Atticus, still looking lethargic from the result of his over-exertion, stands up. “I think I'll call it for the night. Did anyone claim the wide bed in the bedroom on the left?” He asks, pointing down the hallway.
“I figured you and Zyra could share it.” Veros casually answers.
“Huh?” The mage straightens to attention, surprised at the idea. “Why us?”
“Well, I figured if any two people would be comfortable with that, it would be you two.” The veteran explains with a shrug, considering the reasoning to be obvious. “You two bathed together back at Rosemont, didn't you?”
The knight and pyromancer glance at each other for a brief moment, showing expressions of slight apprehension, but neither raise their voice to disagree.
“Alright.” Atticus responds with a small nod. “I'm fine with it.”
“Alright then.” Veros nods back, a half-smile slowly crossing his face. “Rest well. You don't want your headache to still bother you when we continue our journey tomorrow.”
The knight walks into the hall and turns into the bedroom, closing the door behind him to block out any distracting sounds of conversation from his comrades. He approaches the bed, and brushes the palm of his hand over the surface of it. A thin layer of dust had collected on top of the long unstirred blankets, which had been unused and uncleaned in months. To avoid any further irritation while he sleeps, he begins to pick up and lightly beat them with his open hand to clear the dust. Afterward, he repeats the process with the feather-filled pillows, making sure to dust off both of them for when Zyra comes in.
Once satisfied with his humble attempt to make the bed more suitable for sleeping in again, he's finally able to lie down and rest his weary head, which is still plagued by a throbbing sensation, though duller than it was earlier in the day. His heavy eyelids shut, and he begins to drift in and out of consciousness for short bursts, fighting the hazy pain in his skull in order to stay asleep and resisting the urge to toss and turn in desperation for a comfortable position.
After about an extra hour or so of shallow rest, the bedroom door slowly creaks open, causing Atticus to lazily lift his head in time to see Zyra try and a timidly approach the bed.
“Did I wake you?” She asks softly, closing the door behind her. “I'm sorry.” The mage bashfully apologizes.
“No, you didn't.” The knight responds somewhat groggily. “Falling asleep is a bit difficult for me right now.”
Zyra walks around to the other side of the bed and meekly lets herself under the covers, as if trying not to bother her companion with her very existence. He takes notice.
“If you're uncomfortable with this, I can grab my bedroll and sleep on the floor.” Atticus comments, wondering if this arrangement is a good idea.
“No, no!” The pyromancer waves her hands to diffuse the awkward situation. “It's fine. I wouldn't want to trouble you to get up despite your headache. It's fine. I'm more than willing to sleep with you.”
Atticus furrows his brow and stares at her in confusion, curious of whether she realizes what she said, but she doesn't seem to. She proceeds to shuffle herself underneath the cover of the blankets until she finally finds a comfortable position on the bed. The two lie next to each other in silence, though neither of them are necessarily ready or able to fall asleep just yet. They simply stare at the ceiling, partially expecting the other to start talking.
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“Atticus?” Zyra speaks up first in a softened voice. “Do you mind if I talk to you about something?”
“Go ahead.” He responds, also in a near-whisper.
“I've been thinking about the conversation we all had about heroism earlier, about how people throw themselves into danger because their conviction for something matters more than their life.” She turns her head to look at Atticus's face. “The Mistwalkers who have made as far as we have – or close to it – they probably wanted to save Yhordran too. But they obviously failed. Would it have been better for them to not try at all?”
“It's easy to look on at the failures of others and think that they were better off not trying.” The knight responds soberly. “But the point is that it didn't feel useless to them when they did it. That's why they're still heroes in their own right, even if they didn't succeed. They still chose the lives of others ahead of their own. That kind of selfless decision isn't an easy one to make. How were they supposed to know that they would fail when they took that first step? That's the risk we all take when we try to save people.” He becomes dejected as he finishes his response, realizing he's speaking from experience.
“We never know the outcomes of our efforts until we make those efforts, I guess.” Zyra summarizes the short exchange concisely. “Otherwise, the only people who would be out here are the ones who know they'd succeed, which would likely be no one. Not even us.”
Atticus nods. “Yeah. Most heroes you hear about aren't really chosen ones, but just people who were at the right place at the right time. In fact, some of the greatest heroes probably aren't even known because the world kept spinning normally due of their heroism, and we never noticed their act.”
“That's a somewhat comforting thought, I think.” She comments with a small smile. “The idea that there are more heroes in history than we realize. Sometimes it feels like there are too few.” The mage turns her head again to look him in the face once more. “If we succeed, do you think you'd consider yourself a hero?”
The knight turns his head as well to meet her gaze. “Quietly, sure. After all, we saved Yhordran. But hero or not, no one likes a person who boasts all the time.”
“It'd be hard for me to not brag, I'll admit. What about if we fail? Not if we die, but if we had to turn around for some reason and not come back?”
“Well, it's hard to feel like a hero when you fail in the attempt. But I'd still feel content with the effort. I made it pretty far, and I met some interesting people on the way.”
“So, you're glad you met us?” She asks with a flattered smile.
“I'd say so.” He answers with a nod. “You've all been really dependable.”
“And you're glad you met me?” Zyra asks, her voice turning more inquisitive, but also a tinge more serious, and her eyes grow more intense.
“Yes.” Atticus nods, his voice becoming a bit more serious, as well. “I am.”
Though somewhat difficult in the veiled moonlight coming in from the window, the two gaze at each other for a moment. Zyra's striking blue eyes are only subtly noticeable, but alluring all the same. However, his admiration is cut short as he is struck with a pang of guilt that forces him to slowly turn away.
“W-what's wrong?” Zyra asks, somewhat hurt at the gesture. After the question leaves her mouth, she realizes what she's asking and what the answer might be, causing her to feel a stab of guilt, herself.
“I...” He begins to speak, but pauses for a brief moment, trying to find the right words to say. “I've spent a long time mourning someone, so part of me feels like it would be wrong to move on now.” Hearing this, Zyra furrows her brow slightly, thinking this is leading into some sort of rejection. He turns his head to look her in the eyes again. “But you do captivate me, Zyra. Truly.”
Zyra lets out a long exhale that she had clearly been holding in. “And you captivate me too, Atticus.” She punctuates her mutual feelings by curling her lips up into a small smile.
Underneath the blanket they're sharing, she seeks out and grasps Atticus's hand and turns her body to press herself against him, tucking her chin in and resting her forehead against his shoulder. Soon after, they both drift to sleep.