Sarinah looked around with her hands on her hips. A moment ago she'd been walking with Tristaan through the crowded night time groups gathered round a central bonfire. It wasn't a caoja really, just a nightly drinking and dancing thing. A celebration of togetherness. But now, he was gone. The dancer had only looked away for a moment. She couldn't see for all the people. Wandering a little, she called out a few times, moving away from the thick throng of drunken revelers. The dancer stood on the outside, watching the people, looking for the passive.

A bander came threading through the crowd, darting between and around people to get to Sarinah. When he reached her, he ran about her knees, catching her off-guard, with a happy bark before rushing off in the direction he'd come.

As Sarinah's eyes trailed the surprise beast, the crowd seemed to part, and she saw him. For the first time since he'd left-- Rovin.

He was leaning on his elbow against a kint, chatting up a witch selling clusters of herbs and spices. The witch let out a laugh, and Rovin tossed back his head to shoo away a fallen dreadlock. As she watched, Rovin reached down and picked up a switch of rosemary, making it vanish before the witch's eyes, though for the first time Sarinah saw the trick, as he stashed it down his sleeve. It was like there was no longer any enchantment to it.

The dancer couldn't breathe. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Watching the dread locked wick, she almost thought it had to be a trick of the eyes, an illusion. But it wasn't. It was him. Rovin. Sarinah didn't know what she was doing, but her feet had begun to move. Slowly, she approached the kint, hurt and angry eyes on the man, stopping only a few feet from him.

"Rovin?" She said softly. It came out barely more than a whisper. Suddenly the world came back into normal speed again and she looked incredulously at the witch Rovin was sweet talking.

"I knew it. I knew it. You played me! You lying, pathetic, laoso mung vreska!" There was a deep betrayed rage rising in her.

He turned as he heard a faint voice among the din. He would know that voice if he was a hundred. He turned toward it, eyes wide, betraying a modicum of shock. He locked eyes for a moment, then bowed his head, dreads hiding his face. He seemed to be taking a deep breath.

"Sarinah," he raised his eyes.



He raised his hands, half-defensively, half-calming, "Sarinah- I- Let me explain?"

He faltered, uncertain for once.

The dancer shook her head, fists clenched and brow drawn into a deep frown.

"Let you explain? Explain what? You left in the middle of the night without so much as a letter to let me know you were even alive! I waited for you, I..." Her voice threatened to break and she quickly pushed it away. He didn't deserve her tears. He shouldn't get the pleasure of knowing how much he'd hurt her.

"I waited for you for ages. Just a word, a sign to say you were coming back. Or even to say you'd just used me. Anything. But you didn't do anything." The venom had gone from her voice, it was full of old hurt and at a normal speaking level. Raising her hand, she shook her head.

"You know what, forget it. I don't need your excuses." She spun on her heel to go find Tristaan. She couldn't do this. She couldn't be a joke for Rovin to laugh at her.

He reached out and grasped her wrist, not harshly, but firmly. "I said explain, not excuse. Was I ever one for givin' excuses, rosh?"

He let out a sigh, brows knit. He knew he'd done badly by her. Most of the girls he'd ever been with had been passing things, quickly gone and never seen again. But Sarinah wasn't one of those flings or one-nighters. She never had been. He knew she deserved to know why he'd gone.

"I know you didn't deserve what I did to you," he said, remorse showing in his eyes, "but you do deserve to know why. And I can give you that, if you'll listen."

She stopped, turning back to look at him with pained eyes. He was right, he wasn't the excuse type.



Studying his face carefully, she nodded finally.

"Alright, I'll give you that much." Looking around for the passive, she shook her head, then pulled her hand free from Rovin's grasp gently.

"Come over here, its not as crowded. We can talk a bit easier." Starting towards a light spattering of trees and shrubs, she didn't look to see if he was following. The trees weren't secluded, but it did cut out some of the noise of the dancers. Leaning against the tree, arms crossed, she waited.

He followed her over, mentally preparing himself. When they reached the trees, he looked her in the eye, took a deep breath, and began, "When we met at the caoja, I knew there was more to you than met the eye. I felt like... like you were lookin' for somethin' there. And that night, and even after, I thought I could give it to you. You needed more in life than you could get from the other wicks there, than you could get from any of the men that you met at Cooks."

He bowed his head a little, "I really thought that... maybe I could be somethin' bigger for you, rosh, I really did. But after that night, I realized that I'm still short of what you need. I can't give you what you deserve."

He raised his eyes to hers, "I meant every word I ever said to you. I was always honest, but I couldn't... after what happened between us, I couldn't face you to say goodbye. I didn't want you to think that I was using you. I left the rose for you... I had hoped it would let you know that I still felt the same way I had that night.

"I didn't want to leave you thinkin' I was only a scoundrel takin' advantage of you."

Tristaan had simply figured she'd heard him above the crowds and the music. He'd wandered off to fetch a drink, or two if she'd wanted one. He thought he saw her nod, distracted as he was by the throng of gathered wicks, so he didn't think twice about walking away. It was only slightly awkward to stand in a crowd of wicks where he thought he had left Sarinah, drinks in hand. Losing someone with a field was one of those embarrassing things that no one liked to admit was possible, but here he was, scanning faces, chagrined.

Finally glancing past the edges of the crowds, the passive spotted the dancer. Talking to a wick, alone. He watched her body language as they spoke unable to hear the words and only slightly able to read their lips in the firelit darkness. Whoever the wick was, she knew him. There was tension and possibly something else, something more, but as she turned to walk away, Tristaan saw the wick grab the dancer's wrist.

That's it.

He set the drinks in his hands down on a table, forgotten, and began to wade his way through the crowds even as the pair seemed to move away, towards some trees.

Oh, Alioe.

The passive felt something hot but heavy pool and lump in his stomach, heat like shame racing across the back of his neck. Only this was a far more fiery feeling than shame.

Not now.

Tristaan slipped from the last circle of wicks, dancing and laughing, indecisive as to whether or not to make his approach obvious. It was evening. He had a choice, especially considering it was easy for him to go unnoticed.

No.

He moved to make himself visible to Sarinah as he walked to the tree, out of the other wick's direct line of sight because the passive was practically behind him. His expression was neutral, hiding confusion and concern, undercurrents of surprised jealousy in his gray eyes. He stopped short of looming threateningly, not trying to break into either of their personal spaces, approach ending only a few feet away from the dancer, to the back and right of the dread-locked wick.

Please, no.

Tristaan cleared his throat, his expression all-but-accusatory, focused on the back of the head in front of him instead of the lovely witch, "Hesta."

Rovin turned as a voice behind him spoke up, quite surprised at the interruption of this intimate moment. "Hesta," he returned, a degree of confusion on his face, "I'm sorry, but I was just havin' a private talk with this rosh here, and I don't believe it concerns you. I'd appreciate it, brunno, if you'd let us alone for a bit."

He gave Tristaan an incredulous look that clearly read butt out, bastard, it's nun'ya.

"Epameo, but ne. I'd have t'say that anythin' y'got t'say t'Sarinah concerns me." The passive replied firmly, looking past the wick to stare directly at the dancer, gray eyes suddenly hard like steel, though there might have been an undertone of doubt almost imperceptible in his voice, "'Specially considerin' she's spoken for, kov."

He crossed his arms and shifted his stance, returning his gaze to the surprised wick in front of him, arching a slim eyebrow without bothering to hide the suspicion that was growing into his expression.

"Y'gotta name t'go with your business?" Tristaan already knew, judging by the look on Sarinah's face, but he humored conversation for the sake of civility.

The dancer watched him carefully, chocolate eyes sad. He'd left because he wasn't good enough for her?



She clenched her jaw and looked away from him for a moment, too worried she might break down. What did he mean? He had given her the idea to be free at time she didn't know she'd needed it - only to leave because he got insecure?



Closing her eyes, she shook her head.

"I...you could have...I was worried about you Rovin. I thought you'd died. Not a word?" She opened her eyes, looking down at his feet.

"If you loved me, you would have at least let me know you were okay." Lifting her eyes, she saw a familiar figure stop behind the wicks shoulder. Tristaan. A feeling like lead dropped in her stomach. She'd hoped he'd find her, but now might not be the best of times.



The woman straightened from the tree, looking from Rovin to Tristaan. He didn't know who the wick was, but it was obvious he had an inkling. She felt guilty without even really knowing why. It wasn't as though she'd come to tumble with Rovin.



Oh clock it.

"Wai-.."



The dancer was taken aback by the look in his eyes, it was like a slap in the face. She felt the hurt like a gunshot and clenched her jaw again. Didn't he trust her? Didn't he just say the other day he trusted her?



Stepping to the side, she walked closer to the passive and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Tristaan, this is Rovin Martin. Rovin, this is Tristaan Greymoor." She looked up at the wick, unsure of how to continue. This was a little messier than she'd expected. Especially the look in Tristaan's eyes. Clearing her throat, she turned to Tristaan.

"I lost you balach, and then...I saw...We needed to talk." Her voice was quiet, feeling a bit foolish she had to explain this.

Rovin dipped his head, though he didn't readily extend a hand to the other man. He didn't know how to react. It seemed that happened lately where Sarinah was concerned.

"You know," he said to Tristaan, "I get the drift that you're kind of important here, but I tend to think that Sarinah can speak for herself, and anythin' I've got to say to her she can share with you if she so desires. Unless she says so, I don't think I should tell you what I'm tellin' her."

He wasn't being defensive of conversing with a "spoken for" girl, but he was having a private chat with Sarinah, and he was defending his right to do so.

He caught a bit of surprise in her face, and his eyes softened. He hadn't meant to come across as harsh or jealous so much as concerned. He was more worried about the hurt the dancer had experienced than his personal security in their relationship. The passive had no idea how to say that out loud, but he seemed to physically relax under her touch.

Tristaan's expression seemed to falter a little as Sarinah attempted an introduction, fading from stern to unsure.


He'd obviously made a mistake somewhere. This made him terribly uncomfortable. The passive had just wanted to—


Who did Rovin think he was, anyway? What did he have to say that was so private? It wasn't like the passive didn't know anything about this wick he was face-to-face with, this wick who he had once felt completely unable to compare to.

Tristaan smirked, not sure of how to deal with Rovin's pointed request. It made him feel disrespected, or dismissed, or ... something. Something a little on the negative side. He tried not to sound indignant, uncrossing his arms, "I didn't say she couldn't speak for herself, mujo ma, but I meant t'imply that I ent sure you have somethin' t'say that I can't hear."

He glanced at Sarinah, discomfort hiding underneath his somewhat crestfallen expression, "I ent gotta stay, if that's what you want. I don't want t'keep you from hearin' what you feel y'need to."

That was hard to say, but he managed somehow.

"Rovin, plea-"



"Tristaan, I-"



She looked down at her hands, clock this was hard! Tristaan cared about her and he knew what Rovin had done to her, and she could see he was protective. But...sighing, she looked up at him.

"Kov, I love you, ye chen? A lot. And only you. But, I have to hear him out." The words made her feel like a cheat and a liar. She needed to tell Rovin exactly how she'd felt and how things had changed. Part of her knew that it had to be something they spoke about alone. Putting a hand on his cheek, she lifted up on her toes and kissed him, a lingering, passionate kiss. Pulling back, she smiled at him.

"I won't be long balach. Don't go...far."

Tristaan blinked, utterly chagrined. Part of him was reluctant to leave, but he could hardly argue now. He swallowed, hard, caught off-guard and disarmed, dismissed and embarrassed. Regardless, there was hardly anything he could do about it. The dancer's words and actions were about as definitive a response as he could ever hope for, right here, in front of a stranger (stranger to him, anyway).

He ventured a grin, cautiously, "Fine. I ent goin' far. Not listenin' doesn't mean I ent watchin', ye chen?" The passive meant it, and not as a joke. He sniffed, looking carefully at Rovin, before chuckling and walking away, shaking his head.

What a terrible mess he'd probably just made.

Now, he'd have to go find new drinks. Then he'd have to find somewhere to hover in whatever non-threatening way he could possibly manage.

Oh well.

His grin broadened once his back was turned, though there was a bit of lingering discomfort in the pit of his stomach.

Watching him go, Sarinah felt an aching regret. He shouldn't have to go. She should just tell Rovin to eat his hat. But she didn't. Waiting till Tristaan had moved a short distance away, she turned on Rovin.

"I just sent away my kov for this, so please, tell me, what was so hard about letting me know you were at least alive, Rovin." The brunette shook her head, running a hand through her hair. She wanted to laugh and cry all at once. Her head wanted to hate this man, but her heart cried. How could he do that to her. Leaving, for her own good?

As her kov left, Rovin shook his head, running a fingerless-gloved hand over his face. He paused, hand over the lower half of his face, as she asked her question.

He took a deep breath, "To be honest I-- Well, you know everythin' I told you about freedom? Tell me somethin'; if you knew I was alive, would you have moved on to your kov there?"

He tilted his head toward Tristaan, "Though I didn't fancy the interruption, he seems well intentioned. He looks protective of you, but backed off when you asked. He respects you. And..."

He hesitated, but only for a moment, before looking her in the eye, "And you love him."

Sarinah looked down at her feet, realising he was right. If Rovin hadn't hurt her, she would have never have possibly met Tristaan. She shook her head a little.



The dancer lifted her head to look at the wick, her brown eyes glistened with tears. Swallowing, she tried to keep the cracking sound from her voice.

"And?" It was a hurt whisper.



Sarinah closed her eyes, bottom lip trembling. Taking a breath, she opened them again.

"Oes, more than you can even begin to fathom." Standing in silence for a moment, she suddenly uncrossed her arms and reached into her coin purse. Removing her hand, she stepped closer to Rovin and reached up to take his hand. Opening it, she put something in it, keeping her hand covering his.

"Maybe what happened between us was meant to be, so that I could find Tristaan. I can't say thankyou, because the pain you put me through was torture. But, I can appricate what has happened." She looked at him closely.

"I will always have a little place in my heart for you, but its a closed door, ye chen? I hope you find someone of your own Rovin. Fotamos." Lifting her hand from his, she stepped back. In his palm sat the exotic gold coin he had given her on that final night.

Turning away, she looked around for Tristaan, hoping he wasn't angry at her.

Had he been quicker on his feet, he would have told her, no, keep it-- it was a gift. But as she turned and left him, Rovin found himself watching her go, knowing that she had no need of it. Nor any real desire for it. He rubbed the coin between his thumb and index finger before pocketing it.

He looked up after her one last time and smiled, flicking his dreads away before turning his own way. You're free as ever I was, rosh... and maybe more. You'd better be good to her, brunno.

Tristaan hadn't wandered off very far, hadn't gotten another drink, and hadn't really bothered to watch even though he'd said he would. He'd found a table away from the crowds but didn't sit, preferring to lean his elbows against the tabletop and stare thoughtfully at the crowd.

The passive didn't look upset, if his facial expression was anything to go by, but he didn't look up even after he knew Sarinah was approaching. In all honesty, he hadn't really decided how he felt—the strange mixture of excitement and anger was a strange challenge to sort out.

"I didn't–" He started, but stopped again, deciding not to continue.

Sarinah came close up behind the passive, reaching out to rest a hand on his back. She bit her lip.

"Tristaan. I'm sorry. Are you okay?" The dancer didn't know where to start. Shaking her head, she looked at the crowd.

"He knows its long over. I told him that. And he knows that I love you, and only you." Swallowing, the brunette looked back at his hunched over form, waiting for a response.

For a brief moment, Tristaan wondered if he could continue to get the dancer to tell him she loved him out loud if he continued to look upset. The thought entertained him, if only because he enjoyed the warmth he felt in his chest at her words.

"Y'ent got anythin' t'be sorry for." He said simply. He meant it; she didn't. He tilted his head a little to look at Sarinah, fumbling a little for the right thing to say, "I didn't mean t'interrupt. I just. I saw, an' I thought ... well, I don't know what I thought. I got worried."

The passive paused with a shrug, willing to shift the subject away from his own insecurities, especially when they had been revealed unnecessary and unfounded. He turned to face her more directly, one elbow still on the tabletop, the other moving to rest on his forearm,

"Did you hear what you wanted?"

She smiled a little, relieved he wasn't mad. Her guilty feeling wafted away, left with just a strong feeling of closure and some amusement.

"Worried? What about balach? Ye ent got anything to worry about when it comes to me and Rovin. I'm your rosh, end of story." She could understand if it was a jealous worry, no doubt she would feel the same way. But by now, she had hoped he knew she was a one man woman.



Sarinah searched his grey eyes for a moment, nodding.

"I think I heard what I needed, not what I wanted. His words hurt, and I don't really understand fully why he did what he did. But something he said made me feel better." She moved to sit on one of the chairs, resting her hands in her lap.

"He pointed out that if I'd known he was still alive, I wouldn't have ended up meeting you. Maybe he was meant to let me fall, so you could pick me up." The woman laughed a little awkwardly.

"Apparently Alioe works in mysterious ways."