The campfire crackled quietly, casting an orange glow that flickered against the damp, rocky walls of the cave. Outside, the forest lay heavy in the quiet of night, every branch and leaf still, as if the entire world had decided to pause. For the first time since they'd started their journey, the atmosphere felt almost peaceful.
Elsa leaned casually against the cave wall, her gaze half on the fire and half on Grey, who sat across from her with the telltale signs of fatigue written into his face. He clutched the small piece of bread she'd tossed him, a rough but fresh enough loaf from her storage, and a strip of dried meat to go with it. He eyed the food with a mix of surprise and suspicion before beginning to eat, tearing off small pieces and chewing slowly. It was as if he didn't entirely trust the gesture.
Elsa noted his hesitation, the flicker of something skeptical in his eyes as he finally glanced up at her. "You seem unusually generous tonight," he murmured, his voice low and laced with dry sarcasm.
"Unusual?" she shot back, crossing her arms with a smirk. "It's called basic decency. You should try it sometime."
He made a small scoffing noise, amused. "Basic decency?" He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth pulling into a wry smile. "Didn't think that term was in your vocabulary."
Elsa rolled her eyes but couldn't quite keep the smirk off her face. Of course, she thought, even when he's half-dead with exhaustion, he's got a comeback.
"You've got a lot of nerve for someone eating my food," she retorted, an eyebrow raised. It was true; his sarcasm had an edge that only someone like him—a supposed "good-for-nothing" but with a proud streak that ran deeper than he'd let on—could pull off without sounding defeated.
Grey just grinned slightly, and with a small, dismissive wave, he went back to eating. But Elsa caught the subtle shift in his posture, the way his shoulders seemed to drop just a little. There was something almost childlike in the way he sat there, hunched over his meal, devouring each bite as though he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten something filling.
She watched as he polished off the bread and meat, his movements slowing, his eyes dimming slightly as the firelight caught the edges of his face. With his meal finished, he sank back against the cave wall, his body language softening under the quiet blanket of night. The air between them grew silent, save for the steady crackle of the fire.
Noticing his slight shiver, Elsa reached back into her storage and tossed him a thin but warm blanket. It was hardly luxurious, just another item she carried on her travels, but she watched as Grey accepted it with the same quiet gratitude he'd shown for the food.
He wrapped it around himself, glancing at her with a bemused expression. "You're awfully well-prepared. Do you always carry around everything in there?" His tone was a mix of genuine curiosity and lingering sarcasm, as if he couldn't quite believe she was being this accommodating.
"Some of us plan ahead," Elsa replied smoothly, leaning back with an air of nonchalance. "Besides, not everyone has your… limitations."
"Right," he muttered, sarcasm heavy in his voice as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself and leaned against the wall. But the small, playful spark in his eyes seemed to fade quickly, his expression growing heavy with fatigue. He looked so tired now, the earlier snarkiness replaced by a deep weariness that tugged at his eyelids.
Elsa watched him, a faint glimmer of amusement mixed with something unspoken. He sat there with that familiar, stubborn pride—but now, she could see it wavering, his exhaustion betraying him.
Just as his head began to dip forward, a slight slump in his shoulders, she smirked and called over to him. "You're supposed to keep watch, remember?"
Grey jerked upright, his eyes blinking open as he shot her a look. "I'm keeping watch," he replied in a low grumble, forcing himself to sit up straighter. He was clearly trying to sound convincing, but the haze of sleep in his eyes betrayed him. He'd tried to hide his exhaustion—tried, as always, to keep that shield of stoicism up—but the toll of their journey was wearing on him in ways he couldn't ignore.
Elsa's lips twitched with a suppressed smile. "Sure you are. Just don't drool on yourself while you're at it."
He glared at her, his pride wounded but softened by the obvious exhaustion that blurred the edge of his scowl. "Very funny," he muttered, a slight roll of his eyes as he tried, once again, to push himself upright. But the fire's warmth and the silence of the cave pressed on him, tugging his eyes closed once more.
She watched, slightly fascinated, as his head began to nod forward again, his movements slow and heavy as sleep overcame him despite his best efforts. This time, he didn't even try to fight it. Within moments, his breathing grew deeper, more even, his form finally surrendering to rest.
Elsa's gaze softened, her amusement fading into something quieter. "Stubborn idiot," she murmured, almost to herself. She rose to her feet, stepping over to adjust the blanket that he'd loosely wrapped around himself. She made sure it covered his shoulders, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face. His expression was peaceful now, softened by sleep in a way that made him look far younger than he usually did, his rough edges smoothed away.
For a moment, she simply looked at him, feeling a strange flicker of something she couldn't quite name. She'd always thought of him as stubborn, irritating—if not for he carry the blood of a raven she would have killed him already And yet now, watching him so vulnerable, she couldn't shake a strange pang of regret, as though perhaps she'd been wrong about him.
A part of her chafed against this realization. She let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head. Don't get too soft, Elsa.
She returned to her place by the fire, settling down with a determinedly stoic expression. Her eyes wandered over to Grey one last time, his sleeping face peaceful and, for the first time, truly defenseless. She couldn't help but wonder, despite herself, if her plan—to break his pride, to mold him into something loyal—was one she wanted to follow through with anymore.