The change came over the Knight immediately.

Tenth, so lost and unsure yet desperate to prove something himself, who had just been sat beside him at the fireside, was gone. It was exactly the same as what had happened back at the castle when Liraeth had first noticed the Geas. His posture changed, stiffened to become rigid, the blank glassy stare settled into his eyes as the light faded from them.

Liraeth had hoped that he had been wrong, or that perhaps Tenth possessed hidden reserves of willpower and fortitude that would let him resist the dark magic that shackled him into servitude. But as Tenth's hand stretched out before him closer to the flames, he knew that the Knight had succumb to the spell once more.

"Tenth... that's enough," he sighed as he looked on dejectedly. But Liraeth's words did not seem to have any affect on the Knight, who's hand only drew closer and closer to the fire.

"Tenth, you can stop now," he tried again this time more forcefully more urgently, glancing up quickly to look at Tenth's eyes once more to make sure he was still under the influence of the spell, and this wasn't some kind of tasteless prank or joke. The Knight was just vacantly staring at the flames as he continued to reach out towards them.

It should be working. Liraeth was giving him a command, why wasn't he responding?! Panic began to course his veins. He lent forward to try and grab at Tenth's arm to stop him from putting his hand in the fire but the Knight was much stronger than he was and easily broke free of Liraeth's grasp, brushing him off as if he was a leaf.

He was holding it directly in the flames now.

"Tenth! Stop!" Liraeth was yelling now, reaching inside of himself to call up some power in order to deal with this, either by effecting the spell directly or, or perhaps he could just put the fire out. Tenth made no sign of removing his hand from the fire. Oh gods, he could smell it, he could smell Tenth's hand burning!

"TENTH! I ORDER YOU TO TAKE YOUR HAND OUT OF THE FIRE!"

Slowly, oh so slowly, the Knight withdrew his hand from the flames. The stench of burnt hair and singed skin lingered still as Tenth went to cradle the hand. Liraeth could only watch in silent horror as he rose expressionless to cool his burns off in the river.

This was his fault.

He should never have agreed to do this. Never should have given that order. Liraeth already had a good understanding on how delicate Tenth had seemed after everything he had gone through back at the hellscape of the destroyed castle in had found him in, had he truly needed confirmation of how bad this curse was? He should have just helped Tenth lift he curse without demonstrating it, or found something safe that would not have harmed the Knight if he had carried out the order. It was foolish, he was stupid, stupid fool!

There was reckless streak in him, it got people hurt. He should know that by now.

As Liraeth finished his recriminations, tears welling at the corners of his eyes for the hurt that he had caused and the shame he felt for causing it, the Knight returned to the fireside. He sat down heavily, at first Liraeth thought perhaps he was angry with him for not being to stop what had happened sooner, angry for giving an order to him like that in the first place even. Cautiously, he said the Knight's name.

"Tenth?" The figure did not respond, only silently raise his head.

When their eyes met Liraeth beheld with renewed horror that the spell was yet to release Tenth. The Knight was looking at him without seeing, staring right through him into the dark beyond. That same dull dead expression. Suddenly there was a flash of recognition in his dark brown eyes, they lit up for a moment with something more than blank obedience. Tenth let out a low whining noise, and then the light faded from his eyes again as the curse took hold once more.

Liraeth scrambled across the dirt and grass to be by the Knight's side. He knelt down in front of him and took the side of his face in his hand, holding it close to stare directly into his eyes, searching for any further sign that the Knight was still in there somewhere.

"Tenth, I am so sorry. I should never have done that. You're going to be okay, I promise. Please... just, come back here... please. I won't do anything to hurt you again, ever, I promise. Please... just come back."

For a long, tense moment all Tenth could do was stare. Then, slowly, so slowly it would have been painful had he had the energy to feel impatient, he blinked once, twice, the fog clearing slightly, letting him gradually discern a familiar shape in front of him and the warmth of a hand on his cheek. There was sound, too - muffled noise he struggled to make sense of, eyebrows knit in concentration. It felt a lot like coming up from underwater, counting every sharp, ragged breath, every brush of wind against the skin, every opportunity to open his eyes to something other than the oppressive, insurmountable depths. Water always frightened him.

He leaned into the touch without realizing it. Liraeth's hand was gentle, he couldn't remember the last time he was subject to such kindness, though in the moment getting pinched or slapped would likely get his attention faster. Yet another testament to the fact Liraeth not only spoke kindly but meant his every word, too. He truly needed nothing of Tenth but for him to be alive and well. It was... confusing, but in a different way that clashed with the stifling power of the curse.

Tenth tried his voice again. "I..."

Immediately, his thoughts were a tangled mess, having him struggle for words he couldn't quite find. Liraeth was apologizing to him for gods know what. He couldn't have that. He had to say something, even if everything still felt like a fever dream he'd wake up from to the sight of his castle still in ruins and himself still trapped in a heartless armor suit - he had to be there, by the campfire, keeping Liraeth company, foolishly hoping that was enough.

"...asked you to do that... so it's... fine," he managed to get out, voice still too flat and distant, pauses still too long. At least his burned hand began to hurt - a welcome reminder of the fact that at if everything else seemed fake, at least the injury was real.

Unthinkingly, he reached forward, dropping his head on Liraeth's shoulder, wrapping his arms around the man's torso, holding onto him like he was an anchor, though even in his muddled state he'd let go if Liraeth were to bat his hands away. The wool of the mage's tunic was pleasantly soft under the knight's cheek.

He didn't cry. Would have, had he known how, but no matter how far he reached, he could find no memory of himself ever shedding a tear. So he simply shut his eyes, evened his breaths and suppressed the shaking of his shoulders as best he could, and waited for the effects of the curse to pass.

When he finally pull back, his expression was full of fear and surprise, like he's only just realized what exactly he was doing. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I don't know why I..." he stammered, biting the inside of his cheek as he remembered Liraeth's earlier request not to apologize. A request. Not an order. Gods, not another order. It left him so exhausted, he was barely keeping his eyes open.

His gaze drifted towards his burned hand, and he quickly dismissed it as nothing serious, barely worth worrying about.

"Thank you," he said to Liraeth, and meant it. "If you hadn't stopped me, I would've lost it."

Liraeth let the weight of the Knight settle onto him as Tenth laid his head upon his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him. The other man was heavy, like a leaden weight, he almost felt sure that if Tenth was to fully lean on him he would not be able to support them, that his strength would fail him and they would both collapse there into the dirt by the fireside. But that did not come to pass, not now, at least.

He had been so worried, so afraid, that he had done something terrible again. That by giving that order, pushing Tenth to demonstrate or confront the curse laid upon him, he had caused some irreparable harm to this quiet and gentle Knight he felt such a sense of responsibility and care for, though he had known him but a day. That he used a spell that had banished someone's personhood fully and finally, condemning them to be nothing more than a hollow husk, an empty shell of the person they had once been. It had terrified him.

But Tenth was not gone, he had slowly returned from wherever it was the spell sent him when it took control of his body. He had seen the fog lift from his eyes, seen the light return to them, heard him speak once more like a living, thinking being, and then this, this most of all proved that the Knight was still a person, what need did an automaton have for the comfort of human touch?

Slowly, he closed the embrace around Tenth, wrapping one arm around the Knight's back, placing the other gently upon the back of his head in quiet comfort. They held there for a while, the silence only broken by the babble of the brook and crackle of the fire. They breathed together, and a sense of peace and calm flooded through Liraeth.

Eventually, the Knight pulled away from him, Liraeth released his hold and let him do so. The weight lifted off of him like someone pulling back the heavy covers and quilts of winter bed. Heavy, but warm, pleasant even. It had been nice to hold someone again, it had been a while since he had the opportunity to do so, he had been a stranger to most of the places he had passed through on this journey.

Who even knew how long it had been since Tenth had shared a moment of comfort such as this? That was why he cut off the stammered apology that the Knight was forming as he fully pulled back.

"No! It's fine! Really, the least I could do after everything..." He looked down at Tenth's burned hand, it wasn't terrible, but it could have been so much worse had he not found a way to countermand the order he had given. A thought suddenly came to him and he began to rummage through his satchel looking for something. After a few moments he retrieved a small stoppered jar.

"Here! Calendula and lavender salve! It's good for burns. I can apply it if you want? There's no true magic about it, only a little herbcraft but it should be effec-" He could smell something burning still. A quick glance at the fire showed him one of the skewered mushrooms had caught aflame. He swore under his breath and quickly set about trying to rescue what remained of the cooked part of their evening meal.

Once he had done, they each had a heel of bread with some of the hard white cheese he had bought in the last proper village he had passed through, along with a pile of only lightly charred mushrooms. It was not a feast, but after the trials and tribulations of the day that had preceded it, it was welcomed sustenance. He needed it, Liraeth felt tired, but the exhaustion was plain to see on Tenth's face, he was barely keeping his eyes open.

"You should eat something, then rest if you want, I can take the first watch."

The mushrooms catching fire drew a surprised gasp out of Tenth. He sat up straight, ready to help but unsure how, and watched Liraeth for a few moments as the man struggled to save his attempt at dinner. It was strange, watching someone else work while Tenth’s own hands were free and no orders came his way. Then, when the meal was rescued and his companion went about preparing the rest of the meal, it was almost pleasant, the idleness comforting rather than concerning.

He carefully set the stoppered jar of medicine aside and ate, not because he was ordered to but because he liked the sound of Liraeth’s gentle suggestion. Hunger has been planting seeds of pain in his stomach for a while now. It might have been crossing a line, accepting the other man’s generosity so readily, eating from his own supplies, what he cooked with his own hands. But Tenth needed energy, even if the thought of what he may soon be using that energy for sent a shiver down his spine.

He chewed on a mushroom, suddenly surprised by how hot it was in his mouth. It tasted earthy and slightly bitter, gentle notes matching subtle scents. It… tasted.

Tenth ate quickly, as was his habit, but a shy grin blossomed on his face as he marveled at the variety of flavors. He liked the bread most of all, as it lacked both the distracting bitterness of campfire heat and the slight saltiness that served to keep the cheese fresh. He knew foods – understood them in a practical way, storage, maintaining supply, even a few recipes – but he couldn’t remember anything ever tasting so perfect that he’d finish his portion and secretly wish for seconds.

Then he asked Liraeth to apply medicine to his burned hand, like the man had said he would.

That was surely a transgression, but, his belly full and his eyelids heavy, Tenth hasn’t found the energy to care. He picked up the salve-filled jar, passed it to the mage in the way of a polite request, and held his palm open for as long as it took. Then, holding the hand close to his chest so he wouldn’t accidentally move it in a way that would graze the burn, he lay on his back, shut his eyes, and slept, trusting Liraeth to wake him at midnight, or whenever he wished for it to be Tenth’s turn to keep watch.

He slept poorly. All sorts of things roused him. Once, the moonlight was so bright he had to hide his face in the crook of his elbow. Then the stream was too loud again, making him wince even before his eyes opened a crack, glanced sideways at the fire, and slipped closed. Then he was cold, but there was nothing to be done but nestle closer to the flames, though he was mindful not to frighten Liraeth with another burn. Twice, his mind played tricks on him and woke him for no reason at all, when the moon was obscured by a cloud and the water in the creek ran pleasantly quiet.

When it was finally his turn to stand guard, he sat up with a start, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake off the feeling that was so disturbingly similar to the dull weightlessness that came with executing orders. He’d learn to distinguish it from sleep eventually, he was sure, but it’d take time. All he could do for now was let out a resigned sigh and thank fate that a cold gust of wind cleared his head quicker than panic took hold of his heart.

He was tense at first, looking around sharply, straining his ears for sounds of approaching footsteps. Soon, though, it became clear to him that “keeping watch” in this woods on such a bright night amounted to little more than tossing a dry twig into the fire every now and then. So he sat back, crossing his legs, making himself a little more comfortable, and listened instead to the now peaceful stream and the trill of crickets in the distance. And the more he listened, the gentler the sounds became, as though his ears slowly but surely got used to the unfamiliar but harmless noise.

He didn’t know if Liraeth expected to be woken up at dawn. He had no time to think about such things, and no choice in the matter – a small feathered flock just above their little camp started up a performance once the sunlight was bright enough to pierce through the morning fog. Tenth’s eyes widened as he listened to the birdsong – a cacophony, really, but he had nothing to compare it to but the melody Liraeth hummed the evening prior, and they were nothing alike. The mage would wake up to find him sitting straight, still with his legs crossed, his hands clasped over his knees, with his face to the tree crowns, where the noisy little creatures hid their nests.

Night passed uneventfully. After everything that had happened that day, Liraeth had almost expected something more to occur, that the trials and tribulations they had faced would continue. But it was not the case.

They ate the small meal that Liraeth had prepared, the mushrooms not quite charred beyond recognition were still somehow palatable, he was relieved to discover. After that he had applied the burn ointment to Tenth's hand before the other man had laid down on his back and fallen asleep. Liraeth almost wished he could lie down beside him and do the same, but it was wise to stand a watch in this forest still. There might have been other denizens of the ruined castle that fled into these woods less agreeable in nature than his current companion.

So he kept the watch, his back propped up against the nearest tree to the fire. Whenever the flames got too low he tossed another log onto the it, eking out a little pool of warm light against the cold night that pressed in around them. The moon was high overhead and bright, save for when the odd wandering cloud crossed its path. The stream beside them kept up its babble through the night, its rhythm punctuated by the odd call of the owl or fox in the woods beyond.

Sometimes Liraeth would find his eyes lingering over the sleeping form of Tenth, his rest seemed fitful, he tossed and turned near continuously that night. Liraeth had hoped that sleep might be a welcome reprieve for the Knight who's waking world held such horrors that had been inflicted on him. He had hoped that unconsciousness would be healing balm to his damaged mind, just as the salve had been for his burned hand. It did not seem to be the case.

He wondered if Tenth could dream of things he could not remember, of his life before he had been cursed and his will taken from him, or of what had truly happened back there at the castle. Although would that be a dream or a nightmare? Liraeth knew that sometimes memories or versions of memories, iterations, recursions, could surface unbidden in the unconscious mind. It was perhaps especially true for traumatic ones, Liraeth had experience enough with that himself.

But the Knight did not call or cry out in his sleep. Merely continue his fitful slumber, gradually drawing closer to the fire as the night wore on. So perhaps he was getting some reprieve from the horrors after all, and for that Liraeth was glad, and so let the Knight sleep for as long as he could. It was the least he could do considering his own hand in causing Tenth suffering his evening.

Besides the watch, there was one other piece of business that Liraeth still had to attend to, he had neglected to contact his superiors for too long. The council would be desiring of a report now that he had arrived at his destination.

He rose for his seat amongst the tree roots, stretching his tired and aching limbs as he did so, and made his way to the bank of the river. Amongst the sand and shingle of the bank, small still eddying pools of water formed away from the main flow of the stream. Above him the moonlight was bright silver, shining down onto the still water it was almost reflective, like a mirror.

This would serve his purpose well enough.

Liraeth let his power flow through him. He mumurred the words of a spell as his fingers traced softly over the surface of water, faintly glowing streaks left in their wake as he traced runes of seeing, runes of speaking, runes that would seek, and runes that would find.

Suddenly the reflection in the water was not of his own face staring back at him, and night sky above, but somewhere else, very far away, a room that he knew well. The light of the moon touched this riverbank, and that same light touched many other far aways places too. Where that light was reflected back at itself, a conduit of light itself could be formed.

His fingers traced words in the common tongue now, not runes of power. But their rippling wake still left a faint glowing mark on the surface of the water, and on a mirror, in a study, in a city far far away.

'Master, I arrived too late, another dead end, only destruction and ruins, although there was a survivor. I return to the Conclave to receive your guidance.'

When he was finished he let the spell drop away. The luminous writing on the surface of the water faded, and the reflection it held was once more just the moonlit sky above. Liraeth felt fatigue sweep over him, he had cast a number of spells this day and required rest himself. Slowly, he dragged himself back over to his perch by the fireside and Tenth's sleeping form.

He probably should have woken the Knight then to take his watch and gotten some sleep himself, but Liraeth fought the call of sleep for hour or so longer, until his eyelids were drooping and he was half awake himself. Only then did he allow himself to gently wake Tenth for the second watch and fall into merciful arms of oblivion himself, content in the dreamless slumber of exhaustion.



It was a little past dawn when he blearily awoke to the sound of birdsong. At first he rolled over in an attempt to shut out the sound, closed his eyes against the bright sunlight that streamed down through the tree branches above. But then he knocked against a tree root and suddenly remembered exactly where he was, and what he was doing, and who he was with.

Suddenly, Liraeth sat bolt upright, his head turning from side to side to look around quickly, sending the dangling pendants of earrings swinging as he pushed his hair back from his face.

He had been worried then, that something had happened, that Tenth might have disappeared while he was sleeping, wandered off into the forest or worse. But the Knight was still there in their little camp sitting with his legs crossed, his hands clasped over his knees, his face turned away from where Liraeth slept to where the cacophony of the dawn chorus rose from the forest beyond.

At once his posture relaxed, he allowed himself to lie back against the trunk of the tree once more. But sleep would not return to him now, so instead he stood and stretched, stirred the smouldering embers of the fire. From his pack he pulled a pair of apples. Biting into one of them he walked over to where Tenth was sat watching the forest and offered him the other.

"Good morning Tenth, how are you feeling?"