Owe You My Sins [GxG]

Chapter 7

When Maeven said she was going to make amends, she meant it.

So early the next morning she was stood beside the first tents on the outskirts of the Church's temporary settlement. Her hands were clenched nervously as her eyes flittered over the canvas tents, but determination made her blood run hot. She was anxious, but she wasn't going to let herself be intimidated by tents.

Maeven strolled purposely into the camp, weaving around the makeshift pathways and making her way towards the centre where she knew in theory Illythia's tent should be. It was quite early and only a few members of the Church were outside, either warming up and talking quietly over a fire or clearing snow away from entranceways. All eyes turned to her as she passed by, and a nervous shudder played her spine like a piano. She knew she stood out like a sore thumb in the den of the grey cloaks. Still, Maeven continued to put one foot in front of the other and took deep breaths in an attempt to pull off a calm and collected demeanour.

When she reached the settlement's heart, her eyes were drawn to the tent that was strategically placed a little way away from the rest. In front of it sat a large firepit which Maeven assumed was used as a communal sitting area, judging by the log benches that had been dragged in to surround the flickering flames. Illythia's tent was only a fraction larger than the rest, but the canvas was sparsely decorated in faint designs. Maeven didn't have time to stop and appreciate them, however, as the silver embodiment of her guilt pushed past the flap emerge in front of her. Both of the women wore surprised expressions, their eyes widened at the sight of the other. Maeven honestly wasn't sure who was more shocked to see her in the middle of the Church's camp, herself or Illythia.

She froze for a second, feeling her heart crawling into her throat as she desperately scrambled for something to say, despite having spent most of the early hours of the morning preparing her speech. Illythia only tilted her head curiously and glanced behind her as though she had expected Maeven's father to be standing there. Maeven fidgeted anxiously, nibbling softly on her bottom lip before finally bursting out what needed to be said.

"I'm here to apologise about last night, and how I've been treating you. I still don't agree with why you're here and what the Church stands for, but... you've not been completely unpleasant, and I could have been a tad more polite."

Illythia's lips parted in shock as her bright eyes seem to appraise the awkward woman in stunned confusion, "oh? No, really, I understand. You've been as welcoming as I expected, truthfully."

Maeven didn't quite know what to say in return, but she did find herself wondering the other ways Illythia had been received. How did the Jorgtorians react to her arrival? Certainly not by hosting a feast in their honour, she was willing to bet.

"I'd like to make it up to you," Maeven declared. "If you'll let me."

"You would?" Illythia had seemed completely lost from the moment the conversation had begun, and only grew more confused by the second. "Well, I... would you like to come in?"

Maeven glanced frantically between the tent and Illythia, asking stupidly, "into your tent?"

"Yes, I don't see why not. We can have that talk I spoke of earlier," a teasing smile had made its way onto her face and Maeven found herself glad to see it after what had occurred between them last night.

"Sure, I mean yes. Yes, that would be nice," Maeven managed to stumble out, pleading with herself to find her composure.

Illythia moved to the side and held the tent open, forcing Maeven to move past her somewhat awkwardly. The immortal simply emanated warmth, and once more Maeven found herself jealous, wishing her own skin could fend off the cold so easily. Maeven paused when she made it inside, feeling oddly unsure of herself as she peered around the small space. At the back of the tent was a raised bed area which was covered in soft furs and warm fabric, not neat like Maeven would've expected of the regal vampire, but instead resembling a nest of sorts. Strangely enough, she could picture the Illythia curled there with the blankets thrown around her resting form, tucked away from the cold.