winderlust | i tried to think of a wind pun for this title

[The battle rages around them -- it's only in the tiny bubble around them that things are strange, and strangely quiet. It feels like an out of body experience, floating above the grim, bloody reality below.

He has no idea how this is happening, but Jusis looks just as confused, and that's somehow even worse. If it were a new magical weapon, at least they'd know what they were up against. Instead it's a mystery, and only affecting the two of them, as far as he can see.]

Well, if you don't know and I don't know, there's no reason for me to stay here.

[He's got a battle to fight. He can report this when he gets back. So he moves to pick up his spear -- and it's at that moment that an Albarea archer realises Jusis is in trouble, and fires.

There's no reacting fast enough. The arrow lodges in his arm with enough force to make him slip, landing on his tailbone with a yelp instead of gracefully crouching. He feels his breath picking up -- he can handle the pain, but there's a primal part of his brain that decides on its own that being injured on the battlefield means he's going to die right now. So for a moment he's wide-eyed with instinctive panic, blinking rapidly as he tries to reorient himself.

He probably would have died, too. But the archer in question is cut down before he can shoot again, and suddenly Gaius and Jusis find themselves surrounded by a group of northerners on horseback. To Jusis, the only familiarity may be recognizing one of them as a tribal commander. To Gaius, his thoughtless panic turns into relief, looking up at a face he trusts more than anyone's.]

...Dad?

[It's a little weird but one of the first things that registers is... The obvious bond there, between Gaius and his father. Not that Jusis knows their names but it sort of hurts. He's not exactly jealous, it just reminds him that there is no way his own father would bother riding to his rescue, and it's a rescue he could certainly use.

But noticing the obvious familial love is really the least of his concerns because he's currently unarmed in a ring of enemies and a few of them look ready to kill whether or not he's capable of defending himself right now.

Lacan is looking down at his son with relief and worry, one of the men offering Gaius a hand up onto his horse behind him. Lacan will ask what this whole thing was about later, because the battle is starting to turn in favor of the northerners. Good for Gaius, but leaving Jusis even more stranded, with an array of blades and arrows pointed at him to discourage him from attempting anything foolish.]

Yield.

[Is Lacan's calm command to Jusis, and really there isn't any other choice but suicide, so he does, lifting his hands reluctantly. Another rider pulls Jusis up unceremoniously onto the horse with him, looking unhappy about it.]

Try anything and you'll be dead.

[He's told flatly, as if he didn't already know. Lacan is commanding the two riders with passengers back to camp, and a third and fourth to escort them safely, while the rest are to make sure the battle is won and stays that way.

The ride back is uncomfortable for Jusis for obvious reason and Gaius for bleeding reasons. Gaius is dropped off with the doctor and Jusis is dragged along a little further, to be properly tied up and left under guard before three of the four riders head back into battle and the fourth stays to see to the prisoner.

Getting an arrow removed isn't a fun task, even when the wound is thankfully nowhere near fatal, but Gaius is given herbs for the pain and his wound is taken care of with unfortunate efficiency--there's many to tend to and not enough time to stitch it neatly to minimize any possible scarring. Still, he'll be fine, but it will need healing, and he won't be wielding his spear while it does, or doing much with that arm if the doctor has a say.

It's an hour or two before the survivors of the latest conflict ride back into camp with the wounded and the horses without riders. Lacan sees to the settling in only briefly, everyone knows what to do and how to tend to themselves, and he's checking on his son first, before dealing with the royal prisoner.]

[At first Gaius isn't sure why they're taking Jusis prisoner. He's glad for anyone who doesn't have to die to this pointless conflict, but is it really wise to leave someone important alive? The real point only occurs to him halfway home, in the haze of pain that keeps him oddly calm as he hangs on to the man in front of him.

He keeps his mouth shut about it until he's been treated, though. He's not questioning his father's wisdom, and it's more important to him to get his wound clean and sewn up, roughly as it may be. Even a small wound badly treated could fester, and he can't afford to lose that arm. So he's cooperative and appreciative, no matter how bad it hurts or how nauseous the medicine makes him.

Talking to his dad soothes his nerves for several reasons. It's the day's reminder that his immediate family is safe, that their line still holds, that their people remain free. That's something necessary to cover every day -- no one here can rest at night without that knowledge, and those who lose family need to know immediately. But there's more than that, this time. He wants to be reassured that being off the battlefield isn't going to be that big an impact. It is, in part, exaggeration. Of course a strong fighter pulled away means lesser ones might die. His presence isn't the key, but it helps, and he knows this. But Lacan is their tribe's commander, and if he says it's not Gaius' responsibility, then he'll try to believe it's not.

He also wants to talk about Jusis. He doesn't know his name, but he knows he's ranking, and he knows there's only two reasons to take that kind of prisoner: for information, and as a hostage. He wants to know which it is. He wants to tell his father what happened out there, and ask him why.

There's not a clear answer. But there is an old story that comes to mind. Something about a rare occurrence, when two souls are linked by fate. It sounds silly. It's something considered a myth, just a romantic tale to fantasize about, and one almost forgotten by time. So surely it's not that... but they have no other leads right now, so they'll leave it a mystery til they find one.

Soon enough though, the strong, bitter, but healthy tea Gaius has been drinking really kicks in, and he's groggy enough to fall asleep right in the middle of the conversation. So he's left alone, and instead Lacan goes to talk to Jusis.

The family resemblance is quite clear. Gaius may be the tallest, but his father is just as towering and probably even more imposing when he steps into the tent Jusis has been deposited in, tied to the center pole without consideration for comfort.]

We have some things to discuss.

[Everyone is too damn tall...

Jusis sits up straighter when the man from earlier enters the tent. He's not had a comfortable number of hours as a prisoner though it hasn't been pain, but he also doesn't know what to expect. Until now the Northern tribes haven't seemed interested in prisoners of war. It leaves him unsure what to brace for.

And that's on top of everything else to be unsure about. Hours under guard with no one to talk to haven't really helped him clear up the mystery of dropping his own damn sword in the middle of a battlefield, and then there's anxiety about what a plunder getting captured is for Rufus's plans...

All of which he needs to put out of his mind to deal with what's in front of him. And above him. Really these people are very tall and that's even when he's standing and not sitting tied to a tent pole.]

Do we?

[Maybe they do but he can't imagine what. He's not going to give information to the enemy no matter what, and he can't see any other reason for the tribe's chief to talk to him. If he's a hostage his input is hardly needed, is it?]

[Why wouldn't they? It's a foreign concept, the idea of not wanting to talk. Of taking prisoners and treating them poorly. Maybe that softness is a detriment in this war, but throwing away their principles will only lead to regret, win or lose. So he looks a little exasperated when he responds.]

Of course. I'll make it clear from the start: we have no intention of hurting you, if it can be avoided. Unlike your people, we're not interested in winning by any means necessary. I'd prefer if we could speak as equals.

[Jusis bites his bottom lip, because the words hit a little too sharply, and he can't help but look away. His father might think the war is a good idea but the whole thing still only really makes Jusis ashamed and sick at heart. Being chided by the enemy and promised fair treatment only makes him feel worse, and he clenches his fingers where they're tied behind his back.

He feels like a child freshly taken in to the royal court stumbling over his manners and being judged for his inadequacy. Only here there would be no pride in defiance, only more shame.]

...Forgive me my rudeness. I cannot speak about my country's military or plans, and I don't know what you would otherwise wish to talk to me about.

I assumed you wouldn't have anything to say on that matter.

[Of course he wouldn't. Who would betray their people so quickly? Their family, no less. Lacan knows exactly who Jusis is, and he hopes that'll actually help here.

He crouches to get more on Jusis' level, his expression stern but not unkind.]

Still, I'd like to talk with you about the future. Tell me, what do you think about this war?

[Jusis doesn't look like a fanatic. He doesn't have the superiority in his body language that so many of his countrymen (at least the nobles) do.]

[He makes himself look at the man in front of him, if only because that's the right way to hold a conversation. It's hard, when he feels ashamed, and impossible to keep the confused surprise off his expression at the question. It's really not way he expected.

And he struggles to know how to answer. But... It's not like Lacan is going to run to his father and report how disappointing a son Jusis continues to be, being captured is enough to tell his father that. So he might as well be honest.]

I think it's a senseless waste.

As do I.

[And that's just what he hoped to hear. Maybe there's something to be said for this boy after all.]

And as does my son. Tonight he lies with the injured, but all he's concerned about is who might be lost in his place. If he could exchange his life for peace, I don't doubt he'd do it without hesitating.

[His son is a good man. He'd like to think Jusis might be one too.]

You shared something with him on that battlefield. I can't say what, but I believe it could be a good omen, if you're both willing to make it one. Are you?

[He's afraid it's a trap. Words are often traps, at court. It's why he avoids socializing in favor of books and horses and wandering alone through the streets.

Yet Lacan seems sincere, and he can't help but be convinced this man loves his son, by the way he talks about him.

Still he doesn't know what Lacan is getting at.]

I would like to see this war end. [It's said cautiously, watching Lacan with an inherent wariness, like a half feral horse, skittish.]

But I don't know what you want of me.

Walk among us. Learn.

[He frowns a little, not sure if it'll work, but any idea is worth trying. Besides, as old a tale as it may be, their people have never been ones to throw away the wisdom of their ancestors. He wants too see what'll happen.]

Get to know my son. Then, when it's time, help us make peace with your father.

[That is literally the most confusing offer Jusis has heard in his life, and his expression is as surprised and confused as he feels to match it.

It has to be a trap or something but he can't see how. And even if it is... He can just be on guard. It doesn't sound bad, except for where he doesn't know what he can do to persuade his father. It seems like the other side is getting the worst of this deal, and Jusis is assuming he'll be confined or under guard the whole time anyway.

But, if he can do anything, shouldn't he try?]

I don't know what I can do to make my father change his mind.

[He'll be upfront about it, getting anyone's hopes up would be cruel.]

But I can try.

To try is a measure of your strength.

[It can't be easy going up against your father. Your king. If Jusis really is willing to try, that's the best chance they have at ending the war without either side's annihilation.

Lacan smiles, a soft, paternal expression, and goes to untie Jusis.]

I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. I see a good spirit in you. I have to warn you, though, that if you betray our trust, we won't be inclined to offer it a second time.

[Once again he's baffled here, not sure how to take a soft paternal expression or being given the benefit of the doubt by his enemies. His allies would never be so trusting. Well, most wouldn't.

Maybe it's a cultural thing, but it feels strange, and he almost wishes he wasn't being trusted. He doesn't know what to do when given some faith. Try his best not to betray it, is all he can vaguely decide, even if logically, rationally, that might not make the best sense.

He pulls his hands forward carefully, rubbing at his wrists and watching Lacan with a continuously perplexed expression.]

I understand.

[Well, the no second chances thing. He's not sure what he's being released to do. Should he stay in the tent on his own? Being a prisoner here is apparently a lot more confusing than he expected.]

You can use this tent as your own. Its owner is no longer here to claim it.

[It's definitely a cultural difference. But it's also that there's just something about Jusis that makes Lacan want to trust him. It's the same sadness he sees in his own family, maybe.]

I'll inform the others you're free to explore if you like, but for tonight I suggest eating and getting some sleep while you can. You'll have to carry your own weight if you're staying.

[That's right. Jusis is getting the worst torture ever: chores. But for now he's being left to his own devices.]

May the winds guide you on your path. It may be a hard one.

[His jaw sets a little at the news about the tent's owner. He's gotten better at not showing expressions for sad news, and he didn't even know who lived here, but it still strikes him. But isn't it inevitable? While he's here he's going to see all the other side of lives lost in this war.

He nods a little numbly, because this still seems surreal.

Chores might be a relief just for something to do that isn't being awkward with a guilty conscience. But for now he doesn't know if he wants to try the whole eating thing, it'll mean venturing out of a tent that suddenly seems more like a shelter than a prison, when he's being offered free roam of a strange enemy territory. Still, he'll fight the urge to hide in here because he's not a coward.]

...Thank you. I don't know your name.

Ah, yes.

[Names. Right. It would be polite to share.]

My name is Lacan Worzel. You can use it if anyone gives you trouble. I already know who you are, but you may want to be careful when introducing yourself to others.

[Y'know. Cause its not a monolithic group and some people may not like it. But he's leaving now, so Jusis can do his thing til the next morning when he's absolutely going to get prodded at by a curious soulmate.]

[He will take a while to steel himself to go out and at least see what he's dealing with. Fortunately for him when he does leave his tent Fatma has some food to put in his hands more kindly than he ever expected. After he eats sitting down out of the way, making eye contact with some curious kids, he retreats back to his tent, feeling both silly like a skittish rabbit and also really wary and nervous and exceedingly alone.

For all that he doesn't actually sleep too badly, in the dead man's tent, the exhaustion of the day dragging him down so he wakes up a little later than the camp in general.]

[Gaius is up bright and early, and no amount of doctor's worries can keep him from getting out of bed and trying to be useful. Normally he'd be fine with resting, if it was the reasonable thing to do, but since the war broke out he's been less and less able to sit still. Everything he does or doesn't do feels like it could save or kill someone else, so he wants to be helping at all times.

There's only so much one can do with an arm in a sling, but he's carried a few things and brushed some horses and smells thoroughly of dirty sweaty country boy by the time he peeks into Jusis' tent.

He's really not sure what his dad is trying to accomplish here, but he can't stop the strangely urgent need to get another look at the man who's thrown an unexpected wrench in his life.

But he's also polite, so he brought bread and cheese and a covered pot of tea in a heavy sack. He's strong. He can carry it with one arm.]

Good morning.

[At least Jusis is more comfortable with sweaty horsey farm hand smell than most nobles, Lambert aside. He still feels caught off guard, sitting up and running a hand through his mussed bedhair as the man from yesterday comes in looking like he's been up and useful for hours. It makes Jusis feel kind of lazy.

Actually everything about these northerners makes him feel inadequate in general and this one in particular makes him feel like a soft pampered noble even though he's muscled and lean from a fairly active martial life and even more active horse riding routine. But he'd have to do a lot more to achieve arms like THAT and no amount of working out save a divine miracle would grant him the height.

He's really not used to feeling puny, he's not actually puny, but the lithe warrior in front of him up close and not across a sword and spear is somehow even more intimidating.

He's not going to dwell on the fact that that might just be because he's absolutely gorgeous.

There are plenty of other awkward things to occupy all his time anyway, and he gets up to instinctively offer to take the sack from Mr. Muscles, the man is injured, should he really be carrying things?]

Let me hold that.

[And then he realizes, right, he does... Know how to be polite. Adding as a sort of afterthought:]

Good morning.

[He lets Jusis take the sack, chuckling at the awkward attempt at being nice. He's not sure why, considering how they met, but all Gaius can think of looking at Jusis is that he's cute.

They just met, they were trying to kill eachother less than a day ago, but it feels like he's known this man forever.]

Thanks for the help. I guess I shouldn't be surprised you look so tired.

I'm surprised you don't.

[He's careful, taking the sack, not to touch Gaius. He's somewhat worried about another of those strange shocks. Still, he sets the sack and its unknown contents down gently, trying not to stare at Gaius's arms or like be otherwise more awkward.]

I didn't catch your name, yesterday.

[Does he not look tired? (He doesn't. He just looks fresh faced and unfairly handsome.) He feels tired, that's for sure.]

It's Gaius. And yours? I was told you're staying, but that's all Dad would give me.

[Why does his father want him to hang around this stranger? Why does he want to? It's odd, but rather than voicing those questions he just sits down on a cushion to unpack breakfast.]

[Lacan said to be careful introducing himself but Gaius called the man dad so it probably can't hurt to say his whole name.]

Jusis Albarea.

[Jusis is as confused by Gaius's dad as Gaius is. But he sits across from him, feeling kind of scruffy and in need of a bath. He's just in his shirt and trousers, he abandoned his armor nearly in a corner. It's not as if it'll help him to wear it here.

Instead he's watching Gaius with deep curiosity. He's trying not to be too openly fascinated but he has so many questions and he's not sure Gaius has any of the answers. Well, not to the really pressing ones, like why couldn't we kill each other or why are you so attractive. He'll start with something easier.]

Where do I get a bath, here?

Albarea, huh... Well, it's nice to meet you properly.

[He'll do his best to be openminded. He'd rather a friend than an enemy any day, that much is for sure.

In the name of peace, he hands Jusis a bit of flatbread and a hunk of sheep cheese.]

You'll have to bathe in the river, of course. Where else?

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