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For dawn to never come again

Chapter 71: Poison, dreams and a distraction

Notes:

October. It's getting cold where I live and the weather is horrendous. Perfect for writing, but man how I loathe leaving the house...

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It really surprised Ranni, how fate was set on ruining even her smallest moments of joy with such reliable precision. One moment she was dizzy with arousal, already anticipating a night full of passion with her beloved; next moment she was hastily slipping into her tunic, to chase after some unknown foe attacking them during their intimacy. She threw a short glance towards her armor, strewn about the ground. There was no time to put it back on...

 

Anger and shame bubbling in the pit of her stomach, she clambered up the incline that led down to their camp. Whoever this person was, disturbing them, she would gleefully put an end to their existence.

 

Her white burning rage was evaporated, the moment she spotted Constantine motionless on the ground and the stranger approaching with a knife. The hands of the attacker seemed to shake, as he raised them to plunge the metal into the back of her consort.

 

“Halt!” Ranni didn't really think, doing the first thing that came to mind to stop the stranger.

 

The person raised their face, a white mask depicting a sleeping visage directed towards her. “Do not fret, I shall put an end to him.” His voice was meek and could easily be mistaken for a woman's. He was of small frame, robed in flowing cloth in a subtle lilac color, with a cloak draped over his shoulders that appeared to be made of hair.

 

Confused on what he meant with his words, she frowned. Though her head was buzzing with a million thoughts, she reminded herself to tamper her usual pattern of speech. “I seek no harm for him...”

 

Now it was the man's turn to be confused. “B-But... Did he not try to force himself onto you?”

 

Bewildered Ranni blinked a few times. “Why would you think such a thing?”

 

Slowly lowering his hands with the knife still in them, he now appeared completely lost. “Did uhm... Did you not try to push him off?”

 

Remembering how she playfully had protested against Constantine's cold armor pressing against her bare skin, she finally understood what this meek man meant. It took her a moment, to find the right words. She was mortified, the thought of this stranger watching them causing shame to flush her cheeks. “He is my husband... He most certainly did not try to have his way with me.”

 

The stranger dropped the knife – it was the one she had gifted Constantine, Ranni realized – and clutched his head in a gesture of distress. “O-o my... How reckless of m-me...” It became obvious that this man wasn't out for blood.

 

With swift steps she walked up to her husband, kneeling down besides him and carefully turning him onto his back. She almost expected the worst. To be faced with a grizzly wound... instead she was greeted by his deep and steady snoring. He was asleep. “Constantine.” She shook him, trying to rattle him awake. He didn't stir, utterly unbothered by her efforts, even when she carefully patted against his cheek. “Wake!” Glaring up at the stranger, she hissed: “What did you do?”

 

Instead of answering her question, the man seemed to panic. “I-I-I did not know! O cripes...” Nervously he clutched to one of the braids hanging from his strange looking cloak. Losing her patience, Ranni stood up and towered before him, grabbing him by the collar. “What did you do to him?!”

 

“H-He shall be fine! A short while o-of deep sleep, n-no lasting harm”, he whimpered and Ranni let go of him. Sighing with deep annoyance she pinched the bridge of her nose. The man meant well, in any other case she would commend his brave intervention. Many would look away in such a situation, rather not risk trouble. However, the lingering frustration over the disrupted tryst made it hard for her to muster patience.

 

Ah, but it was her own fault. Against her better judgment, she had allowed herself to be swept up in base urges, despite being mostly open for all kinds of ambush. Really, she should be glad that it only had been this strange man disrupting them and not someone truly out for their blood.

 

Once more, she sighed.

 

“I-I am sorry...” The stranger squirmed.

 

“It cannot be helped”, she grumbled, doing her best to tamper the bad mood. Motioning towards her snoring man, she ordered: “Help me carry him to our camp. He shall rest properly, at least.”

 

“Of c-course”, he agreed immediately. Leaning down he grabbed the Lord of Night by the ankles, while Ranni gently reached under his arms. She was strong, but she had no illusions of carrying him by herself, especially not while he was unconscious and in full plate. Though she took on most of his weight, it was the stranger wheezing after just a short distance.

 

Obviously in an effort to distract from his horrid stamina, he asked: “Does he always snore so?”

 

Well, at least she had a witness at last. She would make sure to rub that under her husband's nose, as soon as he woke. “One gets used to it. It can be quite soothing, really. Like...”, she thought of a fitting analogy, “...a purring cat.”

 

“Wherever it is you hail from, I do not wish to meet the felines there”, the meek man answered dryly and she had to chuckle.

 

Carrying Constantine down the slope towards their camp was a hassle and Ranni almost felt like just letting the unconscious man roll down... Really, her husband could count himself lucky she cared for him as much as she did, or she might actually let gravity do the heavy lifting.

 

Finally reaching the camp, they put Constantine down on his bedroll. Relieved Ranni sighed, before she noticed the sticky feeling on her right hand. Seeing it colored crimson by blood, she glared at the stranger. “You wounded him?” Immediately she looked for the source of the blood.

 

Holding his hands clutched, the stranger shifted nervously. He was aware that this situation could switch from tense to violent in a heartbeat and now that Ranni had her sword close by, he stood the risk of being slaughtered. “T-The knife I-I-I threw...” The way he started stuttering whenever terrified irritated her.

 

Clicking her tongue in annoyance and for now ignoring him, Ranni rather focused on locating the wound. While she opened the buckles and straps of the armor of her husband, she couldn't help but lament how this evening had turned out. She surely had imagined undressing her husband differently...

 

The cut sat just beneath his shoulder and wasn't severe, though it was still deep and bled more than she was comfortable with. Grumbling she turned towards the bag with supplies standing by the fire, rummaging through it until she found some clean rags. Opening her water-flask, she drenched one of the rags and used it to clean the wound. Constantine didn't react, even if it no doubt had to hurt when the somewhat rough cloth ran over his split skin.

 

While she was dressing her husband's wound, the stranger still stood somewhat removed from the fire and watched anxiously. Ranni didn't know why he wouldn't flee... Apparently he was concerned and rueful for what he did. It spoke to his good intentions for initially attacking. At least she tried to remind herself of that, when she wrapped the cloth over the wound on Constantine's chest.

 

Once he was taken care of, she sighed deeply and covered him with a blanked. She raised her eyes towards the other man. “How long might he be asleep?”

 

Almost as if startled by the sound of her voice, he flinched and once more started fondling a braid of his cape. “The so-solution I used on th-the knife was quite concentrated... it m-might take some time f-for the effect to wane...”

 

“And it will have no lasting effect on him?” She rose again, her gaze as severe as her features.

 

It only managed to make the man even more nervous. “N-n-no...” His voice was shaking so badly, she expected him to start wailing any moment. Ranni narrowed her eyes. She didn't know how much trust she could put into his words, but he also didn't strike her like a precisely cunning man. With his stutter, she doubted he'd be able to tell a convincing lie without wincing. And throwing knives that incapacitated his foes, so he'd have time to act seemed like just the strategy for such an unimpressive creature.

 

With a huff she sat back down at the fire, the hilt of her sword in perfect reach. “Sit. We might as well talk, while we wait for him to wake.” She expected the man to protest and refuse, but to her surprise he readily sat down. His motion seemed stiff, as he sat with his legs folded beneath him. This close, she was able to see his eyes through the slits of his mask. They were a strange hue of blue, almost appearing purple when the flickering light of the campfire hit them in the right angle.

 

She didn't miss his short glance towards the pot with the leftovers of their supper.

 

“My name is Thiollier”, he offered, voice small as it had been the whole time.

 

“Renna”, she replied curtly, not really interested in exchanging courtesy. The man had seen her half-naked, they were far past forced politeness. “Pray tell, Thiollier, is it your habit to skulk about in the night and spy on other people?”

 

“I-I did not spy on you!” Despite his stutter, he sounded quite offended. “I was minding my own business, when I... when I heard you and... uhm thought you might need help... I am no pervert...” His bravado evaporated just as quickly as it appeared, dissipating into shameful mumbling. At least he had the decency to be ashamed... Ranni found little comfort in that, considering her own cheeks were burning and embarrassment wound hotly in her guts.

 

She missed her wide-brimmed hat. It had been so easy, hiding her features when she felt like they became too telling of her inner turmoil. Even back in her doll-body, where most reactions to embarrassment were only minimal, she refused to show such awkward emotions openly. Now here she sat, face red and teeth clenched. How undignified...

 

For the first time, she considered her former vessel as not so bad after all...

 

Trying to diverge from the overall horribly awkward situation at hand, she mumbled: “What solution did you use?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“On the throwing knife. You said you used a concentrated solution on them. Of what nature was it?”

 

“Ahh”, Thiollier nodded, folding his hands over his lap, “it's a decoction of Trina's lilies, the petals full of a potent poison that manages to coax even the mightiest dragon to slumber.”

 

Ranni knew of the sleeping powders some perfumers used to extract from the purple lilies, growing in places where it was said that the Saint of Dreams blessed the slumbering with kind slumber. None of the powders were strong enough to incapacitate some of the more powerful warriors, let alone any beast the size of a dragon. “You know your trade, it appears.”

 

“I, uhm... I am not good at anything, really. Weak as a kitten and thick as two planks. But poison... poison I know.” A weak chuckle. “Maybe that was the reason Kindly Miquella called me here.”

 

Another of Miquella's disciples? Just how many of them were roaming the Shadow Lands? “You are far removed from the rest of your group.” Gauging his reaction – hard as it was with the mask obscuring his features – she awaited his reaction.

 

Thiollier sighed deeply. “The Great Rune... it broke. You felt it too, surely?”

 

She merely nodded, curious to see what exactly happened to the minds of those under Miquella's charm, once it was shattered. If his location was any sign, then she would dare to claim that Thiollier wasn't as faithful to the Kind as most of the congregation.

 

“Once it broke, memories returned to me... most troubling memories, not of Kindly Miquella, but of St. Trina. Her gentle love and caress... ahh, the sleep she gifts is the most tender kind of oblivion.” The man shrugged his shoulders. “Once the memories returned to me, I knew I had to search for her. My friend, kind Sir Moore, he told me that the lilies of Trina were growing aplenty here. It is a sign, that she resides close by. So I split from the group, to venture here and stand before my love.”

 

Ranni lowered her gaze and tipped with a finger against her chin, deeply lost in thought. St. Trina didn't pose a true threat, considering she only peddled dreams and deep slumber. She couldn't claim to ever have stumbled into her in the realm of her dreams... or she just might not remember doing so.

 

Still, she wondered if it was worth looking into it. The connection between one of Miquella's sheep and the saint couldn't be a coincidence...

 

Thiolliers stomach rumbled and he hastily stuttered: “I-I'm sorry...”

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

She raised an eyebrow, when he squirmed more. “When... When I left the camp, I had to do so in haste. Leda wouldn't have approved of me leaving. So... I had precious little time gathering supplies. I haven't had a bite in over two days.”

 

Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she stood up. What was it with men and not communicating properly and asking just openly when they wanted something? She poured the rest of the stew into one of their cleaned bowls and held it out for Thiollier to take. “Here.”

 

“A-Are, uhm... Are you sure? I mean after all-”

 

“Do you want it or not?” She was losing patience with this stuttering craven. Without waiting for his jittery response, she pushed the bowl and spoon into his hand.

 

House Caria prided itself in their connection with wolves. They were not considered as savage beasts, but as companions. As such, none seeking aid from a member of the house of the moon would ever be chased away. Ranni had seen more than one starved canine seeking out the manor... yet even their frenzy when finally being fed paled in comparison to the man before her scarfing down on the stew.

 

His mask simply tossed to the side, he basically shoveled the food into his mouth without any regard for tasting it. The face beneath the mask matched the overall demeanor of the man. Pale and almost delicate features, with a soft jawline and gentle eyes. There were dark rings beneath his eyes, giving him an exhausted appearance that was only magnified by his slightly messy hair.

 

Ranni cringed slightly, when she heard him chew on a piece of crab, without peeling the meat out of the shell. The sound of it crunching sent cold shivers down her spine.

 

“Goodness...” She was in both measures fascinated and repulsed.

 

Her observations were disrupted, when she noticed Constantine grumbling and stirring. Immediately she returned to his side, crouching just besides him with relief easing her mind. Despite Thiollier's words, she had been worried he might remain unconscious for a long time.

 

His eyes fluttered open and for a moment he looked utterly confused. When he noticed her, he smiled gently with his eyes sparking. “Morning.” Apparently he couldn't quite yet remember what had happened and was in the belief he just fell asleep. Amused Ranni smiled. “Morning.”

 

“You're up early.” He stretched with a yawn. Pushing himself halfway up on his elbow, he gave her a mischievous grin. “I had the most wonderful of dreams.”

 

“Yes?”, Ranni humored him, though she immediately tensed as soon as he pulled her close to himself. Usually she'd be more than fine with such affections, but not when there was someone watching.

 

Constantine was oblivious. “Ohh yes. You and me... There were a lot of sweet kisses and only few clothes. And-” He stopped, when she wound herself out of his embrace, face once more red and flustered. Now he seemed genuinely confused, her reaction bewildering. “Ranni?”

 

Clearing her throat forcefully, doing her absolute best to ignore the man sitting by the campfire probably watching all of this. She hoped he was still too occupied with his meal, to hear her real name. “What is the last thing you remember?” Her way of speaking immediately caused a deep crease on his forehead.

 

“What...” He squinted his eyes, and then... Thiollier once more crunched on a piece of crab shell. Jumping up from the bedroll, Constantine immediately spotted the stranger, huddled by the fire and a spoon of food in his mouth. Violet eyes looking up to the seething Lord of Night towering before him, he meekly offered: “Hello?”

 

A fist to the face was his response.

 

Ranni sighed deeply and stood from her crouching position. “Constantine.” Her effort to call her husband back was admittedly somewhat quiet... a few punches surely wouldn't kill the man, no matter how dainty he was.

 

“W-w-wait, I beg you!” Thiollier squealed, lips split and blood running down his chin, scrambling back. His eyes finding hers, he pleaded: “Renna! You have to help me!” The next hit spun his head to the side and brought him to the ground. A hearty kick to the stomach almost made him throw up the food he just had.

 

“Enough, Constantine.” Putting a hand to his shoulder, she finally put an end to this pummeling, before it could escalate to real bloodshed. Thiollier was curled up in a ball on the ground, shaking and whimpering while clutching his belly.

 

Shaking his hand, blood smeared on the knuckles, he looked at her with clear displeasure. “Why? That bastard attacked us, I should repay the favor with a few new openings to his body.” At least he was willing to hear the whole story, before acting on his words.

 

“A misunderstanding”, she explained. “He was in the belief you were trying to... force yourself onto me. His approach was in an effort to safe me.”

 

Color rose to his cheeks, the blush not caused by anger. “He- He watched us...” Though by far not as easily flustered anymore, Constantine still was mortified by the prospect of their intimacy being not as private as they believed. “And why would he think I forced myself onto you?” The last sentence was spoken with a hint of indignation, the accusation clearly hitting him hard.

 

“My protest against your armor... It might have seemed a little too convincing.” Gently taking his hand, she did her best to calm him down. “He meant well, dearest.”

 

Glaring for a moment longer at the stranger, he then huffed. “And why would he not first try talking?”

 

She raised an eyebrow. “Would you have done that?”

 

Displeased by her quick rebuttal, he pursed his lips. “Fine.” He was all but fine. Clearly the whole situation was more than agitating to him, judging by his flippant answers and furrowed brow. Making no efforts to help the still cowering Thiollier back to his feet, he sat down by the fire. When his eyes fell on the empty pot, he grumbled under his breath: “Even our damned food...”

 

Having no patience for the childish behavior of her husband, Ranni approached Thiollier and asked: “Are you well?”

 

“Do I look like it?!”, he whimpered shrilly in response, looking up at her with his left eye already in the process of swelling shut. “This sa-savage a-almost killed me!”

 

“Be glad it was kept at almost”, Ranni reminded the stranger coolly. Though trying her best to keep the situation from turning more violent, she still felt it important to remind him that he was merely alive by the good will of them. Or rather her. Were it up to Constantine, Thiollier would be bloody pulp on his knuckles by now.

 

Apparently Thiollier came to the same conclusion, meekly nodding and wiping the blood off his lip with the sleeve of his robe. He'd have a swollen lip and black eye, but otherwise the damage was minimal. Looking at the spilled stew strewn on the floor, one could almost think he was looking at the remains of a beloved friend.

 

When Ranni sat down besides Constantine, he didn't even look at her. She sighed. With a hushed voice she reprimanded: “Don't mope.”

 

Glaring at her out of the corner of his eye, he answered also whispering: “I have every good reason. The man called me a rapist... by all means, you should've bashed his head in for me, not keep me from doing so at all.”

 

“He thought I needed help, so act he did. Doth that truly deserve such measures?” Raising her eyebrows at him, he only shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. “Maybe not... But giving him our food really was too much...”

 

Having enough of justifying her actions, her answer came curt. “I won't let a starving man go hungry, when his intentions of approaching were good. Stop acting like a petulant child, Constantine.”

 

For a moment longer he remained quiet, before he at last said: “We had such a nice evening...” He sounded truly saddened.

 

Softly and as inauspicious as possible, she took his hand and squeezed it. “And we will continue it another time. But for tonight, let us focus on different matters.” Nodding towards Thiollier, who was staring away from them, his knees pulled towards his chest, she said without whispering now: “He is a follower of Miquella. Or rather was.”

 

“You're far from the rest of your group”, Constantine sounded far less hostile, apparently genuinely trying to rein in his bad mood.

 

Immediately the stranger tensed up, once attention returned to him. “I-I can leave. Really...”

 

“He said he is in search for St. Trina”, Ranni explained in Thiollier's stead. “It is as we expected. Once Miquella's spell broke, some of his sheep lost their blind faith in him. It seems he suppresses the memories of those under his charm, making them more pliable for his own purpose that way. At least that is what he did to Thiollier here.” Her husband seemed just as intrigued by that revelation, slightly cocking his head and clearly lost in thought.

 

“I, uhm... I harbor no ill will towards Kindly Miquella. After all, it led me here. But I cannot ignore my true calling any longer; I have to seek audience with Trina. Hear her words, cradled in her sweet embrace...” Catching himself digressing, he cleared his throat loudly, a faint tint of red on his deathly pale cheeks. “Uhm... y-yes, anyways... I will no longer bother you. My only worry was to see you wake... sometimes, the poison can be a little unpredictable. Now that you are alert, I will continue on my way.” Hastily getting to his feet, he grabbed his mask and put it on. “Once again, I apologize for the... uhm... for bothering you. Thank you for the meal, Renna.”

 

“Where are you headed?”, Constantine asked and Ranni had to suppress a smile. Of course he was curious. They shouldn't bother with Trina, it was an unnecessary detour on their already painfully long way. But a being that bordered on the mythical surely woke interest, even in the most rational brain. It certainly intrigued Ranni.

 

“A deep fissure, further up south...” The words came with reluctance, as if he already feared what his answer might invite. Sure enough, Constantine looked towards his wife with that certain spark in his eyes. “Do you think it's worth looking into?”

 

“I am not opposed. If we are here already, no harm shall come from pursuing more information.” Towards the stranger, she inquired: “Will you take us with you, when you seek audience with St. Trina?”

 

Immediately Thiollier shook his head. “No-No! I am Trina's chosen, I would hate t-to put you at risk by approaching her without any precaution.” Decisive he took a step towards them. “I subjected myself to her gentle poison for all of my life. There is no possibility any of you could withstand falling into eternal slumber, once you drink of her!” It was amusing, how confident he became when it came to his Saint.

 

How much truth was behind his words was subject to doubt. Was he merely exaggerating, just to be alone with Trina, or was the poison really that potent? It was of no matter which was the truth, since Ranni was most certainly immune against the effects of the poison. There were only few tinctures actually capable of causing real damage to her. The curse of her divine blood, in some aspects revealed itself to be a blessing after all. “I am confident I will be able to handle it.”

 

Of course, they'd still have to be careful regarding Constantine. As demonstrated not even an hour ago, he was very much susceptible to the effects of the poison. Ranni didn't want to imagine what consequences it would bear, were he exposed to the poison straight from the saint of sleep... eternal sleep sounded not too abstract, all of a sudden.

 

However, Thiollier remained stubborn. “Out of the question! There are none that could claim such resilience, such as I!”

 

“Besides the demigods, perchance.” She decided it safe to play this card. The man was weak, even if he decided his remaining loyalty to Miquella was worth an attack, he'd be defeated in a heartbeat. Besides, it was too entertaining using his bad excuse to go by himself against him. Ranni didn't care for his strange fascination with the Saint of Sleep, and as soon as they'd have their answers they would leave him alone with her.

 

It took Thiollier a moment to understand the meaning behind her words and immediately he flinched and stared at her. “You...” Eyes darting towards her scarlet hair, he muttered: “Radagon's blood.”

 

It was owed to her mostly secluded style of living in her past that left many people unaware of who she was. Of course, Marika had her paraded around at the beginning. The young Empyrean, possible future god and queen. But of those that caught glimpse of her back in those days, only few remained. Unlike most of her siblings, Ranni allowed only few portraits of herself. Such vanity was below her. “You may call me Ranni the Witch.”

 

Unlike her appearance, her name was no secret lost mostly to time. “T-The Empyrean?”

 

“The Empyrean”, she nodded. “Now, surely such revelation should leave no doubt that I am more than capable of resisting the effects of the poison.”

 

“I don't.... uhm, I don't know. Maybe-”

 

“Oh just shut up and sit down. We'll go to that fissure with you, come tomorrow. Or we'll kill you now and go by ourselves. Which, if you ask me, sounds much more appealing. Just be glad Ranni is kinder than I am.” Constantine was done with this cat-and-mouse game, clearly not the type for seemingly endless arguing. Surprisingly enough, it managed to make Thiollier snap his mouth shut and slink back to his previous position.

 

When Ranni looked towards her husband with a raised eyebrow, he merely shrugged his shoulders with a smug grin. She felt foolish, revealing her identity for the sake of persuasion, if all it took was brute force.

 

While she too sat down by the fire, Constantine rummaged through a bag with supplies. He joined them by the flames, half a loaf of bread in one hand and the flask with the remaining mead they had received from Rellana in the other. He tore the bread in two, giving one to his wife.

 

Thiollier drew breath. “Could-”

 

“No”, was all Constantine said to make the stranger flinch and fall back into silence.

 

“Oh...” He sounded almost like he was close to tears.

 

With a sour expression Ranni took a bite of stale bread. What a lovely path lied ahead of them...

 

Notes:

Ranni, being the voice of reason. Wrangling her two companions is going to be fun.

Next chapter we'll descent down that damn fissure. Including the simulated Beaches of Normandy with those damn sniping stone things. I also have a small surprise planned for that chapter... but more on that when the time comes.

I wanted to have them explore St. Trina's lair before the Finger Ruins. Not only because they already bumped into Thiollier, but also because i have a path planned and it would make no sense for them to return to the fissure later on. So once more, teh main objective takes a backseat... then again, it's only par for the course of dear Constantine to get distracted by side quests.

Until next time!