Tethering was such a strange thing. Volsten had heard of its uses in passing, but he didn't know what, exactly, it was, or how, exactly, a mage went about doing so. Even with that limited knowledge, however, he knew that the last thing he wanted was to be linked with Melridge.

Enter Wolren. According to Arel (and Wolren himself) he was a mage of some esteem, pulled directly from the League of the Arcane. Despite his general peculiarities, Volsten didn't doubt that he was skilled, if only because he knew next to nothing about the league. Perhaps it took a certain flare to ascend in its hierarchy.

As Wolren told it, tethering was a process by which two people's spirits were tied to each other. If the distance between the two becomes too great, the 'tether' is pulled taut, and the tethered can no longer move in a way that increases their distance without inhuman force being applied. Of course, the strength of the tether depended on the skill and talent of the mage applying it. The tether of a novice could be broken by two powerful humans. An archmage's would require divine intervention to break, and there was no guarantee that Inera could do so without snapping the person's spirit like a stick.

Wolren assured them that his skill was sufficient to create one wholly unbreakable to them. He probably thought it reassuring, and Volsten thought a scholar's mind a strange one. His crested robes proved that he was an intelligent man, but he lacked the ability to read a room. Volsten thought at first that his exasperated sigh was a touch subtle or quiet, but it was plain that Wolren was socially stupid when Melridge's barrage of curses didn't move him.

Another thing that Volsten didn't know was just how taxing the process would be. No sooner did Wolren begin to speak the tether into existence than did Volsten find himself waking from the floor. The first thing he saw was Melridge's freckled, green-eyed visage. The knight made no attempt to hide her amusement.

Wolren's face was more curious than concerned. He hmm'd and made the judgement that, in Volsten's bandaged state, he was far too weak for the process. So Wolren sent them away, but with the caveat that they return the next day. His eyes were eager when he said it, and Volsten found that disturbing.

And he found Melridge impossibly annoying. After the third and fourth day of his bruised and battered body giving way to the rigors of the arcane, he earned a berating from the famous knight. Somehow he, and not Arel, wasted her time. It all culminated in the paradoxical threat of violence if he didn't heal any faster.

Master Bellit thought it amusing, and Volsten would have as well if he didn't think her deranged enough to go through with it.

"I can see your concern," Bellit said, "but Lady Alexandria is not senseless. Brash? Of course. But not senseless."

Volsten looked at the physician from the comfort of his bed. Many of the bandages had come off, with the only one remaining still snug across his abdomen. "I doubt you've experienced the same woman that I have, then. There are bullish women, then there's this...creature."

Bellit tapped at his desk. "The cursing? We all have. Don't think for a moment that she acts differently around others-it's just the way she is."

If there was one bright spot in the mire that was this situation, Volsten thought, it was Bellit. To say nothing of his talents as a physician, he was a pleasant man to speak with.

"Then it's puzzling how anyone can put up with her, ranking or not."

"Well, that's precisely it, Sir Volsten. She's an extraordinarily gifted woman that also happens to have an extraordinarily low tolerance for anything she perceives as wrong."

"The only thing wrong is her attitude," Volsten scoffed. "Consider me. Bandaged, clearly in pain. Her first thought? Execution."

"That probably has to do with you being in deep shit, as we discussed during our first conversation."

Come to think of it, Bellit had never asked him why he was here. It was likely that a guildmaiden had already filled him in, but...

"Are you not curious why I'm here, Master Bellit?"

"A little," he admitted with a shrug. "But in the end, it doesn't matter. The guild asked graciously for me to attend you, so attend to you I will, regardless of your deeds. It's what I spent years learning to do, after all."

That was a good enough answer, but...

"Really? What if I was caught stealing the queen's panties? Would you be so eager to help a man of such low character?"

Bellit grinned. "Then you would be a master thief. I would keep you alive if only to see what you got up to next."

Volsten chuckled-he could do that now-and pushed himself up on the bed. The headboard was cool against his bare back. "Being here would be a blessing. No doubt I'd be strung up atop the Tower mere hours after being caught."

I suppose the same could be said for facing a dragon, but I survived that as well.

"Depending on what you've done, that may yet happen," Bellit pointed out, right before the door sounded with three knocks.

Volsten sighed. To swing from the Tower would be a merciful fate compared to this.

He swung his legs over the bed, but despite it not being more than 15 seconds since the first set, another round of knocks sounded, and these threatened the integrity of the door itself.

"What are you waiting for, Bandages? Get your hobbled ass out here!"

"Ah, the voice of a lovely, red-headed maiden, bursting with girlish charm and cheer!" He said while glancing at Bellit.

Volsten made his way to the door, and after slightly twisting the lock, he opened it.

What met him was Melridge's fist, poised to knock again, but instead finding his face.

"Lady Melridge!" a high-pitched voice squealed.

He reeled from the force of the hit, then clutched at his face. Her hand managed to strike him right on the nose, and it would be a lie to say that it didn't sting a bit. Or a lot. Her hand was armored, after all.

"Goddess!" He looked at his hand and was relieved when there were no red marks.

He touched his nose another few times, scrunching his face, then turned to the women standing at the door.

Melridge stood as she always did, arms crossed over her red breastplate, face set in its general dislike of him. It was the same face she'd worn for four (now five) days. Trembling next to her was the receptionist he had come to know as Karpila. A nice young lady if the last few days were anything to judge her on. Strangely enough, her hair was the slightest shade of pink. Magically altered, maybe, but he hadn't bothered to ask.

She was also among the shortest women he'd ever seen. Only Xyra rivaled her, and he would need to see them side-by-side to properly judge their tininess.

"I've spent days of work on that man, and you're trying to break him!" Bellit shouted. "It isn't enough that whatever business you've been doing causes him to collapse, I take it?"

"We're sorry, Master Bellit!" Karpila said with a smile.

"I'm the one who was hit!" Volsten reminded her, not very calmly.

"It was an accident," Melridge said, her set mouth bordering on a smile, "but I can't find it in myself to be sorry."

"Is it because you're a wild beast, masquerading as a woman?" Volsten sniffed a few times. "One of the key features of humanity is empathy for our fellow person, and you lack that. In spades, Melridge."

"Maybe, but I also lack patience, something that you're testing right now!"

No doubt sensing the tension, Karpila glided between them, book pressed to her lips, eyes wide with worry. "Please, Lady and Sir...Wolren is waiting!" she pleaded.

He stared into Melridge, and she stared back. He wanted no part of her now, but when he was back to full strength, he'd be more than willing to humble her.

"Of course, Karpila. Lead on." Volsten said to the small woman.

She nodded, then slowly stepped from between them and into the hall. Melridge turned to follow her, and not long after did Volsten.

Given this was the fifth time he'd made the trip, the route was familiar. Instead of straight, towards the main hall, they took a right, beyond doors and the adventurers within. The guild was, in a way, a giant inn. There were a multitude of rooms available, and somewhere within there was a tavern-like room, with food and drink for all that officially joined. This was the way of the Tregarian guild hall, that was. Isaldin and Northbrook and a few other places had guild halls as well, but Volsten wasn't sure if they were as grand as this one.

"So, Karpila," Volsten said, interrupting the silence. The swaying of her pink hair had finally piqued his curiosity.

"Hmm? Yes, sir?" She asked, turning her small head to peek at him.

"Your hair. I must ask why it is the way it is."

Karpila ran a hand through it and shook her head to give it a toss. Considering its length, stretching deeply down her back, she had to try hard to move it. "You like it, sir?"

"It's pleasing to look at, yes, but more out of curiosity."

"My father's a mage. I've always liked pink, and he has a mind for transmutation."

"Interesting. Any side effects?"

"All of my hair turned pink," she said. The way her step hitched told him that it was a bit more than she wanted to share.

"Really, Karpila?" Melridge groaned, her head falling into her hand.

"I talk too much sometimes, Sir Volsten," she said in clear embarrassment. "I'm sorry!"

"No, it's quite alright. At times, I'm too good at questioning."

They arrived at Wolren's room, and Karpila rapped lightly on its door. It opened, revealing the gray-bearded mage within.

"Tidings of the morning to you, fair Karpila." He bowed, and his bald head glinted in the light.

Karpila returned the favor, shimmering pink hair sliding to her side. "Good morning, Wolren. May we enter?"

"Why, of course you can! I was only in the middle of examining a few fine tomes, as I've done through all my waking hours."

He stepped away from the door to allow them to enter. Karpila did first, and Volsten took one step forward before Melridge barged past him.

"You know, Wolren," Karpila said, "you didn't need to stay in this room. We could have given you one with a bed."

Wolren nodded, then picked up a thick book lying on the table nearest him. "I knew of that option, but as I am a scholar, I felt most comfortable among these. Ah!" He placed the book back on the table. "My two strong knights, back for another attempt!"

"I don't have a choice in the matter, good mage," Volsten said.

The mage hid each hand in the opposite sleeve of his robes. His countenance was, though not unfriendly, unsettling all the same. "The opportunity to tether is rare indeed, but it isn't unheard of for young couples in the throes of passion"-Volsten and Melridge shared a shocked look at that-"to make the ill-advised decision to do so."

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Melridge shouted. "What the narrows did Arel tell you?"

Karpila was suffering a bout of girlish giggles from her seat near a bookshelf.

Wolren seemed most surprised at the outburst, even though Melridge had at least one each session. "The guildmaster was scant on details, and he didn't say this had anything to do with romance. My experience and deduction were such to guess it."

"Then you've guessed wrong! Oh, if you utter something like that again you won't make it back to Isaldin!"

Volsten and Wolren both raised a brow.

"Threatening a mage, in any case, is a bold move. A league mage? Downright dangerous. Wouldn't you agree, Wolren?"

Melridge turned her furious gaze to him. "You would think he's dangerous, considering how his spells put you on your ass!"

Volsten exhaled sharply. No, he would not let this beast get to him. "If you think he couldn't do the same to you, then your arrogance is far more palpable than I thought."

"Pleeeease, you two!" Karpila pleaded again.

Wolren nodded. "As I've said before, I'm a scholar at heart. I'm more interested in novel applications of the arcane than I am in its uses as another killing tool. In fact, I believe a mage's duty is to that of advancing magic as a whole through rigorous study. Not to offend your fine organization, but I find those that use their talents for adventuring to be...less than ideal."

Melridge grunted. "No one asked. Can we move on with this?"

"Of course, Lady Melridge. You-Oh, yes! Perfect!"

Her gauntlets clanked to the ground, followed by her vambraces and pauldrons. With her newly freed arms, she motioned for Karpila to help with her breastplate. The receptionist placed her book on the ground and sprang to action, gliding over to assist. She went about Melridge's back, unstrapping things, and soon the knight's breastplate was lifted and over her head.

All that was left was her tunic, black as her heart. Like clockwork, her head turned towards him. This was no doubt to ensure he didn't see once her tunic was off, but by the time her head was around, Volsten had already decided that the bookshelves beyond Wolren were more entertaining.

At least, that's what he wanted her to think. Truth is, he'd already seen her bereft of the garment. Tethering, as Wolren told them, required skin-to-skin contact of some nature, so they had both been shirtless from the first day. He questioned why Melridge armored herself in the first place, given that this would be the result.

Alas, as the tunic lifted, he was again greeted by the black lace that her chest strained against.

What a strange revelation when he first saw them. She was a noblewoman in the end, yes, but her attitude did its best to counter that notion. Just as easily could Volsten have imagined nothing at all there, and it would fit this masquerading demon to have no softness on her. But here she was, blessed by Inera. There were a few women he'd met that could make far better use of that gift.

As the tunic cleared her head, ruffling the fiery strands upon it, Volsten once again grew disinterested.

"Good!" Wolren nodded. "Now, back-to-back, as you know."

Volsten turned his back to the other knight, and began his slow march backwards, as he was sure Melridge also did.

Wolren guided them, a bit more to the left, farther right, and so on, until Volsten felt the heat of her back against him, all but where his bandage still clung.

"Straighten," Wolren commanded. "Heads together, please. Good, very good!"

"Ugh!" Melridge sounded off in disgust. "This is the dumbest thing!"

"Do you think I'm a fan?" Volsten responded. "Your skin is far from pleasing to the touch."

Wolren clapped. "Are you ready to take note, dear Karpila?"

"Yes, sir," Karpila answered.

"Brace yourselves, my two knights."

Volsten's stomach dropped. He remembered the feeling of impossible exhaustion, the loss of bodily control. It was a wonder he had yet to soil himself.

Behind him, Melridge shifted. "Don't you dare pass out this time! I'm tired of doing this with you, Bandages."

Wolren began to speak his words of power. It sounded like the kingdom's tongue, but he spoke so fast and so oddly that he wasn't sure if the man spoke words at all. Soon enough, however, the fruits of his incantation began to show. Blue wisps of magic appeared before Volsten's eyes.

Shit, here we go. As his body began to pulse, he closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. This was only the beginning. Each one was stronger than the last, each one inching ever closer to rattling his brain out of its cage.

"This is the longest he's lasted!" he thought he heard Karpila say, but the noise was so distorted that he couldn't be sure.

What he was sure of was that he was sweating, and that even Melridge, by this point, was panting. It was a fact that she went through the same as him. When he didn't pulse, she thundered against him.

Something passed between them. A new sensation, flowing from him to her and back again.

He dropped to a knee, the world fuzzy and hot, and waited to fall into unconsciousness.

A moment went by.

Still he knelt, clearly awake.

Wolren clapped once more. "Phenomenal! Splendid work, Sir Volsten!"

He turned to see the mage with a cheery grin. "Are...are we done?" Volsten asked between pants.

"Absolutely. You've been joined in magical matrimony, Sir Volsten and Lady Melridge."

Melridge grunted, then flicked sweat from her powerful chest. All of her panting had subsided, and other than her glistening body, it was hard to tell she'd been through anything at all. "Finally!"

They shared a look.

Melridge's face contorted into a wide-eyed snarl. "Karpila, my tunic! Armor! Come on!"

Volsten diverted his eyes as Karpila squealed into action. Not because he was a particularly upstanding gentleman, but because even the lightest touch could send him to sleep.

He took another few seconds to regain his breath, then stood. By then Melridge's tunic was on, and he could once again look about without drawing her ire. No more than her natural state of ire, that was.

"How long is the tether?" Melridge asked as her friend helped her fasten.

Wolren looked thoughtful. "Should be no longer than 1/4th this fair city's size. Though, I cannot be exact. I encourage that you test its distance, then report back to me. We wouldn't want any unexpected tautness, would we?"