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Chapter 11 - An Unexpected Reunion

13th Day of Shinixuroc

117 I.E.

"Why are you sending me out there again?" Bart asked early the next morning. "They have it out for me, you saw that! They'll never let me near that place again. You should send someone else to do it."

"I would, but I can't spare a more capable soldier. As much as I hate to admit it, your sense of hearing and smell are both invaluable for a scout," Jacinth pointed out as he looked up from the revised map another dwarf had put together from Bart's notes. It still didn't look anything like Thora's camp. "Don't give me that sour look! Don't think for a second a single one of us isn't aware that you've got such abilities. The way your nose twitches all the time, and how your ears move when people are talking are a dead give away." He looked back down at the papers, his hand scratching their surface using a stylus as he worked. "Your marksmanship needs work, and you can barely handle a weapon other than your claws, which I need to remind you, are off limits for these war games!"

Bart glared at him. His claws had barely left their sheaths since arriving at the Crucible, except maybe to pick a few stray bits of food from between his teeth.

"So what are you saying?" Bart snarled.

"I'm saying you're only good for one thing until you learn how to properly handle a weapon. A overly specialized soldier is useless to us! You can't use magic, you can't wield a sword, and you are terrible at shooting moving targets. So until one or all of those things change, you're on scouting duty. The only reason you're in advanced training is because you're marginally better than most of the riffraff we get."

Bart followed Jacinth's eyes as he glanced at a white colored page. He couldn't catch more than a few words before the dwarf hid it at the bottom of the pile, but what he saw suggested it was some sort of profile or report on him. Were they really taking that many notes on his capabilities?

"What are you still standing here for? Get going!" Jacinth snapped, his irritation leaking through. The sergeant's guards stepped forward and shoved Bart out of the tent.

That exchange had occurred about an hour ago. With a sigh, Bart trudged along towards the woods. Rather than approaching it from the front like last time, he'd been ordered to slink around the outside of the forest, going as wide as he possibly could, and approaching from the rear.

His job was simply to assess the enemy and see if they'd made any changes to their approach since rt scouted their base. Jacinth was going to use a small force to distract the enemy so Bart could get in close. As he maneuvered through the forest, Bart took a swig from his water flask. It was humid out after the previous night's thunderstorm, and he was drenched in sweat. It left him exhausted and he wanted nothing more than to take a dip in an ice cold lake.

He spied the outpost again, this time approaching from the north rather than the south-east. It looked completely different this time. He couldn't tell whether it was because of the angle he was approaching from, or whether Sergeant Thora ordered it to be altered. He wasn't yet close enough to see if anyone was there, either. Instead of relying on his sight, Bart decided that he'd use his other senses as he approached. The local flora overpowered his sense of smell though, and he couldn't pick up any scents other than damp wood and the morning dew. He closed his eyes and focused on the sounds around him, but there was nothing. no talking, no footsteps, nothing.

It left Bart feeling uneasy, and he readied his crossbow as quietly as he could. Even if there was only the bare minimum number of guards on duty, shouldn't there at least be some noise? He didn't like how things were looking thus far. He reasoned that perhaps Thora had mobilized her entire force against Jacinth's troops to try and eliminate his soldiers with superior numbers for a quick, easy win. If that were the case though, why would she leave her base totally undefended? Something wasn't right, but he couldn't put his paw on it.

The rustling of bushes sounded nearby as something landed with a *thump!* and took off. It seemed that he wasn't going to get much time to think about Thora's movements, or to complete his job without any trouble. This time he was ready for his opponent. He followed the sound of someone running nearby and loosed his loaded bolt. A small blur in leather armor darted around a tree, nimbly dodging his shot. The sounds of the dwarf's footsteps circled around him, and Bart traced the noise with his eyes as he reloaded.

The footsteps ceased suddenly and Bart looked down the length of his crossbow in the direction he'd last heard them. Where did they go!?

A dark shape appeared from above and dropped from a tree. bart let out a startled cry as he tried to backup and bring his weapon to bear. The dwarf kicked the weapon out of his paws. The next thing the ursar saw was a bola, a pair of heavy metal balls with a thick piece of twine between them, flying towards him as it entangled his legs. With no means to balance himself, Bart tumbled backwards and smacked his head on a log. His teeth clacked together and a burst of pain exploded from the back of his skull.

The dwarf drew his wooden sword and stepped cautiously towards him. The purple Rune of Sending on the hilt began to glow, engulfing the blade in a faint aura of magic as it was energized. Bart's claws were out in a flash as he tried to sever the bola, but the twine was made of some sort of metal fiber. His claws chipped on it when he tried to cut through it.

"I'm honestly not sure whether I should be pleased or disappointed with Sergeant Thora's prediction," the dwarf said. She had a soft, feminine voice that belied the fact that she was a soldier. She held the sword with skill and seemed comfortable with the weapon, and she moved not only with grace, but strength as well. "Honestly I feel that she was cheating. She's been working with Sergeant Jacinth too much, she knows everything he's going to do after all these years. Or perhaps I should be disappointed that you're here, like they all said you'd be."

"Fuck you. I'm just following orders," Bart shot back. He was trying to figure out who it was that he was talking to, but he didn't recognize the dwarfwoman's voice. He didn't know many of the soldiers back at the Crucible, but he thought he would at least recognize the voice. All he could see of his attacker was the thin-lipped smirk she gave from beneath her mask. He sensed a distinct level of playfulness radiating from her, a feeling that should have been intangible. The surprise gave him pause once again. How could he feel her emotions?

The dwarf chuckled. "Well, at least some things haven't changed." She spoke as if she knew him, and now Bart was trying to wrack his brain to figure out who this person was. She placed the sword to his neck, just beneath his muzzle, and said, "I'll see you back at the Crucible."

With nothing more than a light tap of the wooden blade, Bart could feel his body become energized as magical energy swirled around him. It felt like his fur was standing on end. He looked behind him to see a rift tear open in the air, revealing the prison. A small, cub-like whimper escaped his lips as he saw it. Memories of his time in the prison back in Olaraa flooded his mind, and fear gripped his body. He didn't want to go back there!

Bart could feel his body being pulled into the portal, and the last thing he saw of the forest was the smiling dwarf waving goodbye to him. In frustration, Bart reached out with his claws but he couldn't reach. The force of the portal was too strong, and soon he had to pull his hands back to cover his ears. The vortex inside was cold as the winter winds as the air stung his skin through his fur. It sounded like he was standing beneath a waterfall, and he felt wet. Everything was so loud that he couldn't hear himself think. He couldn't breath either, and his lungs burned as his body was deprived of precious oxygen.

Fortunately for him, the experience was rather short lived. The vortex faded as quickly as it had appeared, and Bart was deposited into his very own prison cell.

Pain shot up Bart's back as he landed on his tail bone. Tears welled up in his eyes and his stomach began to churn from the journey. The ursar rolled as best he could while restrained by the bola and propped himself up with his hands before he threw up on the ground. He could feel his stomach lurch as the contents held within were emptied upon the floor, until nothing remained but dry heaves that made him tremble.

Already weak from exhaustion, Bart had to work to avoid dropping into the puddle of his own mess. He shoved off from the floor and flopped away, landing unceremoniously on his back. The cold stone floor sent shivers across his entire body as the sweat on his body was rapidly cooled.

The metal twine from the bola was wrapped tightly around his legs, and it was only after a few minutes of lying down that he realized it was too tight and cutting into his skin. He grumbled as he tried to right himself, but the world wouldn't stop spinning. It was like being hung over, he thought, except several hundred times worse. Just thinking about it made him want to vomit again, and try as he might, he couldn't hold it back for very long before he turned to the side and threw up again.

Damn it! Damnitdamnitdamnit! He thought as his thoughts finally settled down. How could I have lost? How could any of them beaten me!?

His head throbbed from where he hit the log back in the woods, and when he reached up to touch it with a paw, it came away wet with blood. The iron tang filled his nostrils, and he licked his palm clean.

Over the next hour, Bart tried to work the bola free from his legs. He was only freed once he was aided by the guard in the prison. Feeling returned to the lower half of his legs, and he rubbed the spot where the twine had dug into his flesh.

Though the prison was cold, being that it was partially underground and had very little lighting, Bart felt he should have been able to handle it with the help of his thick pelt. However, shortly after leaving the portal, chills began to course through his body and a cold sweat ran down his brow. He snatched the tattered blanket from the cot in the corner and wrapped it around himself before curling into the fetal position on the floor. The cloth was sized for a dwarf, and it barely managed to cover his forearms, let alone the rest of his body. Bart squeezed his eyes shut and curled even tighter to fight off the cold. His teeth chattered uncontrollably and he began to alternate between feeling to hot and feeling like he had been dropped into the Frozen Sea in the Northlands. Rubbing his arms to keep warm was futile and he resigned himself to his fate of waiting the sickness out.

His nose picked up a foul stench, and he realized it was coming from him. All the running and sweating he'd been doing the past few days had given him a funk that would not soon go away. The stench mixed with that of the pile of vomit on the floor, making it exceedingly unbearable to continue breathing through his nose. He called out feebly for a bucket of water so that he could clean up. Chances were good that the dwarves would make him clean up his own sick anyways, so he might as well head them off and volunteer to do it.

One of the healers on base came by with a bucket filled with well water and took a look at his head injury. After applying a healing spell to help it seal faster and to reduce the pain, he told the ursar to drink some of the water before cleaning up or he'd get even sicker. Heeding the dwarf's advice, Bart tipped the metal bucket up to his muzzle and guzzled half of the slightly brackish water before he stopped to take a breath. It did little to help with the shivers, but he felt a sense of relief as it quenched a thirst he wasn't aware he had. It was tempting to drink more, but he knew if he did, then he wouldn't have enough to clean up.

As he began to scrub up with a small cloth he was provided, a bitter thought entered his mind. The events from the last few days and his failure to complete his mission left him feeling down on himself for the first time in a long time.

Happy birthday to me... He gave a great sigh and wiped a stray tear from his eyes. He hadn't yet grown up from the pathetic, whiny cub he was all those years ago, despite the tough front he always put on in front of everyone. He found himself craving a keg of ale, and wished that the base wasn't completely dry.

* * * * *

A couple days later, Bart was awakened by the scuff of leather on stone as someone approached his cell. No one came to see him during his stay except for once when the medic came to do a check up on him, and once a day when the guard brought him his food. He had expected someone to come by and gloat about his loss, but no one seemed to care about that, either. It was like his existence didn't matter to anyone.

Bleary eyed from sleep, he rubbed the crust from his eyelids and opened them again. Squinting to focus, he finally saw who was standing outside his cell. His eyes shot open and he snarled at the dwarfwoman from the woods, the one who had sent him to the prison in the first place.

"You!" Bart sprang from his bed and rushed the bars. His arms were far too thick to be able to reach through, and all he could do was futilely grip the metal.

"How are we doing?" the dwarfwomoan said with an airy tone and a smile. She still wore the leather mask over her face, preventing Bart from seeing who it was. If he could just reach the little straps he knew he could reveal who this person was... and perhaps teach them a lesson, too!

"If I wasn't behind here, you wouldn't be so calm!"

"True, but that's what's fun about this, isn't it?"

"Fuck you! Let me out of here and I'll show you what 'fun' is!"

"I think that would be uncomfortable for the both of us." The dwarfwoman smirked. Bart wasn't amused and he bared his teeth at her.

"Who the hell are you?" Bart snarled.

The dwarfwoman pouted and crossed her arms. "Aw, you don't remember me? I'm hurt, Bartholomew Stoutmantle."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT... name?" All the bluster was taken out of Bart's words. Ever since his imprisonment back in Olaraa, he'd never once referred to himself as Stoutmantle. No one called him that either, and he was pretty sure his military record didn't even have the name on there either. How could anyone in the military have known his name?

The dwarfwoman giggled and reached up to remove her mask. As it came away, her curled, golden hair fell down around her shoulders. Her blemish free skin shone in the light of the alchemical globes around her, and her thin-lipped smile returned.

"H-Hilfa?" Bart stuttered. He recognized her now, and understood why her voice had sounded so familiar. All the hostility faded from him as he saw the kind, welcoming face of the only person who had ever shown him any sort of respect or kindness.

"Long time, no see, Bartholomew," Hilfa said in earnest, her airy tone fading as soon as the mask was gone. "I don't think I've seen you since you stopped attending school."

"What are you doing here?"

"Aw, you're not happy to see me?"

Bart put his hands on his hips and glared. "No."

Hilfa leaned to the side to look past him and said, "I think we have a traitor in our midst then. Your little tail is wagging."

Bart felt his ears burning and he scrambled to put a stop to his tail's autonomy. "W-what are you doing here, of all place?" he stammered.

"My pa pulled a few strings and got me transfered here."

Bart frowned. "Oh right, your father is a Lightweaver, isn't he? Does that mean you are too?"

Hilfa rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, he is. And no, I'm not. Still don't like them, I see." Bart offered no rebuttal and changed the subject back to his original question.

"Why are you here?"

"I came looking for you," Hilfa said. She leaned up against the wall next to his cell, crossing her arms as she moved. "You dropped off the face of Galria and I wondered where you got to. Once I started inquiring about you, it didn't take long to find you. You're fairly... unique."

Bart didn't like being called unique. It was never said in a flattering way, at least as far as he was concerned. "I'm nothing special to anyone. Why waste the time looking?"

"Because I wanted to. We were both outcasts when we were kids, just in different ways. You probably never even noticed I never had any sort of gift for the healing arts like the rest of my family did."

Bart gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. Back when he was a cub, he was far too preoccupied with avoiding Garen and his lackeys to notice what kind of problems other people had.

"I could barely do magic, either, so I had to do something to make up for it. Joining the military in service of the republic seemed like a good idea, especially since I couldn't become a Lightweaver like my ma and pa."

"At least you have some ability. It's far better than being magicless," Bart snapped at her.

Hilfa looked hurt by his outburst, and he apologized. She shook her head and said, "No, I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me. Anyways, like I said, I wanted to look for you, because, you know..." She seemed to be struggling with her words, like they were floating just out of reach and she couldn't quite grasp them. "...nevermind. I just wanted to, okay? Something happened to you back then, and just as suddenly as you began to change, you up and disappeared. I couldn't really stop thinking about it, even after joining the army."

"Yeah? Well, a lot of stuff happened between then and now." Bart wondered what it was that she was going to say. It was so unlike her to be lost for words, not to mention to spend so much time ruminating on something silly like what happened to him.

"So I heard. How badly did you want to kill your family?" Hilfa asked, not bothering to beat around the bush. That was so like her, Bart thought. She was always trying to get to the heart of the matter, and was usually very blunt about it.

"Bad enough that I doubt their deaths would have been enough to satisfy me," Bart said with a huff. She was judging him, he could tell. He didn't like being judged, but he wasn't about to raise his voice again, nor raise his paws to someone who called him friend. "After everything they did to me, I just... snapped. It's like if you suspended a board over a gap and stood in the middle. Put too much weight on it and it breaks in half. That's kind of how it was."

"I heard about the trial from one of the soldiers where I was stationed. If I had known -"

"Stop. I don't want anyone's pity. I'm here because I allowed myself to be bested by Stoutmantle. I won't try and pretend that I wasn't somehow at fault for this mess."

"Well, at least you're taking responsibility. How long do they got you in the military for?"

"'A lifetime of military service', or so I was told," Bart said with a shrug. "I doubt I'll last that long once I'm out of training. I'm not very good at being a soldier." The ursar stared at the ground.

Hilfa stamped her boot on the floor, snapping Bart's attention up from the ground. "You've always acted like that. Quit getting down on yourself. When are you going to stop doing that? Maybe if you weren't always beating yourself up over everything, you'd do better!" A moment of silence passed as the dwarfwoman let her words sink in. She sighed and added, "You're not in that home anymore. The things those people said and did to you can't affect you anymore."

"Letting go of the past isn't that easy!" Bart shouted back, feeling rage well up inside of him.

"Be honest with me, Bart: How long does one of your race live? Two hundred years? Three hundred years? More?" Hilfa asked, frowning. "You can't hold onto that hate and self-depreciation forever.

Bart fell silent after that, biting his tongue to keep from saying something he might regret. He took a few deep breaths to try to clear his mind and consider her words, but he quickly became aware that he was being caught in a vortex of concern and worry for his sake. He tried to ward the feelings off, as he realized they were coming from Hilfa. He didn't want her emotions affecting him, but somehow they did, and he was suddenly very worried for himself. It wasn't the usual nagging sensation that he felt when he worried about his self-efficacy, though. It was because he began to worry about his very existence.

The ursar clutched at his forehead. The sensations were slowly building towards a headache, and he didn't know how to make it stop. The more he worried, the more the emotions he was feeling fed into themselves, causing them to become more and more intense.

What is wrong with me? He thought as he grimaced in pain.

Hilfa cocked her brow. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm... getting a headache..." Bart said and winced. "Can we continue this another time? I need to get back to sleep."

I'm just going crazy, he thought. I'm just imagining things. A person can't feel other peoples' emotions. That doesn't make any sense. I'm just going crazy, that's it.

"Alright, that's fine. You're set to be freed tomorrow now that the war games are over. Sergeant Thora won, of course."

Bart rolled his eyes. "Of course. I'm sure I'll hear all about it later." His headache intensified as he learned of this new development. He shouldn't have been surprised. Thora was much more ruthless than Jacinth, and this was reflected in how their troops acted, too.

Hilfa placed a soft, gentle hand against Bart's paw as they gripped the prison cell bars. She let it linger there for a moment longer than was necessary before pulling back and walking away. Bart watched her leave, and as she ascended the stairs, his headache began to recede.