Arivain's limbs felt oh so sluggish from the drawn out encounter between himself and Sivanna. His body felt heavy, as if weighted down by an unseen force hell bent on his immobility. But how he soldiered on. Grunting past it all, he ran, albeit slower than before, far more sluggish, toward Sivanna as he rounded the corner, and lifted his blade for a charge.

Her lips quivered in a last-ditch effort to throw up another shield, but the glass swirled and spun around her like a whirlwind only seconds before dissipating in a hiss of smoke. The toxic ichors in her veins leaked through her nose as she groaned and fell onto her elbows, quite unable to keep her torso poised. Struggling for any more spells, she came up with nothing. A wry grin tugged up the corners of her lips as she set that pitch gaze deliberately on Arivain. "Make it quick," she hissed in a voice not her own.

An odd sense of elation came upon him as he realized the position he'd set her in. He won, a few more steps, and Sivanna would be in reach, and he'd end it. Wincing past the pain that flared from his shoulder and down his arm, Arivain hoisted her up to a kneeling position, and angled the blade for her throat, speechless. It had been a long hunt.

She would not shed a tear— no, Sivanna dared not even think of the people she would be leaving behind as she lingered on death?s doorstep. Instead, the cleric continued to employ the false righteousness with that fake grin, disguising all traces of fear. Had she any, even" She was a soldier. Death was nothing new to her. Those lips of hers twitched weakly as she was positioned to meet a soldier's death. At least Arivain was that kind. "For what it's worth," she murmured hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't bring the dead back to life," he replied with a monotonous and cold tone, his fingers tightening around the hilt of that wicked blade. He paused, pulling back as if meaning to strike, and made no move from there. The pause was so long in fact, that if Sivanna had a blade handy, she most likely could have gotten in a final stab before the stroke of death claimed her. But that stroke never came, that final blow was cast aside in the form of metal meeting the ground and a retreating soldier with his back to his victim. He didn't explain, Arivain hardly understood it himself. He simply walked. How long had he hunted and longed for the day when Sivanna Cyredghymn would die by his blade" And it was tossed aside like that, as if some final realization dawned on him that in the end, his revenge would solve nothing, that his life since he took up his hateful quest had been an empty one.

No relief would come....Sivanna even expected him to turn around and finish the job any second. She....wanted him to. But as his silhouette grew fainter in the distance, she laid her cold cheek on the warm ground. "I am sorry," she repeated, finally letting the tears fall. "So....so sorry."

He hated himself; he'd committed terrible acts of cruelty to reach this point. And yet he didn't act on that urge that drove him for so long. He hated himself for what he did, for what he didn't' do. For how he threw his life away for some fool's quest that he never truly finished. He didn't hear her final words of apology, Arivain was long gone, not in the physical sense, but his senses had toned down considerably. That bleeding shoulder of his would prove troublesome in the later days. But he'd manage, he'd soldier on.

Arivan had suffered worse.

He awoke from his dream in the middle of the night, pushing himself up to a seated position on the bed, Arivain ran his hands through his long, dark hair, and sighed his frustration. He was angry at himself for that lost of self worth, for not having a plan. He hadn't even considered what he'd do if he had killed Sivanna, as he had originally intended.

He blinked, looking up at the wall, before he felt a slight stirring in the bed, which prompted his gaze to the side for just a moment. There she was, Suzu, for a moment he wondered why she was in his bed, then he remembered, it was her bed. He saw the small barrier of pillows he'd set up between them, and nodded faintly as the rest of the evening's memories came to mind.

A hand lifted to touch to his shoulder; the shirt he wore was stained in blood, but underneath was smooth, soft skin. The wound was gone. Suzu had taken the wound, not really healed it, but took it onto herself instead. How he was angry with her when that happened. How dare she take his pain, how dare she try and sooth his broken spirit' Who was she, to try and help him.

Arivain's eyes narrowed with the thoughts, and he quickly turned away, staring out at the door to the small room as those angry thoughts played their course.

Friend; it was a word he hadn't used in years. Friend, it dawned on him. For a moment, he turned back down to look at Suzu, and then slowly shifted back down, settling into the bed once more to continue his rest. The gods knew he needed it.

Friend, she was his friend.