Lion Head Mesa the darkest side of me

A clench in his jaw—if witnessed—might have been the only indication of his hesitation of coming to these borders once more. He had given Eivor mild warnings of Akashingo—a breakdown of the history he had come to know, with the unspoken hint that perhaps they try not to be separated from one another for too long.

Still, boisterous and wild, he was uncertain if the shield maiden would be satisfied remaining sequestered to a room.

Their news here was meant to be brief—hopefully they could learn something more of this group of wolves who had attacked a child—and then they could also be on their way.

Before he could even call—as customary to most places—the guards befell them in a swoop. He straightened, a sideways glance to @Eivor offered in silent communication that this is how it would be—before informing the mazoi they were here to offer assistance to Akashingo’s call of arms—and that it was imperative to see either Senmut or the Pharaoh @Toula.

the place gladdened eivor and set her suspicions to full abound. placed in the flat fields was a great piece of stone, but it was beneath the stone that these ones had made their fortification.

guards and servants, all wearing some mien of wealth even in their rank. she was silent as akavir spoke.

they were soon escorted across the wide scarlet path to the palace itself, and she saw how new stoneways led down into mesa itself. they were brought just inside and her silence was maintained as she checked for exits and potential threat.

this denizen of akashingo beckoned to another, and as the kvarsheim warrior glanced in this new direction, she caught the scent of fine foods and the rich fragrance of something fermented.

the man rashepses had come and then gone away again. silvertongue still had disallowed herself from remembering or even pondering upon the matter of where pharaoh could be. so far, there was no pharaoh and therefore she did not have to think of it. today brought visitors, a tall battle-made woman and an equally tall man of muscular dark shadows stood speaking to one of the mazoi. silvertongue did not mean to linger so long in watching, but the guard's rough summons was for her before an escape might have been had. in bowed head she glided forward immediately to stand near the strangers, listening to the decision that she be the one to bring these two into the presence of prince senmut. "i am belen," came the pretty piping as guardian turned away, but then her voice seemed to break inside her mouth. the golden eyes — she stared with a gasp rounding her face, seeking the fierce lightning of familiarity that had burned through her. it was there, his name, who he was; there but entangled and fenced by a soft green mist that never abated no matter what she did or how she begged. silvertongue began to shake, and it was only the dire intensity of her training which brought her tone alive again. "come with me." at once she turned away and began to lead them, seeking the blankness of those perfect moments before. the servant dared not look at him again, but if he spoke she would be bidden to it, and her thoughts beseeched him for mercy.

Eivor remained silent—steadfast. The peripheral of his vision indicated she took in her surroundings in a manner that seemed unassuming and with grace. Akavir withheld the smirk that wished to press upon him, knowing that the long-limbed shield maiden was scoping in silence—an unwoken dragon that would rise to the challenge, should it be required.

He trusted Toula—but he did not revel bringing any woman here, no matter their capability to keep their own. If he heard any whispers of improper conduct with the valley wolves offering their services—he would end the agreement immediately. No questions asked.

His words were a murmur as he spoke to a mazoi—they were to be invited within and settled, and then a meeting with Senmut. He exhaled softly, a nod given, his eyes cutting from Eivor to the fellahin beckoned forward, just as a soft voice laced the warmer airs.

‘….Belen…’

He was rooted. No amount of training, no amount of surviving life’s messiest moments could keep the shock from his features—blue eyes stared up at him briefly—something flashing upon the features he had come to know so well, for he had traced her face with kisses and lingering touches over and over.

'Ask for Jawahir while you are there. Tell her Belen sent you.' The memory rushed back to him--the seer of the kiss she had placed upon him before his departure. She was not meant to be here. She was meant to be with her wife—their children. Off into the sunset and living her happily ever after. Not here. Never here, ever again.

Autopilot kicked in—he was stepping after her—eyes tracing the quake of her own limbs—feeling the same reverberations in his own heart. His mind grasped at anything—but he held his tongue, for now.

Eivor at his side—yet he was numbed.

a woman approached, beautiful enough to distract the eye from the maiming wound which announced a harsher life than the one offered by this palace. eivor watched with a mild amusement as the servant turned her wondering eyes on akavir, only for the sentiment to fade. they knew one another, and from the sight of it, their meeting had not been pleasant.

assumptions, of course. her shoulder brushed that of akavir as they followed, a silent reassurance that he had not come alone to these halls of memory. the servant who led them had called herself belen, and eivor etched each face in her mind as they walked through the bustle which always seemed to be demanded by royals.

feeling akavir's tension sparked her own resolve to stay alert. the servant brought them to a small chamber and indicated a place of laid reeds and sheepskins set on either side. there were no words, but when eivor glanced up toward her again, a stricken look had consumed the lovely features. belen all but ran from the chamber then, her exit marked by the entry of other fellahin who brought fatted mutton and raspberries with honey, pheasant quarters, edible greenery, laying these upon the reeds.

only when they were alone again did eivor look direct toward akavir. "are we in danger?"

who was he? why could she not remember? why could she not remember? panic was beginning its slow choke of reason and air. silvertongue concentrated on the red floor between her paws. she had scrubbed these places herself; she knew each bend of the wall and roughened portion of stone which resisted all polishing. she knew the anteroom into which she brought this man and his companion, but she did not know him. her mind cried and fell back into itself, stilling her breath as for a long moment she reached toward his eyes again with her own. brow furrowed, mouth slightly moue'd as she tried with great and painful effort to move beyond that curtain of verdant thorns. but it would not be. a headache seethed in her flesh with sudden teeth, sparking tears at its virulent pain; she made a hasty bow and fled them for senmut's place atop the mesa, grabbing great draughts of air as she went. but the chain clasping her memories remained unbroken, and the despair darkened silvertongue until she could feel no more for a time.

Were those tears in her eyes? It was only Eivor’s quiet strength he did not flee to the silver-kissed woman. To forego caution and simply steal away with her—because there was absolutely no way the Silvertongue he knew would be here on her own accord.

She fled—his mind and heart reeled. Food was brought in—resting upon the reeds and only when the room was empty spare for the two visitors did Akavir finally look to Eivor. “I don’t know,” he murmured. Truth—Toula had made a proclamation once—that none would be here against their will.

Silvertongue seemed desperate to keep their knowledge of one another a secret—was that the panic in her eyes? Did she fear for him? For herself? For her family?

“Pretend nothing is amiss,” he rumbled then, his gaze hardening to the entrance before swinging past her, scoping the room—looking for any indication that somehow, this was a trap.

she was hardly sure how they could pretend at anything at all with that display which had gone on, but eivor nodded all the same. her stomach wanted the food, and while she understood that subterfuge and poison were time-honored practices among nobility, she simply did not see how sickening potential allies was the purview of a kingdom.

she tasted the raspberries first and then the mutton, sinking back against the sheepskin as she took the words to heart.

and when their own visitor made his debut, he would find nothing amiss, only eivor in the throes of a joke, hoping to coax akavir into a meal of his own.

for show, the steel eyes said. they would be alone before long, she hoped.

senmut had just been finishing a prayer for the state of tavina's soul when belen came upon him. there were guests, she said, but in such a state of frenzy she was that he made her stop, made her pause.

once he had ascertained that these strangers had not acted in an untoward way toward their most delicate fellahin, senmut swept the cats'-hide robe of priesthood over one shoulder. belen was sent to rest and he attended the anteroom alone.

akavir. "the leader of swiftcurrent blesses our halls," senmut intoned. "and each time with another companion." he could not help the dryness; he had not liked seeing belen in such a state. but he humbly sat with these two all the same, his green eyes turned now upon the woman. "i am senmut, erpa-ha and high priest of akashingo. pharaoh remains in the south and our semer-wati rashepses gathers muat-riya."

and because he was so affected, delicately he made a tasting of the honey. "you must excuse belen. she was found between here and the desert, suntouched and addled. i have reason to believe it was the cartel," senmut added in light tone, reminding the stone-circle warrior and the creek man why they had come at all. "the gods in their wisdom led her here, where we discovered it had been her first home."

but he had never seen her so destroyed as when she had come to seek him this hour, and his expression plainly questioned akavir for it.

He paced—there was nothing to be noted in his search of the room. The entirety of it made no sense, and his gaze drifted to Eivor, who now lounged upon the bed of skins—sampling the goods provided by Akashingo—as if the travelers were to be made pliable by their generosity. She tried to coax him to eat—his stomach lurched at the thought of it—already barely holding back from emptying its contents.

The sound of noise—Eivor joked—her eyes finding his—and he knew they were back to the antics of being watched. His own laugh echoed—hollow in his ears, but perhaps not to those who did not know him as well.

Turning, there was Senmut—his tone less welcoming than any other time before, and this time, a barbed directive to his companions. Even as the priest made to sit with them—Akavir’s teeth flashed in a crocodile’s grin—wondering just how quickly he could grasp the man’s throat and tear it out before the guards descended on them.

Instead, he inclined his head slightly to the comment, eyes grazing over to the ivory she-wolf. “Rising Sun Valley is home to many strong warriors.” A pause, allowing Eivor to state her name after the flourishing statement of titles from their host.

Akavir remained standing—had he arms, they would have been crossed as his eyes practically scoured the Erpa-ha. It was a pity they hadn’t stopped in Muat-riya it seemed—he had assumed the Pharaoh would have been kept at a safer location.

But Senmut strayed to the topic of Silvertongue—and Akavir was not lost to the intent gaze the man stole upon him. He had revealed once to the priest he knew of a woman who had escaped—had they found her? Was this the story he was being weaved, now?

“Belen,” he murmured—as if tasting her name for the first time. In truth, it was. For Belen was supposed to be no more—Silvertongue had aptly named herself.

They blamed the cartel. Was this truth, or convenience? Another flash of his teeth—the darkness lingering in his gaze harder to hide with each passing moment. “The cartel is why we are here. The Valley is offering resources to help…. Eradicate them.”

"i am eivor of kvarsheim. formerly of brattahlíð. skjaldmaer to the court of the brothers lodbrok, sven and ujurak." she had not risen, indeed her pose had not relinquished its show of goodwill relaxation.

had he meant to unbalance her by alluding that she was no more than a woman inside rotation? he did not know her, but bit toward what he perceived to be feminine insecurity with an adder's strike. eivor treated him to a long look.

as akavir could not calm his upright bristle, nor could eivor quite hide the tension of her shoulders — and she did not want the priest to go without seeing it.

he was trapped in this room with them, not the other way around.

"i am one such warrior and resource. i ache for battle, priest. bless us and send us tonight," she joked, though it was not quite a jest, and over her grinning mouth had her grey eyes become swordsteel.

akavir had spoken in bare truth: they believed themselves gods. eivor would show akashingo that priests could bleed if this senmut did not choose his next words with care.

the tenor of the room cooled as if in answer to winter winds. senmut saw the effect of his barb, the tall heaviness of akavir's aura, the way the power in the woman's upper body seemed to lean toward him.

but echoing only in his mind was rashepses, rashepses; ordering the end of tavina, and before that —

how worshipful at such a dark altar senmut found himself, enraptured not by toula's goodness but by the jetstone heat of her consort.

how wretched he had become! and the high priest almost invited this judgement down upon his head, now, here.

"i can give you their last known location. the captain of muat-riya, khusobek, was gravely wounded. their leader, or perhaps one of them, was killed. we believe another may have died. it is the time to strike."

him, or the cartel?

"a man named soto was tortured in the cells of the cenote for information. it may be that he has remained behind. i will send one of the mazoi with you if you wish to patrol. but if it is an attack you wish to mount — then stealth may be your most agreeable wager."

Eivor, too, had not taken kindly to the assumption of her status—a downplay to her strength and prowess, as if she were only here—as others had been—to look pretty upon his arm. She did not disappoint in addressing the man before them—and his cold eyes swept over Senmut, looking to see just what her words inspired within the man.

Nothing was mentioned of it—the Erpa-ha citing the assumed whereabouts of the cartel—located so close to Muat-riya. Again, convenience? Or a trap?

His tongue slid across his teeth and he pushed himself forward, closer to the man now—the click of claws upon the sandstone ground the only indication of how much he had to control himself to keep from throttling the life from the man before him.

He had told Eivor to continue as if nothing had happened—he wasn’t sure how much longer he could.

“We take no mazoi with us. The Valley packs are not units in which Akashingo will control. It is in our own best interest to rid the danger that is close to our homes, and we will keep Muat-riya and Akashingo aware of any findings we have.”

He paused—lengthy—a tick in his jaw—Silvertongue’s teary eyes flashing before him once more. “Unless we have no reason to trust you and yours. Tell me, Senmut. Is there reason we should not trust you, or anything you have told us in the past?”

eivor stared at the priest as akavir spoke and denied the hold of akashingo upon them. it was indeed their purview, though she might have taken one of them with them, if only to beat him later for information that might give more insight into royal workings.

her paw slowly shoved aside the reed mats, smearing honey and raspberries into a deliberate paste. eventually her tongue licked the side of her own palm, watching senmut as she enjoyed the mess. 

"i already do not trust you," she said jubilantly, "and so i do not think less of you, priest, no matter how you answer him."

her claws flexed. "i think it is unnatural that you live beneath the ground. what sort of gods could lead you to victory when they cannot even see the battlefield?" standing to her paws, the drengr pulled a strip of sheepskin from the attendant couch and slung it around her shoulders. "tell us where they were."

"akavir. commanding the valley is not my intention." how tetchy the man was, to give away such a fear. and how demonstrable even in this moment the ability of akashingo to command it so many miles away.

akavir thrummed with violence and demanded honesty. the woman mocked the gods of akashingo and the priest became a piece of crimson marble in return, his green eyes boring into her. even before his eyes she took, a plundering albeit light of what she saw before her.

as she tore apart the couch with seeming ease and no evident malice, senmut dipped his own paw into the sticky mess and began to draw the rudiments of a map upon the floor. "here is akashingo, and here is luneshale pass. this corridor was commanded by muat-riya until as of late."

get out, said plainly his heart, though his face remained a picture of placid composure, a noble addressing two vagabonds who had stumbled inside his superior home.

Eivor was up and ready—the tension in the room tangible—but a sardonic snort just escaped the Mayfair at Senmut’s statement.

‘Akavir. commanding the valley is not my intention.’

“No,” he drawled, gaze flashing. “It is not your intentions that matter in this palace, is it?” Senmut drew a map—the glare he cast upon them did nothing to move the solid boulder Akavir had suddenly become. His muzzle drew up—eyes stealing to the frosted gaze of Eivor’s own before moving back to the man. “I’m not leaving here without Belen, Senmut.”

A pause, his own claws drawing nondescript in the sand. “And if I find out that this alleged group of cartel wolves is a ruse to lure fellahin back into your command…”

… He let the threat linger.

eivor listened, though kept her eyes upon the entryway as akavir and the priest traded words. it seemed there was far more here that she had not known, but she refused to appear unwise before the akashingo priest.

akavir demanded the servant girl from before, and eivor's mouth twitched in curiosity. he knew her. and she had seemed to know him, but she had not lingered. she had run away.

still she was silent. if he wanted belen then she should be fetched, and eivor almost wanted to do it herself. but this interlude, this belonged to akavir. she would not intrude upon it with questions.

"no. my intentions do not matter, so what power might i have to concoct a scheme where servants are broken? what would shattered minds do for us that we have not already done without them? you continue to speak very far against pharaoh, akavir, against who she is because of what you have seen."

now he too stood, watching them both with only the sparest veil over his indignant disgust. "bring belen back," he ordered of a fellahin who crept just inside the room. "tell her to gather first what things she owns."

akavir would see. he did not understand what belen was or in what realm she lived.

senmut fell into a prevailing silence.

Senmut did not argue that Belen would be going with them—it was something he had not expected, and he studied the man, waiting for the insistence of a trade. Nothing was spoken of it— and Akavir stole a quick glance to the map in which Senmut had laid out.

“Pharaoh Toula made a promise that none would be kept in servitude who were against it. There is no circumstance that Belen would step foot here again—not after everything that had been done to her by your people.” His tone was gravel in depth—low—to the point of promised retribution.

He would burn the entire world for Silvertongue. That, he knew as one of his biggest truths.

“She has a wife. She has children. She does not belong here.”

at last eivor realized what it was in akavir's voice. sentiment. and wisdom of a past that had not been evident at all in her small glimpses of the woman. now she mulled back over what details had been gathered.

akavir would have come here and offered their jaws either way. eivor had joined for a battle of strength, not of wits nor women dredged from memory.

a slave? 

she was not annoyed, nor regretful. but growing in the drengr was the need to be gone from this place of gilded lies and unsaid things, back in the snow and the ice of a proper winter's day.

her eyes had only closed when an insistent voice roused silvertongue from her brief respite. she was to rejoin the priest — with what she owned. confusion gave way to worry, then dread. "am i being put out?" came her frantic whisper, but the other fellahin was already turning away. for a moment she only sat quite still. the sole object which she might frankly say she owned was a fine piece of ramskin. this she carried with great reluctance to the room where senmut was, directed by the others, and inched inside. the strangers from before were still here, they standing with the priest in some rampant tension which at once nauseated her. low she bowed, eyes downturned. "you asked for me, erpa-ha?"

akavir's cold revelation was treated to a sole slow arch of one red brow, but no more. senmut was finished with the arrogance of outsiders who had never accepted the rule of their pharaoh. perhaps had she a minute aspect of ramesses' brutality, akavir would not question her now.

in summary time belen was brought, creeping before them with worry plain upon her face. "this man wants to take you from akashingo. he speaks of your origins before you came here. your wife. your children," senmut added, searching her face for any sign of recognition.

"he believes you would not have ever come back to akashingo, belen."

Senmut—Akavir. Two men, standing opposite ends—both casting a glare upon one another, it seemed. Eivor remained close by, but silent. He would gauge her thoughts later—he would make up for this entire up-ending of their plans after.

For now, the moment the silver form of Silvertongue swept through the arched cave entrance, his heart stuttered in his chest—his pale eyes sweeping over her. She seemed well fed. Healthy, even.

Senmut spoke to her—but she would not meet his gaze.

What had happened to the wolves of Qeya River? Belen was more than addled—she acted as if she did not know him. But then—why did she react to him so when she first laid eyes on him? His form remained stiff—his gaze imploring. “Silvertongue,” he murmured—trying, above all else—to keep emotion from his voice.

whatever they had come to do quickly turned quite sad. eivor remained rather unaffected, or at least it was what she told herself as senmut ordered the servant returned and akavir tried to rein himself when she reappeared.

eivor was unsure she had ever met a single lover who inspired such fierce passion, or perhaps such intensity of feeling in her world did not have its roots in singularity.

she found herself equal parts fascinated and aggrieved for akavir, as the woman with two names did not seem to even know his own.

her eyes turned in mingled lack of comprehension and the same dread that had been growing in her since she left behind a warm bed to come into this chamber. senmut held the only ability to offer succor and he did not! he said preposterous things on behalf of the darkfurred man and then the stranger said a name which evoked only crowfeather. "i believe you are mistaken," she managed for the unknown man, glancing up into his handsome face. "i am belen. pharaoh ramesses and queen satsu, they ordered that i be given as temporary emissary and gift to the isles of blackwater. but now you see," small practiced smile, "i have come back to serve them again. i have been waiting for ramesses, but he has not called me," silvertongue admitted. "yet i have always belonged to him and to the queen. you have the wrong woman, señor. that is not my life." now her gaze skimmed openly to senmut, and she asked plaintively, "it has been so many weeks. when will he return, erpa-ha?"