Perplexing Petrification (Quill)

And so they set to work. Terrel quickly realized she wasn't the greatest at consoling people, but before long the guards had brought some people in to help, and by the time they were wrapping up, some of the loved ones had arrived as well, which made things a lot easier. Marcus would dose them and she would greet them, and before long they had managed to clear through the whole lot of them, each reaction being mostly the same. These people had been terrified before they'd almost been killed; it was a dark thing indeed. She didn't know what to think about it really, but the second she could break away she confronted the guard.

"Yes, miss?" the guard spoke, surprise still on his face from the whole thing. It seemed to make him uncomfortable.

"My reward," Terrel spoke bluntly, "I want to talk about that now, if you don't mind."

The man frowned, no doubt questioning if the woman had a heart at all. Weeping families echoed loudly throughout the room, and the man responded slowly, "What about it? I think the poster was quite clear--"

"I'm not interested in money," she cut him off quickly with a hint of a scowl. "The guy who did this to these people. I want to meet him; I need to talk with him. You understand?"

The guard nodded slowly in response, looking perturbed all the while, "I suppose that could be arranged. What about your partner? Is he coming too?"

Terrel hadn't thought about that, and the thought froze her for a second. Bring the kid? After a brief pause she shook her head, "No, he stays here." The guard nodded in response with a touch of hesitation, and Terrel turned around to Marcus, shouting at him over the din of people reuniting and all that. "Hey kid! I've gotta do something important, I'll be back in a bit. Meet me at the inn, yeah?" The guard winced at her words, as if she'd betray him letting her see the prisoner, but Terrel paid him no mind, only turning to him and giving him a look to prod him into movement.

Marcus dripped three drops down the mouth of the last of the stone statues. He had been worried about running out of potion and began to experiment to see how many drops were truly necessary for the antidote to work. Three had been the magic number; two would have virtually no effect. The pot-bellied man's stone gray skin began to melt away, and Marcus backed off as two teenagers grabbed him in a tearful hug.

He popped the vial, the last of its kind, into his pack and fastened it shut. That was it. Looking around, he could clearly see that there were no stone statues left to cure. He side-stepped to avoid a staggering old grandmother, supported by a young woman and a man who looked just as old as she, and he saw Terrel looking at him. She shouted something to him but he couldn't make more than a few words out over the cacophony.

He hurried over to her, catching up with her and the guard. He tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention through the noise. "Sorry," he said loudly, "what was that?"

Terrel jumped in surprise at the tap on her shoulder, turning quickly to face whoever had done it.

Marcus.

She would've cursed if the kid hadn't been so close to her! The woman had hoped to just slip out quietly and avoid any sort of conversation about this, and now the kid had followed her out of the room. That guard glanced at her searchingly, and Terrel fought back a blush over the whole situation. She didn't want Marcus to be with her when she interrogated the mage, but could she tell him 'no' now without damaging their partnership? She probably wouldn't have appreciated being shoved into the corner while someone else ran off without a word.

But she'd only known him for a couple of days, and their task together had been an oddball one at that. It wasn't like they were best friends or undying partners or anything. Would he even want to come? Nayru's grace, it would be easier if he did not. Perhaps she could just leave the decision up to him. Still walking, Terrel turned back to him and raised her voice as well, choosing to be truthful.

"I'm going to talk to the man who did this, Marcus. You..." She stopped, struggling for words. After a heart's beat, she set her jaw firmly and turned back to him, a hint of reluctance in her eyes, "You probably won't want to come. I can meet you back at the inn in a bit." Would he protest over that? More importantly, did she want him to? Troublesome indeed.

Marcus had spent years studying the Hylian body. Anatomy was an integral part of the training necessary to become a Healer, after all, and quite some time was spent with that most delicate of organs: the brain. He knew that it was comprised of nothing more than gray matter and sparking neurons, and yet it felt as if his mind was being torn in two by a fierce battle taking place within it, a battle between the desires selfish and selfless.

He wanted to go, and yet... yet he could tell that she did not want him with her. "You probably won't want to come," she had said. "I can meet you back at the inn in a bit." Was this a command, thinly disguised underneath the pretense of a choice? Or was this truly his decision to make, merely colored with her personal desire by chance? As much as it irked him, people were not his specialty. He could get on alright, he supposed, but something this in-depth required real empathetic skills; skills he did not possess in great abundance.

He nearly agreed to stay at the inn. The words were already mentally formed and his mind already saw their saying as an event long done. Nearly agreed; the idea of sitting behind in an inn was repugnant to him. He did not leave the Western Caves to stay in a place far removed from the areas of real importance. It was this reflexive mindset that choked the words, allowing his personal desires room to form into words and escape into the free Hyrulean air.

"I do want to come." For some reason, it was hard to look directly at Terrel. Instead, it was easier for his eyes to wander across the floor. "The only evil I've ever seen have been monsters," he said, gathering his willpower and looking up at Terrel. "Real monsters. That in there," he turned slightly to look back into the room where, just a few minutes ago, statues upon statues of terrified civilians had been stored. "That wasn't a monster. That was a person; a Hylian, just like me." He licked his suddenly dry lips, nervous but determined. "I want to meet him; I want to see what kind of person is capable of turning a little girl in a red cape into solid stone."

She wasn't mad at him, Terrel told herself. Just frustrated, that was all. The choice had been his to make, and he'd certainly made it. It was infuriating, that's what it was. Now the kid would be coming with her, and he'd get to hear everything that she had to say to this guy. No doubt he'd be leaving for Southern Hyrule in a hurry after that, but she couldn't afford to spend energy caring about that. What mattered was finding the crime scene in this city and getting to the bottom of it. The people here would have eyes and ears far beyond anything she could imagine, likely, which made the prospect of finding her son all that much more like. She couldn't forget that's what this was about, ultimately.

Marcus could think whatever he wanted about her after he found that out. He'd been fairly polite about side-stepping the personal questions, but once you found out something like that, who could resist? Either that or he'd just leave. The options she was left with were nothing short of maddening. But there wasn't anything she could do now that wouldn't make it worse.

Talking would just reveal her frustration, so she only nodded in response at his words and kept her face away from him. Regardless, her posture stiffened a bit at the whole thing, and the guard looked at her awkwardly. She wanted to slap the man. Unfortunately, that would fall under the category of "Things that would make this worse" so she resisted that urge. No doubt the criminal would be held somewhere close to his victims, in the off-chance he revealed anything useful to the situation. Sure enough, they arrived at the few jail cells reserved for criminals in such a situation only a few minutes later.

The man was in a disgusting state of affairs, having been condemned to a squalid cell with only some iron bars keeping him from freedom--well, more like keeping him from half a dozen guards with clubs. He wore chains around his wrists that probably stopped him from casting spells; they glowed a bit. The thought occurred to her that this might be better done in private.

"Move him to an interrogation room," she ordered the guard that had brought them. Oddly enough, she didn't really feel like asking anymore. The prize was too close to be taken lightly, and she had every intent on turning her frustration with Marcus out on everything around her, particularly the man in the cell.

The guard hesitated but nodded a moment later, motioning to another couple of guardsmen to do as she'd so candidly requested.

Marcus followed quietly, doing his best to stay out of the way. He found himself doubting his own decision; Terrel made it obvious through her body language that she would have preferred him to stay behind. He felt awkward, pressing his company where it was not wanted. He reminded himself that he wanted to see the mage, wanted to see the face of evil, almost as if by repeating his original intent and his past desire for a future event would steel himself against the discomfort of the present.

Terrel took charge, commanding the soldiers as if they were part of her own personal regiment. Marcus eyed his chains; they obviously held some kind of magic-dampening, magic-channeling, or magic-blocking powers that gave him conflicted feelings. As a civilian, he was thankful that the mage's powers were nulled. As a mage, he was automatically on guard by the mere presence of such nullifying chains. Finally, as a boy with an insatiable desire for knowledge, he wondered how exactly the bonds functioned, and if it were possible for him to replicate the magic.

The guards opened the cell, and their guide held up his arms to keep him and Terrel back. The two guards walked inside the cell and escorted the man out, and he moved silently with them. Marcus craned his neck, trying to see his face, but his greasy hair hung over his eyes and before he could get a good look the guards had already blocked his view. Frustrated, Marcus slumped back as the guards took him down the hallway and through another black door.

They followed. Their guide stopped, hesitating before opening the door for them. "Do both of you want to come in?" He asked. "The viewing room's through there," he said, nodding toward an adjacent black door. "Either of you going in?"

Marcus looked to Terrel. He already felt bad for forcing himself upon her, and really, the viewing room would suit him fine. He had the feeling that Terrel wanted to talk to the mage on her own, and he felt that she would be much more comfortable if he wasn't actually in the same room with them.

"I'll take the viewing room," he said, and the guard opened the door for him. He smiled at Terrel and stepped inside. "Good luck," he said. "Unless you'd rather I go in with you?"

Did she dare? The whole point of Marcus not coming was that he wouldn't see any of this. There wouldn't be any getting out of that now, because he was going to watch one way or another. She had a choice now whether he would be included in the process or not, though. Would she spare him? The kid had frustrated her by coming, but she couldn't take it out on him. Not directly, anyway. No, she'd take it out on that wretch of a mage in there, even if that caused some indirect damage. Terrel was too frustrated now to think of it any other way.

She dared.

"No, come with me. I'm going to need you," she said, her voice a little too calm for the thunderous mood that she was in. Dangerously calm. Under her breath she began to hum the tune she had just learned as she made for the door; after quite a bit of thought, she not only was sure that it was magical but that it must be the song of the stories, the Song of Storms. Even as she entered the room where the prisoner was being held she could hear the rain begin to come down already. Was it really so quick? She broke off the tune as she closed the door behind the two of them.

There was that man, then, in front of them. Shackled by his hands and feet, his matted, greasy hair mostly covered his eyes. Terrel didn't know the man at all, but she knew the type. Being in the very presence of the man made her hairs rise, and she resisted the urge to just growl at the man. That could come later, though. She nodded to the corner, willfully suggesting Marcus stand there for the time being, and she moved to take the chair across from the criminal.

The man spoke first, and she could smell his breath all the way across the table, "So. The guards brought me a present to try and get me to talk, eh? You can take these chains off, then--unless you like it that way, of course." The man's face split into a dark grin, and Terrel's eyes bulged at the words.

A loud slap echoed around the room, turning the man's face to the side as Terrel withdrew her smarting hand. From above her, a rolling peal of thunder seemed to shake the walls of the building. Terrel growled at the man now, reaching across the table and grabbing at his grimy prisoner's uniform. She yanked him practically onto the table, leaning in and speaking to him louder than she needed to at that range, "We already found the cure to your blasted spell; all your victims are right as rain now. That means you just went from being useful to being dead weight. Follow me?"

The prisoner licked his lips at that, turning his eyes away from Terrel's in an effort to avoid them. He seemed to gather some nerve to respond though, and he tried putting on another devilish grin as he looked back at her, "Well then. If I'm dead weight to you, and I'm not allowed to have you, then what's the point of all this?"

Terrel didn't bother responding, instead simply choosing to punch the man in the face. The more she talked with him the less she felt like playing any sort of nice-cop in the situation. Reeling back from the blow, the prisoner cursed and raised his hands to his face, tenderly feeling at the area she had just hit. Before he could make any sort of response to that, Terrel stood up and drew her full height. Despite it not being much, there was a certain sense of command that came from it when her eyes were burning as furious as they were.

"I'm here for information, you piece of filth," she spat at him, clenching and unclenching fists. "And I'll pummel you into the grave and then pull you back out of it until I get it. Got it?" The man looked apprehensive but waited for her to make her request. Snarling Terrel placed her hands on the table and looked the man in the eye again, "I know you scum have eyes and ears further than anywhere else. A couple of years ago one of the thieves from the Lost Woods took a kid from Darunia and fled. Who here would know about that?"

"You're mad!" the criminal laughed, and Terrel punched him on the other side of the face this time, almost knocking him out of the chair. "You wench! What is it to you anyway?" Without hesitation, she threw the table to the side, leaping at the man and striking him in the face again and again, finally lifting him up by his shirt; thankfully scrawny mages weren't too heavy.

She growled at him, "I'm not just here for information--I'm here to hurt you. No one could care more about that kid because he's my son, and you people took him. I know you still have him, so I'm going to ask you again: who do I talk to?" The man only grinned, his teeth bloody by now, and a moment later he spat on Terrel, spewing saliva and blood all over her face.

With a howl of rage, the woman slammed him into the wall, dropping him a moment later and sending a fist into his stomach, causing the man to bend over. She brought a knee up between his legs, and the man yelped in pain, collapsing to the floor in a heap. But something seemed to have broken in the woman. Pent up rage, years in the collecting, bubbled to the surface, and she delivered blow after blow into any vulnerable area on the man, reducing him to a bloody and bruised mess by the time she was panting for breath. Likely the man would be unable to move, and it occurred to her that if she kept going like this then she'd probably kill him.

Leaning down to his face, she whispered at him, "How about now, you pig? Who do I do talk to?"

When he only whimpered in response, Terrel stood up slowly, her shoulders sagging. Without looking at the kid, she spoke to him, "Heal him, Marcus. I don't want to kill him. Not yet."

Marcus was a little surprised when Terrel told him to come with her, but he did not dare to do anything but nod quietly and follow behind his companion. In all the (admittedly brief) time he had spent with her, he had never seen her like this. She had shown herself to be a tough, sarcastic woman. She had felt no hesitation in insulting the Alchemist, and there were obviously few things to keep her from speaking her mind. Insults and sarcastic comments were, he found, the norm with her. But this, this quiet stillness, was new. New and frightening. It reminded him of the absolute stillness that came before the blizzards of the Great Freeze, the total sense of silence that always announced the imminent explosion of unrestrained power.

It started to rain, heavy droplets pounding against the roof overhead as he followed Terrel into the room. This did absolutely nothing to help his sense of unease; something was about to happen, he knew it. Suddenly, he found himself wondering whether it would have been best to wait at the inn after all, or even to have just closed the door of the viewing room before Terrel commanded him to follow. His natural Hylian sixth sense was throwing up a storm comparable to the one thundering outside, the one about to be unleashed in his companion, and he didn't particularly want to be in the same room as her when it was.

She told him with her eyes to stand behind her in the corner, and he obeyed, glad to be nowhere near the line of fire. Out of sight, out of harm, hopefully. The interrogation began. Marcus' gaze was entirely focused on the mage's face, trying to see exactly what kind of person this man was. But still, just as in the corridor outside, his long greasy hair blocked most of his face from view.

He may not have been able to see evil's face, but he could certainly hear its voice. Rasping, almost guttural it was, as the mage leered at Terrel and taunted her with the kind of words that Marcus imagined only existed in places like downtown pubs. Thunder cracked, matching Terrel's strike perfectly. Marcus winced.

Terrel seized the prisoner and yanked him across the table, pushing her face close to his and speaking so loudly that she was almost yelling. Marcus felt a split-second of fear; what if the man didn't believe what she said about the petrified city-folk? It was possible that the guards had already tried that, to use some kind of backwards psychology to get information out of him. It seemed they hadn't, though, because the man completely bought her story. Perhaps it was that she had proved herself willing to hurt him; she had no use for lies.

Punch. Marcus bit his lip, watching as Terrel pounded the man into submission once again. This wasn't right, something was wrong. She shouldn't be acting like this, this was wrong; Marcus was confused and afraid, although who for he couldn't tell. Blow after blow fell upon the mage, and Marcus' hands trembled from such an internal conflict he had never known. All of his beliefs, everything he worked for in his life was to help and ease others' suffering, but now his companion stood before him, beating a defenseless man into a sodden, miserable, greasy lump of bruised flesh. This was not right, and yet... yet there was the other side to the story. A side that explained, a side that justified, a side that he was still trying to understand.

"Heal him, Marcus." Automatically, he stepped forward, his mind reeling with revelations. Her son had been stolen in Darunia by thieves, and she was... she was trying to get him back. That was why she was so angry! Years, maybe even decades of anger, frustration, and loss were all pouring out at this moment, and the low-life mage was the scape-goat and receiver of all the emotions and pain she had suffered for only the Goddesses knew how long.

Marcus wasn't sure what exactly he should do. He looked to the man crumpled and miserable on the floor, the man who had spitefully turned innocent people to stone, ripping apart families and sending whole houses into grief, and he looked to the tired woman, the mother who had lost her son, the woman who was willing to move heaven and earth to get him back. There wasn't really a choice to make, not really. There was really only one thing he could do.

Stepping forward, he kneeled by the man's side and concentrated. He poured the magic of Life into the man's body, easing his physical suffering and soothing the inflamed tissues. He could see the man's face now. The hair had fallen to the side when the mage had collapsed, and his face was exposed to the room's air. Rain fell against the rooftop in heavy droplets, and Marcus stared down at what he had desired to see for how many minutes.

Was this it? He felt a sense of disappointment. Here was the man who had casually changed a little girl into a stone statue, a mother into an unfeeling rock, and Farore only knew how many fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters into the same. This was the face of evil, and yet... yet it was nothing as Marcus had expected. It was broken and afraid, empty and pitiful. There was nothing dramatic, awe-inspiring, or frightening in that face, no terrifying monster which simultaneously repulsed and enthralled him. It was nothing, just a pathetic human face that had lost everything.

As he gazed into the man's sunken eyes, Marcus chose his side. He would side with the mother who had lost her son, the woman who was striving with every fiber of her being to find her family. "You know what this means," he told the man calmly, "I can heal you of any injury she inflicts. There is no end to this, not even death, until you tell her what she wants to know." There was no emotion in his voice; it was the voice of inexorable logic. He could have pressed it, reiterated her question, but it was not his place to do so. He picked up the man's still-limp form (his magic did not invigorate, only heal) and helped the man back into his chair.

His work was finished, but he paused before heading back into his corner. He stopped by Terrel and whispered softly to her, so softly that he was sure that the man would be unable to hear him. "I understand what you're doing," he breathed, "but remember that this isn't the only way. If a potion can melt stone and restore dozens of people, a potion can wrest the truth from a man's lips. Please, don't hurt him anymore. If he still doesn't talk, we can visit the Alchemist again. Don't go down this road, Terrel. Please."

Despite the certainty she'd put behind her command, Terrel felt a hint of surprise when Marcus actually complied. Part of her wished that he hadn't, for fear that she would be pulling him down to some sort of hell with her, but the larger majority agreed that it was necessary. Her heart had frozen, since locking eyes on that man. There was nothing on the surface except cold, smooth resolve to do whatever necessary. That ball of ice encapsulated her heart, locking away cares, concerns, fear, ethics, love, and all the rest of her emotions. They wouldn't get in the way right now. She wouldn't let them. That ice blocked any and all emotions except for one: a cold hatred and anger that leaked out, filling every vein of her body. There was no room for anything else now.

Only, Marcus' words, soft as they were, managed to cut through all that. Amidst her cold fury, Terrel could feel the ice cracking under the weight of that quiet utterance, threatening to unleash everything else. Desperately she avoided looking at him, immediately sealing the cracks as they formed. Don't go down that road, he said? The very fact that he cared was almost enough to shatter that protective shell in one blow.

Painful as it was, she forced herself to hold onto it, drowning pain in anger. She thought of the men she'd been forced to be with to accomplish anything. She thought of the people she'd had to cheat in order to make any progress. She thought of the single instance that she had ended human life, likely leaving some child somewhere fatherless. Go down that road? No, she had done terrible things already--she already was on that road.

The only thing she could do to keep from breaking was to hold her silence. She had to refocus, turn that primal beam of anger back on the one who deserved it. Terrel faced the man who had just been brought back from the brink of death. Would he still be in pain? Never had she endured something like that and been healed only moments later. He seemed stunned, still in shock by the entire ordeal, and Terrel idly wondered what the guards were thinking who were watching this. Would she be arrested too when she left? There was no room to think about that right now.

Marcus had put him back in the chair, though the table was still flung to the side of the room. Drawing the other chair up, she sat directly across from him. With a grimace, she pulled herself together, steeling her face again, and she reached over to the man and grabbed at his chin, pulling it harshly up so he was forced to meet her eyes. That determined insolence was gone now, and he looked like a child who had just been strapped. Perfect.

Trying not to think of the kid in the room, Terrel put as much confidence into her words as she could. "All right. Let's start this again, shall we? Who do I ta--"

Amazingly, he cut her off. His eyes were desperate, like a wounded animal in a trap, and his words were hoarse but understandable. "What you want is insane, woman," he began, and Terrel immediately clenched a fist and raised it, but he quickly sputtered on, "b-but, if there's anyone who would know it would be Andolais."

Terrel was too chilled to show emotion over her victory, and she focused everything she had into demands, "Where. Tell me when and where I can find him."

"W-water's Den," the man whispered in response, closing his eyes as if to shut out the reality of what he was doing, "not tomorrow night but the following, at ten. It's a pub. Whenever thieves from Darunia come, they talk with him."

For a long moment she held his face there, still locking her eyes on to him, as if he were to suddenly confess he had lied. There was too much fear for dishonesty there. Finally she released her hand, drawing herself up a moment later, her face still a steely reserve. It was done then. The ball of ice couldn't allow happiness out, so she remained stoic. She'd need that to get past the guards on her way out. Silently she made her way for the door, though she held it open long enough to allow Marcus to pass through before her.

The guards opened their door, but Terrel shot them a look that could chisel stone, as if daring them to say a thing. Immediately, they shrank back, leaving Marcus and her alone to walk. She couldn't bring herself to think of much anything at all right then, but she did manage some words that felt odd on her tongue, "I'm sorry, kid. I didn't want you to have to see that." Would that ball of ice hold until they made it back to the inn? It was hard to say, at this point.

The man refused to give information, and Terrel lifted her hand to strike him. Every drop of blood in Marcus' body seemed to freeze, his heart stopped, and his breath caught as he waited for the blow to fall, for Terrel to set herself firmly on a path which he would not follow. But the blow was never to fall. The cowed criminal spilled everything he knew, and Terrel was satisfied.

Marcus, on the other hand, wasn't. Had she made her choice? Had she chosen to follow blind violence even in the face of logical, ethical efficiency? But she had never actually hit the man; surely this must mean something. Marcus would have rubbed his forehead if he hadn't wanted to attract as little attention as possible. The problem lay in the differences between the intent and the deed. Which one mattered more? Marcus wasn't entirely sure. If someone wanted to kill a man, yet lost his way and was unable to, did that hold the same impact as if he had actually killed him? Surely not; the man would not be dead. Marcus felt comforted by this, but then he remembered that the intent still held power, at least in the intender's mind.

This was too complicated to think about right now. He would have time to ponder this later. Terrel held the door open for him and he walked silently out, passing the guards and noting their submissiveness. No doubt they were only letting them go because of the crucial information they had obtained; a man who was visited by virtually all thieves from Darunia was a great catch.

"It's alright," he answered quietly. "I asked to come. It's not your fault I was watching." He wanted to say something, anything, that would help her realize where she stood right now. She walked a continually narrowing pathway, one surrounded by two different types of ground. The ground on her left was gently sloped and grassy, easy on the eyes and easier to walk. To her right, the terrain was rocky, flat, and painful to the feet. Eventually the path would narrow so much that it would disappear completely, leaving Terrel with the choice that awaits every man. Marcus prayed, as he had prayed only for his sister's soul, that she would choose correctly.

The anger was evaporating from her body, and it relieved the pressure from around that ball of ice. Once there had been a guy who spent way too much time with books but had wanted to flirt with her anyway; she'd been told by him that the air weighed a lot more than you thought, and that if it went away everything would fall apart. It had something to do with constantly applying pressure to everything or something like that. Terrel didn't really get it, but that seemed to be what this was. As her rage filtered out, she was left deflated and unstable.

She knew it'd break eventually; she was just worried what would happen when it did. Could it be gradual, or would it be a brilliant shower of ice that exploded from within? Still she held on to it as best she could. What she really wanted was for Marcus to start talking, though. Anything that could distract her mind from collapsing on itself right now. Battered and beaten, she felt like a marionette that had had most of its strings cut. Head down, arms limp, and feet dragging, she felt as if all stability had been cut from her body.

But she couldn't stand to simply rest in her own pity. It just wasn't her way. Doing her best to draw herself straight, she tried to do the equivalent of dusting off your clothes except for one's emotions. When she spoke, she found her voice tired, but at least she managed to filter out the rest of her feelings from it. Terrel spoke before she had too much time to agonize over the words.

"You probably have questions, Marcus. Ask." She spoke relatively quietly as well, the buzz of the crowds around them dully muting as she lost focus of them. After a moment she added with the most sincerity she'd ever given the word. "Please." The woman wanted him to talk—no, needed him to talk. As much as she hated needing anyone for anything, the fact of the matter was that if he wasn't there she probably would've broken down already. Oh, what a relief that would have been. So if he was going to be around, he might as well help! In her mind she laughed weakly at that.

Marcus cast his companion a sidelong glance as they walked, meeting her form for the first time in many seconds. He was suprised to see her looking so... defeated. Every part of her seemed to sag from exhaustion- or maybe it was something else that was weighing down her body so? Perhaps it was the standard fall-out after an intensely emotional experience that did it, but regardless, Marcus felt worried. He kept his gaze firmly on her, ready to catch her in case she fell. He deemed it highly unlikely she would collapse, but... there was always that tiny percentage of possibility.

Terrel seemed to notice her posture; she drew herself up straight and composed herself. She spoke, and Marcus felt like he should be taken aback. She wanted him to pry? That was new. He had always understood their relationship to be one which necessitated skirting around the real questions, things that he could tell Terrel didn't want to go into. For whatever reason, though, she was asking him to ask her now, and Marcus found himself clearing his throat to answer.

"How old was he?"

Did he ask because she'd prompted him into it? Terrel hadn't really considered that, but the thought struck her now. Who really wanted to know about a person's baggage anyway? Everyone carried their own weight, and it often was more than they themselves could handle. Trying to put on another person's weight on top of that seemed ridiculous. She couldn't ask him to do that, yet she did anyway. With a sigh, Terrel fought to keep her face straight, choosing to look grimly at the paths before her. Maybe some writer would find a metaphor in that, but she was more interested in not falling over.

"He was fifteen months when they took him," she said calmly. It was the only way she could talk, what with the crowds surrounding them. She didn't have the will to yell, to express her emotions in that way, but talking quietly would do no good either. "He's three and a half now," she added a moment later, speaking as if exhaling the information rather than speaking it. Her life was now dedicated to finding that kid again; there wasn't a day that went by she didn't think about it. She looked at the pictographs practically every night, replayed every memory she could manage on a regular basis.

Why was recounting it now so blastedly painful?

She felt raw, emotionally sore. Maybe she was just in a mood swing, or maybe beating the dung out of that crook had shaken something up inside of her. Perhaps it was just being so close again to the people she knew were responsible for this whole mess, or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Marcus had shown a semblance of caring about her life. It wasn't that she'd assumed he was selfish or anything, but really, why should someone else care?

Rubbing a finger along the bridge of her nose, she frowned and shook her head quietly. "Listen to me," she muttered irritably, "going on about my life like this. I've known you for hardly a day, there's no grounds for me to be pulling you into my affairs. You've got a family of your own to worry about and find again. Parents to see, a sister to reacquaint with." She sighed, looking at him sincerely now, "Look. What I'm trying to say is... You have your plans and I have mine, and just because you know about mine, doesn't mean you need to feel like you've gotta do anything for me. I won't hold anything against you, okay?"

She wouldn't--she meant that. The last thing she wanted was to ruin another person's life. Terrel wasn't a good person, but that didn't mean she wanted to hurt anyone she didn't have to.

Yet... still part of her wanted him to stay anyway. Walk with her to their mutual doom, even if for only a little while.

Fifteen months... Marcus had been about that age. He didn't remember anything of then, and he knew that that must eat away at Terrel's insides: the knowledge that even if she found her child, he would not remember her. The fifteen months they had spent together would only be a painful remembrance for her, and for him it would be as if they had not existed. No wonder Terrel was so emotional.

"About those plans," he said, scratching his head and looking at a nearby hawker. "They're not... not really there." He had learned, once, that secrets must be repaid in kind for the conversation to blossom. Terrel had shared her past... now it was his turn. "It's a common tale, really," he said. "In the Western Caves. Most of Southern Hyrule was destroyed; it's not shocking to find... orphans lying around." The hawker jangled a necklace of flashy beads at a passing couple. The girl stopped, interested, while the boy rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders. "I have an uncle," he said, "but that's it. Everyone else... well, you can imagine." He concentrated on the boy, tugging the girl away from the hawker, who was holding up two fingers to indicate a price of a red rupee. His throat felt tight. "I miss him," he said, "my uncle. I want to see him again, but... I'm not in any hurry." He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling awkward and embarrassed for sharing so much of himself in one paragraph. He didn't feel like there was anything left to be said, and he didn't know if he was up to saying it, even if there was.

Even your sister? Terrel almost asked but stopped herself. She did possess some sense of sensitivity, even in her battered state. Of course the kid's sister was dead, else he wouldn't have referred to his uncle as the closest family member. Her current situation would be different than Marcus' situation; he wasn't responsible for the family members he couldn't meet. But there was something in the way he spoke about it... Perhaps they weren't in identical circumstances, but loss? He had felt loss. Not loss of a possession or an opportunity. No, human loss was something quite different. She still wanted to weep, but she felt a sense of comfort in that relation.

Part of her, a selfish part, wanted to instantly return the conversation back to her own pathetic story, but she had to stop herself. Marcus was opening up a bit too, and if she'd given him part of her burden, then she could hold on to some of his too, right? Fair was fair, after all. Not to mention that she'd grown perhaps a little fond of the kid. If she wasn't such a wreck, maybe she'd be more helpful to him. She tried anyway.

"Folks in up here in Northern Hyrule don't really know much about you guys," she admitted slowly. "Some of the well-to-do folk just assumed you guys were scattered around by some monsters, that it wasn't so bad as what the reports had suggested." Terrel paused for a moment, looking at her shoes as she walked and frowning, "Well. They were wrong. I don't know that half of the people up here could have made it through whatever happened down there--what you went through. But I promise you this. If the Ballad of Gales really exists and I can find it? I'll take you home, kid. I don't know when, but I'll do it."

Swallowing was difficult. Blinking was difficult. Farore, even walking was difficult! Little cracks and bumps in the road which would never have bothered him before were suddenly so large that he was having trouble not stumbling over them. Things like the road underneath his feet seemed suddenly inconsequential compared to the thoughts that blazed in his mind like a meteor, leaving everything in its wake scattered, disjointed, and aflame.

Home. He was going home. Maybe not now, but eventually. He wasn't exactly sorry he had arrived in the North; he had certainly learned a lot, gotten real-world experience, and met some very interesting people. It was just... his chest ached suddenly for things that he hadn't honestly been thinking of lately. The cool feel of the caves, the softness of his bed, the immense, familiar Library of his youth... his uncle... he wanted them back. As exciting as this new world was, he missed his home. His fingers ghosted over Farore's Emblem, hanging from his neck underneath his tunic. Going home had always lingered at the back of his mind, a longing that never disappeared but one he wouldn't, couldn't, let himself dwell on. Now, though, returning to the Western Caves was a real, achievable possibility.

He tried to say something, anything. Nothing he thought of seemed to fit. Finally, he decided on the only course of action that seemed to adequately capture the complicated mismatch of emotions churching and popping in his stomach. He closed the distance between them and hugged her silently.

Terrel blinked and stopped short as Marcus made contact with her. What was he--? Oh. Silently, wordlessly, she felt the kid's arms wrap around her back, pulling her into a hug in the middle of the busy street. When was the last time she had hugged someone? Immediately regretful images filled her mind, but she banished them just as fast. No, not embraced someone... Hugged them. Meaningfully. It felt like it had been forever. Years, at the very least; not since her mother had been killed. All those emotions welled up inside of her in a heartbeat, but she silenced them by hugging the kid back just as hard.

That ball of ice in her chest began to melt, giving way to everything she had tried to trap inside of it. Her body was filled with something else, at the moment, though. It wasn't cold rage like before, it was something warm, something joyful. Gently, carefully, the ice seemed to fall off around her heart and Terrel managed to keep control of herself, breathing in measured segments. She had no clue what to think of about Marcus anymore, but for now he was a friend and that was that.

Terrel had forgotten how good it was to have friends.

She released him finally, rubbing away the couple of tears that had formed just on the edges of her eyes. "Come on, kid. Let's get some lunch."

End.