Light and Shadows

Mortal Reminders: What are you hiding?

Takes place after "Vices and Vows", before the imprisonment of Denathrius.

Renathal cast a restless glance around his spartan Sinfall room, and - for the first time in his entire existence - wished vainly for a clock.

He had had one in Darkwall Tower: an ornately carved instrument positioned at the bottom of his winding staircase where its deep, ominous chime was at its most acoustically advantageous. And, really, such aesthetic was its predominant purpose, time in Revendreth being largely a social construct. But currently, Renathal was desperate to know exactly how many minutes past whatever hour it was so he could decide whether enough time had passed to be justifiably irritated.

The Maw Walker was late.

The candles Renathal lit earlier in the evening were almost melted down, the bottle of anima wine he had opened to breathe stood guiltily half-finished. He had polished his armor, twice, and rearranged everything on the oversized table-cum-desk. There was nothing left to do but pace the same stretch of stone floor, and seethe with thwarted desire.

The fallen Prince of Revendreth had magnanimously accepted his sex life came second to the salvation of the Shadowlands, and he was accustomed to excusing his lover's last-minute absences with a patience a Paragon would envy. But, just this once, he bitterly wished the Maw Walker had declined whatever quest she had been offered.

Because this night was important. Renathal thought she had understood.

In less than twelve hours, they would launch their assault on Castle Nathria, a prospect of such dubious success it made even the unflappable Maw Walker apprehensive. At least, that was how Renathal had interpreted her odd reaction at the briefing earlier that day. Their hand-picked party of mortals had assembled to discuss the plan of attack, and the Prince had felt honour-bound to warn the unsuspecting beings of what awaited them within the castle: Denathrius' disciples, Lady Inerva, General Kaal and the Stone Legion, all undoubtably stood in their way. But no known Nathrian danger was more perilous than the Sire himself, and at the mention of what he could do to those with unconfessed sins, the Maw Walker's lavender face had turned a pale and sickly pink.

Unusual for her, but then, it would be an unusual fight. Death might make a bad habit of evading the Maw Walker, but Denathrius wielded destructions no mortal had ever faced. And even supposing the Maw Walker was impervious to them all, the Dark Prince did not possess her same inexplicable protection. Renathal was resigned to the very real possibility this night might be his last, and, if it was, his only request was that she be here to share it with him.

One of the candles gave a final, sputtering gasp and died, and with it Renathal's remaining hope the Maw Walker would deign to arrive. Obviously, she had prioritised some tangential assignment, despite the fact they might never have another night together. In a fit of wretched pique, he swiped the melted red stub from the table. It hit the floor with a gentle, unassuming thud, and shame crawled across Renathal's face.

He knew the Maw Walker better than that.

After the briefing, she had noted his uneasy tension and was at his side in a heartbeat, her hand on his arm and the look in her eye a wordless offer of assistance. He had whispered his request in her ear, his exact phrase eliciting a violet blush. And while she may not precisely have promised - something the Maw Walker was loathe to do - her assurance to attend him after some appointment with the Accuser carried all the same solemnity.

No, whatever circumstance was keeping her from him must be out of her control. Renathal's agitated mind produced an unhelpful picture of the Maw Walker engulfed by enemies, in the Banewood or the Endmire or wherever the Accuser had sent her. So vivid was the vision, he half-turned to the door, some primal instinct urging him directionlessly forward, before better sense reminded him of his own long-standing assignment: staying in Sinfall, as far out of Denathrius' sight as relatively possible.