn't hide a little chuckle. "Fine," the assassin resigned, running his hand through his messy hair. "We'll wait until morning."
"Yay!" Bren cheered, sitting up and throwing his wadded up shirt back into the corner of the room.
Removing his cloak, the assassin cautiously sat back down on the bed, being careful not to reopen his wound with the movement. The half-elf leaned forward and reached for the assassin's heavy boots, but Kieran waved him away.
"I'll keep them on," he explained. "Doubt I can get back to sleep anyway."
Bren curled up on his side, propping his head up under his arm like it was a makeshift pillow. "Whisper's words playing on your mind?"
The older man chuckled, leaning back against the wall. "Like I give a fuck what he thought of me."
"Fair enough," the thief conceded, "but then, what?"
Kieran sighed deeply. "Connor is still in Brosa."
"Why wouldn't he be? It's his home, right?"
The assassin shook his head. "It stopped being my home when our parents died," he explained. "I suppose I had hoped it wouldn't be his either." Bren gave him a curious look, prompting the scarred man to continue. "When something like that happens to the only family you know, you tend to want to get as far away from it as possible."
"You mean you wanted to get as far away from that as possible."
Kieran sighed again. "I just don't want to go back to that place," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.
Bren rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "I guess I don't know what that's like, to have a home and a family and have it all torn away from you." Kieran looked hard at the young man, assuming the comment to be a biting remark at his expense, but Bren quickly elaborated. "I don't mean the Capital," he explained. "I know Rod was my family, but it was never my home, you know?"
"He raised you..."
"I know, and I'll always consider him my father, but sometimes I wonder about my real parents. They were from Foxden, right?"
Kieran shrugged awkwardly, his shoulders still backed up against the wall. "So we assume. It's the only city where elves and humans live together, and it's near where Rod found you."
"I wonder what it's like there," Bren continued as though he hadn't heard the assassin's words, "in Foxden. I'd love to go there one day."
"Half-Blood..."
"Maybe I could meet my parents."
"Brennan."
The concern in Kieran's voice and the uncommon use of his full name finally got through to the daydreaming half-elf. He propped himself up on his elbows to see the assassin's dour face. "What?"
The older man shook his head slightly. "You were abandoned, Bren. There's nothing for you there."
The assassin's words cut deep, and the optimistic thief slumped back down, curling onto his side as if shielding from the sudden pain in his heart. "But... you don't know that..."
A blanket of silence descended over the room and it felt like ages before Kieran broke it with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Half-Blood," he admitted, running his hand through his hair.
"You took away the only family I've ever known," Bren stated angrily, "drag me out of the city I grew up in, lead me into the racist south where I'll never be anything but a freak, then dash my only dream against the wall?"
"What, you want me to lie to you? Tell you your parents will welcome you with open arms?"
"I just want you to support me!" Bren answered, sitting up fully and eyeing the assassin down. "Like I'm blindly supporting you. For once in your life, just let me have this."
Keiran closed his eyes, unable to meet the blue-eyed thief's ire head on. "You're right, Half-Blood. If you really want to go to Foxden, I can take you there. Once I've gotten my revenge."
"You'll help me find my parents?"
Kieran nodded, and that affirmation was all the young thief needed. He lay back down on his back, his arms underneath his head and stared up at the ceiling. "Thank you," he said quietly.391Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0qC8nK7xxz
They both remained silent for a long time after that, the assassin sitting up on the bed and the half-elf lying on the ground below him, each thinking about their respective homelands and wondering what they were going to be met with when they eventually return there.
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