A four-year war has ended. Men and women who fought at the front, get to go home finally, leaving those who fell behind, but always in the heart. It should be a time of celebration, not only for the end but for the lives it took; the time of grief long past. However, only sorrow, regret, pain, and silence was to be found in Ariha's heart.
Drenched to the bone, muscles sore, and weapons painted with the blood of the final stand of Northbrook, she arrived back at the Keep without the company of the King, leaving him and the rest of the fighters to finish the fight alone. Inside, she was torn into shreds about the thought of leaving them there, the abandonment and betrayal of one they trusted to always be at their sides at a time of need, but she needed to leave. Leave the lies she spoke that night, and to prevent more from uncontrollably spilling from her lips - to regain control.
Dropping her sodden quiver by the fire, she began to peel off her armor and wet clothes to be hung on hooks on the mantle of the fireplace, her room soon filling with rising steam coming off of her clothing and the smell of warm mud. Within the light of the fire, dark red stains of blood were more noticeable on one side of her tunic, too much to be just the spray from battle, and with gingerly touching her corresponding side, her hand came away covered in blood. Adrenaline and the cold kept the pain from telling her brain that something was wrong, but now that there was no doubt that it was there, the pain fired up her spine making her groan out loud. The bleeding looked worse than it actually was due to the rainwater, but her injury wasn't minor either. From what she could see in the mirror, it was a deep slash to her side, thankfully avoiding any vital areas, but it was enough that it would take at least a month to heal properly. Making her way over to her bed, she reached out her foot underneath her bed and with a couple flicks, a small box marked with the Aqualodian medical symbol etched onto the top, slid out into view. The box was put together by Felix, his persistence to her's and everyone's health never faltering, and making sure everyone had one of these boxes. In reality, she should go straight to Felix instead, but she wasn't the only one who came home injured and he would be very busy for the next couple of days. With another flick, the top of the box flipped open revealing an assortment of medical supplies were neatly placed in their proper places. Lowering herself to the ground, she did her best to not bend at the hips, causing herself to land hard on her butt, the vibrations sending pain once again up her spine. The floor was cold on her bare legs, but there was no use putting on clean dry clothing yet as she was still bleeding. Bringing the box closer to her, her fingers started to search for the things she needed; a bottle of alcohol, strips of linen, a bone needle, and a ball of linen thread, and setting them to the side. Realizing she would need to stand up again, she grabbed the edge of her bed, and with a groan and a few choice swear words, she pulled herself back up, breathing heavily due to the effort. With her foot again, she carefully slid everything she pulled out the box towards the fireplace.
If it wasn't for her own stubbornness, she would've called for help already, but this was her problem to solve, and the last thing she wanted was pity.
It took some time, but after a couple painful mistakes, she finally got the hang of it, and within two hours, she was tieing the final knot in her stitching that now stretched across her right side. Her fingers were aching, having cramped up multiple times throughout the process, and stained with her own blood. Bloodied rags soaking in boiled water sat beside her in a large clay bowl, and the reflection that looked up at her as she leaned over it to place the needle in the water as well, was that of a ghost. Pale, exhausted, and in pain, she could no longer recognize herself...
'What have I done to myself? Is this truly what Mitra's path for me looks like? Consistently fighting for what I believe in, only to second guess myself to cause more pain for myself and for others? How many more people that I know, will succumb to the darkness or die? Why are my beliefs so different from those who I call allies?'
Everything was becoming harder and harder to do, and her conflicting thoughts were not helping. She had lied twice to two different people that day to follow what she believed in, and now she was torn between what was the right thing to do versus what she believed she had to do. Her reflection showing the person she had become...
"Mitra why?!" She abruptly yelled, knocking over the bowl and sending it rolling across the room and the fire to spit as the water sprayed. Her head fell into her hands, and it was taking everything in her to not cry, yell, or pound her fists into the floor, but she needed control. Control over her emotions, her thoughts, and her actions. Taking a shaky breath, she attempted to calm down, the injury at her side reminding her what took priority at this moment, and when she finally lifted her face from her hands, she began to gather the things she had just scattered in front of her, her hands shaking still.
Having gathered and cleaned the supplies as best as she could, she returned them to the box and returned the box under her bed. Finally, able to wear clean clothing, she managed, with only some difficulty, to slip herself into a loose fitting tunic, and some warm pants. Sighing some relieve, the hardest part of her night seemed to be over, and now she had time to address her other pressing issues. While the fire didn't need it, she went over to the fireplace and placed another log onto the fire that would keep it going for a while, then she made her way towards the window where a shrine lay in the center of the window ledge.
The shrine was made out of carved wood - a sculpture of a pillared temple with a figure to scale standing underneath the roof of the pavilion. Each pillar detailed tiny scenes of battle and symbols, painted with reds, golds, blacks, and whites. The border of the roof depicted the golden grain of Elysium, the three tired honeycomb of Mitra floating above the sea of grain. The details of the figure, almost too tiny to see, but it’s curly hair and it’s wide-set eyes standing out. At the bottom of the temple was an attached wide ledge where three candles of varying heights sat glued to it by their dripping melting wax. Their light casting a shadow behind the figure, and their flickering light giving the effect that the figure and the scenes were moving slightly. Set in front of it all, was a scry bowl made of the same material of the sculpture to match, half full of water and a round short candle floating in the middle. Around it, was a single vial of fragrant holy oil, and a corked jar of seasoned salt. These objects, including the bowl and the sculpture, was placed on a ragged old banner of the King's.
She slowly and painfully lowered herself to her knees and then onto the floor in front of the shrine, placing her hands overlapping on her lap, and closing her eyes.
'Mitra...please...'
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