Rising Tide

Ultear eases him down on his side on the bed once she finishes wrapping his wounds with strips of clean linen. He has fallen asleep, but aside from slumping slightly forward he remained seated upright till she was done. Considerate even when unconcious.

But not considerate enough.

The linen Ultear used had been bought for this express purpose. And it hadn't come cheap. The swaths of linen had cost her most of the earnings she made by bartering a batch of medicines that had taken her six gruelling months to prepare.

Prices have skyrocketed. Trade routes were choked with pulndered caravans and rotting corpses, falling prey to the anarchists' three pronged strategy The rebel armies cannot fight on empty stomach and, no matter how sympathetic to their cause they exhort to be, their "friends" would not part with a bowstring without gold.

The Crown had stationed forces at some of the chief roads- the Golden Veins, as they were called- but that doesn't seem to help the situation much. The manpower doesn't come cheap- meaning taxes, levied upon those that people already payed to keep the Crown plump and happy.

Then, of course, there was the matter of corruption. Members of the Valor demanding commisions where they had no right to demand any.

But even if the situation is at an all time worst, Ultear should have been able to get by well had she chosen to play her hand differently.

Medicines in any age are greatly sought after, but the current crisis had raised the value of her services and goods literaly to gold. Or it would have, had the people any. They could barely afford a square meal. And it broke Ultear's heart to watch women succumb to anemia, toddlers with bloated bellies and bony limbs hobble and bray helplessly. And, even though the swathes of linen hadn't been among them- purchased directly from a passing merchant- there are things that cannot be bought with gold. Things like loyalty; love; the infinite gratitude a father feels when his newborn is delivered safely and his wife not only survies but continue to grow and live healthy.

Not to mention the peace of mind.

But saving this boy- Gray- hadn't been done for any of those reasons.

It hadn't broken her heart to see him torn and bleeding. At one point in her life she had torn and bled men with impunity. The lingering doubt that he was a rebel had kept her from pitying him. Harboring him under her roof didn't fill her with warm fuzzy contentment but inspired dark musings of all things that would go wrong when their collusiion would be discovered.

Yet there was no denying the tenderness she felt while tending his wounds. The ache that throbs in her breast everythime he speaks. The sadness his departure fills her with.

Why? Why risk her life, squander her meagre resources on a man- a boy- she never knew; who has only ever repayed her efforts with mere words, even if sincere, of gratitude.

Was it some reward she wanted, then?

Ultear carefully pulls the sheets over him, mindful not to irritate the wounds.

But what reward could she have hoped to receive from him- a boy whom she had known, even without it being explicitly stated, had no one to go to and spent his days battling for basic rights. At best he was a villian, at worst a slave. So what were her expectations of him- of herself- when she took him in, healed him, fed him and kept his secret at a great personal risk?

The hovel was suddenly plunged into inky shadows as lightning screamed outside and thunder smashed the skies.

There were no answers forthcoming. None uncomplicated, at least. And Ultear had no appetite for complicated. Otherwise she would have never retreated to this forgotten cranny of the world.

Maybe, it had been just a passing whim. A impulse she gave in to and now continued to carry unabated so her efforts wouldn't go down the gutter: the only place she could imagine no name rebels like him get for a burial site.

Yes, that sounds somewhat logical and thoroughly uncomplicated. Just one of the vagaries of her whimsical self. Much more easier to deal with.