Chapter 7: No Sinners in the Rain

Fate had seemingly chosen to give Marion the cards that dictated the road forward be the one through hell and highwater. Rain had set in, pouring down in sheets on elf, prince, and fey all. There was a bitterness in the chill, as if the gods meant to make them suffer further than hangovers and long journeys had already made them suffer. Eris clung tightly to Marion, his raven hair plastered to his face by the downpour.

“We can’t possibly keep going in this!” he yelled, his hands gripping tightly to the knight’s sides.

The cobblestones had become slick and their overall visibility had been reduced greatly. The rain came down in sheets. Eris was right to say they couldn’t keep going, Marion couldn’t even see the road ahead of them. Jacket was no better, her head bouncing and jerking against the reins as she tried to keep the rain from filling her eyes. The fury of the gods had come in the downpour, the elf was sure of it. Yet, here there were no sinners, only travelers sprinting on the cobble roads in an attempt to find somewhere safe to stop.

The fey’s eyes were much keener than Marion’s and Eris', spying out the outline of a road-side station. Without prompt from the elf, Jacket took off, resisting any attempts to corral her into submission. She was not willing to submit when it meant getting out of the rain. There was comfort in recognizing it when Marion at last knew the place.

They had stayed here but only two weeks back, too late in the night to have kept on the path to find Ganymede. It was little more than a simple cottage, with a hearth and a linenless cot by the door. A note had been pinned into the wall, weathered by time and the weather of the Lowlands. A farmer’s good-tidings and well-wishing for any traveler who came upon it, with directions pointing them further away from the road should they be in any serious need of help.

There was no ceremony for their arrival at the station. Jacket shifted beneath them, pitching Eris, Marion, and the saddlebags forward against the door. The elf struggled to their feet, having to haphazardly drag the prince with them as they did.

Marion fumbled with the door for a moment before they could get it open, stumbling into the station for a moment, before quickly turning around to grab the saddlebags out of the ground.

“Try to get dry, would you?” Marion’s gaze fell on Eris. The prince shuddered, water dripping from his thin body and pooling in the floor beneath him. “You really need to get dry, you’re going to get sick,” the elf murmured.

Very little of the content of the saddlebags remained dry during the storm, they found as they opened them up. Bandages, clothes, foodstuffs, nothing had been spared from the wind and rain.

“Fuck me,” the elf hissed slightly, shaking the bag out, the dampened contents rolling out onto the rickety table. “This couldn’t have been a worse time to need new saddlebags.”

“Do you have a tinder?” Eris looked up at Marion, distracting from the distress caused by the soaked items in the bag. The elf fumbled, their cold hand shaking as they sorted through their effects for the tinderbox, praying in hushed breath that the rain had not gotten so far as to soak the matches. “You should get out of your armor, try to get it dry, so it doesn’t rust. Don’t want my knight returning with rusting plates, now do I?” The prince was trying to joke as he wrung water from his hair, offering a haphazard smile towards Marion.

They produced the tinderbox, offering it out to Eris, waiting for him to take it before turning away. The elf’s hands were shaking as they undid the buckles of their gauntlets, allowing the armor to fall to the table with an audible thud. Next came the gloves worn beneath the gauntlets, the soaking leather stinging as they peeled it away from their skin. They rubbed their hands together furiously once they were bare, cupped against their mouth as they tried to warm them up.

“The Lowlands weather is wretched… How does anybody cope with it?”

“Likely braving it with a cloak or paying attention to the typical signs of coming rain,” Eris replied matter-of-factly, kneeling beside the hearth, not looking up when Marion did not retort.

He worked carefully, only a few pieces of wood placed at first. Dried grass and pinecones served as kindling enough, unceremoniously spread and stuffed into every crevice he could find. A few strikes were all it took to set the kindling ablaze, soon igniting the wood as the flame consumed the readily available fuel.

“There, we’ll just want to keep adding wood through the night. Let me see your things, I’ll arrange them so they can dry.”

“We didn’t make enough headway today,” Marion said suddenly. “I don’t want to stay here longer than necessary.”

Eris blinked, taken aback by the elf’s sudden snappiness. “We’re going to have to wait long enough for the rain to let up or stop, Marion. We can’t keep riding in this. Like you said earlier, one of us is bound to get sick.” For all Eris looked like an elf, he knew he would be alright. Dragons were resilient creatures, but he wasn’t going to tell Marion that. “So, get out of your plates, dry them as much as you can, and come sit by the fire so you can warm up… please?”

Marion glanced from their slowly accumulating pile of armor on the table to the fireplace. Eris stood, brushing past them, his hand lingering on their back as he swept their effects back into the saddlebags. They shuddered, the touch haunting them for a moment as he stepped away to lay out items to dry by the hearth. The knight came free of their chainmail with a ruckus, the tiny rings catching their ruddy blonde hair as they pulled it over their head. “Fuck!”

Eris’ gaze flickered upwards from his unfurling of damp cloth near the hearth to watch Marion for a moment, before returning to his task. He had set his lyre against the wall, having freed it from its bindings to the saddlebag, before excavating the wooden serpent from the bedroll. He regarded the carved creature with a quiet tenderness, a thumb brushing against the chip in its nose, before setting it carefully aside. It would be helpful one of these days, he hoped so at least. His mother promised it would be of help when he needed it most and he certainly felt like that was going to be soon.

“Come sit,” he called softly towards Marion as the last of their plates formed a pile that vaguely resembled the shape of an elf. The knight moved slowly, still rubbing their hands together as they came to sit beside the fire. They still donned their sword belt, the sheathed kingsteel blade resting at their hip.

A sword of Damocles, hanging unminded at the other’s hip. He put the thought out of his mind as the elf set down beside him. The fire was warm and though Eris was lulled to sleep before it, Marion sat awake for some time after that.