"There would always be dishonourable things done to preserve the honour of any power." - Robin Hobb
•
Alia can't hear herself think.
Voices rumble around her, filling the tavern with a collective, unintelligible sound. Pressing fingertips to her temples doesn't help the growing headache, nor does massaging the area between her brows. Normally the energy of the tavern's patrons doesn't bother her. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Their liveliness usually makes her smile, comforted by the happiness they exude.
But today... Gods, she just wants them to shut the fuck up. She catches herself at the thought. No, she shouldn't be thinking such a thing. They can talk as loud as they please.
Sitting across from her, Valen seems to be completely unbothered by the noise. It doesn't surprise Alia, but it makes her feel isolated in her experience. Why does she have to have a headache now?
"You've stopped talking."
Alia presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, upset at her inability to think properly. "I'm sorry." She frowns, unable to remove her hands and look at Valen. "I've got a headache and I can't seem to get rid of it."
When he doesn't respond, Alia's brows furrow and she removes her hands from her eyes.
He's looking right at her. "Is the noise bothering you?" His journal is tucked away, presumably in one of his trouser pockets, and his arms are crossed.
She nods, cheeks flushed at the intensity of his gaze. For a while now, Alia has noticed that Valen's been holding his aura back from her. She doesn't care about the reason, but she knows it has to be because of their tutoring agreement. Over the past week, he's barely looked at her, always writing in one of his journals. But now, with his white eyes boring into her green ones, she's willing to tutor him forever.
When Valen looks away, Alia releases a breath she didn't know she was holding. He scans the tavern, the weight of his stare causing them to grow quiet. His attention locks on something behind her. She frowns, ready to turn around, but Valen's voice stops her.
"We will do the session elsewhere." He stands and pushes his chair in with — is his hand shaking? Alia frowns at his crossed arms but decides to follow his movements and get to her feet. He's still looking at something behind her, so she spares a curious glance over her shoulder.
The tavern has returned to its previous volume, but a group of young males seated around the table behind her have stayed silent. Their eyes are wide, filled with a mixture of surprise and fear.
Confused, Alia wonders why they've caught Valen's attention. She scans their faces, finding nothing of note until she looks at one of their hands. The male closest to her, and the only blonde in the group, has a small pocketknife in his right hand. Blood coats the blade's edge, and only now does the scent of iron slam into her senses. Her eyes dart to the arm he's holding, the arm of one of his friends. A deep, vertical slit spans across the inner forearm, bright red with blood dripping onto the male's thigh and the tavern floor.
Alia can't believe what she's seeing.
Her mind goes to Valen, reminded of the scars scattered across his arms; how each one must have been marked with agony. What those boys are doing is an insult to him — an insult to what he went through. And it makes her burn with rage.
She turns to them completely, eyes ablaze. "What do you think you're doing?"
The blonde looks up at her, mouth opening and closing with no words to follow. Just the sight of him makes her want to slash the pocketknife across his throat. She looks at the other four males, eyes hardening on the one with the open wound. Her right-hand twitches and forms into a fist.
And then she's slamming it into his face.
The unconscious male crashes back onto the table and drinks smash to the floor. The blonde shoots to his feet alongside the other three men. Alia turns to him, grabs his shoulders and slams her knee into his abdomen. As he doubles over with a pain-filled groan, Alia sends her fist straight into his jaw. He drops to the ground, unmoving like his wounded friend. She turns to glare at the others, ready for their approach, but they don't make a move forward. Instead, they avoid her furious gaze.
Alia crouches down to pick the pocketknife off of the tavern floor. Her hand shakes as she tosses it onto their table, the blade landing inches away from the wounded male's face. Then she turns to Valen, who watches her with his arms still crossed. He doesn't look angry, and he doesn't look pleased. His feelings are hidden and Alia doesn't know if that makes things worse for her.
Valen motions towards the door with a tilt of his head. She stays quiet as she follows him outside.
Wind brushes against her skin, cooling the internal heat boiling within her. She runs her hands through her hair, swallowing harshly as she realises what she's just done. Punching pack members must be a punishable offence. Shit.
Suddenly, Alia remembers Valen's shaking hand. Turning around, Alia makes a move to re-enter the tavern, rationality flying straight out of the window, but a tight, unforgiving grip on her forearm stops her in place.
Alia turns to Valen and his jaw ticks. "Leave it," he orders.
He's touching her arm. Her skin. Her eyes flicker between his hand and his face, and after a shaky breath, Alia whispers, "okay."
For the next ten minutes, Valen leads her in the opposite direction of her home. They walk silently, side by side, and Alia eventually notices the park they sat in a week ago. She smiles, remembering the serenity of the place.
"Refrain from using a weapon." Alia looks up at Valen, surprised at the sound of his voice. He remains looking forward. "If you use a weapon to fight a pack member, I will intervene."
Intervene? "Intervene how?"
"That's not important."
"But I want to be prepared."
Valen gives her a hard look, causing her steps to falter. "Obey the rules and you won't have to prepare."
Her words die in her throat. He's right. She looks down at the grass as her shoes flatten the green blades. She can't look at him, not when she's the source of his displeasure.
"If you use a weapon, so can your opponent," he explains. "There are a lot of wolves who are more capable fighters than you, Alia. If I am elsewhere and unable to intervene in time, they may cause irreparable harm." He looks at her. "They may even kill you."
Alia's chest tightens. Valen isn't trying to impose obedience, he's just trying to protect her. She meets his gaze. "I'll train harder."
They've stopped walking. "Untitled training can only take you so far."
"Then what do I do? How can I survive here?"
Valen considers her for a moment, and then he begins walking again. Alia quickens her pace to reach his side. "What do you know of the Warriors?"
Alia furrows her brows. "They're the Pack's military force."
"And how do they differ from the rest of the Untitled?"
Alia frowns, unsure. "They're stronger?"
He shakes his head. "The Untitled are trained to fight, but nothing is expected of them when it comes to battle." They walk further into the park, finding the familiar orange-leafed tree. "Warriors are trained to kill. Their priority is to protect the Pack, and they will lay down their lives to do so."
Alia recalls the training centre, remembering they held no weaponry inside the training hall. She never realised it before, but it puts to question the ability of the Warriors. The men and women she spars with are strong, very strong and very capable fighters. But they aren't Warriors. Alia doesn't think she's even met one of them.
Alia decides on a new goal for the Trials - to become a Warrior. She'll never be a General, not when the standard is so incredibly high. She'd have to train for years on end to even become a slither of the worth of the Title. It's just not possible.
She looks at Valen. "Then what about the Generals? What do they do?" They reach the tree and Alia decides to sit against it, but Valen remains standing. She tilts her head, watching as he stares off into the forest nearby. What is he looking at?
"Stay where you are. I'll only be a moment." He walks into the forest, not waiting for an answer.
Valen's heart is racing.
Leaves and branches scratch his arms as he runs further into the forest and away from prying eyes. Flashes of memories invade his mind, reminding him of the moments when his forearms were sliced open. He tried to distract his mind by conversing with Alia, but he couldn't hold back the memories any further. He needed to leave.
Even without seeing the boy's wound, he could visualise it.
Leaning a hand against the rough bark of a tree, Valen's eyes are squeezed shut as he takes in heaving breaths. I'm not there anymore.
Memories of his screams send him to his knees. His hands press tightly against his ears, trying to block the sounds of his pain.
I'm not there.
I'm not there.
I'm not there.
He can feel his consciousness slipping. Desperate, Valen begins to reach for his Gamma's mind, but he can't think, he can only see the cell. Pain shoots up his arms from his knuckles as his fists slam into the ground one after the other. The ground crumbles underneath the force of him, blood coating dead leaves. He needs to distract his mind.
But the leaves begin to disappear, and so does the scenery around him. Darkness warps his vision and his body slumps to the ground.
When Valen's eyes open, the protruding root of a tree greets him. He's lying on his side with the cold soil of the forest pressing against him. He squeezes his eyes shut, recalling the memory he succumbed to.
Another one in the cell, enveloped in darkness.
An ache blooms within his forearms, so he moves one of them closer to his face to inspect it. It holds the same scars he's always had. But then he spots the one created in his memory: a deep, jagged line travelling diagonally halfway down his inner forearm to his wrist. With a sigh, he moves to a seated position, opting to inspect the other forearm. He finds an identical scar, a mirrored image.
He's tired of this. So incredibly tired.
Reaching into one of his dirtied combat trouser pockets, he tries to pull out his journal. But a quiet exhale grabs his attention and instead of pulling out the journal, he pulls out a blade from another pocket, wielding it in his hand as he spins himself onto his feet.
Curled up against the tree is a sleeping Alia. The grip on his blade loosens and the weapon drops to the ground. What is she... What— what was she thinking?! He looks at his hands, knuckles and fingers covered in dried blood, and then back at Alia. He could have killed her.
A spark of anger travels through him. Foolish, foolish girl.
When he takes a look at his surroundings, he notices the sun has descended slightly. What time is it? How long was he out? The need to return to his sector overwhelms his mind. Something could have happened to the Pack whilst he was unconscious. Something he could have prevented.
Fuck, he needs to get back to the mainland.
But then his eyes land on Alia's face, causing him to run his hands through his hair in frustration. He doesn't know what to do. He can't leave her defenceless. Not when she risked her life to stay by his side.
Did she even realise that one wrong move... He glances down at his chest with furrowed brows. Why... why does his chest feel heavy?
Another exhale pulls him back to reality. Sitting down on the ground, cross-legged, Valen settles on waiting for Alia to awaken. She is part of his sector. Until she awakens, she's completely defenceless, and she may even get lost without his guidance. His mind returns to his first interaction with the girl, when he let her follow him through the night. He remembers her trying to sniff out her home and failing miserably.
He nods to himself. She will definitely get lost.
Reaching for the fallen blade, Valen tucks it back into his pocket before grabbing his journal. He takes out a pen alongside it and flips the journal open to the next blank page. Messy scribbles cover the previous pages. Most are sentences, but some resemble objects. He clicks the pen open and begins writing down all he can remember of the memory.
After an hour, Alia stirs and it causes Valen's hand to stop moving. He lifts his gaze, watching as she adjusts her position against the tree. Slow blinks bring her back to reality, and after a few seconds she sits up straight, eyes finding his seated form.
"You're awake," she whispers.
Valen exhales deeply, conflicted on whether he should scold or thank her. "You shouldn't have come here."
Alia leans back against the tree and brings her knees to her chest. "You didn't come back." She looks at the empty space to her right, the place where his body used to lie. "You slept there for hours," she mumbles. "I couldn't leave you out here. Not when you'd wake up alone."
His chest tightens even further. He frowns, placing a hand against it. Should he inform his Gamma? Is he medically unwell?
"Was it a memory?" She asks, eyes finding his own. "You didn't respond to my voice when I tried to wake you."
Valen looks at her for a while. A long while. And then he nods. "It was."
She glances down at the open journal in his hand. "Is that what you write in there? Your memories?"
Looking down at his journal, he remembers he's only written about half of the memory's details. "It is," he mumbles. He needs to finish writing it down. "I need to finish..." he pauses, quickly reminding himself of the next part of the memory. "The one I relived, I need to finish writing it down."
Alia adjusts herself against the tree once more, and then she motions to the space next to her. "Come sit," she says, a small smile on her lips. "I'll wait for you."