Heat. Not the bristling heat of a sorcerers flame crashing against his armour or the searing, blinding flash of the Light, these had been things he’d become all too familiar with in recent years. No, this was a different kind, more…warmth than heat. A warmth that he hadn’t felt since he was still a shining, albeit naiive knight-to-be.
It was overwhelming, almost debilitating in a way he had never felt before. He felt a twinge of loathing towards the strangely familiar woman that had dared lay her hand upon his cheek, and himself, for feeling the wash of relief, the welling of numbed feeling that rose from his cold, still chest.
He kept his composure however and coldly turned his face away from the well-meaning hand. The woman recoiled slightly, with a flash of sadness and disappointment across her face. She apologised after a moment of silence. The grim knight did not respond, still shrugging off the feeling of warmth, until the marble white skin on his sunken cheeks became cold once again and that icy hole in his chest re-emerged.
Aren’t you afraid?
Always. I’m afraid for the kingdom, for you.
And…for yourself? It’s ok to be afraid, you know.
These words abruptly echoed in his head, one of those voices his own and the other of a softly spoken but direct girl.
He turned back to look at the woman before him, she spoke of her reason for approaching him here, that she had searched for a long time to find him, they knew each other well it seemed. But he could not place her face, only her voice was vaguely familiar to him. Tears welled up in her eyes, a look of defeat clear upon her. He apologised, but he knew not why he did.
They spoke for hours thereafter, her mostly speaking, him listening, in a dimly lit alcove of the inn, a blustering, cold wind rushing through the dusky treeline just outside the window panes.
As the candle wick burnt out, they both rose from their seats and departed the inn, her following closely behind him till they were outside in the brisk, misty night air of Darkshire.
Yorgrun turned to her. He turned to his former beloved, his would be wife, a companion, his muse and his strength, but no longer. He could only remember a voice now, that connected loosely to the face before him and even this remained only vaguely familiar, some part of him called for buried feelings, emotions that lay crumpled with memories. He felt a pull in his belly, he saw a flicker of hope in those wide, sad eyes of the woman before him…but nothing came to him. He felt nothing. But the memory of that warmth stayed with him long after they had parted and longer still after he’d agreed they’d meet again.