Vaarsuvius's eyes opened slowly, the last traces of memories drifting back into the past. And mercifully, they were no longer memories of the soldiers, once forsaken, never to be forgotten, but at least the elf was now forgiven. The ceiling swam into view.
Vaarsuvius almost jumped in shock, heart racing, and looked around the room. It shouldn't be a room, it should be a desert. They were in the middle of a desert, searching for Girard's gate. The room stayed unwaiveringly real.
A warm hand touched the elf's bare shoulder, and Vaarsuvius realised with a creeping dread than not only was this not the desert, not only was the elf in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed, but the only thing preserving the Elf's modesty was a layer of sheets and blankets.
And the hand. There was someone else here. Vaarsuvius stared at the unfamiliar human who had reached out and was now creeping their hand up to one pointed ear. Sleepy eyes met the elf's and their owner smiled.
"You're awake early. Last night was something huh?"
Vaarsuvius stared, wide-eyed, and a small indistinct sound escaped the elf's throat. If the elf had been any other humanoid this could have been dismissed as a dream. But elves don't dream; this was real. The next second the mage had scrambled out of the bed and was pulling on the discarded robe that had been strewn haphazardly over a chair, presumably during the 'last night' of which there was no recollection.
"Wait, what -" the human started, but Vaarsuvius had already sped out of the door.
Vaarsuvius didn't get far. The door led to a corridor, and just as the elf was making an impromptu retreat another door opened a short distance along. The elf ran full-on into the person who then stepped out into the corridor, knocking the wind out of both of them. This gave them both an opportunity to notice who they had collided with.
"What in the nine hells are you?" Vaarsuvius exclaimed at the other figure.
"I could ask you the same." the other Vaarsuvius hissed back.