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He was looking at her again. Wide eyed and youthful. Where had they found these idiots. Human hired men. Worthless.
He needed to be using those gods-damned eyes to watch their surroundings. Ember had enough on her plate without having to protect some grown men who swore they could protect themselves.
There were five of them. This one was E-something. It wasn’t her job to know their fucking names. And they were being paid a gold piece each if they survived the day. She snorted. The cost was ridiculous in her opinion. But she doubted most of them would live so didn’t argue with the agreed upon sum.
He was still doing in.
Ember spun on him, annoyed, spitting, “What?” His eyes managed to somehow go even wider. If they grew anymore they might fall out of his fucking stupid skull. “What are you looking at?”
“I, just,” he paused, caught off guard and stammering like a fool, “you’re an elf.”
“Yep,” she popped the final letter.
“A warrior, magic-user, elf.”
“Sure, yeah. So?”
“I guess,” he breathed, “I’m just,” he was squirming like an juvenile, “impressed?”
She groaned, “Is that a question?”
“No,” he stammered and then more forcefully, “No! I AM impressed.”
“Oh,” the elven woman nodded her head. “Okay then. Thanks.”
It was ridiculous but she realized she was smiling.
Ernie. His name was Ernie. The one with the big eyes. And the broad shoulders. And the stupid mop of pretty hair. Men shouldn’t be allowed to have hair like that.
And he smiled. A lot.
But only at Ember and she was confused. Was there something wrong with him? Was he simple? Weak-minded?
Why did he want to be near her in the marching order? He always seemed half-way to wetting his pants and yet there he was, right up front trying the door after she somehow failed to open it, grinning when it creaked on it’s hinges and swung forward.
Ember nodded her thanks still bewildered.
They were in the tavern, drinks were flowing. Theodora was on Sven’s back whooping like an idiot. Girl had to learn she could not drink like a full grown human woman. She was whispering in the Pegasus’ ear and he was nickering that strange horse laugh of his.
Ember needed another fucking drink before those two got themselves into trouble. Again. And she had to hightail it out of there. She wanted no part of their shit.
Ves was facedown on the table. Loorna was laughing along with some merchant who kept filling her cup.
Fat chance, idiot, she rolled her eyes, shaking her head.
Xylarthan was wasted (surprise), at the bar, leading a chorus of some song the elven woman had never heard. And, was she developing a headache?
All she had wanted was a few pints of spiced tea. The only safe, non-alcoholic drink in the whole place. But it could never be that simple.
A shoulder bumped her’s and Ember spun, “Fucker,” she spat, ready to fight.
It was a man. He was familiar. His hands were up in the air. “Whoa, whoa, killer. It was just an accident.” He smiled. And then she knew him. Ernie.
“Oh,” she grumped, “it’s you.”
“Me?” He asked, hands still up in some mock surrender.
“Don’t...”
“Don’t what?”
“That,” she waved. “Don’t be like cute or funny. Or whatever you’re doing.”
“You think I’m cute?”
Ember’s mouth dropped, horrified, “What? I never said,” she squawked.
And then he was laughing again. Her gaze narrowed, her jaw locked.
“Stop. Sorry. I’m just teasing you,” and then his large warm palm was on her shoulder and all the elven woman could do was blink.
Why was she outside? With Ernie?
Had her spiced tea been spiked with something?
If it had, she knew it was fucking Theodora. Or Theodora and Sven. She was going to shank that little gnome woman. Though she’d probably end up on fire or something for it. Maybe she just wouldn’t unlock the stronghold door next time she went out, stumbling home at all hours, drunk, giggling, and stinking of, well, something.
Ernie was definitely drunk.
But Ember almost found it endearing. It was also still fucking annoying.
“Gods,” he breathed beside her. “You’re just so intimidating, you know?”
“Yeah, I do.” Her hand was on a dagger. Just in case she was forced to slit his throat there in the dim alleyway.
It was like he hadn’t heard a word. “‘Cause you’re like this warrior. And an elf. And you do fucking magic too.”
Ember wanted to argue; but it was true and hearing this guy say it felt pretty decent honestly. So she let it go and said nothing.
“And you’re beautiful.”
“What?” She swung her head sharply.
And when had Ernie gotten so close?
She could feel his breath on her cheek, her neck.
Ember swallowed. He was a hired man. What was wrong with her?
If he was messing with her, she was going to gut him. And make him watch as she danced on his entrails.
“You’re fucking drunk.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Maybe that’s what let me tell you how beautiful you are. You,” he leaned so close his lips were nearly on her flesh, “are very scary.”
“I,” she didn’t know what to say. What was that feeling in the pit of her stomach? Was she attracted to Ernie? Clearing her throat, Ember went on, annoyed at him, at herself, “I’m supposed to be scary. I’m an adventurer. And I don’t actually have a death wish. Like some people.”
“Uh-huh,” he nodded in return, still too close.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Have a gods-damn death wish, because..”
And then his lips were on her neck. Right at that spot, the one where the column of her throat met her shoulder. The one that, as a youth, had always made her knees a little weak. Had set the butterflies loose in her stomach.
“Fuck,” the elven woman muttered.
She should pull away.
“If you want to,” he huffed against her skin.
She needed to pull away.
She didn’t even like Ernie.
Why would she?
He was weak. He was afraid. He was mooning (was that even the word?) over her.
Wait, were they kissing? Was she actually allowing him to press his lips to her mouth?
Gods, it was a greedy kiss too. Like he wanted to drown in her mouth. His hands on her waist, over her ribs, thumbs tucking under her tits and just barely stroking the underside.
Ember almost sighed, almost leaned into the moment but then, “Get a fucking room!” Shouted out from the distance, a cackle.
That fucking gnome.
Nickering, whinnying, the stomping of a heavy hoof on the ground. Sven’s voice, “Get it!”
Ember was mortified, could feel heat rising in her face, to her ears. Which was even more mortifying.
She shoved Ernie away, flustered and panting.
“So,” he smirked, arm leaning against the wall, elbow by her head, “see you down there tomorrow?”
Ember bit her lip like some ridiculous child, looked over his shoulder at her idiotic companions, and said, “Yeah. Tomorrow.” She paused, stare flinty, “But if you don’t see them then? It’s because I fucking murdered them.” And he laughed.
Gods-damn, mother-fucking, gargoyles.
Gods-damn, mother-fucking, Ernie.
Ember choked, her throat closing. She felt sick.
She could hear him screaming.
Fuck this.
Some weeks later it would be Ember who stumbled upon Ernie’s broken, rotting corpse. His leather armor stinking and wet with his own fluids. She would drop down, close her eyes, say a prayer up to a deity she had long since stopped believing in, and tuck that feeling of loss deep down within her ribs. Lock her heart away once more, lost to the abyss, protected by her muscle, her armor, and her steel.
And then she saw it, the spear. Ernie’s spear. It was beside his body. She picked it up, rubbed a hand along the pole.
It wasn’t flashy or expensive. It wasn’t a great weapon. It wasn’t magical. But it had been something to him. Something he had touched, something imbued with his spirit. She cradled the weapon for a moment, noticed Theodora’s quizzical stare.
It was unlike her to not just snatch up a prize, any prize, immediately, and with voracity.
Clearing her throat, shifting her gaze away, Ember laughed. “Might as well take this right? Could be useful!”
Her companion nodded, one sharp brow quirked, then rolled her eyes with a grin. “I would have been surprised if you didn’t find something on the body to take.”
The body.
The pain was sharp and fleeting. She swallowed. Laughed again, “You know me!”
But Theodora didn’t. No one did.
And if Ember had her way, no one ever would. Because feelings, sappy shit, didn’t belong in the dungeon.