Familiarity Noun
1: Close acquaintance with or knowledge of something
2: Relaxed friendliness or intimacy between people
The heat of summer had passed and the leaves turned russet. Time seemed to have progressed quickly yet had it? Her past summers had been filled with the familiar. Work, coupled with more work, the evening swims at the lake, sneaking into the bunk houses to play dice and share a drink with some of the workers, honing those crafts expected of a woman such as cooking, music, painting and embroidery. This summer had been different.
Only one other had she formed a similar bond with, and he was gone, her friend she would skim stones with and share secrets, one she could drop all ladylike pretenses and be who she was, just Jessi, a woman who grew up with and understood the dirt and grime of the miners life and all it entailed. She cherished what came with being ladylike though, the finery, the adoration, the opulence, but her heart was most comfortable being in the company of those people, the rough around the edges, plain speaking sort that she had grown up around, even if she was dressed in silk and they in simple cloth. She was an amalgamation of two worlds. Artanion, would be in part, key to showing her why.
Like a warm blanket, shrouding her, the man had been at her side for some time now. Comfortable, certainly protective, but something more, something deeper, a familiarity. They shared words almost daily and oh so many spilled like the wine and ale they oft consumed. He was never Artanion then, he was Arti. She had seen him in times of desperation and in those of calm. She knew his capabilities, his inner and outer strength, but also his doubts. She'd seen the veneer crack, the image he portrayed to any other in his presence. She knew of his past, he wanted her to know of his future, to share the knowledge gained from that path. It was as if the path was obscured by a mist, one that was gradually lifting.
He had already aided her in finding her own path when he accompanied her to the family home in Evendim, insistent he speak with her father concerning the ridiculous contract and her fathers mindset regarding finding her a suitable husband. Although a fraught meeting, the two men understood one another, even liked one another. They spoke a little of her mother, the woman her father had wed so long ago and against the wishes of her people. A strange people, ones that knew those lands very well. She knew little of her mother, the raven haired, gentle faced woman that cradled her as a babe, looking down upon her for years from the family portrait that was hung above the mantle piece. Her father found it too painful to speak of her, save little comments that were normally given with a far off expression.
Arti would leave Bree soon, and as a distraction, she decided she was to go another way, toward the frozen lands beyond her homelands borders. Her mind needed to be quelled of the worries that filled it, knowing his journey would not be safe, yet, he cared for her safety, trying to prepare her for being away from his watchful eye. His concern only akin to those shown by the closest she had known. She asked him, would he feel better if he were to join her? Yes. He was not one to mince words. Though she discovered her initial request was honoured, she now would be accompanying him on his journey, but not yet, not until he made absolutely certain she could be safe. A woman, oft seen in dresses, now holding a blade until her arms burned with the weight of it. Putting aside her quips to listen to every instruction. Waking early morn for his arrival, practicing when he was not there. She hoped not to cower again as she did in the presence of Fernroot and himself, as the arrows fell upon them many days ago as they stood surrounded in ash. She would not be a burden, another thing to watch for and he would make certain of that. -They- would leave soon.
It confused her, just as much as it did him, but for different reasons. He could not understand why women would seek his attention, he felt an annoyance toward some people who would approach him, an indifference to most. She could not understand why he found it unusual. She of course was used to the attention, wealth and feminine charms tended to bring people toward her like flies to a pot of jam. He though was uncomfortable, dismissing her explanations, doubting her words, but she had witnessed it. The subtle, and at times, not so subtle attempts to gain his attention. It did not trouble her, bar one time. A time she refused to join him and the woman he shared conversation with. He was far from happy the following day and although her reasoning was understood, he bid her never to avoid him again. Firm, clear, instruction. He missed her company, she missed his.
The journey they were to embark on was not to be their last, for eventually they were to return to his home, far, far from Bree. She had not considered this until he spoke on the matter as they stood in the old ruins of the town. Her words slipped in their conversation, not once, but twice, embarrassment and laughter following. She could blame it upon the drink she had the night prior, but no, her thoughts as much as she protested, were in the gutter. Her thoughts of him changed, developed over time. They were entwined in a fashion, familiarity grew by the day. They were bound in some inexplicable way to most, but to them it was becoming very obvious, or at least, to her.
