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[Shri'hrae]

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No one . The words resonated with her striking a chord of honesty. He would have had the right to, she knew it. The dull ache in her chest and the sickening turn of her stomach at the thought of anothers flesh in his hands sent her reeling. A thought he had squashed quickly with his answers.

For once, there had been no bickering. Her comments had been genuinely laced with sugar instead of sharp edges and the afternoon had drifted easily into the cotton sheets on the inn bed. Time seemed to be welcoming, beckoning them back to the cord that existed heavily between.

Hushed laughter and slow movements bounced off the roads and past each tree. Turning her head to the side Shri'hrae got a glimpse of him astride his mount and a smile quirked at the edge of her lips. For some time she had been a jagged mess that no one could back together. A jaded piece of puzzle devoid of its box.

Somewhere between the windy road of Britain and the salty sea air of Buc's Den she had slipped back in place.
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*Kitrye Ilhar's Yathrin, Kitrye Ilharn's Mirshann, Jal degahr*

[Shri'hrae]

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Inflamed and dripping with blood, the reopened wound glared at her. Quickly reaching behind her she grabbed the bed sheet and ripped it into strips. Gingerly placing them between thumb and forefinger she wrapped it around his arm tightly to staunch the bleeding.

Anger welled up inside like a heated bottle of wine right before it pops. The thought of that woman laying her hands on him, her mouth on him, was enough to send her over the edge. And the fact that he hadn't asked for it made it all the more intense.

Quietly and with an edge to her tone they discussed the afternoon's occurrences. Including the visit from the pompous leader of that band of miscreants. Shri's eyes narrowed with each bit of information that got tossed about the tiny room. She watched as he tried to hem and haw about her going with him and she watched as he caved. A slow smile spread across her face at the realization that yet another wall had come down between them. For better or worse, she was slowly starting to realize what he had known all along. It -was- them against the world.
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*Kitrye Ilhar's Yathrin, Kitrye Ilharn's Mirshann, Jal degahr*

[Vryn Vhae'Naliek]

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For months Vryn had schemed and kept both eyes and ears opened to the larger world around him. Never knowing when some shred of information would flutter into his sphere of influence, nor how it would fit into the many things he had already learned surreptitiously, and of his own volition.

In that time, he had taken little solace in Shri'hrae, and spoke not his mind to her. Nor did he trust overmuch in her designs or many promises.

In this, he knew at the insistent tugging at his spirit, he was well diminished, and lacking in potency as one who's powers had been halved, yet still strove alone.

Many things had changed, yet slowly, over the passing of the hot summer weeks so alien and dissimilar to the constant cool of the Underdark.

Master Gorhun, who had always seemingly given to Vryn with one hand, while taking away with the other, as per his wont, had told him of his lost, but true noble heritage. Then promptly left them to attend to Vhaeraun knew what. Laughing the whole time, or so imagined Vryn, at the seeds of Chaos he had sown amongst his followers.

A pattern had emerged, not only with his own people and their plans of land claims, but in the surrounding areas as well. Britain being the lynchpin, and yet the x-factor too...rolled into one.

The most intriguing of puzzles, and perhaps the most profitable.

And Shri'hrae...his Shri'hrae had broken off a betrothal to the prince Olath Morchiant, and returned to Vryn's side feeling much as he had, and the dimming of a soul incomplete.

Breaking the potential of two noble houses combining was certainly problematic, and surely, there had never been any love between Vryn and Olath in any terms. In truth, there was only spilt blood between the two.

But time was an ally to Vryn, and he could afford the luxury of patience. Things moved apace, and he swore to himself he would remain on the crest of this wave until the world turned. Then would he order things as seemed best to him. Revenge not the least of them.

He spawned no bastards. Had no entangling affairs. No ghosts from a recent past sired from a wasteful need to even the scales.

This afforded him freedom, and a place of strength in which to deal from.

He poured forth the milk of his head, and spoke plainly of the risks and rewards to Shri'hrae. He spoke in scorn of the drow who were, indeed, no true drow to him, but playtime royalty, and placed her among them if she ammended not her course.

"A shame," he said to her, "That you will produce no heirs to inherit these two shacks upon this isle that boasts no commerce, nor visitors, for fear of our arbitrary and transient laws. These that dwell here, and hold such title high, are no drow."

Vryn burned away the refuse covering his path. Still clandestine, still wrapped in careful shadow, and would not yet declare himself, or his birthright.

Expectantly, his motives bare, he waited upon his other half.

He waited on his tether to a greater future.

He waited on Shri'hrae.