“Official business”, the letter from the courier had read. The man had ridden hard, driving his mount into a sweat with the speed with which he had delivered the message to the rural ranch. That had been that call which had summoned Connor away from the comfortable bed in Solara's home. Despite it being entirely within his volition and right to take the time away, more pressing matters did crop up. In this case, Immortal higher-ups, the more elite of which had requested his presence as an official escort when going to meet with the mortal king.

It was an eyerolling request, but not one outside his realm of duty. Even if the particular royal was one which had pursued him for a short while with great interest, despite his insistence on giving her the run-around. It was as if she actually imagined he wanted something of a life with her. Perhaps, though, that was also his own bad. Then again, in Connor’s mind, several months should’ve been sufficient… let along fifty years.

It was in the evening, not long after receiving the message, that he had parted ways with Solara in favor of relocating to a nearby inn with the courier. It was a good preparation for the ride to meet the woman the following morning, and to present a more official image. Unfortunately, the deeply uncomfortable bed which he was provided seemed to give the man other ideas. Namely, how difficult it was to actually sleep. As a soldier, he was well-versed in the art of falling asleep in even the most uncomfortable places, and yet the rock-hard bundle at his back seemed to have other ideas. The room, too, was far stuffier than anticipated, which was not unsurprising given that it was on the second story, and the summer heat was still stifling the region. Grunting, tossing, and casting the blanket aside, Connor found himself rising in the darkness of night to throw open the window.

What caught the man’s nostrils, rather than crisp night air, was the faint wafting of acrid smoke. Craning his head forward, a line drawing between his brows, the Immortal Commander leaned forward in attempt to discern the source. His hands tightened slightly on the rough wood of the window frame when a luminous orange glow shown in the distance. Fire… And in a direction which was all too familiar.

Ever apathetic to needs outside of his own, and yet also somehow loyal, the internal battle was quickly won. It was with a trained swiftness that the man donned his garb, and made his way to the mare. Finding her already awake from where she was tethered outside, and as if she sensed the urgency, her spirit was tempered. Giving her the lead once they reached the roadway, Connor shifted his weight in the stirrups and craned his body low – the air whistled around them with the uncomfortable heat of the summer air.

His concern was confirmed even before he reached the head of the roadway leading to her property. The smoke was thick, the orange of the flames craning high in the sky from her distant barn. And yet, two riders sat atop their mounts, as if spectating. Not inclined to wasting time, he pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing as he neared the men. “Are you going to go on your way or help?” His voice held the weight of his position, and irritation as his mare tore up ground with a sudden stop.

They shared a look, one reigning his mount to face him more appropriately. Despite the darkness, Connor’s eyes caught the distinct white splash on the face of the mount under the man. It was one which Solara had only days previous shared great excitement for. The stud was a good prospect for breeding, to replace the one which had tragically passed as an attempt at their run at the dragon. Grip tightening on his mare’s reigns, he gave her a small heel to obstruct the head of the roadway, his other hand dropping to the sword sheath at his side.

“We’ll be on our way.” The one man spoke gruffly, attempting to rein around the paint. It was in a flash at the other produced a crossbow from his side, holding it squarely aimed at the Commander.

His eyes widened, then narrowed, grip flexing on the sword at the side of his mount. The man attempting to get by quickly spoke, clearly irritated then. “The hell are you doing? We are finished here.”

“He’s been coming here… I've seen him. And he saw our faces. We can’t-" The Commander ripped the sword free, bellowing to spook his own mare before the trigger could be pulled. The surprise made it easy to cleave the man from the stolen mount, which sent the young horse into a panic. Wheeling, it set off toward the place which was burning, but held a semblance of familiarity. The man with the bow cursed, casting the weapon aside in favor of producing his own blade… But Connor was on top of him in seconds.

Next he knew, crossbow loaded and in hand, Connor was hurrying, astride his mare, for her home. The sound of cracking flames obscured any sound he might’ve made – the cold absence of voices or horses also catching his attention, though not seizing his focus. Something was wrong. Gravely wrong…

A form clad as the dark evening. The shining of a blade. Solara sprawled haplessly on the ground in her night-clothes. His dark gaze registered it all as the mare carried him forward. The man could easily plunge the weapon down… Inhaling a deep breath, raising the bow, he let out a guttural scream and raised the crossbow, anticipating the effect. He let the bolt fly as he closed the distance, watching it soar through the air toward the man’s torso.

The muscles of his body were tight, the bow instantly being cast aside in favor of retrieving his blade... And he saw red.

His bolt hit its mark.

Fortunately, the man stiffened and fell immediately. Connor had half a mind to be concerned of the falling blade, the one which had moments before been so perilously close to Solara’s chest, though he just glimpsed it falling away before the man himself collapsed. Prone, body heavy across her form, the Commander reined his mare to close the distance as he readied himself to drag the body free from her.

The look on her face. Oh… If he was one susceptible to such emotions, it might’ve been more traumatizing. Might’ve made him feel more… empathy. Instead, while sympathetic, his expression held a calm sense of determination: lips pressed tight, eyes bright and alert as he quickly surveyed her. Her resolve freed herself before he could close, however, and second thereafter she was hurrying over to the horse which had spooked down the roadway back toward the burning barn.

The painted mare halted with a swift zipping sound, ears swiveling to the source even where Connor’s had not. The sound was one that he himself had produced moments before with equipment he had since tossed aside.

A stinging pain grazed his left leg, and instantly he felt warmth begin to course down, soaking the limb even into the heavy leather of his boot. Hearing the voice that followed, he made no move to inspect the wound. Rather, his eyes hardened once more, drifting to where the paint’s ears had perked in interest. That shot…. Either the man was down-right dreadful, or it had been a warning. Connor ventured to guess the second. And yet, the smoke clung so thickly in the air that it was hard to confirm.

The paint’s nostrils flared as she seemed to deeply inhale the acrid air. Connor held his body still, eyes unwavering as he attempted to distinguish anything from the long shadows cast by the flames. Even as Solara spoke, he didn’t turn to regard her. Cunning was she. Bold.

Where was the swill? Connor was not a man who liked staring down the bolt of a crossbow. He liked it even less when someone who he was fighting on behalf of was also the one being aimed at. That thought was especially punctuated by his knowledge that the seedy bastard had managed to slip into hiding by his own overzealous give-away. It wasn’t as if he’d had much of a choice, seeing as the man’s actions toward Solara had been so close to being grave… But still.

What was the likelihood they would die as a result of a crossbow bolt? If the barb took them in the face, or the chest, probably quite likely. The man’s ability to do either of those was highly dependent on how close they were relative toward he or Solara. Judging by where the mare’s ears had angled toward, he was off to the side of Solara’s home, well hidden in the darkness. If the attacker had managed to graze his left side… All of these thoughts rushed through his mind quickly.

Exhaling a heavy breath, he considered. The man had nothing to lose in killing either of them. He himself was the better target, being the more immediate threat, also being the one with a higher purse atop their head.

His highest interest in serving himself before others… But at the moment, he was over-powered with the rush of the challenge, a need to win… and the desire to protect. “Get down!” He did not turn his head, rather, he abruptly threw himself down and forward, craning low against the painted mare as he swung his weight hard into the right stirrup. It would be a shame were she injured, being used as a meat shield in the charge toward the man veiled in the darkness… But he had little choice without a ranged weapon.

As she threw herself forward, unfazed by the smoke and the chaos, Connor did everything possible to cling to her side. His knee scarcely clung against her hip behind the saddle. His weight was uncomfortably supported by one leg, and only the grip of one of his hands hard on his saddle horn helped to keep him in place. His other hand tightly clutched the sword the man had been so eager for him to cast aside.

The man, quickly scrambling back into his hiding place in an attempt to avoid the surging Commander, did not wait so long to frantically to pull the trigger on the crossbow. When he did however, it was as pair was nearly on top of him. With the snap of a release, and a quick zipping sound, the second of the two bolts whipped through the air and hit home.

Connor grunted in pain, hand immediately going numb as he less-than-ceremoniously dropped from the painted mare’s side. While dirt immediately coated him, scraping his face and spattering unpleasantly in his mouth, he maintained his grip on his sword with his opposite hand.

The world spun – for the shortest of moments, he glimpsed the inky night sky, smattered with white points of starlight, unobstructed by smoke.

Fuck. It was with an enraged grunt of pain as he tried to haul himself up that he became aware of the bolt that had penetrated through his glove, and through his hand at an odd angle. The fingers wouldn’t have been able to clench even had he tried, given the protruding arrow shaft Hell, the bloodied tip had probably skewered the limb to his saddle, before his body weight had torn it free. Spitting, teeth clenching, he rolled to shift his weight to his forearm instead, getting his knees under him just as the attacker loomed above.

A man of opportunity, just as they had used the darkness to steal in and burn her property, the man had taken advantage of the Commander’s injury. With a punishing force, he brought the heavy weight of the crossbow butt down squarely in the center of Connor’s back.

Connor’s body went flat before he could rise, breath driven from his lungs. He coughed, vision filling with spots bright as the stars in that moment.

No. The word in his thought was his. The next of which followed, somewhere from the recesses of his mind, was anothers' however. Up!! 

Teeth clenching even as he tasted blood in his mouth, Connor rolled as the man raised the crossbow for another strike. Body twisting, grip still not having left his blade, he struck out blindly, and was rewarded with a gruesome shriek as the man was felled backward, the blade sinking deeply into his leg.

She was there, the sound of the hoofbeats of the stallion being the only indicator of her arrival through the smoke and ash before his vision finally cleared. It was with a hissing breath that he dragged himself up again, ready to retaliate against the man again… But then he felt a weight pulled away from his back. His dagger. And the man, he was attempting to reload and raise his weapon. Everything blurred together in those few seconds as Solara, small as she was, pounced atop him and kicked away the crossbow in an instant.

Had he been in a better physical state, he might’ve found the way in which she attacked the man, scared as she was, entirely too attractive. As it were, the numbness in his hand, the stinging in his leg, and the radiating pain in his back were all intensely distracting. So was the man, begging for his life…. Then again, as he shifted to sit, levelling the blade as he watched her press his knife into the man’s throat, his own injured limb clutched close to his body, he couldn’t help but admire her fleetingly.

She had a power, an allure, that he realized in that moment he had not encountered before.

She had scarcely trained, and yet her ferocity was one which rivalled any soldier. Scared, shaking, even in lieu of losing everything – she was acting. Raising his skewered hand to wipe bloodied spittle from his mouth, careful not to jostle the bloodied bolt, Connor’s dark gaze passed from Solara to the man, then back to Solara as her words reached the man’s ears. He begged for his life, and yet Connor knew even before he supplied the answer to Solara’s question that he was a dead man. Blood was spilling thickly across the sour, practically pouring from his leg. Iron was thicker in the air than smoke. He was- Answering her question?

She pressed the blade upward with swift decision, and slowly, he lowered his blade. He had not expected… that. For it to end in that way. And yet, in a sense, he was not unsurprised. Solara… was an impressive woman. And the man? He had been weak.

Impressive a woman as she was, she seemed intent to leave his prized blade in the skull of a dead man, as she crawled from the corpse and to his side. Her fingers were gentle as they found his face, though they trembled as a tree branch in a violent storm. That quavering did not reach her voice as she surveyed him. A healer. Yes… That would be good.

Unwilling to abandon his blade, he started to raise his skewered hand in an attempt to steady her own on his face, though upon second thought, he dropped it. “There’s someone in the town over, I’m sure.” His eyes flicked over her face, studying her. He would not offer flimsy promises about the situation. Her gaze seemed… pained, angered, worried. His eyes bore into her dark ones. He was unsure of just what to say to alleviate the torrent of emotions within her, unsure of how to quell her shaking right then… And then it came to mind with her next words, as she rose to her feet in an attempt to offer him help to his own.

“I can…” Shifting his weight to his knees despite the pain it caused, he was careful with his sword arm as he raised it such that she could him rise to his feel. A soft whistle coming from between his teeth, hoofbeats could be heard as the paint seemed prepared to return to them. Compelling, and yet also gentle, his words followed. “I want you to see the healer too. And I want you to stay with me for a little while. So we can sort this out.” So that I can make sure you are okay, they said, unspoken, We will take care of this.

As the mare appeared at their sides, he gently slipped from her grasp to sheath the blade in its proper place at his saddle bag, eyes flicking in search of the stallion. Fortunately, he seemed to have lingered nearby; whether he was drawn in by the presence of another horse, or soothed by Solara’s presence, he was uncertain. His eyes fell to the bolt in his hand, and his fingers that remained numb. He half fancied the idea of ripping it free himself, but that would likely bring a lot of unnecessary bleeding. And his boot already seemed to squelch with moisture as he put weight on it. Looking back to Solara, he nodded to the stallion, mentally preparing himself to drag his weight onto the paint as he watched the Immortal woman move for the other horse. “Let’s go.”

Thankfully, as he found himself astride the mare, Solara had stepped away to retrieve his blade. She seemed to be running on will-power alone, both in how she responded to him and in how she continued to direct herself. A warm bed and some rest would do her well, he noted.

The ride to seek out a healer was one which altogether punished his injured hand far too much for Connor’s liking. Bless the paint and her quick speed, her responsiveness, her smoothness of canter… But with a bolt jutting out of one’s flesh, it made it impossible to comfortably grasp the saddle horn, the reins, or anything really. It meant he had to keep it awkwardly held close, which every so often caused a bump or jostle along the way. It was a wonder to him how he managed to not protest or grunt in pain, remaining silent as they rode off in the direction of town, just as the sun was beginning to illuminate the distant plains.

He did not disrupt her silence, too occupied nursing his injuries and thinking it best that she process whatever she’d gotten from the man for information. Fortunately, with the pace they kept, it was not an unbearable amount of time before they finally reached the door of the healer. His weight carried heavily on his uninjured leg upon dismounting, though he was keen to try to keep it as hidden as possible that he had also been injured there. He didn’t want to cause her more worry. The attuned albeit darting eyes of the mage did not miss the subtle shuffle to his step, however, as the bloodied duo entered the thickly scented building and were directed to sit, Connor on a table and Solara to a nearby chair.

The man, regarding the behemoth of a man seated before him, glanced from the bloodied arrow to the woman when she spoke with such a tight, worried tone. Moving over to a heavy wooden drawer, he pulled it open and collected a large pair of shears. “It’s hard to say without seeing, but I’m going to try.” With as much precision as could be helped, he cut the back end of the bolt off, discarding the fletching in a nearby bin before he made quick work creating two slits in Connor’s glove which allowed him to pull the heavy leather off and out of the way. Connor might’ve looked the slightest bit saddened as the item was discarded as well, though any trace of thought vanished as he regarded his hand. Blood had since caked around the puncture, his calloused hand still tingly and unfeeling. With the same efficiency, and nervous eyes, the young Mage stepped aside, splattered some type of antiseptic (that was, alcohol) on a small square of cloth, and took up Connor’s hands with nimble fingers. “Fortunately the tip passed through. We need to pull the rest out though…” Nodding, dark eyes observing the younger man’s movements, Connor brought his other hand to his mouth, bit the tip of his glove, and tugged the leather free. Grasping his injured hand about the wrist, he held tightly and offered a small nod.

A quick jerk pulled the thing free, though Connor hissed in pain at the alcohol soaked rag which was then pressed back over the newly bleeding wound. His hand, the injured one, was trembling involuntarily reminiscent of the way Solara’s had. Bundling Connor’s hand in the cloth, the Mage’s eyes fell shut in concentration, hands hovering just over the wound, as he concentrated.

The Immortal Commander made no sound… though his breathing grew strained and labored as the artificial, magical force set to knitting his flesh back together. Several minutes passed. When the Mage finally dropped his hands, looking pale, he pulled the cloth away with him. The blood was staunched, the skin reflecting an angry-purple red divet. It was clearly the best the young man could do, even if it would still require attention. The concerning part? His hand… Three of his fingers still felt numb, clumsy.

Wiping his forehead against his arm, the man made quick work bandaging the limb. It was when he was kneeling to retrieve a dropped rag that he then caught sight of the bloodied pant leg. Surveying that further, to Connor’s frustration, he proceeded to clean and bandage the wound as well, though he opted to pack that one with a healing poultice instead.

Nearly an hour after they’d arrived, the man finally stepped back. Without saying anything, Connor produced coins from a small bag from his pocket, holding out the entire thing. Looking a little flustered, the man waved a hand. “I haven’t even checked the Lady-” He looked to Solara. “And I couldn’t finish for you, Sir…”

Connor dropped the baggie on the bench with a small jingling sound, shifting forward to allow his feet to contact the floor. “Very well, care for her then.” His eyes skimmed to Solara, before he slowly nodded toward the place he’d sat only moments before, imploring her to sit.

An Inn was nearby, fortunately. The very one he'd stayed at the day previous. He already had a mind to bring her there, once she was checked over for injury. Not that she looked particularly physically harmed, though Connor hadn't been oblivious to a large amount of blood on her. Regardless, sleep would do them both well... Absently attempting to flex his palm despite the pain it caused, he found only his index finger and thumb willing to comply.

Connor regarded her as he propped his shoulder against the nearby wall, watching as she declined the offered assistance from the magic user. A small furrow formed between his brows as the empty tone of her voice reached his ears. It wasn’t quite concern that he felt, for he knew quite clearly why she would’ve felt such a way. With a curt nod of his own, he silently slipped after her as she made her retreat, disregarding any protest the man might’ve made behind them.

Outside, he lingered as she gathered the horses. She was so small compared to the mounts which had brought them here. Small, and trodden upon after the night previous. The corners of his lips turned down again briefly, though as he shuffled after her, leg a little stiff, he remained quiet. Her words broke the silence abruptly, at which point he cast a headlong glance to her. “It needed done, and protecting Immortals is a part of my job, aside from the fact that you’re my…” His what? Friend? Ally? He wouldn’t have considered any label of a romantic connotation, so those were ruled out. Ally was too impersonal. Friend? Was that the word? He couldn’t recollect ever really being around someone long enough to call them such. “…friend.” The word felt awkward leaving his lips.

And then, her voice spilled away from hers. There was a pain, a tightness in her voice. His eyes fell to the injury, still trying to process exactly how impactful it might be. Dual wielding would be impossible until a Royal Healer or someone with more experience took a look at it. If the numbness persisted, it would remain so forever. That did not mean he was incapable, however. He was far from… Well, he was crippled for the moment. But he had the hope it wouldn’t be permanent. Shaking his head, he tried to make light of it. “It’s about time that rushing into something gave me a consequence. Something like this was bound to happen to me anyway.” Rolling a shoulder, the Immortal man glanced over to her, then reached out to briefly touch her hand which clasped the reins of their mounts. “I’ll be fine. You will too.” In what capacity, that was questionable.

The fleeting glimpse of her former attitude, even lacking the warmth that came with her usual flirtatious tone, was something that was welcome to the Commander. While he too was exhausted, and thus didn’t mind the silence, it was something which he wasn’t used to from her. Given the circumstance, he entirely understood why. But it was pleasant hearing something… more lively come from her. Turning up his nose, not quite smiling, he shook his head slightly, changing baiting it from her again. “What else should I call myself then, hmm?” Truthfully, he didn’t expect much. Her eyes were losing their bright glow, her body seeming to turn in on itself as the exhaustion grow palpable in the air around her.

Fortunately, they were arriving at an inn much sooner than anticipated. That hadn’t stopped him from gently keeping her fingers twined with his own for the duration of the walk, from the time he had made his quip. Inside the building, much to his dismay, she had been better able to supply coins at a rapid pace than he. And thus, she had made the arrangements for their rental. In their room, though not settled, she then inquired about clothing. His steps were heavy as he started to the door in response to the query, though seconds after she had ushered him back and down onto the bed. “She carries most of anything I have.” He responded, as her fingers fell to help him remove his clothes. He was perhaps thankful, knowing the discomfort it would cause his hand to try to undo the buttons right then.

Connor felt the brush of her lips, before her forehead fell to where the contact had been. His eyes hooded slightly, his uninjured hand rising to brush over her hair as he looked over the span of her flesh. “Let me pay one of the staff to untack them and bring things here. You should rest…” His hand drifted from her hair, so his fingers might trace lightly over the exposed skin above her night gown. “I’m sure the keep can bring us a basin so I can help you wash up, too.” Hell, they’d do anything for extra coin. And any of his own ulterior motives aside, she looked as though she was growing haggard with exhaustion.

A flicker of a smile crossed his features when she conceded. Good. He wouldn’t have been the sort to beg her; not her or anyone for that matter. But he could see the exhaustion written across her face, and could well imagine the discomfort that would come with her blood soaked attire, the bruised skin, and the fatigue of the night.

With only a moment of fumbling at his hip with his right hand, he produced the coins that would be needed to send a boy on their errands. He presented them to her with a quiet mumble of “Since you got the room”. Fortunately, the logic was sound enough. Thereafter, the Commander settled on the bed. He leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. Resigned to silence for a time as he quietly glanced over every few minutes as she dutifully wiped the blood and dirt from her flesh. Having no idea of the inner considerations she was making. He would inquire the following day about just what the man had said. But for the time being, it was hers to process. Or maybe she’d bring it up. Regardless, he was inclined personally, and obliged professionally, to help keep her safe, not just as a friend, but also as an Immortal citizen.

That’s a crock of shit. The voice in his mind came as though the source was right by his ear. In fact, his hooded eyelids opened a little wider, eyes flicking in that direction. And yet… there was nothing. He pressed his lips together, tilting his head back so that he could star at the ceiling in the dimly lit room. His chest rose and fell. His breathing remained carefully controlled. Without liquor nearby… Well, he handle allowed himself in this position recently.

He didn’t acknowledge her, Adeline? Abigail? He couldn’t quite remember. She had come and passed, died, a long time ago.

You’re going to kill her too. And the worst part is, you won’t even regret it. His lips tightened, eyes falling closed. He focused on breathing. Then, the part which actually struck a nerve. She’s going to be right here with me. With us. Fuck you, Connor… He sad up, a small half-groan, half-grunt sounding in the back of his throat. It was a sound easily passable as being from physical pain. Extending his right hand up, he rubbed his jaw, fingers lingering to scratch at the stubble there.

And then, the woman the voice had spoken of seemed to appear in close proximity, offering him a rag. Nodding appreciatively, plucked it from her grasp. Washing proved to take longer than normal, but was fortunately manageable enough. A thumb and a forefinger, however tender to use on his left hand, were sufficient.

By the time he finished, turning to seek her out again, she was already in bed. His eyes trailed from her discarded night gown to the small bundle that was her form. After a brief moment of consideration, and a small struggle without ease of use of both hands, he slipped free of his pants and into bed beside her. One hand, beneath the covers, drifted forward to gently trace the trail of her spine, before almost tenderly rolling down to the swell of her hip. Small circles, he traced, his touch exploring her skin as if anew before her words interupted the silence. His hand lingered, though the motion stilled. "I do too… Live alone, I mean. So you won't be the only one. And I really don't mind." It wasn't as if it were permanent. "You need a place to regroup and organize, and I think it'd be pointless to use any resources on Inns until we at least get some of your stock back." They had no way of knowing how long that might take. Soldiers being put on it would certainly help… But as it were, they had no ideas where the horses had been taken.

The small tremor, the shiver, wracked her form.

In that moment, he was unsure if it was because of cold of because of his touch. Regardless, his choice was made. Shifting forward, he actually ducked his face, his nose pressing into her hair, near her nape. Body pressed a little closer, sharing the warmth. His other arm, the injured one, was bent and propped carefully under his head. "Don't worry. I'm in the Military. It's not as if I can stay too long at home any. You'll mostly have it to yourself..." His hand, drifting from her hip, shifted. Lightly, his arm draped around her, cradling her body close. Pressing their skin together. It felt… comfortable. "It's probably safer until we figure out exactly what happened to the men that got away." That point in his mind was perhaps the most justifiable reason. If they’d come once, nearly killed her once, it wasn’t a far stretch to guess it could happen again. Then again, theft had been the motive before. If they thought they might get caught however, that could change. Whether they walked on two legs or ones… they were all beasts in that regard.

Exhaling softly, his eyes closed. Fortunately, for that moment, the voice seemed to have abated. “Are you comfortable?”