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When concerning discussions of freedom, whether personal freedom, religious, or political, a singular question always presented itself, no matter the origins of the conversation. What price must one pay to obtain their desired freedom? For no matter what one desires, when it comes to freedom, true and liberated freedom, a price must always be paid, a sacrifice to be made. This much was especially true for Rhona. Long had she suffered under the heavy hands of her former master. Five nights had passed since her escape from the realm of the Abyssal Empire, the world beneath the surface, an escape embroidered with traversing the dangerous caverns until she emerged to the world above. As the single stroke of luck would have it, Rhona had exited via an old mining system. There, she was greeted by the brilliant sight of starlight, and the moon, a heavenly sight compared to the damp darkness of the Underempire. Tears of joy had streamed down her face, so moved that she fell to her knees, and wept, openly without fear of consequence for the first time in decades.

Over the course of the next three days, Rhona stumbled through the wilderness, scavenging for food and drinking from puddles. Her stomach ached viciously for sustenance, and kept her in a near state of delirium. Again her luck would change as she came upon a well traveled road alongside a mighty flowing river, here the trees were in bloom. She followed the road north, until a bustling city came into view. She stepped off the main road, not wanting to be seen. From the cover of bushes and shrubs, her dark green eyes surveyed the city, there was a great wooden sign that boasted the words, Greybridge, though to her illiterate eyes it was only fanciful markings. She had vaguely recalled what the dwellings of the surface looked like, so long had she spent her time underground. Here, she could see the hustle and bustle of the denizens, curiously, she noticed an influx of people arriving in the city in oxcarts, piled high with their valuables. There were far too many people arriving for it to be a mere marketday. She decided to brave the road, and slipped into the city, so great were the masses of people, that no one paid her any attention.

As Rhona navigated through the city, her tattered cloak concealed her features in shadows, she was careful to conceal her hands, the folds of the cloak falling around her in a woolen embrace. Greybridge sat perched alongside the same flowing river she had seen earlier. Near the riverfront were squalid homes made of daub, wattle and wicker. Farther into the city was a row of townhomes and manors, the homes of the merchants and upper class. For a few hours, Rhona navigated the streets, the soles of her boots slapped quietly against the cobblestone path. She was growing hungry, and knew she needed to eat soon, she had gone far too long without food. Circling back to the market square, Rhona lingered in the alleyways, watching, surveying, taking special interest in the food vendors, her eyes lingering on the butcher, fruit, and baker stalls alike. Her mouth watered, salivating heavily as she watched people flock to them, freshly baked bread, salted meat, shiny red apples, all of it looked inviting.

Desperation, the causation for foolish mistakes. Desperation, the price of her freedom. She stepped forward from the shadows of the alleyway, and wove in and out of the throngs of people. With quick, practiced ease, Rhona plucked an apple from the fruit vendor who was far too preoccupied with filling a basket of grapes, plums, and pears for one patron. One, red shiny apple acquired. Slinking by the butcher’s table, she watched as the rotund man cut down a cow carcass, showing a potential patron the quality of the meat with the marbling of fat. He was distracted. She moved deftly, her hand snaking out to steal a string of cooked sausages. However, just as she pivoted on the heel of her boot, Rhona stumbled, dropping both the sausages and the apple.

“Thief!”

She had been discovered.

At the cry echoing within the market square, the clanking of metal armor filled the air. Guards. Panic filled her, and in the blink of an eye, Rhona bolted, shoving aside anyone who dared get in her way.

“Stop! Someone, stop that thief!”

The cries of the guardsmen echoed through the air, drawing attention of those whom she sprinted past. Adrenaline was a long-term companion of Rhona’s, the notion of being caught pushed her on ahead, where she sprang over crates, vaulted over towering oxcarts piled high with wares and valuables alike. Without knowing the layout of the city, Rhona was running blind, following the curve of the cobblestone road. She spared one glance backwards, and was surprised to see that she had put a considerable distance between her and the guards.

WHAM!

“Ah!” Rhona cried out as she slammed into a wall. No… not a wall, a person. She glanced up at the person, her dark green eyes filling with fear and trepidation. This would be her undoing, this was the price she had to pay for her fleeting freedom, freedom that was short lived. She was certain of it.

Honor, duty, and a pinch of curiosity. Without all three driving him forward, it was difficult to tell if he would have traveled so far north. Beyond the Seas of Swords and the Corsair Strait, passed the Land of Dead Gods and the Ruby Coast, traversing the waters of Leth Arian and the expanse of the western sea, he traveled without second thought on what lay before him and the miles left behind. Like the inexorability of gravity and the surety of stone, the monk pushed forward, beyond the Blackwood and Vrettonia, shining silver and gold like in the tales, and at the foot of the peaks of the Dragonback, he knelt at Malgrim's Tomb and paid tribute to his old friend, laying the Amulet of the Patriarchs within the sarcophagi, and he prayed to the Einjar and the Evergod above for their favor and blessing to the dead. He then sealed the stone mausoleum behind a door of bronze, with one great heave of his iron muscles. Only then did he think of where he was, and how long it would take for him to truly go back home.

The land was wintry and wet, though it was close to spring by the talk of the townsfolk he had passed by. The wind chilled him, and the sky wailed like a maiden in the throes of childbirth. He realized he missed the sun and the heat, the waterways that shattered the land and revealed hidden secrets of civilizations long passed. It would be some months before he would find his way back to the Black Delta, and that was if he was in a hurry. But truthfully, he was in no hurry. He merely meandered south now, doing his best to make ends meet. He helped an inn keeper with a few tasks of manual labor for a night spent out of the rain. He helped a woman and her children, refugees of a new war, down the road by acting as the beast of burden for their wagon. The children sang songs and giggled at him singing with them, when he recognized the words. He even saved a man from three bandits who had wanted to relieve him of his life and his money. One night, the monk had seen the yellow eyes of a wolf watching him, before it padded away as if it had never been. It had been an interesting two weeks, to say the least.

But now, after taking a small ferry ride downstream on the river they called the Heathric, Beren had made it to the baroque and towering city of Greybridge. It was the first large city he had ever entered in Northern Torek, save Port Nyrothlenaen on his way in. The architecture reminded him of dwarven work almost, grim and regal in countenance. Not as fine quality, of course, but it matched the colder climes and ancient history of the area. But the streets were packed, and the peasants that had been tilling the fields had flocked to the inner walls for protection or access to the other side of the great river. Beren had just been looking to resupply and travel further downstream, but the prices had gone up, and the market was filled with as many lost serfs and beggars as desperate individuals looking for food.

He wore a grey cloak over his broad shoulders, his trousers baggy but sturdy, and his torso was hugged by a crimson top over a dark blue undershirt. He wore no hat, his thick dark hair was shelter enough in all but the harshest rain. He stood there, hands on his hips, contemplating where to go, before he felt something solid ram right into the small of his back. Beren blinked, suddenly feeling very guilty.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he breathed, turning around to see a hooded figure clutching at her cloak. He could immediately tell it was a woman by her build, and the pretty green eyes that met his brown-eyed gaze. But he didn't catch her face well. Her skin looked as dark as dark iron, but the day was overcast and it could have easily been the shadow of her hood. Either way, he knelt a bit to check if she was harmed. "Are you alright?"

"Thief! Thief!"

The cries came from the milling crowd, arming swords waving in the air to part the throng of locals and refugees that wisely wanted nothing to do with any sort of illegal activity. Beren opened his mouth, his mind whirring to what was happening. For a second he was about to pull the woman out of the way of the guards, assuming she couldn't be the one they were after. But then his mind caught up with him, the cloak, the running, maybe he had stopped a thief? He tensed.

"I'm just hungry," She said in desperation, clutching something to her breast. The words cut into his heart like daggers, and he made his mind up without another moment's hesitation. All the downtrodden he had seen on the road, all of the refugees today, he had to help. He wouldn't realize it later, but the fact the voice was attractive likely had something to do with it, admittedly. He pulled her behind him and whispered 'play along.'

The watchmen nearly stumbled into Beren like the woman had, the men burly with calluses, but not nearly as imposing as the monk if they didn't have on armor and swords, wild eyes glaring at him from under iron helms. "Out of our way! That bitch stole from-" The front man waved his sword about, nearly hitting a curious bystander. Beren caught his wrist in an iron grip.

"Officers, please, this is a big misunderstanding," Beren laughed, producing a golden crown out of his pocket. "I told her to get me a sample from the marketplace, but she forgot the coin. It's my fault really, but when the tradesmen yelled at her she ran right back to me. She's skittish like that, but I should have been there. Here..." Beren let go of his wrist and flicked the coin deftly in the same instant. The man's eyes followed the gold greedily, forgetting the trouble for the moment and trying to catch it. Instead, it hit the ground and rolled between his feet. "This is so embarrassing, honestly. I hope you can forgive us..."

As Beren spoke those last words, he took the woman by the hand and led her away into the crowd, the watchmen now scrambling for the coin. A voice shouted 'hey!' and it echoed, but more bickering erupted, and soon the onlookers covered the square so thickly, the guards were lost within the tides of bodies. Another few moments, and Beren gently pulled the woman into the alleyway, before peering out once more to make sure there was no pursuit.

"Well, I'll miss the money, but it went to a good cause." He reasoned aloud, and then turned back to her, his smile warm. "I'm sorry, I hope you're ok."

---

Rhona could hardly believe her luck at this point in time, just when she had thought it had run out, here was this… man before her. Her dark green eyes, the shade of an evergreen gazed back at him. Everything had happened so fast that she was still coming to terms. He… had helped her, and even more so, he covered for her when the guards had approached. Her slender brows knitted together then as her gaze intensified. She didn’t recognize him as one of the Nightguard that her master had kept, not unless he hired him, but that didn’t seem entirely plausible. What were the chances that she would have met a potential scout to return her?

Rhona cleared her throat then, and then promptly bowed at the waist, a formal half bow, “T-thank you. I… I would stay, but I really must go.” She turned to leave, sparing him one last curious glance.

“Maybe I could help?” He asked, reaching out to her, before pulling his hand back. The words had been pulled from his mouth before he even realized, but she had seemed undeniably forlorn, and it did not sit right with him to just toss her away without the offer. But he wouldn’t push for it too strongly. He shook his head, feeling as if he needed to make an excuse for himself, as if her green eyes could cut through the heart of him. “I guess I just know what it’s like to be in a strange place, alone…” He said with a shrug.

He did not know what kind of help he could be, he realized. As he just admitted, he was not a local to the city either. Hells, he wasn’t even a local of the continent.

His words gave her pause, and after they had died away, she turned slowly to gaze back at him, quirking a brow.

“You would… help?” The notion of receiving help did not settle with her easily. She had been on her own for the better part of two decades, if one could say that, or at least in strange places. It was a feeling that she knew well, one that his words made her mull over with great consideration.

Given the situation, Rhona felt as if she didn’t have a choice. She was hungry. Footsore, and travel weary on top of that. She hadn’t slept in the past two days, and bordered on near collapse.

“Should I… take your aid, if one may call it that… w-what would you ask in return? I have no gold to offer you,” She said, shifting uneasily from one foot to the next.

Beren looked at her, his eyes keen for a human’s. He could tell she wished to hide her visage, but he was unsure why. He felt she must truly be without trust or companionship at all, and when she spoke he knew it to be true. Her words held naked suspicion and unapologetic unsurety. Not the sly, knowing suspicion of a cutthroat or a normal city thief.

In all honesty, he was somewhat lost himself. He had no real idea where he was, but he did know of an inn down the street, at least, and if he could not leave Greybridge today, there was good a place as any to stay the night. He spoke softly, so as not to alarm her.

“I want nothing in return, save maybe a little company?” He added, a light suggestion. While the concept of her being granted aid might be foreign to her, he wondered if he could make her understand, and said aloud: “Have you never wished to help someone before?”

She lowered her gaze, staring at the tops of her worn boots, two sizes too big. Everything in her nature told her not to trust him. Anyone offering help always had an ulterior motive, in her experience. And yet… he had helped her selflessly when she had made the desperate choice to steal food, and even went so far as to deter the guards.

Rhona couldn’t answer his question, not right at this moment. With a deep breath, Rhona reached up, her slender fingers tugging down the hood of her cloak. Her gaze met his then as she waited, holding her breath for a few moments. Sunlight filtered down over the rooftops and into the alleyway, shedding light over her.

While she was a dark elf, her complexion was lighter, a smokey grey with a curious rose undertone. Across her right cheek was an aged scar that spiderwebbed over her cheek, and tapered off at the bridge of her nose. Her hair was a different matter altogether, evoking the image of freshly spilled blood. Her hair was pulled back in a set of twin braids, with a few strands framing her face. Overall, Rhona looked… timid.

“Do you still wish to help me?” Her voice came out tiny, and incredibly small, her gaze focused on him.

Beren flinched, not expecting that at all. A part of his mind told him to take out his axe, to move before he was killed by some foul sorcery. He knew better than most the cruelty of the dark elves. But it was all wrong. If she had wanted to lure him anywhere, she wouldn’t have introduced herself in such a way. After his first thought, his second thought sent blood rushing to his face.

Pretty girl…

He took a breath, trying to suppress his untoward thoughts and his body’s reaction. She was exotic, beautiful even! His heart thumped, audible in his ears. But even that was thrown out of his mind a moment later. He had been trained to live a life of discipline, and though he did not always live up to that ideal, his training helped him prioritize his thoughts and words. Beyond her dark origins, beyond the fact she was breathtaking, he could tell she was sincere. Past it all, she was just a lost soul that was hungry, and he would help her even if they sent him to the chopping block for it.

It was the right thing to do.

He smiled and gave her a bow. “It would be my honor.” He told her in all sincerity.

She exhaled in relief, and rubbed the back of her head before giving him a half smile.

“Ah, I… don’t know what to say,” she said sheepishly. She then stuck out her hand, “I’m Rhona. T-thank you for helping me back there.”

Beren gave a small laugh, glad to see her easing up. He extended his hand and shook hers gingerly. “I’m Beren, and it’s cool. Happy to make a friend.” He told her.

She donned her cloak again, enshrouding her form once again. Beren led her out of the alleyway, turning right, moving north up Gargoyle Street, hitting the intersection where men and women strolled as carts rumbled past. Beren lifted himself up on his tiptoes, growing even taller compared to Rhona as he looked over the milling crowd. “Ok there it is, c’mon,” He bade her.

Ten minutes later, Beren had procured a booth behind a curtain in the corner of the common room. Rhona waited within, and the monk had bought two glasses of clean water and two vrettonian spiced trenchers, carrying the wooden plates over and using his muscled shoulder to brush the curtain out of the way. He placed one in front of Rhona, and then the other on his side. “Sorry that took a sec,” he apologized, plopping down. “I was not sure if you would stay the day, so I purchased a room for you.”

He didn’t tell her half his coin was gone. He could always get a bit more, or sleep in a barn. He was used to travel and rough living. “If you don’t want it, I’ll use it. But if you’re here tonight, you take it.”
He shook his head, expecting her protestations. “We can talk while we eat, but the world’s rough out there. Just get some rest and we’ll call it even, ok?” He had already grabbed his trencher, lifting it to his lips and taking a large bite. A small line ran down his cheek from the juices, and he let out a soft ‘hmm’ before placing his trencher down and wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. “Sorry, don’t usually sit with someone.” He chuckled.

Rhona glanced down at the trencher on the plate before her, she could do nothing but stare at the food on her plate, salivating heavily. Her eyes flickered to Beren then, watching as how he ate. She prodded at it with a tentative finger, examining it as if it were going to come alive, satisfied that it wouldn’t, and was safe to eat. Then, awkwardly, she picked up her own trencher, and took a massive bite. She swooned then, the amount of flavor washing over her taste buds making her head dizzy.

“Mm!!” She cried in delight, and quickly downed the entire thing with a few bites. Her stomach was full, sufficiently full for the first time in… years? She was accustomed to a diet of thin gruel, or mushroom bread. She was so eager to savor the meal, she ended up licking her plate clean.

Rhona sat there for a few seconds before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “S-sorry.” She said, her face flushing with a soft pink hue.

Beren laughed in delight. “Hey, no worries. Don’t got to impress.” He said, sitting back. He began scarfing his down as well. He looked much like a wolf.

“You… bought me a room? What about you? Where will you sleep?” She asked, concern lacing her words.

It was true, Beren had been traveling quite a long way. He was tired, and wanting of a bed. But not as much as her, he knew. Greybridge was going to be a place to relax for a bit, but every traveler knew that plans changed, even if it was of their own volition. Beren was too good-hearted to let the promise of a bed keep him from helping someone in need, even if his dwarven uncles would spit on him for aiding a dark elf.

“I can sleep in the common room.” He said, nonchalant. “Or find a place in the stables. I’m used to sleeping in hay, I’ll be alright.”

She lowered her gaze then, studying the grains of the wood beneath her hands, “N-no. I couldn’t accept such an offer, not knowing that you would be in less favorable situations. If… if I may be so forward, we could at least share the room. Please.”

Rhona had a peculiar way of speaking, her tone was gentle and soothing, almost akin to the sensation of warming one’s hands after time spent outdoors in the cold.

Beren paused. It was a kind gesture, and if this was any other situation, especially with a dorcha, he could see himself being a fool to accept. After all, they were known for their cunning and their taste for blood, but…he had initiated every contact between them, and she was as sincere as one could be in the request. He ran a hand through his thick mane of black hair and sighed. “Alright, but only if you get the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” He said, a smile on his face.

She glowered, crossing her arms over her chest, “No.”

“No,” she said again. “You paid for the room, you sleep in the bed. Besides, beds are too soft for me. I will take the floor.” Any of the uncertainty that was present in her voice, had vanished immediately, a confidence to her demeanor now. Rhona gazed back at him with half lidded eyes, her brows furrowed into a straight line, and even her lips turned down into a frown.

Beren was stubborn too. It was one of his main faults, actually. It was from spending all that time with the dwarves. But she was the one he was helping, and if she preferred the floor, it was only rational and right to give both of them what they wanted, even if a part of him felt like it wasn’t right.
“Alright,” he capitulated. “As long as you’ll be comfortable, then I’ll sleep on the bed.”