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The ale tastes bitter on his tongue in a way that he suddenly doesn't enjoy. Cailan looks at the river before him, how it ebbs and flows in a pattern both calming and chaotic. All he feels within himself is the chaos.
His chest heaves as he sighs a heavy sigh, bringing the flagon to his lips, though it brings him little joy. Everything is wrong.
Cailan hears the crunching of her footsteps on the worn path behind him and sighs again. He longs to be alone. To fester in his own sorrow. But he knows she won’t allow that. She can’t. Not in her own home.
Arana says nothing. She just sits beside him on the rocks at the river's edge. She watches its currents flow, just as he had, and continues to say nothing.
Cailan sighs once more. He knows she won’t leave. Not until she’s satisfied. And she won’t be satisfied if he doesn’t speak.
“What are you doing here?” he finally asks, bringing the flagon to his lips again and drinking deeply. It is still unsatisfying.
“This is one of my favorite places to think, too,” Arana replies softly, though her voice holds that edge of strength Cailan has come to expect.
“I’m not thinking,” he replies instinctively, which earns a rare laugh from the witch beside him.
“That much was obvious,” she agrees with a smile he doesn’t turn to see. “You’re lost in the chaos of your heart. It lies, you know. Just as much as the head.”
Cailan finally turns toward her, doing his best to make eye contact with the woman next to him. His vision swims — though the ale was unsatisfying, it was still ale, and in his fervor to dull his feelings he had drank much and more of it.
Arana laughs. She sees through him, as she always does. “Did you know we import that from Markarth?” she asks. A simple question. A… strange… question…?
“From Markarth?” he asks before he can think better of it.
Arana raises an eyebrow. “Do you think we have the tools to brew it ourselves?” she asks, her attention briefly turning to the rebel camp behind them. “Perhaps you think we send a courier to Solitude and trade for it.”
Cailan huffs in annoyance. “You’re teasing me.”
“I would never tease Ard Caddach’s hound.” The comment was meant to be a light jest, but Cailan can see her face fall the moment the words leave her lips. A rare sight, to see the Reach witch falter. But she knows the words were wrong. The wrong place. The wrong time. The wrong man.
She says nothing. Just sits there, beside him, looking uncomfortable. Somehow it helps. Cailan’s mouth turns to the slightest smile. “I never could humble you as well as you could humble yourself.”
Cailan can almost hear the breath burst from her lungs. The relief is palpable. “I wasn’t thinking,” she finally tells him quietly. It’s as close to an apology as he’s like to get.
“Neither was I,” he replies, looking down the river away from her insistent gaze. She knows what he meant.
“Bradan will help, if you let him,” Arana continues. “He wants to help you, Cailan.”
His cheek twitches at the sound of his own name. “I know,” he responds after an uncomfortably long silence. “I just…”
“I know,” Arana echoes. Cailan keeps his gaze on the water, watching as it flows along the frosty banks. He knows if he looks at her, he’ll crumble. He can’t allow that.
The frigid air swirls around them as Cailan and Arana sit beside each other in silence. Cailan continues to watch the water, letting it ground him. He can see one of the witch-rebels fishing beside the bridge near the entrance to the camp. It’s a bridge Caddach’s men had built, he knows. Caddach… spirits, what will he think…?
“Cailan.” He turns his head instinctively toward Arana. Her piercing gaze bores into him in a way that makes his skin itch. No one had ever seen him the way she always seems to.
“I can’t do this right now, Arana,” he tells her. Not quite dismissively, but enough to quiet her.
“You’re worried about Caddach.” It wasn’t a question. With her, it hardly ever was. She was damned perceptive… it was annoying sometimes.
“Of course I am,” Cailan huffs, picking up a nearby stone and turning it between his fingers. The stone is rough and worn, covered in a thin later of frigid earth. The dirt rubs off on his finger as he brushes his thumb across the surface.
“You’ll always have a place here,” Arana assures him. Cailan flinches as he feels her hand on his shoulder. It’s firm, and yet somehow a soft touch. Finally, he looks at her.
Arana’s gaze is as steel, boring into him and leaving no question about her sincerity. She was a difficult woman, to be sure… but also an honest one.
“You would have a werewolf among you people?” Cailan finally asks, his lip twitching as he hears his own words. His own admission.
Arana smiles — no, smirks. “Have you forgotten about Bradan so quickly?” she asks, seeming almost amused at the question. It’s disarming. Her intent, surely.
Cailan sighs again. Loudly. Dramatically. “You know what I meant.”
“I do,” Arana admits, her gaze hardening, “and I also meant what I said. I am not afraid of you, Cailan, and neither are my people.”
“Arana, I—”
“You saved my life, you stubborn man,” she continues, now forgoing the calculated stoicism she so prides. “What leader of men would I be if I punished you for so selfless an act?”
Cailan stares at her. She looks… annoyed. “Would you stay had you been the one bitten?”
“What?” Arana asks, momentarily taken off guard. “I— yes, of course I would.”
“You would?” Cailan repeats.
Arana sighed loudly. “Of course I would, you foolish man,” she repeats. Her look was one more of pity than annoyance. “You think yourself an unfeeling beast, do you? I’d love to hear you tell Bradan you feel that way.”
That gave him pause. In fact, his lips turn to a smile before he can control them. Arana smiles the smile of someone who has just won an argument. It’s almost endearing.
“I hate you,” Cailan tells her with as much sincerity as he can muster. It’s not much, and she can tell.
“Let Bradan help you,” Arana urges, with an earnestness that makes Cailan’s breath catch in his throat.
“I… will,” he finally replies. Arana’s delight is obvious and immediate. It’s a side of her she rarely lets anyone see, and Cailan knows it. More importantly, he knows Arana knows it. She chose to let him see her like this, and that fact isn’t lost on him.
“Shall I have our trader barter for more ale?” Arana asks after a moment, her mouth tugging upward into a teasing smile.
Cailan huffs, desperate to turn his gaze back to the river but unable break away from her. “You’re annoying,” he finally manages to say, though it lacks the bite of a real complaint.
“You’re not the first to say so,” Arana tells him with a laugh — a rarity for her. She pauses, her face twisted in thought. “Look, about Caddach…”
“Don’t worry about Caddach,” Cailan responds without missing a beat. “He’s for me to worry about. I can’t ask you to help with that.”
She stares at him for a moment. “What if I’m offering?”
Cailan stares back. “If you’re offering, then I refuse.”
Her eyebrow rises. “You refuse?”
“Aye, I refuse,” Cailan repeats. “He’ll have your head on a pike before you can get near him.”
Arana laughs. “He can try.”
“And he will,” Cailan retorts, his jaw set. “Even if he fails, you’ll never make it to his throne. So Caddach is for me to worry about.”
Arana bites back her next comment. She wants to say something, but knows it won’t change anything. Cailan can see the frustration in the way her lips purse. She can’t help him, and she’s not used to that.
“You’ve done enough,” Cailan finally tells her. It’s mostly an affirmation, though she seems dissatisfied nonetheless.
It takes her a moment, but finally she realizes. “You’re going back to Markarth.”
“I have to tell him,” Cailan replies, staring down the river and avoiding her gaze.
“Not alone.”
Cailan sighs. “I can’t ask any of your—”
“Not alone,” Arana repeats, more insistently. “I’ll send Bradan with you.”
Cailan huffs a laugh. “You really think he’d volunteer to go to Markarth and speak with a man he’s got no respect for?”
“I think he’ll volunteer to help a friend,” Arana corrects. “That’s what you’ve become to us, Cailan. Don’t forget it, and don’t question it.”
“A friend, eh?” Cailan repeats, smiling slightly. It doesn’t bring him the pleasure he had hoped for. “You’re sure he’ll agree?”
Arana’s lips turn to a wry smile. “I don’t think I’ll even need to call in a favor this time.”
Cailan breathes deeply, letting the cold mountain air fill his lungs. His eyes turn toward Markarth. He can’t actually see the city from here, but he can feel it.
“You’ll come back…?”
This time it really is a question. And there’s something there… something that makes him uncomfortable. She wants him to come back. Even though he’s… even though.
“I’ll come back,” Cailan nods, his gaze still focused on Markarth to avoid the look in her eyes.
“Good, my people need you,” Arana tells him after an awkward moment of silence. He wonders if that’s the truth. The whole truth. He doesn’t want to think about it.
“There you are,” a third voice says from behind them. Cailan turns to see Bradan standing at the top of the hill.
“Bradan,” Arana says. If Cailan didn’t know better, he’d think he saw a blush in her cheeks. “I have volunteered you for a mission, of sorts.”
“Oh?” he replies, eyebrow quirked.
“You’re gonna hate it,” Cailan tells him with a slight smile.
“Well now I’m intrigued,” Bradan returns with a toothy smile. “What is it you ask of me, Arana?”
“Well…” she begins, her eyes flitting to Cailan’s. He can’t help but smile back. “It’s about your new pack mate…”