Feanor awoke from his dreams suddenly, as the flames consumed Avaene within his mind, but he scrunched his eyes tight together, trying to return to the reveries. Upon failure, Feanor relaxed in a semi-conscious state, slowly letting his eyelids lift. And he saw her face, lying there beside him, expressionless lips still and eyes hidden under pale eyelids. Small red scratches littered her blood-caked face, and long black hair, braided in places, lay across the pillow and down one side of her bandaged chest. Feanor felt her limp form beside him, cuddled up against his body, one of his arms slightly numb from being beneath her weight as they had both slept. Like him, Avaene was fully clothed, the flaps of her shirt lying just a little too open and Feanor silently noted that, had she been awake from her trance, she would most certainly have tugged it closed to deprive him the sight of what she showed now.

The red-haired moon elf gave a small smile as he remembered how he had come to be lying in Avaene�s bed with her wrapped up in his arms just hours after she had wanted never to see him again. He had been unable to bear ignoring her any longer and had visited her tavern room in the vague hope of finding her there. It was earlier than she usually retired, but it was worth a try nonetheless. The option had paid off, and Avaene had opened her door to him, but certainly not in the condition he had hoped. A deep dagger gash crawled across her chest, from beneath the breast to her waistline, and this was evident more through the blood soaked shirt than the gash itself. The same was true of a large bloodstain on the elf lady�s pants and another on her arm. Claw scratches were scattered in various places where someone or something had, seemingly, tried to claw the skin from her bones. Added to this horrific sight to Feanor�s eyes was the color of Avaene�s skin when she had opened her door, paler than usual, and apparently very sickly. He had rushed into the room.

Feanor now stroked his fingers gently over the dried scratches on Avaene�s beautiful face as she rested, giving her a gentle affectionate squeeze at the same time. She had at first tried to get him out of her room, the memory of his burning her ear still fresh on her mind, and the bandage on the sore appendage remaining present as a reminder. But she did not resist much as he took her into his arms and guided to the bed. Of course she hadn�t, she was likely having difficulty standing up and wanted more than anything to get off her feet, even under the circumstances of being in his arms again. She had, as Feanor knew he should have expected, tried to resist him as he lay over her, and had she been at full strength he would likely have been viciously brutalized before he could even protest again it. But under the circumstances Avaene had been unable to fight and had let him as he had lain there apologizing over and over and trying to calm her. �I don�t want you to hate me,� he had told her. And she had replied that she didn�t. Of this Feanor had been glad; there was, then, still hope. He had not completely lost her by his foolish, though religious, acts.

The pyromancer�s lips now touched the sleeping elf�s, and he kissed her limp form softly so as not to wake her. Her lips subconsciously parted and Avaene muttered in her slumber, no audible words but just a faint murmur. Feanor stroked back her dark hair from her face, his hazel eyes roaming over her face. So attractive, even the feel of her chest lightly rising and falling against him sent unusual feelings into the pit of his stomach. So close he had come to losing the first person to ever care, want and touch him in such a way, and even now Feanor was uncertain of the future. She would be in better health when she finally awoke, the bandages he had applied to her as she fell into unconsciousness would make sure of that, the healing potion they were soaked in would clear the wounds and speed the restorative process. Would she awake and forgive him for his past actions, for what he had blindly done to her? Or would she instead continue to hate him, and resent him for even being there when she awoke, lashing out at him as he held her in his arms on her bed. She had after all called him crazy; she had thought him insane. Feanor gave a soft sigh, his finger trailing very gently over her burnt, but full, ear, his eyes gently watching it twitch to his touch. He did not want to be there to find out; he did not want to risk the chance that she might open her eyes and glare a chilling gaze at him. He�d rather let her have the time to think, let her remember the night before in which he had healed her from the brink of what would guaranteed have been her death; Feanor frowned at the prospect when he remembered that she had forgotten to retrieve her bag from her sister and so, were it not for him, would have been completely out of healing supplies. �She�d never have made it to the Bubbling Brew in that state� Feanor realized with an unpleasant feeling in his gut, wondering to himself if he would be present the next time she wandered out of the Crypts in such a state.

Yes, he thought, she needs time. To think. Slowly Feanor unwrapped his arms from around her resting body, giving his arm a small tug to free it from under her. Stood now at the side of the bed, the moon elf reached down and gently closed Avaene�s robes over her chest, before placing a small kiss on her forehead; a kiss that he hoped would not be one of goodbye. He gave the warmest of smiles though as he watched her, slowly backing out of the bedroom. He could still feel the warmth of her body on his. He had been given new hope now, and Feanor felt uplifted; his fire relit.