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Abban came into view like a ghost from a distant memory. It felt only yesterday and simultaneously an eternity ago that he had last seen it, and Detraeus wondered if it were truly possible that it had been over a month since then — wondered if it were possible that it had been only a month since then. He felt as though everything had changed, and wondered — if he set foot back on the planks of a ship bound for Eowyn — if everything would revert so that nothing had.

Together with Ara, he stepped back through the front door of the same hostel they had entered on their first evening, and the same plump, overly spirited dovaa man looked up from his desk towards them. Upon spotting them, his wide eyes widened further and his cheeks pushed up into his face with his smile.

“Oh, well isn’t this a pleasant surprise. We meet again! Come in, come in. You two will be thrilled to hear: we have a room with two beds this time!” he said, chest puffed out proudly and fingers already scrabbling for a piece of paper.

Detraeus dropped the necessary coin to the countertop with a metallic clack. “One.”

The hostel clerk blinked, fingers pausing over the leaf of parchment in hand. “But we—”

“One,” Detraeus repeated.

“Last time you were so—”

“One.”

The hostel clerk fidgeted, flutter-tapping his fingers atop the parchment. “I’m sorry…you see, this time, we only have a room with two beds available…all the rest are taken.”

Detraeus grit his teeth and shut his eyes. “Then we will waste one.” He tapped the coins again meaningfully and then turned over his palm, holding it open. “Keys.”

The hostel clerk eyed him for several long seconds — enough time for Detraeus to narrow his lids into warning slits — then, the man laughed. “Oh, come, come, come, I’m only kidding. Of course you may have precisely the room you had last time!”

Detraeus’ shoulders squared off, stiff and unamused.

“Serious, serious, serious. He’s so serious,” the man repeated, this time directing the words at Ara. “I am sure you teach him to smile though, don’t you, mm?”

Detraeus growled, stepping between the man and his view of Ara instinctively as the other came around the counter. All he earned in response was a chuckle, a shake of the head, and a quiet tsk, tsk, tsk along with several more murmured repetitions of, “So serious, so serious…”

The instant they made it up the stairs and into the room, key in hand, Detraeus shut the door behind them and bolted it, snorting before moving towards the bed. There, he began shedding weapons like a second skin. After finishing with his boots, he dropped backwards onto to the mattress with a grunt and glanced towards Ara. Simply on looking, some of the rigidity in his posture eased, and he tilted his head.

“Tired?”

Once upon a time, Detraeus had never considered willingly laying with another. It was nothing to him but violence. Agony. Terror. Rage. Shame. Helplessness. Filth.

But then, so too had he associated a milder version of those emotional reactions with touch in general. When he had first met Araceli, he’d shirked away at a brush of the fingers or a bump to the shoulder. He’d let no one come into contact with him if he could help it. Now, over four passings of the four seasons since, and she stood before him, watching him before starting the process of drawing away her clothes.

He almost shut his eyes. Instinct demanded it. The heat crawling up his neck, into his face, and out to the tips of his ears begged it of him. His pulse still trilled uncertainly in his chest, stuttering messily against his rib cage, and his posture stiffened, but he watched anyway. He couldn’t hurt her, not from here, and his gaze — for whatever unfathomable reason — was something she invited, so surely, surely he could give that much to her.

Nonetheless, when she slipped her nightgown back over her skin, he breathed again, tension seeping back out, and his stare followed her to the bed. He still did not know if could ever bring himself to bed her. The concept alone stirred up nauseating, untraceable fears like shadows, chasing each other and devouring one another in the back corners of his mind — itches and burns buried impossibly deep under his skin — and a rooted, all encompassing dread.

But the dread was being tempered by experience, the fear sanded down around the edges ever so gradually every time Araceli guided him one step further, and his body — not wholly disassociated from his mind but enough so to voice a very distinct opinion — wanted her. Desperately. Which, he supposed, helped. Depending on the desired ‘outcome’ overall.

Grunting, he pushed the thought from his mind. Whatever plans the fates had for them in the long run, in this moment, it was his last night on Ayr with her, and he wanted to spend it as such: at peace, with her in his arms. He laid his arm over her waist, savoring the warmth of her breath and familiarity of her shape, and he did not sleep. As though convinced that if he simply never let himself drift, then the night would continue eternal, he waited out every hour of it, clinging to each remaining moment until dawn inevitably crept back around and wriggled in through the curtains to spill across his sleeping companion.

Only then did he shut his eyes and sigh as he dipped forward to kiss her forehead. “Wake, sky princess…” he murmured. “Morning.”

It took disappointingly little time to organize themselves, and within the hour, Detraeus and Araceli had dressed, packed, eaten, returned the key to their room, and departed from the hostel on their way to the main docks. Despite a bright, blustery day without a cloud in sight and a straight, uninterrupted view to the horizon beyond, the sea looked ominous to Detraeus. Choppy waves, stirred by Ayr’s tireless wind patterns, slapped against the hull of the ship as they approached, and continued to provide a rhythmless back beat to the procedure as he climbed aboard.

At least, he attempted to placate himself — despite the already wary roilings of his un-seaworthy stomach — the trip would only be two days. Then, he would have Eowyn’s familiar sands back beneath his feet.

It wasn’t as comforting a thought as he might have liked, but when the ship cast off and their return journey began, he did not allow himself to look back just the same.