Wayfinding | Aaravos x Reader |

CHAPTER 16

"You are deflecting your anger."

"Perhaps . . ." you sighed, recollecting yourself. "But that does not erase the fact that you never answer me."

"For now, I can only make myself available when you are in real danger. Besides, you have not been summoning me."

"You're seriously referring to how I've been calling you? Right now?" A growl erupted from your throat at his mockery. "I've been meaning to ask you so many questions - learn so many things. But when I needed you most, you're never there."

"(Y/n)-"

"Listen to me carefully . . . I want nothing to do with you. I don't know what your intentions are but I will not let you exploit me like my parents or abandon me like the rest. So never speak to me again!" You said as a final remark before scurrying out the exit and towards your horse. As you hoisted up your belongings and mounted yourself, you began to falter. Despite Aaravos being the least of your worries, it felt as if you deserted a fragment of yourself. Magic was the only thing that seemed to make sense to you in the world and so bolting out the entity meant you were going to lose touch with your true self.

But it didn't matter anymore.

Nothing did.

Life - as you knew it - was going to inevitably change.

And you simply had to accept that, look straight into the horizon and make headway.

Of course, that was the plan until two men threw a bag over your head, choked you with its string and hauled you off your horse's back. Once your stern hit the ground, the assailants seized your ankles and lugged your body through muck and gravel. Before you could even think to put on a fight, they bound your hands behind your back with weather-beaten ropes. "Get off - OW!" You shouted, as you were thrown into the back of some top-open vessel. Then, within a trice, the transport began to move at high speed through the streets of Katolis leaving nothing but your startled and whining horse in the backcloth.

"Where are you taking me?!"

There was no response - at least not to you. The miscreants' exchange was muffled and inaudible. If it was day, you could have perhaps seen your abductors in pixels from the wide-stitches of the sac. But with it being night, all you saw was their silhouettes. One man was rode the horse while the other accompanied you in the back.

"Please - please let me go! I'll do anything, I beg you!" You pleaded breathlessly, tossing and turning about.

The man, nettled by your struggle, shoved you into the corner of the wooden cart. Death was not your greatest enemy beyond that point. For the way your legs were pinned down, you were certain that you would be defiled. To make things worse, your mind had mercilessly recounted all the terrible things that happened and imagined all the things that would happen to you. And then - just like that - the dam came down in shambles. Every single emotion you swallowed that day returned the favour and consumed you. You burst into hot tears and crumbled into your core.

"Aaravos!" You wept with a painful tremble permeating your entire anatomy. "Aaravos, please!"

"Breathe."

"Aaravos?" You hiccuped again. A warm wash of relief surged over you. Undoubtedly, you signed your body to your guardian, hoping that he would allow the magic to course through your veins once more and relieve you of the danger that enveloped you. But an instant later, the bag obscuring your vision was removed and you were met with - not only a frigid draft but - an embrace. You were certain your benefactor could feel your heartbeat as it throbbed against your ribcage.

"(Y/n) . . . hey - hey, it's okay," the familiar voice cooed, cupping the back of your head. Your lids, heavy from your damp lashes, briefly shut as you pressed your cheek against their chest. "It'll be alright-"

"Don't let her put snot on you, sire!"

Your eyes bolted open. You violently peeled from the man that held you and scanned your perimeters. "Uzner? Harrow?!" You howled as realization dawned upon you. "You bloody scoundrels!"

"Now, before you start cursing us like sailors, I would like to remind-" Before any spec of logic seeped into your pores, you actually drop-kicked the Prince of Katolis in the chest. It was certainly not the brightest idea because he nearly toppled off the edge of the moving cart.

"What did you do?!" Smith hollered, glancing briefly over his chest. "Sire, are you alright?"

"She just knocked the wind out of me," the high-blood wheezed, clutching the fabric of his tunic in a fist. When he finally raised his olive hues to meet yours, he realized his miscalculation. You were cowering in the nook of the vessel, knees drawn to your chest. Your moon-like face was salted. Your chapped, pale lips were wobbling uncontrollably. And you spasmed each time you gasped for air as you silently wept.

He threatened your trust in him - and for that, he knew not how to forgive himself.

But with a little faith, the high-blood tuned out Uzner's relentless garbling and reached for your cheek. Trembling, you met his fingertips and eventually sank into his palm. "I . . . I'm so scared, your Highness. I don't know what to do anymore . . ."

"Don't worry . . ." Harrow mouthed, guiding your head to his lap. He combed his digits through your pearly locks until the rise and fall of your chest gained rhythm. "We'll take care of you."