Despite the weariness of her body, Morwyn found herself far too perturbed to sleep. She knew that if she tried she would only lay there with her thoughts racing as she tried to tease some sort of logic out of the mess of her life, so she decided to be productive instead. The sprawl within the tent told her just how desperate Hazel's attempts had been to keep her alive. It seemed only right to return some semblance of organization to the mess that had been her fault.
She moved slowly and carefully, taking care not to make too much noise, but Hazel slept so soundly that Morwyn wasn't sure she could wake her deliberately so she risked a few nips of precious whiskey from her hip flask as she worked. Not sufficient to get her tipsy, just enough to quiet the loud parts of her mind. Her flask was small and she didn't fancy asking Argoth for a shot of his atrocious mystery liquor. She had to make her hidden stash last.
Having something to do with her hands that required care and precision helped to distract and calm her. The task was something tangible, something within the scope of her ability to influence unlike the quagmire of existential threats that hung over her like storm clouds. It helped return her to the present as she forced herself to become nothing more than an assistant healer tidying up for her mistress. She cast the occasional glance over to Hazel when the halfling made a noise or grumbled under her breath in her sleep, but the halfling was out like a doused lamp. The endearing sight also brought Morwyn shame. If she hadn't been so audacious with the giants, Hazel wouldn't have run herself to utter exhaustion.
After more than an hour of slow, quiet tidying, Morwyn restored a semblance of order to Hazel's private little kingdom. She was certain that a few things were out of place but that could be easily remedied in the morning light. Sitting down on her cot with a muted sigh, she rubbed her face with both hands as intrusive thoughts began to creep back toward the forefront of her mind. She couldn't escape them forever, no matter how many physical tasks she sought to keep them at bay.
Morwyn decided to try and categorize her thoughts to try and get a hold of herself. Most importantly, she made an effort to puzzle out what she could do about the things she knew or suspected while fighting to ignore the unknowable. She wasn't any closer to feeling at peace with any of it, but it helped to contextualize her feelings rather than to simply feel them. In recent days she'd found that wallowing in her emotions was as useless as denying them. The results were the same. She had to find a balance.
I am not human.
Now firmly solidified in fact, it was something she'd always known in the back of her mind even before the evidence of her extended lifespan came to light, a thorn in the back of her consciousness that something wasn't... normal. But as Rennock had said, was that such a bad thing? She was who she was, there was nothing she nor anyone else could do about it. Unless she grew a third eye or another pair of arms, dwelling on it would serve no purpose in the days to come.
The frost is dangerous.
Another undeniable truth. So far she'd used it in service to others, but it would be just as deadly to her allies if she didn't maintain control. With as close as she'd come to carving a new hole in her mentor, Morwyn knew just how dangerous it could be. As the Moonmother had said, failing to contain it it would result in disaster for her and anyone she cared about. The only thing she could do is hold on to her control for dear life while easing the pressure in a safe manner. Safe to her allies, anyway. She'd have to be more deliberate with expressing her magic, but she couldn't shut it away completely.
I am hunted because of my bloodline.
It didn't feel as clear-cut as the first two. Between Rennock and the goddess, the half-truths and the information they deliberately withheld left her unsatisfied. Despite their fervent warnings against threats both external and internal, there was obviously something more to it than her mentors let on. A sinking feeling dwelt in the pit of her stomach to think they might withhold information out of fear, rather than worry for her. She didn't even know what she didn't know about herself and that was terrifying, but was also unhelpful, unproductive and not as immediate. A puzzle to piece together over time, not to agonize over in the moment.
The first part, however, was more concrete. She was being hunted. Rennock had confirmed as much, yet though the foe was far beyond her alone she knew she could rely on the others for assistance. Rennock seemed to have a particular interest in unraveling that mystery and she was more than happy to let a powerful wizard take the reins. At the same time, keeping her distance out of a desire to keep her companions from harm would not necessarily do so. In fact it could endanger them all the more. Hazel was right. Sacrificing herself to protect them was not the answer. She had to fight with them, for them... and for herself. But who exactly was she?
I'm not sure who I am anymore.
Morwyn pondered that feeling for a long time, her head aching as she lay back on her cot with a muted groan. Had she ever known who she was? She'd thought she was a Shrike, a banished daughter of Skeldrûn, an unmoored sell-sword with nothing to lose. Now she found herself slowly integrating into a new sort of family, searching for a new place to call home, and had found so much that she feared to lose. Could she still be true to herself and her roots if everything she'd been told was a lie? If she fought so hard to replace it with something else?
She knew deep down that with her world getting turned on its head the only way she'd keep her sanity was to stay true to her family name. Mother and Father were her mother and father, regardless of whatever esoteric beings had sired her. They were the ones that had raised her to be kind, to be curious, to be brave. To know right from wrong. She was a Shrike first and foremost, no matter what else she might be.
No one, be they gods or monsters, could ever take that from her.
Her mind was so muddied by her introspection that she didn't realize she'd passed out until she woke with a start to the sounds of the camp beginning to stir with the rising of the sun. Groggy from restless sleep, Morwyn groaned quietly and stretched her aching limbs. Though the scroll's stolen light had repaired her broken body and the Moonmother had soothed her pain for a time, no magic she'd encountered thus far could eliminate the soreness that always followed. She considered the idea that such a thing was a deliberate, instinctive part of such healing. It was a potent reminder of the lingering cost of her mistakes.
Morwyn cast a wary look around the tent as she rose up on her elbows. As she'd feared, Hazel was still asleep. The halfling snored ever so softly, her exhales causing an errant curl to sway rhythmically to and fro in front of her face. For a moment Morwyn was paralyzed with indecision. Should she leave her to her slumber or wake her gently? Hazel was a morning person, something Morwyn personally found appalling, but she might be more upset with her if Morwyn let her sleep in despite her exhaustion.
The choice was taken from her a moment later as Hazel snorted loudly, cleared her throat in surprise, and her bleary eyes fluttered open. She blinked slowly several times and yawned more deeply than Morwyn had ever seen before snuggling back down into her blankets with a piteous moan. Several seconds passed and Morwyn thought she'd fallen asleep again when Hazel's eyes shot wide open in alarm.
“Oh gods, what time is it? How long have I slept?”
“Just past dawn, I think,” Morwyn replied softly, rubbing the material of her cloak between a thumb and forefinger as she gauged the light filtering in through the tent walls. Hazel put up an uncoordinated struggle with her blankets as she fought to free herself and stood unsteadily beside her cot. She looked down with a frown and wiggled her bare toes on the flattened grass beneath them then clutched her hands to her chest, searching for a bodice that wasn't there.
“Did I... did you... did we...” the halfling stammered as she hitched up her immodestly low dress, her face flushing. She scowled and leveled an accusing finger at Morwyn. “As mad as I was at you last night, there's no way you'd have convinced me-”
“Absolutely not,” Morwyn cut her off with a bemused chuckle, heat rising to her own cheeks at the implication. It was the last place in the world she'd expected Hazel's thoughts to wander, but at least she felt herself again enough to find it amusing. “I just helped you to bed, that's all. On my honor.”
Hazel's blush deepened threefold and she pursed her lips, unable to meet Morwyn's gaze for a moment. She turned quickly to hide her face as much as it was to locate her outer garment and footwear, her hand pausing briefly on a neat stack of books that had been a cluttered mess the night before. Morwyn thought she heard the halfling mutter something about a dream but she couldn't be certain. Hazel dressed without so much as another word and there was an awkward, unspoken tension between them that made Morwyn anxious. Not knowing what else to do, she reached for her gear to equip herself for the day.
“Oh, no you don't,” Hazel said firmly with a sharp rap of her knuckles on the back of Morwyn's hand. “I told you, I'm going to examine you. If I find a single hair out of place I'm going to skin you. Strip down to your skivvies and pray I don't find a scratch or a bruise I don't recognize.”
Though her words were harsh, the fire from the previous night had faded significantly. Her body protested the movement as Morwyn stood to do as she was commanded without hesitation. The time for coyness had long since departed. Hazel had most assuredly seen enough of her in recent days as she lay naked and dying on the cot, covered in mud and blood and who knew what else. She stood at attention as she nervously awaited the halfling's inspection.
Hazel looked her up and down with a critical eye, poking and prodding every rib and bone that had been broken by the giant, inspecting the faint scar of each open wound that had been sealed. She made Morwyn spin slowly around in three full rotations before having her kneel in order to run her fingers along her once crooked spine.
“I feel like you're hazing me,” Morwyn murmured through gritted teeth as Hazel's probing touch found a sensitive spot on her back. “Is all this really necessary?”
“It most certainly is,” Hazel replied, pressing a knuckle deeply into a knotted muscle. Morwyn hissed in a breath then exhaled slowly as the halfling began to massage the tension from her sore back. “For two reasons, in fact. Firstly, I'm making sure that everything is still where it's supposed to be so I don't have to flay you alive. And second, I want to make sure you know that I really do care...”
Hazel's voice grew soft, almost nervous with her final words. Though she couldn't see the halfling's face Morwyn knew just what she'd find written there if she turned around. Not quite having worked up the courage to face it, she sat in silence until Hazel's hands lifted from her back. She sighed with contentment and rolled her shoulders experimentally, grateful to find that some of the soreness had faded due to the healer's ministrations. Morwyn took a deep breath and shifted sideways as she tucked her hair behind one ear to get a good look at Hazel. The halfling's brow was furrowed with concern as she wrung her hands and said nothing.
“I do know that you care,” Morwyn whispered. Her cadence was careful and stilted as she searched for words that seemed impossible to grasp. She rested her chin on one knee and stared off to one side with her eyes far away. “I care for you too. More than I thought I was capable of, to be perfectly honest. It hurts me to know that I made you question that, but... my life is dangerous and it always will be, now more than ever for reasons I can't yet explain. The only thing I know how to do is to fight back with everything I've got... I want to learn how to mediate that impulsiveness, to rein in my reactive nature before I self-destruct and hurt everyone I care about. Before I hurt you.”
Hazel knelt quietly beside her and placed a hesitant hand over Morwyn's. The contact was tentative in a way it had never been before. Fragile. Scared.
“I'm a hypocrite,” Hazel said as she sniffed back tears that she refused to let fall. “I rant and I rave about your behavior, but I've been doing the exact same thing.”
Morwyn's heart ached as she saw the raw, painful vulnerability in Hazel's gaze when their eyes met. She brushed back a lock of her wild red hair and trailed a finger down her cheek.
“What do you mean?”
Hazel bit her lower lip so hard the color drained from it.
“My work is everything to me, always has been since I was a little girl. Mum and Da were so proud of me, of the effort I put into it. Said I was a natural. But when they got sick... it wasn't enough. None of it. There was nothing I could do, I didn't have the skills to treat them and they were too far gone to travel. So I watched them die, helpless to do anything about it.”
Though her tears didn't fall, Morwyn could tell it was only through titanic effort. She slipped one arm around her and pulled her onto her lap in a tender embrace, stroking her hair gently as she gave Hazel the time she needed to collect herself before she continued. When she did, her voice was hoarse and low.
“I threw myself into my work after that, just like you've done with yours, so I'd never have to feel that gnawing guilt again. Swore to myself that I would always have an answer no matter the odds. When I thought I was going to lose you, I just about lost my mind with frustration and fear. When you saved your own life, after my very best efforts failed, I... I exploded. I took it out on you. I went too far. I see now how easy it is to lose yourself in the only thing you know. I'm so sorry for the things I said.” Morwyn was stricken by Hazel's confession, by the depth of self-loathing in her voice. Everything in her cried out in defiance against it.
“You're not a hypocrite, darling.”
She was briefly startled by how easily the term of endearment came to her, at how good it felt to finally say. She shook her head and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat before she continued.
“Gods above, I know better than just about anyone that it's harder to help yourself than it is to help others. Admitting our own faults is difficult enough. Doing something about them? That's just about the most terrifying thing I can imagine. We can't fix each others' problems... but I would like it if we could face them side by side.”
They sat in a more comfortable silence than before as the sounds of the camp outside the tent grew louder- the clanging of pots and pans as the cooks hurried to prepare breakfast, the muted murmuring of families and friends working together as they packed up the camp with practiced hands, the low rumble of giants conversing in the distance. After a long moment Hazel shifted in Morwyn's embrace and sat cross-legged atop her lap so they were eye to eye.
“I forgive you,” she whispered with a weak smile as she wiped the corners of her eyes with the sleeves of her dress. “I forgive you for being a big, stupid, brave idiot. I don't want that to change, I just want you to stay alive. To stay with me. Gods help me, I've fallen for you hard enough to knock all my sense loose.”
Morwyn couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her, rocking Hazel slightly on her perch. The anxiety that gnawed within her began to ebb as they edged a small step back toward normalcy. She absently twisted a curl of Hazel's hair around one finger.
“I forgive you for putting too much of yourself into your work as I have done... and for threatening to skin me.” Morwyn gave her a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “Come now, let's get dressed and get some food. I'm starving to death and I've not seen the outside world in a week. Our existential crises can wait.”