The next day, Yessiree told him he could start some light exercise, with a warning not to over-exert himself or he could take sickness. Which is why he did his balance routine slowly, ignoring the ache of muscles fatigued from yesterday, and an hour later, he completed his pushup routine, at half the pace and double the struggle of a mere week prior. His shoulder throbbed mercilessly, while his collarbone insisted that it was made of knives. Once again, Ulric found victory over himself and sat panting on the bed, a pale mockery of the glorious bed he'd had before its tragic demise in the attack. That soft, perfectly supportive mattress would be avenged.
The stretching routine and stance work, Ulric decided to forgo. He wasn't ready yet. Already the shaking of his body and twitches of muscles said that he'd gone too far. That was fine, he'd needed to see what he could do. Ulric left his core alone, choosing not to expend any of that strength. He had a feeling that core saturation was doing heavy lifting at the moment.
Without windows and in a state of mind that could only be described as questionable, Ulric had no bearing on time other than that he was fed and treated twice daily. He'd been fed once so it was still the seventh day following the assault on Irielhos. The seventh day since Bald'rt had been, maybe, killed. Ulric had received no word, no news regarding anything outside this room. Yessiree was surprisingly rigid on not giving Ulric reason to be excited or disturbed, "When you are released from this room you may find out for yourself all that has happened outside of it, and not until." had been his final words on the matter.
Absent any remaining stamina, absent any reasonable way to learn what transpired outside, and incapable of concentrating for very long on his mana without trying to touch it, Ulric laid down for a nap.
When he woke, Geyrt was sitting next to his bed in a chair that had not been there before he slept.
He reacted as anyone would.
Jerking from unexpected proximity, Ulric's body twisted to stand. Clothing that he normally eschewed in bed tangled weirdly with the blankets and, in his weakness, caught him to send him spinning to the floor, netted thoroughly by his own bedding.
It took longer than he would ever admit to a sentient soul to extract himself from his imprisonment.
When he managed to climb to his feet, disheveled, he was greeted by the ghost of a smile and an upraised eyebrow from the most physically beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Beauty hid a lurking evil, a heart blacker by far than her acorn-brown satin hide would suggest.
Geyrt Iriel, the Taipan that put fear into any mortal that found itself in her envenomed path, was exactly who Ulric did not want to see. Not for all her vivaceous curves, accented as she sat in her chair primly, one leg crossed over the other to bounce lightly. Not for her midnight braid of finest silken hair. Ulric realized that his thoughts were wandering again and that he'd spent longer than the correct amount of time noticing her breasts. Fuck.
This was why he didn't want her around, at least partly. A man needed time to be ready to face that kind of thing, not have it sprung on him from out of nowhere. He had to find inner peace before she just appeared like that and he was way too scrambled from his recovery to be exposed to those wondrous orbs unshielded. Both the ones on her chest and the ones with which she leveled a piercing gaze on him.
Briefly, Ulric pondered whether or not the Morphinator had returned to take him away to wonderland before he decided that he wasn't high, he was just really, really horny and kind of tired, and now that he thought about it a little, more than a little sad. He’d tried really hard not to think about this fey creature at any point in his recovery.
The last time he'd spoken to this woman he'd said some pretty awful things to her. Accurate things, things she'd been unable to refute without resorting to an untruth, but still awful. He wasn't proud of it, though, perhaps it had been necessary to force issues left too long under the table into daylight. He was a hammer, and sometimes the problem was a nail, but not always. Sometimes the best thing you can say is nothing and that was what Ulric decided he was going to do now. Instead of checking to see what the dirt here tasted like, freshly marinated between his toes, he settled himself down onto his bed to wait her out.
What he wasn't prepared for was for her to square herself up, draw her knife and extend it towards him. She was about as relaxed as he'd ever seen her.
"You may kill me now, Glade Chief, or you may have another do it, at your leisure." She said smoothly.
What? He must have said it out loud. His eyes took in the offered knife, not actually hers, but his own knife, which he had last seen buried in the mage's barrier, just before the Ceraun blew him away. It was warped slightly, and blackened, but still sharp. He looked up to hold her eyes, confused.
"I failed." Geyrt answered simply. "In the only task I had left to me, the only reason I had to continue to exist, I failed. When an enemy appeared while you were vulnerable, I was nowhere to be found. While I raged and pouted and wished you death to avoid having to do my duty, you were attacked and nearly were killed before you could destroy your attacker. And I did nothing to prevent it. Nothing."
Shaking her head she refused to meet his eyes any longer.
"Worse than nothing, really. You were found without your armor, without the Helite weapon, either or both of which would have rendered you capable of defeating your enemy unscathed, because I arranged to have them left for Uncle Uldin to be able to examine, to stimulate him from his ennui. My selfishness actively pruned away your defenses and then I left you to your enemies, who I knew were likely to be able to observe our movements from afar. It is as if I had been working for them, no better could my actions have served their purposes." His Shadow stated bluntly.
Not that Ulric could ever censure her for that, it was his own fault. He made his choices. He'd been too bothered to think about the fact that he'd left behind all his weapons and protections, he'd been spoiled by how safe the fortress seemed. And he'd also sent Geyrt away, too angry and bitter to consider that he might need her around. He'd forgotten that Varda punished mistakes. In any case, if she’d been in the room, it was damned good odds she’d have been incinerated.
When he tried to object to remind her that it was his command to specifically be gone she whipped the knife violently to the floor, burying its tip into the Heartwood.
"I will not let you carry blame for this Ulric!” She shouted at him.
The Elf girl was serious, every line of her said it.
“My own hand tied this knot!” Geyrt spat, angry, but not with him for a change.
She was up now from her chair and pacing, stalking back and forth like a jungle cat testing the limits of its enclosure while she raged more quietly.
“This is what I have been told by all who had love for me for weeks and I was too stubborn, too coiled up in mine own ass to listen. Always they spoke words I did not want to accept. Every day Vedyr yells into my ears 'Hate blinds the eyes and leads the feet astray. Hate is how the Hunter loses the way.' and every day I treat her words as mud to be stepped around." Geyrt said reproachfully.
Without a single change of inflection, she hit him with another surprise.
"You are a [Saw-toothed Agony Briar] of a man, with a mind that creates bridges to nowhere for no purpose but to see the sky there, but you did not treat me unfairly, even when I had earned it. And I did hate you for being Valin, Human, an injustice that should not exist between us. Not for one who has proven they not only hold no ill blood towards the Aes'r but also embraced the Elves as they would their own kin. Who placed themselves against their enemies, and almost died for it.”
The woman raised her voice angrily, again and he was glad not to be the target of her ire, "Hear me now, Glade Chief, I have thought long on my failings these days past. I have listened as you screamed pain I allowed to be caused, by an enemy made because you refused to stand aside and let my people suffer." Geyrt announced, her voice echoing in the auditorium.
"I am your Shadow, now and forever more. I am not Geyrt Iriel. I am not a daughter of the Elves or a Huntress guarding their lands. I am a Knife in your belt and a shield on your back. Nothing more to Iriel."
Before he could say anything, before he could object, her own belt knife flashed and her wonderfully complex tapestry of a braid fell to the floor. She looked like she might cry again but the steel in her viridian eyes held tears away. Her knife blade shook, so unlike her normal control.
"A name is a thing of power and my Father told me true when he said that I did not value my own. Since I made it worthless, I will wear the one you have given me instead. I am Taipan now. A better fit for one such as myself, and a reminder to value that which is granted to you by loved ones." Taipan declared, immutable in this.
Ulric knew, knew it in his bones that if he looked at her status now it would, from this moment on, read Taipan. She'd chosen to accept his name, had chosen to leave her old life behind. Ulric might be a thick bastard, slow on the uptake, but he knew better than to attempt to countermand her. He was certain that if he tried to turn her away now that she'd spill herself on the floor.
Grief has a way of doing that to you. Sometimes it clouds, when the hurting is all you can see. Frequently though, it clears away the debris, and makes a way through all the noise to show you what matters most.
Taipan was proud. Incredibly, utterly proud. Not of her form, which she was aware of and which she found pleasure in, but of her will. She was proud of her commitment to serve her people. She was proud of her choices to neglect pomp and ceremony and the soft life of a doll at court to become a weapon for her kin. It was a blow to that pride to have dulled herself through arrogance, to have cast aside all of her efforts and become less by stubbornness. She had made herself useless and that killed her inside. Now, she found that throwing away the broken and corroded pride allowed her to become what she'd wanted to be again, a sharpened blade, honed by purpose. Taipan was reforged.
Just when he was certain he'd seen it all she threw him another knuckle ball.
"I am sorry Ulric, for not being there to help. I am sorry that I deliberately tried to bring you discomfort, above and beyond what is appropriate for comrades. And I am sorry that I tried to treat you as less, just because of your race. You are a good man, Ulric, even if I do not understand you. Will you accept me Glade Chief? You can still kill me, if you want though. No Shadow should be allowed to behave as I have, a strapping is the least you owe me." Taipan spoke hesitantly, clearly expecting the worst.
He'd considered beating her on a couple of occasions. Not that he thought he could mind, not without finding out if that little asterisk in his status meant his organs had, like, fucking glitter or something on them, or some Vardan mystical nonsense. He'd also considered spanking her, though that had a completely different connotation and was in a seedy black box in his brain marked "Repressed Id, Nothing to See Here". More recently he'd more than considered killing her, he'd been standing on the edge of a cliff to actually do it. Or, you know, probably trying and failing, and dying to her.
But here and now Ulric found himself unable to muster that hostility. Brighteyes' sister had poured her bitter, jaded heart out to him. He had a soft spot for women, especially ones that were hurting, and that apparently applied even to one that caused him so much aggravation, frustration, and outright enmity. It was a weakness his long-lost sister had exploited time and again, when she wanted him to do something she’d known he wouldn’t like.
Hmm…C’mon Ulric, not even a little strapping? Just a one or five strokes of the belt sort of thing? Clamping down on it, Ulric decided that it was best to just move on.
"It’s…fine.” He told her, even though it hadn’t been even a couple of minutes ago.
Letting go, for him, was always the hardest part. But he had to. It would be good for the both of them not to hold grudges against a dead woman.
“I don't need to beat you, and I won't kill you unless I warn you I will first. Welcome to the team. For real this time." He told her, with resignation.
A great part of the gloom left her then, a weight being shed. She looked way too happy about being a slave.
Just when he’d thought himself free of her, had decided to cut her loose somehow before the fire and the what followed, the fierce Taipan had her coils around him again. Tighter the binding squeeze for her choosing the commitment herself no less. Worse, Ulric couldn't even resist. Many things had changed in his rebirth, within and without. What had, unfortunately, not was that he remained a sucker for a pretty girl with sad eyes, especially when they were being directed at him like a gun emplacement's targeting laser. Maybe he was just a sucker generally, getting himself wrapped up in the problems of fae folk on the basis of an exchange of favors, Winter housing, and an inexplicable growing admiration for them, odd as they were. He didn't owe it to them. Not anymore, certainly, given his involvement had just godsdamned almost punched his ticket. Only he couldn't shed the feeling that the twisty-minded aliens of immaculate beauty, living in unity with the nature around them were worth championing. Nothing he'd yet seen of men had suggested they were, that was for damned sure.
Fuck. He was caught. They had him by the feels. Ulric Einar didn't catch feels. What the fuck was wrong with him, actually liking people now? Maybe souls get a little bent when they pull through the fabric of reality.
He sighed, surrendering to the pressure of the Taipan's metaphorical weight around him, too tired to question it further. No point, Ulric. Just accept your fate. He really wished the Tiger in Elf skin over there would stop looking at him like that, all smug contentment, bad enough he was coming around to the idea of having her joined to his hip. No need to rub it in that she'd had her way against his better judgment. Again.
The next day, Yessiree told him he could start some light exercise, with a warning not to over-exert himself or he could take sickness. Which is why he did his balance routine slowly, ignoring the ache of muscles fatigued from yesterday, and an hour later, he completed his pushup routine, at half the pace and double the struggle of a mere week prior. His shoulder throbbed mercilessly, while his collarbone insisted that it was made of knives. Once again, Ulric found victory over himself and sat panting on the bed, a pale mockery of the glorious bed he'd had before its tragic demise in the attack. That soft, perfectly supportive mattress would be avenged.
The stretching routine and stance work, Ulric decided to forgo. He wasn't ready yet. Already the shaking of his body and twitches of muscles said that he'd gone too far. That was fine, he'd needed to see what he could do. Ulric left his core alone, choosing not to expend any of that strength. He had a feeling that core saturation was doing heavy lifting at the moment.
Without windows and in a state of mind that could only be described as questionable, Ulric had no bearing on time other than that he was fed and treated twice daily. He'd been fed once so it was still the seventh day following the assault on Irielhos. The seventh day since Bald'rt had been, maybe, killed. Ulric had received no word, no news regarding anything outside this room. Yessiree was surprisingly rigid on not giving Ulric reason to be excited or disturbed, "When you are released from this room you may find out for yourself all that has happened outside of it, and not until." had been his final words on the matter.
Absent any remaining stamina, absent any reasonable way to learn what transpired outside, and incapable of concentrating for very long on his mana without trying to touch it, Ulric laid down for a nap.
When he woke, Geyrt was sitting next to his bed in a chair that had not been there before he slept.
He reacted as anyone would.
Jerking from unexpected proximity, Ulric's body twisted to stand. Clothing that he normally eschewed in bed tangled weirdly with the blankets and, in his weakness, caught him to send him spinning to the floor, netted thoroughly by his own bedding.
It took longer than he would ever admit to a sentient soul to extract himself from his imprisonment.
When he managed to climb to his feet, disheveled, he was greeted by the ghost of a smile and an upraised eyebrow from the most physically beautiful creature he'd ever seen. Beauty hid a lurking evil, a heart blacker by far than her acorn-brown satin hide would suggest.
Geyrt Iriel, the Taipan that put fear into any mortal that found itself in her envenomed path, was exactly who Ulric did not want to see. Not for all her vivaceous curves, accented as she sat in her chair primly, one leg crossed over the other to bounce lightly. Not for her midnight braid of finest silken hair. Ulric realized that his thoughts were wandering again and that he'd spent longer than the correct amount of time noticing her breasts. Fuck.
This was why he didn't want her around, at least partly. A man needed time to be ready to face that kind of thing, not have it sprung on him from out of nowhere. He had to find inner peace before she just appeared like that and he was way too scrambled from his recovery to be exposed to those wondrous orbs unshielded. Both the ones on her chest and the ones with which she leveled a piercing gaze on him.
Briefly, Ulric pondered whether or not the Morphinator had returned to take him away to wonderland before he decided that he wasn't high, he was just really, really horny and kind of tired, and now that he thought about it a little, more than a little sad. He’d tried really hard not to think about this fey creature at any point in his recovery.
The last time he'd spoken to this woman he'd said some pretty awful things to her. Accurate things, things she'd been unable to refute without resorting to an untruth, but still awful. He wasn't proud of it, though, perhaps it had been necessary to force issues left too long under the table into daylight. He was a hammer, and sometimes the problem was a nail, but not always. Sometimes the best thing you can say is nothing and that was what Ulric decided he was going to do now. Instead of checking to see what the dirt here tasted like, freshly marinated between his toes, he settled himself down onto his bed to wait her out.
What he wasn't prepared for was for her to square herself up, draw her knife and extend it towards him. She was about as relaxed as he'd ever seen her.
"You may kill me now, Glade Chief, or you may have another do it, at your leisure." She said smoothly.
What? He must have said it out loud. His eyes took in the offered knife, not actually hers, but his own knife, which he had last seen buried in the mage's barrier, just before the Ceraun blew him away. It was warped slightly, and blackened, but still sharp. He looked up to hold her eyes, confused.
"I failed." Geyrt answered simply. "In the only task I had left to me, the only reason I had to continue to exist, I failed. When an enemy appeared while you were vulnerable, I was nowhere to be found. While I raged and pouted and wished you death to avoid having to do my duty, you were attacked and nearly were killed before you could destroy your attacker. And I did nothing to prevent it. Nothing."
Shaking her head she refused to meet his eyes any longer.
"Worse than nothing, really. You were found without your armor, without the Helite weapon, either or both of which would have rendered you capable of defeating your enemy unscathed, because I arranged to have them left for Uncle Uldin to be able to examine, to stimulate him from his ennui. My selfishness actively pruned away your defenses and then I left you to your enemies, who I knew were likely to be able to observe our movements from afar. It is as if I had been working for them, no better could my actions have served their purposes." His Shadow stated bluntly.
Not that Ulric could ever censure her for that, it was his own fault. He made his choices. He'd been too bothered to think about the fact that he'd left behind all his weapons and protections, he'd been spoiled by how safe the fortress seemed. And he'd also sent Geyrt away, too angry and bitter to consider that he might need her around. He'd forgotten that Varda punished mistakes. In any case, if she’d been in the room, it was damned good odds she’d have been incinerated.
When he tried to object to remind her that it was his command to specifically be gone she whipped the knife violently to the floor, burying its tip into the Heartwood.
"I will not let you carry blame for this Ulric!” She shouted at him.
The Elf girl was serious, every line of her said it.
“My own hand tied this knot!” Geyrt spat, angry, but not with him for a change.
She was up now from her chair and pacing, stalking back and forth like a jungle cat testing the limits of its enclosure while she raged more quietly.
“This is what I have been told by all who had love for me for weeks and I was too stubborn, too coiled up in mine own ass to listen. Always they spoke words I did not want to accept. Every day Vedyr yells into my ears 'Hate blinds the eyes and leads the feet astray. Hate is how the Hunter loses the way.' and every day I treat her words as mud to be stepped around." Geyrt said reproachfully.
Without a single change of inflection, she hit him with another surprise.
"You are a [Saw-toothed Agony Briar] of a man, with a mind that creates bridges to nowhere for no purpose but to see the sky there, but you did not treat me unfairly, even when I had earned it. And I did hate you for being Valin, Human, an injustice that should not exist between us. Not for one who has proven they not only hold no ill blood towards the Aes'r but also embraced the Elves as they would their own kin. Who placed themselves against their enemies, and almost died for it.”
The woman raised her voice angrily, again and he was glad not to be the target of her ire, "Hear me now, Glade Chief, I have thought long on my failings these days past. I have listened as you screamed pain I allowed to be caused, by an enemy made because you refused to stand aside and let my people suffer." Geyrt announced, her voice echoing in the auditorium.
"I am your Shadow, now and forever more. I am not Geyrt Iriel. I am not a daughter of the Elves or a Huntress guarding their lands. I am a Knife in your belt and a shield on your back. Nothing more to Iriel."
Before he could say anything, before he could object, her own belt knife flashed and her wonderfully complex tapestry of a braid fell to the floor. She looked like she might cry again but the steel in her viridian eyes held tears away. Her knife blade shook, so unlike her normal control.
"A name is a thing of power and my Father told me true when he said that I did not value my own. Since I made it worthless, I will wear the one you have given me instead. I am Taipan now. A better fit for one such as myself, and a reminder to value that which is granted to you by loved ones." Taipan declared, immutable in this.
Ulric knew, knew it in his bones that if he looked at her status now it would, from this moment on, read Taipan. She'd chosen to accept his name, had chosen to leave her old life behind. Ulric might be a thick bastard, slow on the uptake, but he knew better than to attempt to countermand her. He was certain that if he tried to turn her away now that she'd spill herself on the floor.
Grief has a way of doing that to you. Sometimes it clouds, when the hurting is all you can see. Frequently though, it clears away the debris, and makes a way through all the noise to show you what matters most.
Taipan was proud. Incredibly, utterly proud. Not of her form, which she was aware of and which she found pleasure in, but of her will. She was proud of her commitment to serve her people. She was proud of her choices to neglect pomp and ceremony and the soft life of a doll at court to become a weapon for her kin. It was a blow to that pride to have dulled herself through arrogance, to have cast aside all of her efforts and become less by stubbornness. She had made herself useless and that killed her inside. Now, she found that throwing away the broken and corroded pride allowed her to become what she'd wanted to be again, a sharpened blade, honed by purpose. Taipan was reforged.
Just when he was certain he'd seen it all she threw him another knuckle ball.
"I am sorry Ulric, for not being there to help. I am sorry that I deliberately tried to bring you discomfort, above and beyond what is appropriate for comrades. And I am sorry that I tried to treat you as less, just because of your race. You are a good man, Ulric, even if I do not understand you. Will you accept me Glade Chief? You can still kill me, if you want though. No Shadow should be allowed to behave as I have, a strapping is the least you owe me." Taipan spoke hesitantly, clearly expecting the worst.
He'd considered beating her on a couple of occasions. Not that he thought he could mind, not without finding out if that little asterisk in his status meant his organs had, like, fucking glitter or something on them, or some Vardan mystical nonsense. He'd also considered spanking her, though that had a completely different connotation and was in a seedy black box in his brain marked "Repressed Id, Nothing to See Here". More recently he'd more than considered killing her, he'd been standing on the edge of a cliff to actually do it. Or, you know, probably trying and failing, and dying to her.
But here and now Ulric found himself unable to muster that hostility. Brighteyes' sister had poured her bitter, jaded heart out to him. He had a soft spot for women, especially ones that were hurting, and that apparently applied even to one that caused him so much aggravation, frustration, and outright enmity. It was a weakness his long-lost sister had exploited time and again, when she wanted him to do something she’d known he wouldn’t like.
Hmm…C’mon Ulric, not even a little strapping? Just a one or five strokes of the belt sort of thing? Clamping down on it, Ulric decided that it was best to just move on.
"It’s…fine.” He told her, even though it hadn’t been even a couple of minutes ago.
Letting go, for him, was always the hardest part. But he had to. It would be good for the both of them not to hold grudges against a dead woman.
“I don't need to beat you, and I won't kill you unless I warn you I will first. Welcome to the team. For real this time." He told her, with resignation.
A great part of the gloom left her then, a weight being shed. She looked way too happy about being a slave.
Just when he’d thought himself free of her, had decided to cut her loose somehow before the fire and the what followed, the fierce Taipan had her coils around him again. Tighter the binding squeeze for her choosing the commitment herself no less. Worse, Ulric couldn't even resist. Many things had changed in his rebirth, within and without. What had, unfortunately, not was that he remained a sucker for a pretty girl with sad eyes, especially when they were being directed at him like a gun emplacement's targeting laser. Maybe he was just a sucker generally, getting himself wrapped up in the problems of fae folk on the basis of an exchange of favors, Winter housing, and an inexplicable growing admiration for them, odd as they were. He didn't owe it to them. Not anymore, certainly, given his involvement had just godsdamned almost punched his ticket. Only he couldn't shed the feeling that the twisty-minded aliens of immaculate beauty, living in unity with the nature around them were worth championing. Nothing he'd yet seen of men had suggested they were, that was for damned sure.
Fuck. He was caught. They had him by the feels. Ulric Einar didn't catch feels. What the fuck was wrong with him, actually liking people now? Maybe souls get a little bent when they pull through the fabric of reality.
He sighed, surrendering to the pressure of the Taipan's metaphorical weight around him, too tired to question it further. No point, Ulric. Just accept your fate. He really wished the Tiger in Elf skin over there would stop looking at him like that, all smug contentment, bad enough he was coming around to the idea of having her joined to his hip. No need to rub it in that she'd had her way against his better judgment. Again.
