Jorgen-21

Renner extended his hand because he felt that what should complement the woman in front of him shouldn't be a dull headscarf. He was like a traveler returning to his homeland after years of wandering, eager to see if things could still align with the images in his memory, even though he had never truly recalled the face represented by the name Crecyda. Why won't she let me uncover the headscarf? Is she afraid of me? Have I done something wrong? These questions didn't trouble Renner for long because he focused entirely on her features and expression. Her eyes, nose, lips—all were placed into his blurred memory. He didn't anticipate or plan anything for this meeting, but involuntarily began reconstructing his memories. If the old memories didn't include her, then new ones could replace them. It wasn't fabrication or deception, just a reconstruction. The only thing he couldn't place in his memory was the headscarf. Something else had to replace it.

She frowned, her eyes flickering with instability, body retreating, almost pressing against the white wall, her face turning pale. White. Her posture, as if enduring a sudden gust of cold wind. There's a place for her in the memories—white. Snow, the color of snow. She's shivering. Cold and uneasy. Because... it's in the snowy landscape. Her hands are slender. Reaching out to her, hoping she would grasp it. We're in the snowy landscape. Her feet sinking deep into the white. Maybe there's nothing left, but we're free. Not a headscarf, but black... long hair. Falling snowflakes can't hide their true color. Let's go together, leave this place. Find a place we both like and stay. In the snowy landscape, she holds my hand. There's nothing worth lingering for here, except. Except you.

"Crecyda," Renner said, "you are Crecyda."

He heard her breath pause again. Tears began to fill her eyes, not expressing joy or sadness, but merely existing for this moment seven years later. She bit her lip, nodded twice, the second time slightly slower. Then she grabbed the collar of his clothes with her right hand, pressed her whole body against him, placed her forehead next to his neck, and only then resumed breathing. She loosened her grip on his clothes with her right hand, holding him tightly with both hands, pressing against his back. She might have said something, but Renner didn't hear clearly. This reaction exceeded Renner's expectations; he just wanted to confirm a memory, not for her to throw herself at him like this.

A hug. Renner had never had such contact with another person since awakening. On the execution ground, he occasionally had close bodily contact with the death row inmates, but that was resistance, revealing mutual disgust and resentment, not acceptance and reliance. Her body was warm. Renner was unfamiliar with this gentle warmth; he was familiar only with sweat evaporating in the scorching sun and hot blood splashing onto his hands. Maybe this was the feeling of being human, no distance, no guard. Renner felt he should respond with a hug, but when his hand gently touched her body, she hugged him tighter, making Renner wonder again if he had done something wrong.

Crecyda withdrew, looking at him, and said, "Can you smile?"

As if to demonstrate, she smiled. Perhaps this demonstration was necessary because Renner knew numbness, panic, anger, and despair all displayed certain expressions—especially despair. But this eyes slightly squinting, corners of the mouth naturally turning upwards, relaxed expression had never been shown to him in these years. Up to now, she had allowed him to experience two long-lost things in life—a hug and a smile. So, even though Renner hadn't established a connection with the woman before him psychologically, he understood he had to do something to comply with her wishes. He smiled, and as for how he smiled, he didn't know. After she saw it, wiped away her tears, she took his hand and led him into the room.

Crecyda didn't rejoice ecstatically because she heard her name from Renner. Jorgen's reminders lingered in her mind: Renner lacks a complete memory of you. He might still struggle to understand the emotions between people, despite having the impulse to comprehend them. Now, Jorgen's words were undoubtedly credible. Past Renner couldn't rudely and bluntly attempt to uncover her headscarf; when he mentioned her name, it was a probing tone, not to mention that compelling expression that was hard to call a smile. However, Crecyda didn't want to sink into despair due to these setbacks—she was here to help him. To help him and herself. At least, Renner responded to her embrace just now, and she absorbed enough hope and courage from it to continue.

"Renner, how much do you remember about me?"

"You are my wife..."

"No, don't say that. I want to ask about specific things between us."

"I saw you in the snowy landscape. We... had an argument."

"Yes, yes. What else? Can you remember anything else?"

"We communicated. Many times."

"Yes, many letters. That was when you were on the front lines, and I was still at home. Anything else?"

"There must be more," she told herself.

Renner fell silent for a moment, seemingly caught in complex thoughts.

"All I can remember is this much," he said.

"Think again. Just try."

"There's one more thing. I lost the ring on the battlefield. Our wedding ring. Jorgen was there, he saw it. He said bringing the wedding ring to the battlefield was the first mistake, trying to retrieve it was the second, because there were enemies nearby. The second mistake was unforgivable; that's why I died once because of it."

Jorgen didn't tell Crecyda about this. Crecyda didn't intend to blame Jorgen for this, as she'd rather hear it from Renner. It wasn't a good memory, but she finally knew what initially made her husband unable to send letters home.

Crecyda guessed this was probably all she could ask. And for this last thing, Renner even borrowed Jorgen's description. Maybe he just pretended to remember to make her happy. For Crecyda, this wasn't enough, far from enough—ten years of companionship reduced to two or three intermittent sentences. Crecyda hoped she and Renner could return to their former home together, where she would use everything to help him remember. The dishes he liked, her small wooden carvings, the shared space and time. It was a beautiful association because she knew leaving Stromgarde didn't mean returning home. She couldn't even predict how many more chances she would have to meet him. In this limited time, she had to use every possible means to assist him in remembering—no one or nothing could help her achieve this, forcing Renner to remember was also futile, and all she could rely on was herself.

"You remember so little," she said. "Do you want to remember more?"

"I should. But..."

"I'll help you. Come."

She took his hand and led him to the bed.

"I want you to lie down for me," she said.

Renner didn't immediately comply, and when he did lie down, the movement was stiff, as if trying to squeeze his body into a narrow trench. He couldn't decide whether to place his hands flat or whether to bend his knees, and the presence of a pillow under his neck seemed awkward. Crecyda smiled; she could imagine where he had been sleeping all these years. After lying down for a few seconds, Renner wanted to prop up his upper body, but Crecyda gently pressed down on his shoulder, saying, "Like this. This is good."

She knelt across his waist on the bed, beginning to undress him. During this process, Renner kept watching her, and his chest started rising and falling, finally giving her a sense of pure joy. But when she removed his shirt, Crecyda couldn't help but frown, hands suspended. Near Renner's heart, there was the most terrifying scar she had ever seen. Renner noticed her reaction, lifted his chin to look at his scar, but Crecyda bent down and kissed him. She didn't immediately invest too much emotion in this kiss after seven years of separation. Even in the moment her lips touched his, she suddenly felt a sensation of almost collapsing, stronger than the impact of seeing him a moment ago. She wanted to cry uncontrollably, to let the breaths separated for seven years blend together in this kiss, to keep telling him how much she missed him—there had been no chance to say these words so far—but she ultimately restrained herself.

Crecyda lifted herself, removing her own dress. After hesitating for a moment, she took off the headscarf. "Renner," she said, "I want you to remember. Everything you see now is yours." She held his right hand, pressing it to her left chest. "Kiss it, okay. Otherwise, kiss the other side, or anywhere you want. Renner, I want you to remember who I am, remember how it feels to be with me. I also want to remember those feelings."

Renner followed her instructions while reaching for another place. After that, she didn't say anything more. At this moment, there was no unfamiliarity with the man pressed against her. She recalled all the occasions and times they had done this, blending the present into those memories, making it seem less special. She wanted to eliminate the daunting significance of the reunion after seven years, making what was happening now a commonplace between lovers. From their first time in her solitary wooden cabin, to the highly emotional night before he went to the front lines, and now, she claimed him in the same way.

Later, Crecyda lay in Renner's arms but dared not look at his face. She feared she might find that what she had done had little effect. And there was another fact that made her uneasy: Renner couldn't stroke her long hair after as he used to. Of course, it wasn't his fault, but Crecyda couldn't help but mind.

When their bodies finally calmed down, Crecyda suddenly felt a severe panic—after all the efforts she had made, the breakdown she had been avoiding finally came, like a fragile branch that stubbornly withstood a storm only to snap at the moment the dark clouds completely dispersed. She cried incessantly, burying her face in his chest, toes gripping the bedsheet tightly.

"Renner, Renner. I miss you. I love you. What have those people... what have they done to you? I really want to kill them. Everyone who made you like this deserves to die. Please, please remember me... why, why did this have to happen? I didn't do anything wrong. I was just waiting for you to come home, waited for three years, and then things turned out like this. Why does it have to be us to go through..."