While, theoretically, this could take place on all paths, I definitely wrote it with Chaos Denam in mind and a few comments and actions reflect it as such. It's purposely written as overly sweet, sappy, and cliche in order to give Olivya some happiness for once.

Given my utter lack of motivation, I hope this story is at least halfway decent.

Together

The nicest of days were always ruined by the sourest of people.

Denam Morne nodded pleasantly at his employer as the man rattled on continually about the extent of his problem and the importance of Denam's mission. He had heard it all before, on three separate occasions at this point, but kept the feigned smile on his face and nodded when he felt was necessary in order to give the paranoid merchant some confidence in his chosen sellsword. The man barely seemed to register Denam's presence in his continued rants as he paced about the room. Sweat formed on the Xenobian man's brow that gave his skin a light sheen over his rather oversized body from the almost-oppressing warmth of the sun through the specially-built skylight on the roof. The Xenobians of the city simply were not as tolerant of heat as Valerians were; Denam found the weather to be pleasant.

"I understand, sir." Denam barely held back his annoyance, but could not be bothered to mask it with a responsible tone and his words came off somewhat belligerent and impatient. The merchant most definitely would have noticed the Valerian's impatience; one did not get to his social class and standing within the merchant's guild without experience in reading facial expressions or tone, even if he was too far into his own rant to even care to look at Denam.

"It must be done within the week." As if to emphasize his words, his employer pounded his right fist into his left open hand after every other word, no doubt as a subtle response to Denam's insolent tone. For the large sum Denam was to be paid for his assignment, the merchant seemed incredibly dismissive; he still did not bother to look towards the Valerian, but instead picked up what Denam knew was called tobacco and put it into his mouth. The drug was used primarily by the wealthy and was apparently relatively new to the region; it was not quite widespread on the Valerian Isles, other than some of the nobility, primarily former-Galgastani, so the first time he saw and smelled it up close was in Xenobia.

"Within the week." Denam nodded his confirmation to the merchant, who had finally stopped his paces and sat down into the depths his large, red chair, fine and deep, at his desk. Noting the meeting seemed to be over by the large man's lack of response, Denam walked over to his patron and held out his hand in an offer of goodwill and trust; the merchant looked down at the Valerian's glove, comfortable and well worn, and his lips turned up in a disgusted sneer before he turned away. Instead of returning the gesture, the elder man motioned towards his personal female assistant with the wave of a hand. The woman, if she could even be called such at her age, wore next to nothing and dug through a nearby box and pulled out a rather large satchel. She walked over to Denam with the item in her hand and held it out to the Valerian, as 'twas apparently a gift. Denam held his hand out in confusion as the woman dropped it; its weight surprised him, and he had to grasp firmly before he accidentally dropped it on the floor. Denam immediately knew it held an extremely large amount of coin that was apparently the first part of his pay. The amount staggered him - definitely more than he had ever received from a single job before.

Denam nodded at the woman and again to his employer, but could not help but feel a wave of disgust; the man had thought Denam money hungry and misinterpreted his respectful handshake as a request for pay. The meeting was obviously over, no matter Denam's opinion on the man, and he recognized his dismissal. Without another word, the Valerian placed the very heavy coin sack into his satchel and turned on his heel to leave. He was obviously not wanted there, and he did not wish to remain in the lavish, gaudy room, either.

As soon as he passed through the door, the thick smell that previously permeated the air disappeared and Denam drew in a long breath. The man used far too much incense for his own good. The Valerian nodded to the merchant's personal guards as he passed by and walked through the large central hall; the floor almost glowed with the light reflected from the high windows, and his boot steps echoed almost as if they were an invader in the serene, peaceful manor. There were many strange artifacts from cultures Denam had never even heard of, let alone knew about; he was almost tempted to look about in curiosity at some of the exotic trinkets, only stopped by the firm glare of the guards that he almost literally felt bore a hole into his back.

Denam's assignment was simple: "deal with" a group of brigands who continually caused problems for the merchant who employed him. The Valerian was not the first who had been employed for the job, but the others never returned and the activities never stopped; 'twas easy to assume what happened to them. Denam had been in the city for long enough that he had earned some reputation for being both skilled and good on his word. With no inflated ego, he could admit that he was one of the best mercenaries in the business for his incredibly reasonable prices, despite his obvious status as foreigner; one of his former employers had apparently put in a good word and the rich merchant had summoned him to do the job many others had failed. Either his reputation preceded him or the merchant wanted him dead - Denam wouldn't have been surprised in the least at the latter, for the amount of times he had disrupted smuggling runs absolutely had to have hurt some merchants' businesses.

Denam's mood immediately lightened as he exited his employer's manor and the shadowy building gave way to bright sunlight and blue skies. The merchant chose to live on the edge of the nobility quarter and the commons, as it gave him easy access to both social groups he did business with. Denam himself had no home in Xenobia, though he did have prolonged residence at a favored Inn near the central portion of the city alongside his companion, Olivya. The Inn was not extremely expensive, but 'twas more than accommodating for both he and Olivya. They had long since gotten over their nervousness and insecurity around each other as they had spent more time together. Even though Olivya was often far too modest and shy, the atmosphere in their shared room was comfortable and their relations amiable. Denam had, for the most part, shrugged off her nervousness around him; he and Catiua had grown up together, after all, he knew what women looked like under their dresses and did not need to peek into the other room like some lecherous drunkard. At first Denam had tried to convince his friend about how foolish she was for her fears, but that had only served to turn her face redder. No matter how much he promised he would not look when she bathed, Olivya still wouldn't do it while he was in their chambers. The Valerian man found it ridiculous, but eventually he gave in; she was a Sibyl after all. Even if the Phoraena woman officially left her position in the church, the chaste habits were not easily given up. She would always serve the Great Father in her heart and continued to volunteer her time to churches wherever they went. Even though she brought in no income of her own, Denam did not mind; she cared for his wounds, both physical and mental, and he respected her desire to help those who could not help themselves. There was more to their mutual responsibility than money.

Denam kept his eyes on the shadows as he moved through the bustling city streets. Olivya waited for him, as she always did, and she would not tolerate him being late; a scuffle with the gutter scum certainly would not do at all. The first thing Denam learned when he arrived in the city - far larger than anything on Valeria, even Heim - was that the life of a foreigner was not easy. Hostility was rampant, as was xenophobia from the more closed-minded. Denam had grown up in Golyat, which was a port city that thrived off of trade. Foreigners were expected, welcome even. Xenobia was different; while many were respectful and distant, others often showed open distaste for him. It also made him the perfect prey of those who dwelled in the dark recesses of the city. In his first scale in Xenobia alone, he had been beset upon by thieves of all types on at least eight separate occasions, much to Olivya's considerable consternation and worry. Now that the Valerian knew his way around, and more importantly, knew where not to go, the attacks happened much less frequently, but Olivya's fretting still hadn't stopped. As long as he stayed quiet, he could pass as a native; his clothing may be of local style, at the Phoraena woman's insistence, but his accent and manner of speech immediately alerted anyone in a few pace radius that he was not Xenobian.

It was not long before Denam made his way into the busiest sector of the city - the trading center. Merchants, traders, and customers of all types gathered here all day long to propose business agreements, peddle their wares, or buy their food for supper. Even Denam, a man who usually left the shopping for Olivya, found he could get lost, distracted, and spend the entire day in such a place. This day was no different and progress more than a few paces at a time was a battle of its own; he had to push and shove his way through, all at the same time that people pushed and shoved at him. With the heat, Denam could smell the odor of the bodies around him and he did his best to keep his nose from cringing in disgust; he had bathed in the morning, and had just come from a relatively cool building, so he was not sweaty, but if he had to continue through the crowd, no doubt he would be just as dirty and hot as these men and women within half of an hour. There was nothing he could do about it other way but endure; the Valerian man simply continued to push his way through the mass as quickly as he could as his eyes quickly assessed each stall, cart, and wagon for anything he or Olivya might need, such as food, herbs, or supplies. There was most likely nothing, but being a sellsword had taught him the utter importance of self-reliance and preparation. He would not have an Archer to watch his back, or a Cleric who healed him. He had to rely only on himself in battle and needed to have the best of supplies at all times; it was a difficult profession, but also very satisfying, if in a different way from his previous lifestyle.

Denam's eyes stopped near the far edge of the area, where a large stall, permanent, sat in the partially in the shade. The merchant obviously owned the space and brought its wares to market every day. Denam knew that stall. The Valerian stopped quickly in the middle of the bodies and ignored the way they roughly pushed past him as he quickly tried to remember where he had seen the stall before. It came to him quickly; he wondered why he remembered it at all, it was so insignificant. Though he had never shopped there himself, in the past Olivya had spent some time looking through the wares of that particular, shaded stall. There were very few of the type in the area, and even fewer could afford three separate guards which looked to be hired more to intimidate than actually be effective in battle. The owner was likely rich enough that he or she had a business elsewhere in the city, but peddled their wares during the busiest hours of the day for the most exposure. Denam was attracted to the stall and it took him only a few seconds to realize why: Olivya wanted something from it. Olivya may have not realized she did it, but she always longingly looked after a certain piece of jewelry. She would never request the item, of course, as the Great Father did not approve of such things on his servants, but Denam knew the former-Sibyl desired it anyway - whatever it was that she wanted. Denam had only watched the Phoraena shop from a distance, close enough to keep her safe in an emergency, but far enough to give her the space and freedom she desired. All he saw of the trinket was its general shape and color: a pendant, with a deep blue gemstone smaller and much darker than the necklace he still wore, and with a durable silver chain.

In truth, Denam was not one for such gifts. He was a practical man and the most he usually brought back to Olivya was herbs, dinner, and rarely, rare flowers that he intended her to use in potion creation. But something within him felt differently this day and his urge for change was almost unmistakable. She had been so good to him; he felt he should at least do something in return. Denam could not keep his eyes off the stall as he remembered Olivya's strange fascination and, before he knew it, his feet moved themselves and he slowly approached the jewelry merchant.

He really should stop lying to himself. In truth, Denam walked by the stall every day, and this same conflict arose. The difference was, never before had he felt such pressure to approach; he found that he could not stop himself, even if he wanted to. He did not know if 'twas previously nervousness, shyness, or his lack of understanding of the products that prevented him before, but all of that was gone in an instant of boldness that was not for his sake, but his companion's. Denam felt liberated, but he certainly did not know from what, nor could he fathom the reason why the day was any different from any other. He told himself that 'twas likely because he had just received such an important job, but the more rational part of his mind whispered with utter confidence about it being an aftereffect of the warm glow he and Olivya had felt in their private dinner the previous night, an addicting feel he could not live without. Even the dinner had not been different than average, but something had been so right – so perfect, so peaceful, something he would have given the world to have for the rest of his life. He was hesitant to compare the Phoraena woman to a drug, but his reliance on her went far beyond the simple poultices and meal preparations. Every day she would smile at his return, and fuss over his health and well-being in an almost identical way to Catiua, but more recently it had become different with the Phoraena. Or perhaps it had always been that way, he simply never noticed.

His steps were frequent at first, but as he approached the stall they became more hesitant; he did not know what to say or do, how to treat a merchant of such trinkets, or what to look for. He knew he could not turn back, the woman had already noticed him and his approach, so he clenched his jaw and did his best to appear determined and curious, like any other confident customer. The moment he was in range she struck, her prey upon her. Denam knew immediately that the merchant would be incredibly persistent in her attempt to sell him a piece. "Good day, Sir." The woman was completely respectful, though the Valerian knew she sized him up in her own subtle way. She was not openly disgusted, but Denam could tell she seemed to believe that Denam was not well off enough to shop at her business. If only the woman knew how much Denam had in his satchel, he mused sardonically. "Is there something you're looking for in particular?"

Denam nodded, but his lips refused to respond to his commands. His tongue twisted, his mouth dried and his breaths caught in his chest. He looked like a bloody fool; he had faced death countless times in the past, and likely would in the future if he continued with his current profession; none of that stopped him before. Shopping for Olivya was a different matter entirely, not nearly as important as fighting for his life, yet still a challenge in a way he could not have expected. He only had one chance to give her the gift she wanted, he could not disappoint her. He would not, he corrected himself. Denam took a deep breath in attempt to calm himself and, belatedly, replied. "A pendant. Silver, darker blue stone encrusted in it. Not too large." His description was vague, and likely a well-stocked merchant would have multiple of similar type, even if all not identical. To his surprise, she nodded immediately.

"I know the one." Her previous smile turned downward and though she did not quite sneer, he could tell the look waited just below the surface. "A popular piece with foreigners, it seems." That was definitely a sneer. It seemed she remembered Olivya's interest in it, if 'twas indeed the same pendant the Phoraena desired. "Unfortunately, I sold it almost a week ago."

"I. . .oh." Denam deflated, a reaction in no way caused by the woman's blatant hostility towards foreigners. The strength he had barely mustered earlier melted away when he realized the necklace Olivya wanted so badly was already gone. He had acted too late; if only he hadn't hesitated! He should have gotten it after his last assignment, yet the thought had barely crossed his mind, then. She had eyed for it for well over a scale at that point and he had plenty of coin then, he could have afforded it. Instead he had simply looked on at the stall like a fool, and now the chance was lost. He should have been angry at himself, but all he felt was despair.

"If that is all. . .?" As Denam stood there in his uncertainty, the woman's irritation grew. She impatiently tapped her fingers against the wood of her stall and clipped her tone in a way that told Denam that he was not welcome if he was not going to buy - and even if he did buy, he was still not entitled to the same privileges as a native. Her reaction was not entirely unexpected, but unwelcome. He frequently encountered such hostility, and it made his bartering power with these already-strict merchants nearly non-existent.

"No, no, I wish to browse your inventory." Denam sighed. He could not just return empty-handed, not after the internal debate that he had finally cleared up within. He wanted to buy Olivya something, but Great Father only knew what.

The woman laughed. "I assure you, Sir, that you cannot afford my wares." The title no longer held respect, but was used as mockery.

"We'll see." The Valerian snapped in return. He was half tempted to walk away, as any proper consumer would at such treatment, but the more stubborn part of his mind wanted to best the woman and prove her wrong in every regard. He was being childish, but apparently his bluff worked and the Xenobian fell silent, but she practically clung to Denam in order to make sure he did not steal any of her wares.

The first thing Denam noticed was how terribly gaudy most of the jewelry was. Most were hideously large and meant simply as a show of social status. Olivya would not want such pieces, he believed, though he was not quite sure where the thought stemmed from. She had liked silver and she always preferred blues in her clothes - it reminded her of water, she had once told him - best stick with what took the least assumptions. He felt simpler was better; the baubles were lovely, but went out of fashion quickly; he wanted something that would stand the test of time, that Olivya could wear forever, that she could pass onto her children.

Great Father, where had that last thought come from? Not that it was entirely unwelcome.

Denam shook his head. It was not that he had not thought about such things, children, family, the future - in fact, all of them meant more to him than anything else. He would gladly sacrifice himself for it. He just did not consider himself ready or willing for either; he did not have a steady home, his jobs were consistent and easy to find, and his income was stable, but no child should grow up with parents who lived the lifestyle he and Olivya did. Denam had to stop that particular train of thought before it went any further. He liked Olivya. If he was brutally honest with himself, he would admit he loved her and relied on her in most every aspect in his day to day life. If she disappeared someday, he did not know what he would do. Even still, the thought of children with her was far too much; even if he was of age to sire babes, even if Olivya was the ideal mother, kind and firm, loyal and skilled, if a bit stubborn, it just wasn't time.

Everyone else seemed to believe 'twas time, however, and when he had met with Gildas and Canopus over their cups when he first arrived in Xenobia, they had pestered him constantly about Olivya and why she traveled with him. At the time, Denam had given no answer beyond "she wished to follow," and he had felt nothing more for her than warm companionship. They'd been together more than two years since then; circumstances had changed. When before there had been stiffness and discomfort, there was now release and relaxation. Whenever Olivya was gone, it felt as if a part of him departed as well. Denam was not in denial; he knew what it meant, what his affection represented. He did not question that Olivya felt similarly, she had left her family to be with him, after all.

"What is the cost of this ring?" It had taken him almost twenty minutes, lost in his thoughts, to pick out what he desired. None of the necklaces were right, none of them felt like Olivya. A ring fit. Perhaps she might misinterpret his motivation as more romantic than intended; or perhaps he truly did mean to give the ring to her on the utmost of devoted terms, he was unsure. 'Twas no matter either way, the ring was perfect. He believed it shared the same color scheme as the necklace she had enjoyed, with a silver band and deep blue gem - he could almost hear Catiua's voice in the back of his mind lecturing him about how inappropriate it was for a man who has romantic interest in a woman one a ring made of any metal but platinum or gold.

In response to Denam's question, the woman laughed again. It was not pleasant, but one of mockery and contempt. When she saw the stubborn look in the Valerian's eyes, the laughter fell away. "2,000 copper. We do not take leases or trades." She had a stubborn look to her; there would be no bargaining. With that cost, Denam should have walked away in an instant, but if he did, he did not know if he would ever find such a perfect ring again. Olivya seemed fond of this merchant as well. In truth, 2,000 copper was not a large sum for him, even with his inconsistent employment. If one thing was for certain, being an adequate sellsword paid very well - in Gold, nonetheless! He used copper mostly for food and silver for weaponry and clothes or armor. He primarily used his gold to pay the Innkeeper. Even still, he would have to work extra to make sure he could afford everything necessary and still have coin left for an emergency; there would be no days off this scale if he chose to buy the ring, but Olivya's smile was worth it.

With a nod, Denam pulled out the small sack of money he had just received for the merchant and picked a few of the gold coins out and placed onto the counter two at a time, in small separate piles. He watched with no little satisfaction as the woman's mouth worked in attempt to form words at his precise, determined motion. She looked like a dying fish for a good minute before she finally started to count Denam's small gold coin piles in silence and mark them off in a tally. They stood in silence for some ten minutes after Denam counted off his coins and the woman looked them over and carefully tested them for their legitimacy. He preferred slow and accurate to fast and sloppy and he respected her thorough examination. He would have done no less in her position and it prevented potential legal trouble in the future.

Even under the shade of the woman's stall, Denam still felt the hot sun beat upon his back and the sweat sheen over his body; he desperately needed water and he knew he was late. Olivya would have a fit at how long it had taken him to return; hopefully his gift would pacify her to some extent. Simple bribery would not have worked on her in any other circumstance, but he had good reason for his absence. "Done." The woman finally declared. She looked as tired as Denam was; it seemed she had lied about taking coin-only, as she was obviously not used to such time consuming organization. Despite the madness of his stubborn refusal to leave, he felt a surge of self-satisfaction. He'd like to think the woman would not feel such disdain towards foreigners in her future sales, but her humiliation would not last long, he knew. Many foreigners were exiles, and most sellswords were men who cared only for money; Denam fully understood why one would be cautious around a man like him.

"I-I. . ." She clenched her fists, not in anger, but shock, as Denam put the small coin sack back into his satchel, still about half full of the funds he had earlier received from the merchant. "Very well, Sir." To the Valerian's surprise, her tone had changed. While it was not quite respectful, it was not longer full of mockery. "Please understand that I am unable to refund your purchase, however, with this -" the woman stopped for a moment and searched through a small trunk she carried with her, no doubt to and from her main business, every day, before she pulled out a rolled up parchment. "- you may bring the ring to our main store and get it fitted, if necessary." The Valerian blinked in confusion before the weight of her words fell upon him. Denam was such a fool; he may have felt the ring was perfect, but he had not even considered that it might be too large or too small. Fortunately, it seemed the jeweler had taken it into account for previous customers and it wouldn't be an issue even if sized wrongly – or so he hoped.

"Thank you." Denam curiously opened the parchment and read the contents. The writing was flowery and, in some cases, barely readable in its complex calligraphy, but it repeated, in more words, what the woman said, alongside giving an address for him to go to if necessary. It appeared that if the product was damaged in some way in its creation, the company's policy obligated they fix it. 'Twas good business sense, he had to admit, and if they lived up to their promise he could see himself shopping at the store again, rude clerk or no. Not all merchants were confident enough in their goods to give such promises.

"A pleasure, Sir." The woman nodded and took the ring from the table and placed it into a small, ornate wooden box that she had on the counter. The box alone would have cost at least a few silvers, with a complex design burned into the top. Of course, with how much gold he had just given her, she damn well better treat his product properly. As if to emphasize her point, she placed the small box into yet another small bag, silk and red, this time, before she handed it to the Valerian with a nod. Denam took it very carefully. His prize was far too precious to go inside his satchel, which he usually tossed about, so he kept it in his hands as he turned away.

The district was just as busy as it was before Denam took his short stop, but the Valerian barely noticed the ocean of bodies that surrounded him. He felt almost as if he was in a haze or a bubble, as if he was surrounded by a thick oil that warded off the outside world. He was happy, satisfied, and could think of nothing but Olivya. He would not quite call himself obsessed, but he suddenly very much understood why Vyce had acted so single-mindedly when it came to Catiua. The warmth overwhelmed him and filled him with a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment that he clutched onto and never wanted to let go. Even as he pushed his way through the bodies in the heat and finally reached the now-familiar street that led to the Inn where he and Olivya made their temporary residence, the tingly sensation remained, his mood almost euphoric.

The Inn was not cool, but not particularly warm, either. The midday heat had not permeated into it entirely, and the lack of sun on his back was a relief in itself. There were a few men who looked to be business owners in the lounge area meant for guests, but it was otherwise devoid of people, almost empty compared to the earlier chaos of the marketplace. Denam quickly glanced over to the reception area, where the Inn's patron sat, bored. She did not bother to say anything to Denam, and nor did he have to say anything to her; he was welcome and well-known, their relationship was strictly business-only and he kept his dues paid. He passed through the room in silence and into the back hall; Denam and Olivya's single, rather large, room was on the first floor. It lacked any view, but was generally quieter than the rooms on the second floor, as the sounds of voices from the central bar and guest area wafted through the floors. Their distance from the common room gave them peace and quiet during the night.

The hall was empty and Denam still clutched at his present as he slowly walked down, only half watching where he went as he searched through his satchel for his key, which floated loosely at the bottom somewhere. Before he could fiddle with the lock, he paused in a fierce hesitation. He had been so confident about his gift earlier, but as he stood on the precipice of giving it, he felt a chill. Would she like it? Was it the right decision? What would happen if she declined? Would she miss his gift's connotations, or would she ignore them - and what happened if she did? Denam was most certainly not the type of man to fuss over such things, he left that to Catiua, but some part of him felt that his hopes and dreams were going into his gift. He was not quite proposing, but what he was doing was no less than being promised to her. Denam shook his head to clear his thoughts; he could not just sit around and ask "what if," he would get nothing done. If nothing else, Denam was proactive and would deal with Olivya's decision when it came.

Hesitation would only worry Olivya more and Denam pushed the door open carefully, as to not surprise the room's occupant. Immediately a harsh, sweet, but familiar smell filled his nostrils, very different from the tobacco and incense of the merchant's manor; Olivya prepared plentiful herbs for use by both him and those who went to the church for the illnesses. She was no alchemist or an apothecary, but she was skilled nonetheless. The smell had come to represent "home" for him.

"I'm back." Denam called as he pushed the door closed behind him and locked it. Their room, almost the size of a small house, was split into four parts, a very small entryway that opened into a moderately sized guest room, by far the brightest and fullest area of the room; Denam used the guest room as his own chamber, where he slept on the large couch and kept his belongings close, in the corner. To the side, separated by a wall, were the private chambers, it was only proper to give the woman the more comfortable room, which also was connected to another very small bath chamber, where he knew Sibyl no doubt was prepared her medicines. For an Inn room, it was considered very large, elaborate, elegant, and expensive – even moreso to rent. It was larger than many Walister houses he had known, and almost a size and a half of the average one. He had not realized how poor Valeria was in comparison to the larger countries and Empires; even though he was no longer of political rank, he still felt as if his social standing had improved in his move away from the Islands. Sellsword, a position not always looked upon favorably, or no, he lived far better than many Bakram in Xenobia than he ever had before. It had been a worry of his when he first left, how to take care of a noblewoman who had never lived in the conditions he had in Golyat after the attack, but his fears turned out unfounded.

As if on cue, as Denam finished removing his boots in the small entryway he heard Olivya's soft footsteps approach. They were slow and relaxed, very different from her normal rush to him, and Denam immediately understood the unspoken language as annoyance. Normally when he returned she was almost desperate to see him and make sure he was not ill or wounded, but her more subdued response showed that she was displeased at Denam's apparent "lie" that he would be back before midday, as he was only meeting with his next contact. Olivya was not the type to tap her foot on the floor in annoyance, or even glare, but he could tell by the pasted smile on her features and her body language - which she desperately tried to hide - that she was angry.

"Welcome back, Denam." Was it anyone else, he would have been annoyed at the way her tone bit into him, but he had no place speaking back in this matter – after all, he, too, had been angry when Olivya arrived back later than expected and had given her the same lecture that he had no doubt was about to be directed at him. Best grin and bear it, then they could both move onto more important things – like gifts. Olivya stepped close and looked him up and down before she very gently placed her hands onto his arm and channeled her magic through him, as she always did. The warmth could only be described as "Olivya;" her magic was precise, yet not as mature as more experienced healers. Her magic flowed like a stream through him as she searched for any wounds - it had become a routine for them, Olivya would search Denam for wounds and Denam, though not as skilled in Light as his companion, would do the same when she returned. Denam closed his eyes and allowed her to examine him as he breathed out his next words.

"You're too good to me." It was the truth, and he let a smile drift over his features as he let his guard down. He grasped at the silk-wrapped box in his hand nervously, but Olivya was too focused on her magic-based examination to notice a small fidget. Perhaps he should have been miffed that Olivya was so demanding, that she required him bend to her will on matters of his health - his body was his own, after all - but no matter how he rationalized his argument, internally he knew the Sibyl had the right of it. His work was dangerous, he could not afford recklessness. If he was even lightly wounded an infection could spread and incapacitate him for the rest of his life.

"You did not run into trouble, it seems." She removed her hand from his arm and met his eyes. Her smile was less forced than it had been when he entered, though he could see lines form on her forehead. She looked remarkably like her elder sisters in her rare, firmer moments. As she aged, the Sibyl lost the younger innocence she once held, replaced with a solemn firmness. Her time with Denam in battle had given her a personal strength she had not had before, one that allowed her not only to pursue her desires away from her family, but to experience life outside of the church's constraints. She had not rejected personal duty entirely, but nor did she allow it to rule her life without regard to her own desires. She continued her lecture. "You were gone far longer than. . ." Denam did not even bother to hide his exasperation as he cut her off. He was not angry, simply impatient and troubled. They needed to finish these traditional, habitual rounds before Denam went crazy.

"Do not fuss so. I'm fine." he was almost tempted to push past her, but decided against it as he very carefully placed his satchel on the ground beside him, his other hand still holding its treasure. "I even minded my business, as promised."

"I'm right to worry!" She snapped out in a way that reminded him far too much of Catiua. He did not normally compare her to his sister as often as he did this day, but some part of him desperately sought familiarity in the alien and worrisome position as he was in. He clutched deeply onto the comparison; Catiua was a woman he knew how to deal with, if Olivya acted like her, it gave him a sense of normalcy and an idea on how to progress. He almost laughed at his own foolishness; 'twas not as if he proposed to her this very day - or so he thought - a simple gift should not have caused him such discomfort and anxiety. There was that thought again: proposal. The Valerian man almost wanted to ignore it, but the idea continued to return and haunted him with persistence that alarmed him. He had just had the debate a short time ago; his feelings were mixed as to how he felt about their tenacity.

"No doubt." He replied cautiously. Disagreement would only make the woman angrier. She was right, after all, he risked his life every day when he went out for bounties or on jobs without her. But he certainly could not risk her life as well. His responsibility was to see her safe. Even if Mreuva and Olivya's sisters would never forgive him if anything happened to the youngest Phoraena, Denam would never be able to forgive himself. It would have torn him apart.

"Not a day passes when you don't scuffle with -" To his surprise, Olivya took another step forward and was so close that Denam not-quite pushed away from her just to have space to breathe. Her words amplified with her emotions, her jaw set stubbornly. This reaction was most definitely not Catiua. She ignored his reaction completely and instead of turning away in her anger as she always did, she pushed right back up to Denam, so close that he inadvertently took a step back against the wall. Her presence was undeniably warm in the already-hot day and she smelled of the herbs of her favorite tea. With her so close, and the way her finger poked into his chest for emphasis and she looked up to him, he could smell the flowers that made up the wash of her hair.

"Olivya." Denam tried gently, unsure if her presence was meat to intimidate him or make him uncomfortable. To some extent, it did both. Yet again she spoke the truth: he did often scuffle with thieves and backstreet urchins who thought him easy prey - all were mistaken. 'Twas a rare day when he did not come back to their shared room without some dirt or blood flecked across his clothes, even if he no longer was attacked simply because he walked into back alleys he did not know to avoid. This was the first time Olivya had commented with such ferocity on the subject; normally she scolded him, but went little beyond that.

She seemed truly distressed - as if, just like his emotions, hers were confused about their relationship, but for entirely different reasons. What she felt about their lifestyle had been held back within her and finally burst through. Olivya was a resilient, patient woman, but not even she could remain steadfast forever. The two had avoided any serious argument or confrontation simply on the basis that such things were unpleasant and, while Denam did not think this would escalate, perhaps they both needed to be more open with each other. They might as well have avoided the truth, for all they did not confront each other about. Olivya was a basket of contradictions; there were times where he knew she was a changed woman, yet at other times Olivya was so quiet and submissive with him and his desires that it almost felt as if she had receded in personality. She was both easy to read and impossible to understand.

"Not to mention you - we!- are foreign! All blame for any unfortunate event is immediately placed on foreigners. . ." She changed the subject, as if her thoughts were so erratic that she lashed out with all of them at the same time, not sure where to begin.

"Olivya!" Denam spoke more firmly and loudly, but still the woman did not listen. In her anger, tears formed at the corner of her eyes, unable to express with words how much she worried. She trembled so fiercely that Denam could feel it against him, even with the short distance he had put between them a moment before.

"If you died, they'd just throw your body into a dark alley and-!" She did not quite sob the words out, but there was a gasp in there. The Phoraena refused to let her tears fall, but she turned her face away, unable to look at Denam any longer. The reaction pulled at Denam's core and it was not even empathy that allowed him to understand her despair, rather, his own distress at her sadness. She had held back for so long and, perhaps by sheer coincidence, both Denam and Olivya had both become upset by the stale state of their lives and their relationship - or lack of it. Neither of them were fulfilled, Olivya had left her family, friends, and people to be with him. Denam had left Valeria to see the world, to learn and experience his place in it - and to bring it back home with him. Had he done so? He had no answer, but he had dragged Olivya about in his pursuit, a thankless job he had barely even recognized the purpose of, or its results, himself. He felt like such a blind fool as he watched the woman who had given up everything cry before him – not for herself, or what she had given up, but in her pain at the thought that she would lose her only companion. He suddenly felt very small, very insignificant, and his "gift" so very pointless. He wondered if he had ever once even expressed his true feelings, or spoken to her about his – their - plans for the future.

Just like his mistake with Catiua, he had pushed Olivya away because he took her presence for granted. But it was not too late, not yet. He recognized his mistake and he still had time to fix it. Even if he must take it one step at a time, there was but one option. Denam fumbled between them with his free hand until Olivya's fingers, which still remained forcefully on his chest and grasped it between his. Her trembles did not subside, and Denam had to hold back his own shake as he lifted her warm hand to his lips. Her skin was far softer than his, for his were long worn by his gloves and blade, and he kept his lips against her for far longer than was appropriate.

"You won't allow that to happen." He murmured against her skin; though her shakes had subsided in her surprise, she also stopped breathing and looked very much like a frightened doe. He could feel her tense at the unexpected action and Denam realized that, perhaps, he might have gone too far. Though there was no doubt in his mind that both wanted to continue, neither were sure where their boundaries remained. Denam knew that too cautious would upset Olivya more, to get her hopes up, but too fast would alienate her.

""I won't always be there -" Though her tears had stopped and her anger had almost instantly faded, she still sounded wistful as she scolded him quietly. All at once, Denam knew what he should do.

"Yes, you will." Denam drew her hand away from his mouth as he fumbled with his free hand to open the small box he had bought earlier. Olivya finally turned her face down, curious as to what Denam planned. The silk cloth fell away onto the ground, forgotten in an instant as Denam opened the fancy wooden box; the woman's mouth fell open as she saw what Denam had bought her. Before he could think on the magnitude of his next words, Denam spoke, with every emotion in his heart what he felt for the sad woman who was so close to him. In his words was the indescribable complexity of all his feelings, so thick that he almost sounded ready to cry himself, though he certainly was not. "I want to be with you. Forever." It was not a proposal, it was a promise. It was not a question, but an answer. For so long Olivya had given everything for him, 'twas his turn to give back. As he placed his ring on the middle finger of her right hand - most certainly not her ring finger - he noted it was too big. Neither he nor Olivya seemed to care and Olivya quickly withdrew her hand and held it against her chest in shock. She said nothing as her eyes widened and Denam felt the rest of strength wither away and he almost wanted to collapse from emotional exhaustion. His earlier boldness gone, he felt his stomach churn at his nervousness from Olivya's prolonged silence. Her lips were open in shock and moved to form words that would not come out. Denam spoke, or perhaps babbled would have been the better adjective, in desperate attempt to fill the silence between them. "I've nothing to give but myself, but everything I am is yours."

The Phoraena did not even blink. Denam wondered if she heard him at all. He could not tell from her expression if she was happy or sad, shocked and excited, or angry and horrified. It was a rare moment when Denam did not know what to say or do, where his plans fell apart in front of him, and where his relatively calm demeanor was shattered. Olivya's reaction pitted itself deeply into all of the cracks in Denam's armor and he felt his resolve fall away. He had never thought she would reject him, if that was even what she was doing. In his nervousness, Denam rambled on. "I-I know that Sibyls of your rank do not usually make such personal commitments, and I know this is not how these matters are done - I should have spoken to your father first - but. . ."

Before Denam could make any more of a fool of himself, Olivya released a quiet giggle and pushed against Denam with all of her weight until they both fell against the wall. "Oh, hush!" She cried out with what Denam believed to be laughter as she buried her face in his chest. Denam stiffly encircled her with one arm around her waist, and brought his other hand to her head, where he ran it through her long hair. He felt her tremor again, not only from her tears, but also from laughter. "The way you looked. . ." her tone was playful, if muffled, all traces of her earlier anger gone. "How could you even doubt me for a second?"

He had no answer for her; it had been rather foolish, as he mused on it. Instead he simply held Olivya and enjoyed, just for a few moments, the peace he had waited years to obtain. After a moment, Olivya, too, glanced up at him. Her eyes, which had earlier held tears of fury, dripped tears of indescribable happiness, that Denam finally understood, that he was ready to reciprocate her feelings, and that both were ready to pledge themselves for a better future. They still had a long way to go, many lessons to learn, many mistakes to make - but together, they would build their own path.