• Closed • And I'm coming undone [Darcy]

[Caius Gawyne]

Zi'da 10th, 717

Late evening

Music

He'd carried the note in the pocket of his violet brocade vest for four trials now, Darcyanna's handwriting hurried and confused, the words she'd crossed out meaning painfully more to him than the words that had actually been written. Caius had managed to hold things together for a few trials, for the fist two and a half really: to catch up on his research; to sit in classes; to purchase paper and wood blocks from his favorite vendors in low-town; to go to fencing club for the distraction; to begin his work for Oliver Venora; and to stare at his door every few bits in expectation of a knock with a strange mixture of expectation and terror until the sun crept through its drafty glass pane each trial he waited.

For four trials. Four sarding, achingly restless trials.

The young Gawyne felt the weight of things gnaw at his bones like Viden's chill once did an arc ago, and if he hadn't had so sarding much to keep him busy, he surely would have slowly gone horribly mad. Basilius fussed at him and with extra-grating swears. Professor Verigan huffed at him impatiently, reminding him of the time he couldn't seem to get in synch with. Smudge whined at him.

But Darcy was nowhere to be seen.

What had happened while he was gone? She'd been so alone, that's what. For too long. The Seven take him, he should have found some way to give her word. But he couldn't. He hadn't—

Had he been arrested? The young couple two residences down asked him quietly, staring at his bruised face upon his return to his home, the rumors among other students who stayed up as late as he did spreading after all that he'd found himself swept up in at the end of Vhalar. No, no he hadn't, he informed them curtly with no small sign of annoyance. He, by the Seven, most assuredly had not. Had he been mugged? Did he really fight in the pits—this was the second time in less than thirty trials his face had been such a sarding mess. Such rumors were not easily squashed, either, for a noble such as himself and so they followed him around from class to the Rynmere Gazette to class and home again, whispers and a question or two from those who spent the most time with the northern noble. Fern and Abby wished to have a field day with him, mouths and quills eager to pry secrets from his lips that he couldn't give—wouldn't give—until he was forced to retreat into the repetitive, strenuous sanctuary of the too-hot print room, sheltered by the coarse language of Master Printer Moad.

He was fine, he'd insist. He just wanted Darcy to come back to Andaris—what had she said? If her brother had found out about anything, how upset he'd be. Well, he'd told the man everything, every damn thing. Desperate for someone else to know what he knew, he'd broken the promise he'd admitted he couldn't keep. If she'd gone home while he'd been on the way back—bogs. Just. Sard it all. For all he knew, he'd never see her again.

And it was his Fates-be-damned fault. Somehow. He knew it.

His trial off after sunset found him sprawled on his floor in front of his crackling, brightly burning hearth, snow falling in fat, handsome flakes outside of his drafty old window doing everything he possibly could to stop worrying and just wait. Caius had put away some of his books on Treid and Viden despite his lingering obsession, the stack of them not able to entirely be contained on his desk. He was exhausted, worn thin, just a wisp of himself because of restlessness and worry, impatience and fear. The effort of cleaning some of his non-academic, true knowledge curiosities had been somewhat calming, but not enough. His room was sorted, but his mind was a fekking mess. He'd folded up maps and shoved the rest of his books out of the way, instead choosing to spread out a large sheet of paper in front of the ruddy glow of his hearth, desperate to finish the last sketch for Oliver's gala poster so that he could get to carving this final block and printing, having convinced one of the other Gazette apprentices to help him out for some extra nel.

Still, his sharp, blue eyes kept straying upwards, unable to entirely concentrate, lingering on his door for a breath or two, his experiences from a ten-trial ago at the end of Vhalar still haunting his memories, bruised face unable to hide the worry that ran parallel to his fear.

[Darcyanna Venora]

10th Vhalar, 717

It was late when the carriage finally pulled into the school grounds, the sun already set and snow falling slowly to the already white ground in large heavy flakes. Darcyanna’s head lay against the side of the carriage, staring dully out the window all the way back, staring but not seeing. Her mind was miles away, back in Venora thinking the trials over. It had been nice to see her home, as beautiful as she had remembered from her childhood, but even more so it had been an unexpected surprise to run into Charlie Warrick. The older woman had been so easy to talk to, a woman in her life that could be confided in. Darcy had bonded, and it both made her feel happy and sad at once. Happy they had met, but sad Charlie wasn’t stationed closer.

As the horses came to a stop and the door opened, the pale musician stepped down, her booted feet crunching in the snow as she adjusted her small black bag over her shoulder. Fates, it was cold. Pulling her cloak tighter, she tucked her arms around her and made her way across the grounds.

“...arrested they say! I always knew that Gawyne was trouble. Fighting pits...” Darcy lifted her head sharply, turning to catch up to the students that had strolled past her in excited gossip. She stopped them, standing entirely in their path.

“Arrested Gawyne? Who? When?” The boy, a short pockmarked ginger, looked back at her with a moment of hesitation. It was clear he knew her face, and for a moment he was flustered. The other, a stout young brunette girl picked up the conversation.

“Er...yeah Caius Gawyne. Word is he got arrested, got his face banged up to.” The young woman felt almost weak at the knees, barely hearing the rest of the girls words. He was back! By the Seven, he was back. The boy nodded oblivious to Darcy’s state.

“Course he’s—hey!” The red haired youth threw his hands up in confusion as the Venora blonde shot off before he could finish his story, skirts bunched in her hands and boots digging into the snow. Her breath came in puffs of steam as she ran across the courtyard, heart in her throat.

Arrested? Banged up? So many things ran through her head, but one thing more than anything. Was it Pythera? Fates had she found out and some how got Caius? By the Seven was that why he’d been missing??

Bang, bang, bang!

The musician thumped on the familiar ground story door, breathing heavily and currently bright blue eyes wide.

Please be here, Fates please be here.

Darcy stepped back a little, cloak thrown open and hood down in her frantic dash to Caius’ room, uncaring of the winter chill. It had been so long since she’d seen the taller student, eleven difficult trials. She’d lost weight, unable to eat, and had exhaustion on her face, unable to sleep. None of that mattered though, only that he was home and was safe.

Fates be safe.

[Caius Gawyne]

One.More.Song.

"If I told you where I've been,
Would you still call me baby?
If I told you everything,
Would you call me crazy?"

Smudge was up, trotting to the door, nub of a tail wagging,

"Just a minute, boy, and we'll go out. Let me finish this." Caius muttered, hunched over his drawing on the floor, charcoal on his hands but unable to get comfortable because his face still hurt and he couldn't quite find the right position in front of his warm hearth with its ruddy light spilling through the dark room. He'd laid out the date and the location carefully on the page, slow, careful lettering for him to trace and carve into a block of wood for Oliver Venora's charity gala posters. It felt somewhat conspiratory now, doing work for Darcyanna's brother, and while it didn't appear so given his appearance, Caius had found an ally in the man, a friend.

He leaned back to study his work with his ever-critical eye, looking at each letter for proper kerning and balance, for consistent weight in his lines. He'd have to add some ornaments or some sort of image, it was true, but at least he had the important parts down on the page.

His dog whined, wanting something else, but the banging on the door had the young Gawyne just about losing everything in a heartbeat. He jumped, resisting the urge to cry out in surprise. Dropping the charcoal, memories from a handful of trials ago caught him by the throat and squeezed, dragging him to his feet with a string of expletives. He smeared charcoal above his bruised eyebrow without thinking, fingers curling into his unkempt hair as he rushed to the door, heart racing, the possibility of the loud knocking being Darcyanna forgotten in all of his distracted fear,

Ink-stained fingers trembled at the lock—maybe he should sarding move, maybe Basilius had mentioned the apartment above the Gazette finally being open—and Caius opened the door cautiously,

"If this is about that summons, sard it, I'm not—"

The expression that met the blonde Venora on his doorstep was one of a frightened animal: wild, bruised, and uncharacteristically afraid,

"Darcy! Praise the Seven! Quick—" He breathed a steamy cloud of relief, expression softening, silvery gaze sweeping the darkness behind her as if he was looking for someone else, as if he was looking for monsters, looking for blond, mustached men in armor. A charcoal-darkened hand reached for her, tugging her inside without further explanation or even an apology, and before he even really looked at her, really took her whole self in the way he was wont to do, he closed the door roughly behind them both, locking it.

Dirty fingers dug into his vest pocket, digging out her folded letter, near-immediate tears in his eyes, "—sorry, I ... I've worried you. Frightened you. I left you for too long." The young Gawyne didn't even know where to begin or where to end, holding up her letter between them as if it meant something, the parchment he'd kept folded in a pocket for four whole trials. Smudge was at her feet and Caius resisted the urge to shoo him, aware that he probably looked like he'd been beaten—because he had—and aware that the explanation was going to be uglier than any bruise.

He wanted to hug her, he wanted her lips against his, hands moving to pull her closer if she'd let him. The northern noble just wanted her, but he knew he'd have to use words. She felt different, tired and afraid, worried as he was. Sleepless. Caius talked fervently, desperate to string coherent thoughts together even as he was desperate to touch her, to feel her against him, "Darcy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wasn't sarding arrested, but I was summoned ... in the middle of the Fates-be-damned night ... the Lord Inquisitor—oh, shit, I can't even explain. Things happened. Are happening. I don't sarding even know where to begin. But then, well, I wanted to tell you ... but I couldn't. I—"

She made him an ugly, sarding mess.

She tugged at the ribbons that bound his spine, the sections of his thoughts falling from their places like a ruined book. He'd been worried. He'd done things she didn't want him to. He'd been from one danger to the next. He felt so unhinged,

"—I went to see your brother—I had to leave and wasn't expecting the summons, the ... mess that followed. I was going to tell you, but I couldn't. He wrote to me. He offered me a print job for his Gala, but really, he just wanted to meet me. Because of you. But, I was gone too sarding long, wasn't I? I left you a key, but the truth is I left you alone. I left you alone too long, damn it all—"

The young Gawyne was aware of his face, aware of her eyes on it. He carefully prepared himself for her questions, though he wasn't even sure he had any of the right answers, eyes burning and chest so tight he inhaled sharply for breath,

"I'm sorry, Darcy. Are you alright?"

❦

[Darcyanna Venora]

10th Vhalar, 717

As the door opened slowly, Darcyanna opened her mouth in expectant relief, only to find before her a man nothing like the one she remembered from Vhalar. He looked as though a ghoul might be waiting to burst through the door and tear him apart, and his face. Fates, his face. The blonde knew fear, she lived and breathed it, and it was written all over the Gawyne’s expression.

Being drawn hastily inside, charcoal staining her wrist, the Venora felt terror grip her chest. It had been Pythera, it had to have been. The locking of the door only frightened her more, unable to speak as tearful silver eyes looked at her, the letter from so long ago now drawn from the young man’s vest pocket. It was worn at the folded edges, frayed from being held onto all this time. She recalled her hastily written words, drawn from the depths of her panic and anxiety, fueled by the bright threads of substances that had run wild in her veins. It wasn’t enough, and yet, it was more than he had offered.

Tears blurred her vision as she came closer, pulled willingly towards the terrified and beaten young man, her trembling hands lifting to hover but not quite touch the black and blue of his face. His eyebrow was cut, his nose too, and dark blemishes marred the square lines of his jaw and high cheekbones. She took a shuddering breath, shaking her head and trying to clear her vision.

“By the Seven Caius, I had no idea. I thought you’d left me, I thought you’d finally realised I’m not worth it, not like I am. Then they said you were arrested...Lord Inquisitor? Sarding hell, why? No, I don’t need to know right now.” Taking another half breath, she brushed the bruising with her fingertips, eyes scanning his features with an aching hurt for the student.

“Fates what happened to you?” The pianist whispered, frightened to truly know, afraid to not. The next words out of the Gawyne’s mouth however, were not at all what she excepted.

“You wh—wait Oli? Gala, I..hang on...just..you went to see my...brother? Because of me?” Darcy’s hands withdrew and she stepped back slightly, a frown of concern and confusion on her face through the tears that threatened to spill. A feeling of dread clung to her heart, heavy like so much lead dragging her down.

“Caius. What happened?” She said in a low waivering voice, almost unable to bring herself to ask, her eyes shifting to a deep indigo that echoed the one he would have no doubt seen in Olivers own if she suspected what had really happened.

The bruising, the beating. This wasn’t Pythera. This was something else.

[Caius Gawyne]

"Left you? Why would I even do that?" Caius frowned at her, eyes finally leaving the door to hold her concerned gaze. He didn't flinch at her light touches to his healing face, leaning to kiss her gently instead, assuringly. Her questions stung, her lack of self-worth digging under his skin if only because he knew he couldn't tell her everything, that he couldn't answer truthfully every question.

She was worth it. Worth all of it, even the ugly betrayal, but only if it helped her. By the Seven, the young Gawyne hoped desperately he had a true friend in Oliver,

"You wrote your brother and mentioned me. In Vhalar—by the Seven, was it just after we met?" He smiled wistfully, hands finding hers to hold them, like an anchor, tugging them both away from near his drafty door toward the warmth of his hearth, still standing, "So, clever Lord Venora offered me a job doing some printing for him—posters for a charity gala to be held later this season—but he wanted to meet in person, he said. It wasn't for simple business, of course. I'm not sarding stupid. I have sisters, too. He wanted to weigh my worth in person because he cares for you and it was apparently obvious your budding affection for me in the very curves of your penmanship."

Caius realized he was setting himself up poorly, that there was no easy way to have this convoluted conversation after so many trials apart. She'd really sarding thought he'd abandoned her—where would he go? Did she think she was enough to convince him to walk away from seasons of study? For Fate's sake, no. And after all of their conversations, where would he go? He'd made a decision, and no matter what he'd just set them up for while in Venora with her brother, he desperately hoped it would be worth the trouble for Darcy's sake in the end. One hand straying from hers to curl ink-stained fingers into his unkempt hair, he attempted to put together events for her in a coherent manner,

"Oliver wrote me at the end of Vhalar, inviting me to come and discuss some print work in Zi'da. I agreed, of course, knowing that he wanted more of me than that. Then, well, then I was summoned by the fekking Lord Inquisitor the night of the 122nd. I will tell you that story later, needless to say I had no choice but to go from that misadventure into a carriage bound for Bellesoir. I should have left you a note, but ... I'm a sarding arsehole and I didn't know what to say. I left my key, though. You found it. I'm sorry. So much happened—Anyway, my face? That's what you're really asking—"

The young Gawyne sighed then. He understood. Now, anyway. He had brothers. There were just things that happened, ways of conversing, of dealing with things, that did not translate outside of that kind of relationship with another male. It wasn't a linguistics issue. It just was the way life worked,

"—You told me Oliver was good with a sword, but he's also not so bad with his fists. Now, Darcy, don't panic—" Caius was smiling, not frowning, a strange expression to go with such an admission. He reached for her lovely face, wiping her tears with his too-warm thumbs, wanting to hold her just in case he angered her further with his words, "—it's fine. We're fine, Lord Oliver Venora and I. Your Oli. Better than fine. He may even sarding like me. But, we had to, uh, talk through things. Things that involved ruining my face and my clothes. I ... I probably deserved it a little. I'm known to be blunt."

Caius hesitated, wondering if that answer was enough, wondering if he had to tell the blonde Venora his hands touched eagerly what all had actually transpired or if just a surface conversation about the more minor things that happened during his visit with Darcy's brother met the necessary requirements to settle her curiosities. He waited, inhaling sharply, watching her with pale blue irises,

"I would never up and leave you, Darcy. Not like that. Not for those reasons. I'm not that kind of person, I hope. For Fate's sake, I promised you I'm not repeating history. Not with Ivy, and not with you. I ... where could I go from you? Why would I want to? You're worth all the trouble I have and more—"

So much more trouble.

Did he have to tell her? Could she tell he hid more of what happened behind his tongue? Did he really have to tell her that he broke her promise?

"—And you? I was gone too long, I can tell. You couldn't wait for me. Nothing happened like before, did it? Did it?" It hurt him, Caius naturally assuming she spent his absence high and depressed, paranoid about what she'd admitted to, about him having left her because he'd decided she wasn't worth the effort, so he asked about her note to him, "You went to see your brother, too? Then how do you not sarding know what happened?"

❦

[Darcyanna Venora]

10th Vhalar, 717

Accepting his tender kisses, Darcy smiled a little and shrugged, blinking aside the tears.

“I wrote him, told him I had made a friend. I am one hundred percent certain Oli is the master at reading the unwritten. Even I wasn’t clear what we...what this was at the time.” Her eyes searched his face as the Gawyne continued, nodding a little at the printing of posters. Oliver was nothing if not extremely clever. He could have chosen anyone to print them, but he’d used it as an excuse to meet Caius, merely due to her letter? Fates, what would he ever do if she wrote him to say the Gawyne had hurt her instead of taken care of her?

It didn’t warrant thought.

As they stood before the fire, her now dark eyes watched him. Watched a fidgety hand sweep through messy hair, watched him gather his thoughts as he babbled a little and sighed heavily. The weight sat heavily inside, hoping she was worried for nothing, dreading she was not.

Don’t panic.

It couldn’t have been a worse opening statement if he tried, his smile a complete juxtaposition to her frown, heart racing in her chest. Talk through things? What was their to talk about that could possibly cause Oliver to punch him? Not just punch him but downright beat him by the looks of it. Not ever, could Darcy recall seeing her tall stoic brother loose his cool and hit someone. Oli was the master of words and cleverly planned action, not heat of the moment emotional outbursts.

She began to open her mouth, to speak, until Caius continued. In the space of a bit, he turned what could have been lovely words sour. Worth all the trouble? It was true, she knew it, but it stung. He didn’t stop, asking her about the time away, had she done it again? Used ‘all the drugs’? And now he questioned why she didn’t know what he’d seen Oliver for?

“Yes Caius, you were gone too long.” She said in the same low voice, looking at their joined hands and biting the inside of her cheek.

“Even if something did happen, you don’t need to know. All you need to know is I had to see someone. Anyone. Before...before I did something stupid.” The blonde recalled the Sunshine with a hard swallow. Caius didn’t need to know just how bad it had been, how close it had been. The knowledge would just cause more trouble than it was worth, and the Venora knew she wasn’t ever taking it again. Pulling her hand away from the diri’s warmth, and crossed both around herself.

“I didn’t make it to Oliver. I got to Bellesoir and I...I lost the strength to face him. It wasn’t right. If he saw me then, now...he’d ask questions I wouldn’t be able to hide from him. I met a woman, a Warrick. We talked, and it was..it was enough. A familiar stranger in a familiar place, it was enough. I arrived and left all in the same trial.” Glancing back at him with the same dark eyes as her aforementioned sibling, Darcy felt the weight sink deeper.

“So no, I didn’t see my brother Caius. But you sarding did. What exactly did you talk through? Oliver isn’t one to usually talk with his fists.” Swallowing again, her heart desperately wanting an answer she could laugh off, the shorter musical Venora searched the students face.

“Caius Gawyne, what did you talk to my brother about?” It couldn’t be more direct if she tried.

[Caius Gawyne]

"Damn it, Darcy, don't—" Caius scowled at her tone, eyes fading into pale colors, churning with the mixed emotions she seemed to drag out of him so easily. He hadn't meant to accuse her, and yet he knew. He wasn't sarding stupid. He knew and had worried every trial of his absence, "—don't shut me off like that. I don't need to know? You really want to keep that from me? Now? Like this? After everything between us ... Look, things happened outside of my control—sard it all."

The end of Vhalar had cracked open his quiet, self-contained, selfish, library-loving life in ways he'd yet to be able to put into words, shown him things he hadn't had a but a single, short breath to process. And here he was, still in the fire, just another coal in the hearth as the blonde Venora pushed him away, taking her hands from his to hide. She'd gone to try to see Oliver. They should have gone together. But ... circumstances had made that impossible. And when she'd run to Venora ... she'd hesitated? The pair hadn't seen each other in arcs from the sound of things, and Caius knew now why she'd avoided him. Her words stung, and his jaw clenched at her accusation.

"First, stop. Alright? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just disappear—I didn't expect a summons from an Inquisitor at my door! I don't know any sarding mages! Did you know they outlawed—fuck it. What did Oliver and I talk about? You, of course. Only you, honestly. He might have even approved of me, a little. Of us. You know? That was alright. I like him—your brother—he's a good man, but ... He just had to say her name, Darcy. Out loud. To me. He just had to bring up one sarding story, one pithy minor moment in your childhood and—"

His voice lowered as he spoke, meeting her gaze with a fiery defiance, remembering her brother's face, his confidence in being his beautiful sister's protector. He'd wanted to warn Caius, he'd told his little story to threaten him into behaving, and yet the young Gawyne already knew it all. He knew of Oliver's failure, he knew of Pythera's cruelty, he knew too damn much. He knew of Darcy's brokenness, and all of the older man's words had just crushed his resolve.

Standing before the delicate, troubled pianist, Caius' face ached with the memory of Oliver's reaction, but his heart ached more. He'd challenged the older Venora, he'd certainly worded things the wrong way, if only because everything for the young Gawyne was just too raw, too much. They'd shared more than just secrets, he and Darcyanna, and as she searched his face, he knew he couldn't tell her everything. He couldn't share this secret, not yet, and that knowledge was molten lead in the cavity of his chest, burning him from the inside out. He'd told the other man not only about Pythera but also about her addiction, about how their sister's torture had broken her and haunted her. He needed to. He needed someone. He needed a brother, too.

Caius wanted to tell her and the words sizzled on the tip of his tongue—

What did he tell Oliver?

He told him everything.

He'd made he right choice. He had. The printer's diri told himself over and over again, looking at Darcy as she waited for him to say something witty, to wash it all away. But he couldn't.

He needed to tell someone. Anyone. Desperate and alone, the young Gawyne knew he was in over his head but he also knew everything he wanted. He'd made a choice, and he'd make it again. And again. Caius just hoped he hadn't broken everything with his choosing, he hesitantly reached for her again, prepared for more anger and rejection, subconsciously aware that he'd both betrayed her and stolen her moment. Perhaps she would have told Oliver her secrets had she made it to Bellesoir just trials ago. Perhaps they would have had what they needed, together, and now he'd pissed that way in his selfish need. Perhaps he'd soiled her trust in him so much that she'd return to being a mess alone, and that fear stung his eyes and added a pained tone to his voice, desperate to keep a tenuous hold on what little, lovely, brightly burning thing they had together,

"—and I couldn't stand it. His story sarding shattered everything. Shattered me. I just couldn't keep the truth from him, Darcy. He loves you—he is a far better man than I am, that's the sarding truth. He's thought himself your sole protector this whole time, and I couldn't keep what Pythera did to you from him. I just couldn't. He's needed to know. I'm sorry, but I told you I would tell—"

❦

[Darcyanna Venora]

10th Vhalar, 717

“You really want to know, Caius? Really?! Fine. I damn near fucking died, is that what you wanted to know?” Darcy flared suddenly, her voice a low hiss, hands clenched by her side and staring defiantly into the Gawyne’s crisp blue eyes.

“I took something and it nearly killed me. I lay on my floor in pain and couldn’t move and felt the air burning in my lungs whilst the world went dark. It was stupid, and I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you would feel guilty and responsible and you shouldn’t.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously when he told her to stop, moving back a step at the vehemence of his words, heart raging against her ribs. She felt the steam go out of her a little as he mentioned liking Oliver, somewhere in the twisting turning conversation feeling a sense of happiness at that comment.

He just had to say her name...

The rest of his words faded as the blood in her ears pounded loudly and her mouth went dry.

He hadn’t.

He didn’t.

He sarding well did.

The blonde’s dark eyes shifted, a pale grey that spoke of winter skies and broken dead things. She felt her chest constrict, Fates she couldn’t breathe, it was like moving in slow motion. The taller diri continued to talk, but it barely registered, Darcy stepping out of his reach with a strange look on her face. As though she wasn’t able to recognise him, far away and yet here.

“You..you what?” The Venora tried to speak, the words more a breath than a sound. The room was spinning, and her head was pounding. Caius had told Oliver about Pythera, after everything they had spoken about, after begging him not to talk...he’d told not just anyone, but the one person she had spent four arcs hiding it from the most. Glancing up, Darcy moved with a quickness that she didn’t feel to slap him hard across the cheek, too frightened and angry and hurt to give a damn about whether it caused him more pain.

“Fates...oh Fates...” She gasped, turning to try and unlock the door she’d managed to back up against. Failing miserably, she stepped away again, unwilling to touch the man and eyes wide. She was panicking, like an animal caged seeking escape.

“Fates save me.” The pianist uttered, reaching into her bag to draw a robin blue cigarette and her matchbox with shaking hands. She couldn’t bring the damn thing to her lips, her hands trembled so much.

“Burhan. I have an acquaintance, she can help me..maybe. By night...surely she wouldn’t look for me there...” It wasn’t to Caius that Darcy spoke to, instead it was to herself, coming up with ways to escape before Pythera found out. Running into the corner of the bed, she gasped and looked at Caius, finally finding some sembelence of sanity.

“How could you?”

[Caius Gawyne]

"Of course I do—"

Her defiance provoked him, digging nails into all that already hurt inside the cavity of his chest. She challenged him with knowing something, taunting him with the truth, and the young Gawyne found it painfully impossible to say no when it came to learning something new, no matter how painful. He had to know. There was no other option, and if she'd offer, he'd listen ... Even as the words left his lips, however, he felt the weighty tug of regret, and when she described what had happened in his absence, he found it difficult to respond, eyes stinging with the hurt that wrapped cold fingers around his heart and squeezed. She'd almost died, either overdosing or taking something new. And he'd been trials away ... so far away ... Sard it all. How could he even make a difference if this was her constant choice?

"Why—why would you do that?" He whispered in shock, eyes darkening with a mix of confused emotions, "What a fool you've made of me—to make me think I meant anything to you."

Darcy pulled away from him then, her expression softening for only a heartbeat as he mentioned Oliver, but then, well, then he broke whatever tenuous peace he'd clumsily managed,

"I sarding well told you that when it mattered, I wasn't going to keep your secret, that I was going to protect—"

He shouted in pain when she slapped him, not at all expecting such a swift, definitive movement from her. By the Seven it hurt, and tears of pain welled in his eyes but he refused to set them free down his cheeks. He watched her step away from him and attempt to flee before bringing both his hands gingerly up to his face in an attempt to quell the sensation that threatened to overwhelm him even more than the situation at hand,

"Ah, shit! I was always going to make the choice to protect you first, whatever the cost! I told you that. Stop, Darcy, you're safe here. This is my hearth. Stop, damn it!" Caius' voice rose in frustration and hurt, stepping towards her again even as panic seized her and she couldn't even get past the deadbolt and lock of his campus residence. Some nights, when he was so sarding tired from working at the Gazette and not sleeping for the trial before, he couldn't quite get his lock on the first try, either. So, he watched her petulantly, his expression twisting into a scowl as her hands reached into her bag,

"Oh, for Fate's sake! This is the fucking problem—give me that. And Burhan? What are you even talking about? You're safe here. No one's going to find out anything." The young Gawyne was reaching for her Euphoria without apology, resisting the urge to return her violence and smack everything out of both of her hands, no matter how much his face ached, how the tears ran unevenly down his face without his permission. Instead, he at least attempted to be gentle, crossing his meager room to follow her, to trap her between himself and the small but comfortable bed. Smudge looked up from his place near the crackling hearth, but he didn't wag his nub of a tail. His little grey hackles raised and he warily watched the pair, concerned.

Even as the promises of safety left his lips, Caius felt as though he was lying. He'd been found here when he'd once thought himself obscure and unimportant. He'd been summoned in the middle of the night. Strangers had known more about him and his personal history than he'd ever expected. So how could he even tell Darcy he could protect her when he couldn't even see what was coming?

What a lying bastard he was, telling half truths and hopes to her. She was right to hate him for his betrayal. His countenance fell then, and he desperately turned to honesty about the only things he knew for certain:

"How could I? How could I? Bogs! Are you sarding serious? Darcy, Oliver didn't have a clue—not one tiny minute idea. He was so smug, so confident he'd protected you all of these years. I couldn't stand by that. I couldn't look him in the eye and tell him that I care for you and leave him in the fucking dark. He needed to know. He fucking deserved to know. You should have told him arcs ago—he loves you. He really loves you. And he's the best defense you have. I—I've told you from the beginning, I'm no hero."

Caius' voice broke when he spoke of Oliver's love for the delicate pianist, aware that his feelings were too new for such a poetic, definitive word and suddenly aware of all of his short comings. They weighed him down in a single breath like so much molten lead, poured over his head. He couldn't even protect her, not against the likes of Pythera, not really. He couldn't even protect her from herself.

He was nothing, not matter how much he pretended to be otherwise. And yet he foolishly, stubbornly, so very Gawyne-ly kept trying.

"I'm afraid. I'm afraid and I'm sarding smart enough to realize that I can't protect you alone, Lady Venora. I—I have feelings for you and I'm not about to just ignore them and let you kill yourself slowly. Pointlessly. To live in fear from someone who should already be sarding put away by now. Or, better yet, put down like a stray animal. Your brother Oliver needed to know about your sister—she's a danger to him and a danger to you, a danger to your whole family. If I keep failing like this, Darcy, well, someone has to sarding know how to help you, to know who you're so afraid is chasing you."

He threw up his hands at her, helpless, terrified, and distraught. Everything hurt and so he turned away from her, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, into his face, until he hissed in real pain. Wiping his face, Caius began to walk to the door, slowly and deliberately opening his locks as if to allow the blonde Venora her opportunity for escape. He didn't reach for her this time, he didn't cross the room again, only shuffled toward his hearth to poke at the crackling fire, defeated.

"I'm sorry. I told him for your own good. I told him about her because I care about you." The young Gawyne sighed.

He told Oliver everything for her own good. Everything. But he wasn't about to tell her that, not now.

Someone had to.

Someone had to care for her, didn't they? She'd wanted a friend. Well, she had one. Or maybe she didn't.

❦

[Darcyanna Venora]

10th Vhalar, 717

Darcy took a long tearful breath, his words cutting her deeply, hanging guilt on her like a thick winter cloak. Of course he meant something to her, he meant so much to her, but the Gawyne’s words left her little excuse. If she cared enough, if she cared more, then she’d try harder.

She should have tried harder.

Tears fell, the lump in her throat ached and her hand stung as the taller man tore strips from the blondes already hurting heart. The Euphoria was snatched from her shaking hand, and somehow Darcyanna felt relieved for it.

“I couldn’t tell him Caius! What do you think I didn’t want to? That I didn’t want to run to his arms and have him save me from her? You weren’t there, no one was. You didn’t have her kneel over you and calmly explain how she would kill you. Do you understand at all Caius? Even a little?! If I told Oliver, he would have gone straight for her. And she would have known I told, and she—“ She couldn’t bring the words to life, talking through grit teeth and racing heart. The Gawyne meant well, she knew she did, but he didn’t understand.

As the bruised and battered student moved to unlock his door, the Venora pulled her cloak tighter around her and crossed her arms.

So this was it then?

Of course this was it. She was a walking disaster and he was not responsible for her. Just responsible enough to destroy everything she had so carefully kept private, for her very life.

“I didn’t ask you to care.” Darcy said weakly between hitched breaths, angry and hurt, but also knowing partially what he said was true. Both the argument to tell Oliver and her reason not to.

That was clearly the Gawyne’s cue for her to leave, his back to the blonde as the fire demanded attention. Letting her dark eyes slip to the little grey bulldog, the musician stifled a sob. It wouldn’t help, nothing could help her now. Crossing the small space quickly, she opened the door without looking over at Caius again, walking out and pulling the handle to shut it behind her without so much as a word.

Walking across the courtyard, she kept her eyes on the snowy ground before her, crunching a path through the whiteness as she made her way to the familiar building of her home. Taking the stairs, she made it to her door, unlocking it with a trembling hand and slamming it behind her, turning the lock firmly and sliding the bolt. Immediately she moved to draw the curtains shut, blocking out the world beyond.

Moving to her bed, Darcy removed her cloak and threw it on the quilt before sitting down to start taking the pins from her hair. Tears rolled down her cheeks and her lip wavered, finally a shuddering sob wracked the Venora. Sliding off the bed to sit on the stone floor, she hugged her legs to her chest and rested her head on her bent knees, broken and aching cries her only companion in the dark of her room.

How had she ruined so much good in so little time?