Armand hid inside the empty tent, breathing in its comforting scent of leather handles and harness oil. He'd managed to keep his head down for two whole days, which was shocking considering the first time someone saw him, they'd probably tell Griffon. And if someone told Griffon, chances are he'd never leave the guard again, at least not while he was watching.

He needed to decide what to do, and fast. He peeked his head out of the supply tent and avoided the eyes of the young boy who stood watch, inches from where he'd stood what seemed like only hours before. He knew that if he just snuck by he could get help. Help he sorely needed, even if it was from a source he wasn't terribly keen on enlisting. 

The boy looked around, wings fluttering on his back, green eyes glazed over with boredom. After a moment, he pulled a leather-bound notebook out of his pocket and turned his eyes to the pages. Armand broke from the canvas and slinked across the sand like a snake, not even looking back to see if the boy lifted his head. His heart beat wildly against his chest as he skittered between two tents just in time to see a couple guards breeze past.

He had to get to where he was going without being seen...but how? He didn't have wings. He was the only one who didn't have wings. Childhood memories of being picked up and carried into the sky flashed behind his eyes. Of people telling him if he was just patient enough his day would come, and his wings would grow. It was ironic, really, that he never figured out they had different fathers until he was much, much older. Old enough to understand that sometimes wanting something badly enough wasn't enough to get it for you.

He'd actually almost tricked himself, just for a moment, when Wren fledged and the awful, bloody bit of jealousy he hadn't been able to keep from acknowledging had faded. But he'd been too worried to think about it. Then he'd heard the fighting while he stood outside and tried to gather the courage to enter and visit her despite what he knew he'd feel. Then he'd seen Meron storm off after he laid eyes on her and he knew. He'd felt that last sliver of hope die, and somehow that second time was a thousand times more raw than that first slow realization of what he could never have.

And that was why he still hadn't seen her, even though he knew from the small glimpses he caught between the cracks of canvas that she was awake, and even worse, alone. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep the ugly at bay and that the smile wouldn't reach his eyes. She'd see, and then she'd question, and then he'd have to leave again before he said something he regretted.

He was getting close now. He snuck behind the last tent of the row and listened inside for voices. Nothing. No rustling of sheets or blankets, no movement. He swore under his breath and shrank down against the fabric, trying his hardest not to be seen.

A few hours went by in dreadful silence before he heard Rannok and Gabriel approaching. Armand cursed himself for not having planned better and prayed with every fiber of his being that Gabriel would keep on walking. They talked for a few moments outside the tent about a game of catch-card Rannok had won. Every moment was insipid torture.

 Eventually Gabriel wandered off, his voice trailing into the distance, and Armand breathed a sigh of relief. He tugged at one of the tent posts holding the tent into the ground and snuck under the gap it made against the dirt.Rannok let out a shout and scrambled backwards at the sight of him, then drew his weapon, wings splayed haphazardly like shields against the back of his tent.

"Relax, it's me," Armand sighed. Why he was even doing this he had no idea. Rannok had absolutely no incentive to help him, and by the glare that snaked across his eyes and down into his scowl, they both knew it. 

"What are you doing here?" Rannok hissed, and to Armand's surprise, the glare dropped almost instantaneously to be taken up by worry. "You're supposed to be with the sellswords!"

"I know, I know," Armand said in a low, hushed voice. "Wren fledged and we had to come back here."

Rannok nearly dropped his sword. His eyebrows rose a few inches on his face and stayed here. Then his face relaxed. He slumped in relief and sheathed his sword as his wings folded themselves neatly on his back.

"Thank God," Rannok said. He shot Armand a quizzical expression. "I'm not stupid. You want something. Spill."

Armand sighed and hoped with every fiber of his being that Rannok was in a generous mood. If not, he had to come up with a plan B, and right now he didn't have one. "Look, I need your help. You need to hide me. If Griffon finds me he'll never let me leave and if Aegan finds me he won't let me stay. Just...for a little while. Then I'll go back to the sellswords."

Rannok shook his head and folded his arms. "Do you not realize I live with pretty much your brother's only friend?"

"Well, who else was I supposed to ask?" Armand demanded.

"She's going to be pissed," Rannok warned.

"You think I don't know that?" Armand rubbed the back of his head and an incomprehensible mixture of something close to grief and fear washed over him. She would be pissed. Probably more than he bargained for. He really shouldn't have put seeing her off so long.

"I guess this is really better...there's another thing," Rannok said quietly, and he looked toward the floor. "You can't go back."

"Why?" Armand asked, trying his best not to make his tone sound bitter. "You thought it was awesome I was leaving." 

"Just--" Rannok opened his mouth and closed it again a few times, as if struggling to find the words. "I can't tell you. It's..something bad's going to happen there. Just...please. Keep Wren here if nothing else."

Armand searched for any reason Rannok could possibly have for keeping him from going back. The sellswords liked him. They treated him like a human being and not like some defective kid everyone was forced to keep around for Griffon's sake. Armand's face got hot and his fists flexed as he tried to keep from thinking about his brother. 

"Fine. I'll deal with it myself," Armand said. He realized he felt a little bit angry, still, as he stared across the tent at him. Rannok looked away and let out a deep sigh. His eyes were unreadable, a mixture of fear and guilt that Armand couldn't place nor could he find reason for. 

"Sorry," Rannok replied. He turned and fixed Armand with a desperate glare. "Just...please. For your own good. Don't go back."

"Fuck if anyone knows what's good for me," Armand muttered as he ducked under the side of the tent again and towards the rapidly setting sun. His entire life other people told him what to do. Where to sleep. When to travel. What chores he had to do. And then later, where he was allowed to go and who he was allowed to see. What he was allowed to think, and when, and how often he was allowed to yell or get angry or question, which was never. Armand's fists clenched as he pulled the leather overcloak Jonah had given him tighter around his shoulders. 

He might as well stop putting off the inevitable, if he ever wanted to see Wren again. The healers would be starting night rounds soon and that meant the tent would be quiet, mostly free from anyone who might try to fasten the leash back around his neck, as long as he was careful. He had a mighty urge to kick at a stray chicken who wandered too close, but it wouldn't be fair to the animal. As if a small piece of this was fair to him. Nothing was fair.

Or, he could wait until tomorrow, when Wren would be home and the marketplace would be too busy for Meria to keep an eye on her. He could apologize for leaving, for not checking up on her. For not making things right when he shot her the look he still wasn't quite sure she'd even seen.

Just another thing for him to mess up. He'd messed up the guard and he'd messed up the sellswords and now he'd messed up Wren. His head felt like someone had stuck it inside a pair of skulldice and shook them, hard. The thought of never seeing her again almost outweighed the fury he was sure he'd feel when he did. 

It took him a while to find a corner of the marketplace deserted enough to sleep in, yet warm enough that he wouldn't freeze to death overnight. He threw out several of the supply tents as likely to be checked up on, and eventually wound up wandering further and further out until he'd found a tent full of hay just deep enough that chances are no one would be taking enough for him to be spotted before morning broke.

He crawled underneath the flap and burrowed himself in it up to the neck. Really, it wasn't so bad, when he settled down into the insulating fibers of warmth that itched like mad but meant he'd wake up with all ten of his fingers come morning instead of with two of them frozen off. The leather outercloak pulled uncomfortably at his skin, so he took it off and tossed it over top of himself, then recovered himself with hay.

---

Seems Rannok is tired of helping. How do you think Armand could have acted differently to prevent being where he is now? Do you think he could have acted differently?