Unexpected Homecomings

[Julen]

...she could be charged with harboring an illegal mage.

Despite the heat still radiating from the forge, a terrible chill penetrated Julen’s body, like frost forming around his heart. Each beat seemed to push tiny shards of ice through his veins. “Gods. I didn’t think of that. If anyone got suspicious of me, the guard could arrest her. Take her in for questioning. Maybe hand her over to the Judges.”

“I can’t tell her anything.” Unaware that he was doing it, Julen began to pace back and forth, shooting desperate glances at the farmhouse. “If she doesn’t know, she hasn’t done anything wrong. They’ll see that she’s innocent. They won’t hurt her.” Wouldn’t they? Or would they realize that claiming ignorance is what any wife would do, no matter how much she actually knew about her husband’s magical abilities? And even if she managed to convince them, even if they eventually believed her, would it matter? There were monsters in the Justice Hall who would be all too eager to practice their art on a comely peasant girl, be she guilty or not. There were monsters in the Justice Hall who could make falling into the hands of a vengeful mercenary seem like a sweet escape.

He couldn’t let Rosemary come to harm because of his curse. He had to protect her, no matter the price to himself. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll take her to the bakery. If she’s not here, she can’t be accused of harboring anybody. Then we’ll deal with the mercenaries. After that...” Julen drew a shaky breath, testing his resolve. It held. Just barely, but it held. “After that, with your permission, I’ll present myself to the guard and tell them what happens when I sing. They’ll give me a license or you’ll need a new footman -- if it’s the latter, I apologize for your wasted effort. But, either way, I will no longer be a danger to Rosemary.”

With Julen’s mind still reeling from the impact of what he’d just vowed to do, he nearly didn’t hear Railtus’s reminder about his sword belt. But somehow, the words penetrated his panic, and the mild embarrassment he experienced at having overlooked such an obvious solution actually distracted him from his fears. Julen stopped pacing and unfastened the belt. Then, he re-buckled it over his breastplate, and even accomplishing that simple thing did much to calm his nerves.

By now, the question he’d asked Railtus about Mavelle was nearly forgotten. But still, Railtus’s confession regarding his priorities, and where Mavelle ranked in them, startled Julen. He wanted to ask: Have you told her that? Somehow, Julen suspected that such a thing would matter more to Mavelle than even something as wondrous as Railtus’s angelic nature. But he bit his tongue. Ever since they met, Railtus had shown admirable restraint when it came to commenting on Julen’s own imperfect personal decisions, only offering advice when asked for it. Julen wanted to show his friend the same respect. So, when he spoke, he left the subject of Mavelle alone, only addressing the conflicts in his own soul.

“When I asked Rosemary to be my wife, I thought she would be the most important thing in my life. And yet, even as I strive to be a good husband, I find myself making decisions that hurt her. When I volunteered to be your footman, I didn’t consider the life of worry and absence I’d be dooming her to. When I decided to hide my magic, I didn’t think of the danger I’d be putting her in.” Julen shook his head, and his eyes strayed to some unspecified point on the horizon. “Part of me thinks that the most important thing I can do is stay by her side, make her happy, raise a good family. And part of me -- the part I discovered when I met you -- thinks that’s no longer enough.”

“I want to help the world. I just wish I could do it without hurting the woman I love.”

[Sir Karsimir]

Such courage was a reminder to Railtus of how Julen had impressed him in the first place. From there, Railtus could witness the struggle within. News of that battle met with victory proved the worth of the soldier standing before him. A respectful nod demonstrated approval.

What Julen feared would never come to pass. Railtus would not allow it.

Dwelling behind the fear, holding it upright, were the many secrets kept hidden from the man, lurking beyond his sight of Marn Law. "Licences are for healers. We only need you registered. All that will mean is no singing." Railtus shrugged as he spoke, hoping to reassure Julen with his confidence. "For a safety evaluation, all you need to do is show that you are no danger to the city. Your illusions are limited to what you sing of, so there is no way to use them for deceit. Added to that, me and others will speak up for your character. Dealing with the mercenaries should earn you high support."

Reading into what was said, the conditional apology seemed like an allusion to his possible death. "In the last case, my effort will not be wasted. By pleading clemency and taking responsibility for you, the worst that could happen is that you would have to leave." Surely not what Julen want, but far better than death or imprisonment. "From there I could make sure to earn land in the course of my duties. On that you will be appointed Seneschal." It all sounded so easy, so simple, and in a way it was.

Reserved deep within his mind, Railtus was struck by how soon he had judged Julen worthy of such a post. Yet Railtus had seen Julen face trials - the prospect of arrest when they first met, the treatment at the hands of Phelan, first true engagement of armed conflict. And now. - All of that united to show that Julen was very much the man who had spent four months struggling through adversity to support his wife, a man of courage and loyalty. A man worthy of the utmost of trust.

One other pain lay unaddressed. Events seemed ever eager to dash Julen's hopes. Once again, Railtus searched for words of wisdom. At this moment, they eluded him. "When you volunteered to serve me, the doom of absence was no change. While you were both apart, keeping the secret was no danger to her. And now, look at the decision you just made. A danger dealt with swiftly." Now the moment of wisdom struck him. "That better world will be the one that Rosemary lives in, consider that."

Now finished, Railtus hushed himself and let Julen decide what he would say to his wife.

[Julen]

By now, it shouldn’t have surprised Julen. But, somehow, it still did. He could hardly believe that Railtus would offer so much help to someone he’d known for little over a week -- that he would actually stand before the Judges and plead Julen’s case. For the life of him, Julen couldn’t imagine what he’d ever done to deserve such loyalty. But he was grateful for it.

Railtus’s confidence, along with his clear knowledge of the process, did much to ease Julen’s fears. Other than assuming it was something horrible, Julen had never given much thought to exactly what happened when a mage presented themselves to the authorities. Now, it turned out that he wouldn’t be beaten by the guard, or tortured, or dropped into a pit of vipers, after all. All that would be required of him was to participate in a safety hearing. He could do that. He could promise to never sing again. He could even leave Shim, if that was the eventual verdict. Better to yearn for his farm from afar, rather than yearn for it from within the confines of a jail cell, or while hanging from the gallows.

And even the prospect of banishment was made more tolerable by Railtus’s promise to appoint Julen to a position on his eventual estate. Julen didn’t know exactly what a Seneschal’s duties entailed, but he could tell by Railtus’s tone that it was an important job, and now didn’t seem like the time to ask for specifics. As with so many things involving Railtus, Julen let faith carry him.

Of course, there were still ugly possibilities. What if the Judges weren’t as forgiving as Railtus imagined that they would be? What if his magic began to manifest itself in something other than his singing? But the future was never certain. Julen just trusted that, whatever happened, he and Railtus would find a way to deal with it.

“Thank you.” Even as Julen spoke them, the words seemed woefully inadequate. Considering all that his friend had just promised to do for him, Julen felt like he should kiss Railtus’s hand, or prostrate himself on the ground before him, or at least manage a more eloquent expression of his gratitude. But he’d learned that such displays meant little to Railtus. The only way to truly show his appreciation was to commit himself to Railtus’s cause, to fight for good with all the conviction and resourcefulness he could muster. “I will do my utmost to be someone worthy of your belief.”

Railtus’s next words brought Julen even more comfort. A better world. Yes. That would be his gift to Rosemary. And perhaps, one day, his gift to their children. A better world, so that they might live without knowing the trials faced by their parents.

“I should go speak with Rosemary. I need to apologize for my behavior at lunch. Also, if she’s to leave tomorrow, she’ll require time to prepare. But I don’t want to leave you just standing here. Is there anything you’d care to do while I’m in the house?”

[Sir Karsimir]

"Good." Even knowing the reasons behind it, Railtus felt that Julen still owed an apology to Rosemary. The yeoman already knew that, so there was no reason to make an issue of the fact. "I will go tend to the horse, take him out to graze. With luck the mercenary kept feed in his saddlebags as well." Not that Guntar was any kind of role-model for how to treat a horse. The more he thought about that man, the more pleased he was to have killed him. "If you point me to any apples or oats I could feed him, that would help."

It had been long enough already, breaking and reforging links of maille had taken hours, then filling the iron stockpot with water to boil for leather. Indeed, that reminded Railtus to take that thing back inside. "Rosemary is making you a gambeson." he pointed out, "In Marn we can wait for that to finish, I will train you further in that time. It should also give you both more time together."

Again, Railtus had to fight to get the pot through the door, wedging it in the doorway and then forcing it through with his shoulder. Inside, he left his breastplate where it was, but was wearing the gambeson hauberk and iron bracers. There was also his longsword at his belt. So he was not overly concerned for trouble.

With everything seeming sorted, Railtus began his way to the stables.

[Julen]

Under normal circumstances, it would have been unthinkable to leave the farm untended for the length of time required to finish the gambeson. But left alone for four months, Rosemary had only been able to do so much, and thanks to the demands placed on her by the mercenaries, many of her efforts were already lost to neglect. All Julen really needed to do was arrange for one of his neighbors to take care of the few remaining sheep and chickens while he was away. Everything else could be left to the whims of the gods.

Julen helped Railtus return the stockpot to the kitchen, and pointed out several more apples. A bag of oats was also produced. Then, while Railtus headed out to the stable, Julen went to find his wife.

As he expected, Rosemary was in her sollar. Seeing her there, surrounded by straw and strips of linen, diligently sewing him new armor, nearly made it impossible for Julen to speak. He’d behaved like a complete ass at lunch. She had every reason to be angry with him, and she probably was. But her only concern was for his safety. Oh, my sweet Rosemary. What madness ever gave me the courage to ask for your hand in marriage? What hubris ever made me think I could be half the man that you deserve?

Swallowing hard, Julen managed to force sound from his clenched throat. “Rosemary?”

No response.

“Rosemary? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you, and I shouldn’t have stormed out like that. Please forgive me.”

Still, his wife just kept sewing.

Taking care to step over the piles of straw and fabric, Julen walked into the room, until he reached the chair where Rosemary sat. When he knelt beside it, he could see that the emotion she’d been hiding from him wasn’t anger. Instead, tears streaked her cheeks, and dripped onto the linen. Julen would have given anything to comfort her. But all he could do was take her hand in his, and allow a few clumsy words to stumble out. “You shouldn’t sew when you can’t see clearly. You’ll prick yourself.”

Finally, her gaze rose to meet his. “Railtus said that fear makes people do foolish things. What are you afraid of, Julen?”

“The only thing worth being afraid of. I’m afraid of losing you.”

Rosemary shook her head. “After all that we’ve survived together, what do you think could possibly drive me away?”

“When I was in Marn…something happened.” Now, it was Julen who stared downward, unable to look directly at his wife. “I can’t tell you what, not yet. You’d be in danger if you knew anything. But it’s related to my singing. That’s why I snapped at you. Because what happened in Marn, it could happen more. There’s a very good chance that I may never be able to sing again.”

“Julen…”

“But it’s going to be alright,” Julen hastened to assure her. “Railtus and I are going to do what needs to be done. After that, it won’t be a danger anymore, and I can tell you everything. Until then, you’ll just have to trust me. You do trust me, don’t you, Rosemary?”

“You foolish man!” Pausing only long enough to secure her needle in the fabric, Rosemary caught Julen’s face in her hands, and forced it to tilt upward as she pressed her lips fiercely against his. “Sometimes I don’t know whether to kiss or slap you.”

Julen smiled, privately glad that kissing usually won out. But there was still one more piece of bad news to impart. “You’re not safe here as long as the mercenaries are running around unchecked. Railtus thinks, and I agree, that it will be better if you move to my room behind the bakery until we get the situation under control. Tomorrow, we’ll all go into the city together, and you can work on the gambeson while Railtus trains me some more. When my armor is finished, Railtus and I will come back to Shim and enforce a little more order.”

“Then I will be like the myth of Penelope,” Rosemary murmured. Moving her hand across his cheek, she caught an unruly strand of hair, and curled it around her finger. “Sewing all day, only to undo my work at night, so you’ll never leave me.”

“I think Railtus will catch on to that pretty quickly,” Julen warned, even though he knew his wife didn’t really mean it.

“I know. The sooner I get it finished, the sooner you can make it safe for me to come home.”

“Thank you.” Wrapping his arms around Rosemary, Julen rested his head against her chest. The steady rise and fall of her breath was like a prayer, an endless repetition that promised eternity to those who desired it, a soft whisper that promised paradise to those blessed enough to hear it. And in that moment, Julen understood that his fate was to be forever caught between two very different angels.

For a long time, they simply held each other. Then, with a sharp exclamation, Julen suddenly jumped to his feet. “Gods! I nearly forgot.”

“Forgot?” Again, Rosemary looked alarmed. “Julen, what is it?”

“A frog. I promised Andraya that I’d bring her a frog.”

Rosemary began to giggle. And, hearing it, Julen decided that even the beauty of his singing was nothing compared to the sweet tones of her mirth. If he could never lift his voice in melody again, it was a sacrifice gladly made, as long as he could always keep her laughter.

“Go catch your frog,” Rosemary instructed. “I’ll finish this length of thread and get dinner started.”

[Sir Karsimir]

So the warrior had come bearing gifts.

It was always good to bring gifts to a horse, particularly when the gifts are edible. The horse seemed to hold that opinion at any rate.

"What shall I call you?" Railtus asked, now inside the stable doors. Beside the horse, he once again had the issue of a name. The plan was for the horse to earn a name befitting it's personality and nature, but locked away in the stables was no place to exert a sense of identity. A hand lifted to stroke the white mane, the horse drew away cautiously. Railtus refused to believe that this timidness was the horse's true nature. For a name, he would need it to recover. And it was a cavalry horse for crying out loud.

Remembering his priorities, Railtus began with food. Nothing earned loyalty like being the source of food. Horses were simple that way. Honest, too. There was nothing complicated or deceitful about them. Animals were always easy to like.

"Friend. If I show you, people will know I am here. That could be bad. We wait until the sun falls a little, then I'll bring you to the well to wash your coat. Deal?"

Then it struck him. The well.

That horse needed a drink.

So Railtus shut the stable door behind him, leaving the smallish oat bag looped around the ears of the brown horse, then approached the well at a run. Once there, he began cranking and turning to raise the bucket, and brought it back as a gift.

Suitably appeased, the horse lapped eagerly at the water. It would have guzzled if it could pour. While it indulged in the cool drink, Railtus ran his hands gently along the line of it's face. It made no move away.

Good. Progress.

Now an apple. Never mind words. Apples. Railtus chuckled pleasantly to himself. He could be crooning in soothing tones, assuring it of all fears, or entering a lively debate about the teachings of angels. In any case, the horse would only care about the apples.

It got an apple.

The moment it finished, the horse turned a wary eye at Railtus, as if suspecting him of something. Unperturbed, Railtus grasped the bucket, "More?" he asked.

No answer.

When Railtus once again ran his hand gently through the dust-greyed mane, the horse accepted patiently, questioning what this was all about. A flat gaze was directed at Railtus, almost guiltily looking at his face. All he did was smile.

A handful of straw began rubbing down the flanks of the beast. How much use this would be was unknown, but the purpose was not for the practical use of the rub down. Instead, this was to get the horse accepting of his handling, to grow accustomed to the fact that it was safe in his care.

Absently, all this food had reminded Railtus of something. Orin the smith. Railtus had packed for a fair journey, and had food to spare. Since he would be staying in settled lands for the time being it made sense to share that food with Orin. There was something very useful about paying in goods and kind.

Loosening the stable door, Railtus led the horse outwards. Much of the tack and saddle were left where they were. They needed cleaning. Badly. Clean tack was very important, a fresh pad would be minimal - simple respect for the animal in question. From this day, the horse was in better hands, and Railtus had no wish to see any relapse in treatment. Certainly not from him.

Holding the reins with a gentleness long forgotten by the recepient, Railtus took the horse out for a walk. There was enough farmland to lead the animal in fresh air without revealing it to the village, all Railtus had to be careful of was crops.

Actually, this was a good moment to familiarise himself with Julen's farm. A good commander should know his men and their lives, rather than thinking of them as tools. That much was only right.

Which was a shame, because Railtus had never summoned an interest in farming. Eating he was fine with, so he was quite content to enjoy the benefits of farming but had only the vaguest idea how it worked. Back in his youth, he had actually tried helping villagers at farm work, but his father had punished that. For Railtus himself, the punishment was not severe. For the one he had sought to help...

Railtus had never tried doing that again.

Unknowing as he was, he felt that this farm was no true reflection of Julen and Rosemary. The condition and neglect seemed very unlike them both. Indeed, these two required far less badgering than others in order to do something. So the disheveled state of the farm was probably something they would both be embarassed about. Now that this was no longer their only livelihood, things may have been different, but the minor tour only gave him ideas of what not to think.

The horse seemed pretty cooperative. No objection was made to being led. Following, the big fellow needed no tug on the reins for motivation.

As if reminded, Railtus began looking at the marks again, taking good care not to touch. Holding his hand over, he channeled a little more life into the old wounds, hoping to spark an improvement. Little luck, it was still the same day. Nevertheless, that was one more reminder of what was needed. Railtus had not prayed today, something most unlike him. Granted, the best prayer was right action, which Railtus offered in spades, but as a grounding and guiding process he normally looked forward to such an event.

Having time, he stopped and sat down on a nearby block of wood.

Strange as the concept may have seemed, he invited the horse to join him in prayer.

Stranger still, the horse apparantly accepted.

Meditating and casting his thoughts deep inward, Railtus focused on a white flame. It cracked gently, giving off warmth that reached deeper than the body. Eldritch wings fanned that flame, beating calmly and readily, stoking further life into it, life to be shared.

Within the fire were visions. Visions of a recent past. A young boy, charred and broken, suddenly at ease. Aranel, the maiden elf he regretted never speaking to. The image of loveliness that had lead Railtus to Julen, so radiant in beauty that it put Mavelle to shame. Mavelle herself, clinging onto his arms to draw strength. That poor lady who had the blister on her lip. Rosemary grasping his hand for comfort. A distant part of his mind found humour in the trend towards so many attractive women being involved, but one thing stood out more.

Each vision was of someone he had aided since coming to Marn.

Thinking back to Kreylask village, there was his post as Constable, a role well-respected and valued. There was Kurgriss, ready to present him before the Order of Ydren's Spear. Then his father had demanded that he leave all of that, had demanded that he come to Marn.

And at that moment, Railtus was thankful for it.

Close by, the horse stood, motionless, basking in the shared serenity. It nudged Railtus with it's nose, and looked at him with bright eyes full of hope.

Hope. That was a welcome sight.

For hope was something that the brave creature truly deserved.

[Julen]

(OCC -- Just to let people know, the latter half of this post contains a pair of consenting adults doing something adult. Not violence. The other thing. It's not there for any reason other than my enjoyment of writing sex scenes, so if you blush easy, feel free to skip it. Anyway, Frug said I should warn people. Consider yourself warned.)

The pond was actually located on a neighbor’s property, which allowed Julen to accomplish two errands at once. Bryce, the widower who owned the land, easily agreed to help look after Julen and Rosemary’s farm during their absence.

“I’ll put my eldest boy on it,” he promised. “Maybe some extra chores will teach him a better use of his time than hanging around those damn mercenaries. They fed him a lot of tall tales, and now he thinks they’re storybook heroes instead of a bunch of bullies. Told me he wants to go off and have adventures. Adventures!” Bryce spat at the ground. “That boy should thank the gods he’s never had an adventure.”

Julen didn’t answer. Considering recent events, he felt acutely unqualified to judge anyone else for being drawn to a less peaceful life.

Of course, it was necessary to tell Bryce that Rosemary had been rescued. But Julen stressed that this should be kept as secret as possible. Also, he made no mention of Railtus, nor gave any reason why he and Rosemary suddenly decided to take a trip into Marn. Bryce may have had his suspicions, but he kept them to himself. Even when Julen made his second request, the widower only laughed as he gestured at his pond. “Take as many as you want. The damn cat keeps bringing them into the house to play with.”

In a way, it was a shame that only Bryce’s children got to witness what happened next. The spectacle of Julen’s frog catching attempts would have provided riotous entertainment for most of Shim. Still dressed in his leather armor, clutching a spear in one hand and a glass jar in the other, Julen waded through the pond muck in pursuit of his quarry, while the brood on the shore giggled and shouted advice. Finally, the youngest girl joined his hunt. In a matter of minutes, she let out a squeal of triumph, and handed Julen a squirming amphibian. “Here you go, Mister Julen. And you don’t need a spear to hunt frogs. They don’t bite.”

Thanking the girl that bit of wisdom, Julen placed the frog into his jar, along with some pond water and a rock for it to sit on. Then he tied porous cloth over the mouth of the jar. If he’d had anything to offer her, he would have given it to the girl, in gratitude for her assistance. Instead, he could only resolve to pick up some small gift for her in Marn.

By the time he got back home, Julen couldn’t remember ever feeling filthier. He hadn’t had a proper bath in four months. On top of that, he was sweaty, smeared with soot from the forge, and splattered by pond muck. Wistfully, he cast a longing glance at the well. Washing up would put him in a vulnerable position. But Rosemary was safely inside the house, and the other mercenaries still didn’t know that the farm had been liberated. This would be his last chance to get properly clean before they left for Marn tomorrow morning. And it wouldn’t take long...

The leather armor seemed to have dried enough to hold its shape even without him, so Julen took off the breastplate and vambraces, carefully setting them where they wouldn’t get wet. Then he hung his arming coat from the branches of a nearby tree. With any luck, it might at least air out a bit. The rest of his cloths were quickly stripped off. Using his shirt as a rag, since it would need to be washed anyway, Julen wiped the grime from his armor as best he could. When it looked sufficiently unsoiled, he finally allowed himself to begin drawing water from the well.

The first bucketful, Julen just dumped directly over his head, savoring the sensation of cool water cascading down his burning skin. With the following buckets, however, he targeted specific areas. Still using his shirt as a rag, Julen alternately scrubbed and rinsed, until he finally began to feel clean again. A final bucketful rinsed the dust from his unruly curls. Shaking his hair like a drenched dog, Julen sent tiny drops of water flying in all directions. Then, he released a long, deep sigh of contentment.

At which point, it occurred to Julen that he’d failed to think of something. He couldn’t just put his old clothes back on. But he hadn’t brought out any new ones. Inconvenient, but not insurmountable. He’d just run into the house, get dressed in something clean, and then come back out here to put on his armor.

Julen had made it all the way to the bedroom, and started to reach for a fresh shirt, when he heard laughter. Spinning around, he fumbled to cover himself. Of course, it was Rosemary -- who else would it be? But even facing his wife, and even understanding how ridiculous it was to try to preserve his modesty in front of her, Julen felt his cheeks tingle with the beginnings of a blush, and it took some effort to make himself lower his hands to his sides. Four months apart could do strange things to the mind. “Rosemary. I...ah...thought you were making dinner.”

“Dinner is cooking. I was in the kitchen, and I heard someone come in.” Walking up to him, Rosemary touched her fingers to his bare chest, and Julen’s world slipped out of focus as he shuddered with desire.

“Rosemary...”

“Look at you.” Rosemary tilted her head, and the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes danced like will-o-the-wisps leading men to their doom. “Shy as the night we were married. Do I need to teach you everything all over again?”

“Yes,” Julen begged. “Yes, please.” Dimly, in some remaining rational part of his mind, Julen realized that if Railtus discovered his armor sitting unattended by the well, there was going to be hell to pay. But at that moment, Julen couldn’t bring himself to care. Leaning forward, he nudged the waves of auburn hair back from Rosemary’s cheek, and whispered warm words into her ear. “Teach me everything.”

“Ask me what feels good.”

“Does this feel good?” Julen’s tongue darted out, flicking against Rosemary’s earlobe. Then, he nipped at the sensitive flesh, giving it a gentle tug. “How about this?” Slowly, his kisses moved down her cheek, to the graceful curve of her throat. “And this?”

“Yes,” Rosemary sighed, wrapping her arms around him. “Oh yes, yes, yes...”

Lifting his head, Julen pressed his mouth to Rosemary’s, catching each “yes” as it dropped from her lips and devouring it ravenously. Despite the well water’s brief cooling, he was all fire once more, burning from the inside out. Desperately, Julen seized handfuls of Rosemary’s dress, tugging at the fabric as if he could somehow rip it from her body. Having any barrier remaining between them nearly drove him to the point of madness.

Without speaking, Rosemary grasped her husband’s hands and placed them on the laces that held the front of her dress shut. Patiently, using gentle caresses to guide his clumsy fingers, she helped him undo the fastenings, until the fabric fell open, exposing two soft mounds, pale and smooth as drifts of snow.

Immediately, Julen cupped Rosemary’s breasts in his hands, circling her areolas with his thumbs, and driving cries of “Yes!” from her before he could even ask the question. Again and again, their mouths met, grappled, and pulled away, only to try once more. The force of their kisses drove Rosemary backward, until her stumbling retreat left her pinned against one bedroom wall. But she didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she slid her fingers into the thick tangle of Julen’s curls, and tugged him toward her even harder.

Then, to Julen’s surprise, Rosemary released him. But he soon understood why. Squirming inside her dress, she seemed to be trying to tug it the rest of the way off. However, before she could completely escape, Julen caught her wrists, pinning them against the wall over her head. “Leave it on,” he whispered. “It’s sexier that way.”

Rosemary answered him with a wicked grin. When he relaxed his grip on her wrists, she slipped them loose, and hoisted up her skirt, allowing Julen to remove her undergarments while leaving the dress in place. “Someone learns quickly.”

“I have a good teacher.” Seizing Rosemary’s hips, Julen lifted her. Suddenly freed from the demands of gravity, Rosemary wrapped her legs around his waist, and her arms around his neck. Julen could feel the warm moistness that signaled her readiness. Boosting her again, he adjusted their position. And, when he lowered her, they were one. Rosemary’s groan of ecstasy nearly brought Julen over the edge. But he managed to hold off, keeping her sandwiched between his body and the wall as he rocked his hips.

“How...about...this...?”

“Yes! YesYesYes! Gods -- Yes!” Rosemary’s head fell forward, resting on his shoulder as she came. Julen could barely maintain his grip. All his separate senses fused into something too intense, and too unique, to be either pleasure or pain. It was simply release. And it was more than enough.

For a moment, he and Rosemary remained locked together in that improbable position, panting, and sweating, and satiated. Then Julen shifted his hold, cradling Rosemary in his arms as he carried her over to the bed. Tenderly, he set her down. And when she stretched out her hand to him, he lay beside her, kissing her face, and murmuring “I love you” over and over, as if the darkness they’d shown each other could ever make her doubt it.

[Sir Karsimir]

Certain that he had fulfilled his obligation to the horse, Railtus led it back inside. On the way back, he felt remarkably silly. There was a cistern nearby, one which made all of his long trips to the well completely pointless. As well, there was a horse trough. Empty, but simple enough to fill. In fact, he could easily fill it from the cistern.

Confident that it would eventually rain, Railtus drew the water from there, making sure that the horse now had free access to water. Already that matter was more settled, and another step towards the care of the animal had been taken. The brief moment of trust from before had faded, and the horse now kept a wary eye, but it seemed far more at ease than at first.

More water from the cistern was used to brush down the coat of the animal. Gentle grooming, nothing too hard or strong yet. The thick layers of dust and dirt would still be slightly painful, and Railtus wanted to avoid hurting the horse in his stage of gaining trust. He wanted to avoid hurting the horse in general, so was prepared to take extra time. Step by step, that warsteed would have a cleaner coat, one far more pleasant to wear.

"We need to get your tack sorted out." Railtus commented, "Then we can go for a ride. For now, stay." he bid softly, "There is another who has need."

With that, he shut and bolted the stable door, then went and saw to him.

Returning inside, Railtus collected his own pack without incident as well donning his breastplate, since both were only in the first room. There, he found numerous rations prepared for a long journey, without that long journey, there was less need of them. Or rather, less need of them for Railtus.

Bringing the pack with him, he made his way towards Orin. After all, the man could do with the food. So Railtus brought several days worth of meals with him to the smithy, with a large bundel pressed against his breastplate by the shield arm.

Orin was found tired and sooty, far more than Railtus, who it seemed that dirt did not stick to. Weary as he was, he livened when Railtus came through. "Railtus." greeted the smith, "What'll you be needing?"

"Simply remembered I had brought spare rations. Was expecting a long journey, since that will not happen, I thought you could make better use of these."

Orin blinked, "Good lad!" he exclaimed in surprise, given a touch of new life by the revelation of new food for him and his family. "Had work to do all day." he bemoaned. Normally he would not complain of such a thing, but the success of his labours was denied to him. Now his craft was being leeched by a bunch of malignant parasites.

Railtus grimaced, remembering having to heal the smith earlier. Part of him wanted to vow his intervention, but he could not make that vow to leave the next day, even if he was leaving to prepare. "Has there been trouble?"

"That one you had trouble with before came back, with two friends. Helped themselves to the new armour as well. Shame. A good suit that too." Orin lamented.

A grim scowl branded itself onto Railtus as he heard news of the crime that took place. Again, he did not want to promise what he could do. "Right." Regardless, he could not leave without saying more. "I will see what I can do."

That turned out to be much, since those responsible were lounging about in plain sight, easily overlooked in the pale gloom. Light was waning and so they were easy to overlook. Now, with both parties paying attention to each other, they were recognised.

"Guess I never had to pay after all!" shouted the thug, bedecked in new lamellar.

There were friends of his. Two of them. One swathed in furs which made him look burly, with a long-handled axe across his lap and a round wooden shield with a boss nearby. Another wore a leather coat over the torso, studded with flat metal heads over the surface of the leather. Probably rivets holding metal plates in place. This one carried an oblong shield and a short sword on his belt. A helm in imperial design suggested a deserter from the army.

Seeing all three, Railtus answered. "The word for that is called theft. The stolen property must be returned."

The robber laughed gratingly. "And who is going to do that? Obviously not me."

Direct as ever, Railtus spoke truth. "I was rather expecting to have to take them from your corpse." Slowly, almost resinged, he drew his sword.

They all blinked at that, but numbers added to their bluster. "We are gonna rip your head off and piss down your neck." One of them grinned, then turned to the others, meeting their glances to share in the grin.

The thugs only met each others gazes for only the briefest of moments.

In that moment Railtus struck.

[Julen]

Julen hadn’t forgotten about the armor. He knew he needed to go put it on and get his evening chores started. But lying in bed, with his wife snuggled up beside him, her head resting on his chest...it was a hard moment to leave behind. So the minutes ticked by. Until, just as Julen had nearly summoned enough willpower to rise from the mattress, Rosemary stirred slightly, and spoke.

“I have a confession to make.”

“A confession?” Mild anxiety mixed with curiosity. Julen couldn’t imagine that Rosemary harbored any particularly terrible secrets. But, on the other hand, anything she said had the potential to bring him great joy or sorrow. Shifting his arm, Julen wrapped it around her even more securely. “What confession?”

“It’s been on my mind for some time. I would have told you long ago, except I couldn’t stand for you to think less of me. Now...well, in light of everything else we’ve said today, now just seems like the right time.” From his vantage, Julen couldn’t clearly see Rosemary’s face. But he could feel the deep breath she took. “It’s about Phelan. He’s an evil, spiteful man, and I don’t claim any fault in that. But I wasn’t entirely honorable in my dealings with him. I let him buy me expensive gifts and take me interesting places because it pleased me. Because it flattered me a bit, I suppose. Yet, all the time I accepted those things from him, I knew in my heart that there was only one man I’d ever marry.”

It was a cliché, but Julen truly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, he didn’t do either, only bowing his head slightly to brush his lips against the silky waves of his wife’s auburn hair. “This is your confession? This is the shameful secret of your soul? That from the beginning, you loved only me?”

“I led him on. I let him believe he might expect something he was never going to get. And now, I feel like my selfishness has brought something dark on us.” Rosemary shivered. “If I have to pay for my sins, then that’s no more than I deserve. But you shouldn’t be punished for them.”

Julen thought about the man he’d encountered in the kitchen of House Anstrun. He thought about Shantay, who’d admitted to some of the same emotions Rosemary just mentioned. “If a man chooses to court a woman with expensive gifts and trips to interesting places, then he can’t complain if she allows herself to be swayed by those things. Besides. Having met Phelan, and heard him speak for himself, I’ve come to think very poorly of his motivations. Whatever small dishonor you did him, I think he intended far worse for you.”

His words seemed to comfort Rosemary, because she fell silent for a long time. And when she sat up, after pressing a final kiss to his bare skin, her concerns had returned to more mundane things. “I should go tend to dinner. If you see Railtus around anywhere, tell him that it will be ready soon.”

Julen nodded. After getting dressed, he returned to the well, put his armor back on, and retrieved his spear. A quick stroll around the grounds revealed Railtus’s horse in the stable, but no sign of Railtus himself. Julen hoped his friend hadn’t gotten into any trouble.

[Sir Karsimir]

What a vain hope that was.

One could reasonably say that Railtus was fighting for his life. More accurately, he was fighting for fairness and justice, to right a wrong and vanquish the unrighteous.

Which meant that he was fighting much, much harder.

First clash of blade on shield echoed like thunder. Bright sparks bursting forth from the impact flashed like lightning. The blow first struck resembled the wrath of an angry cloud.

The heavy infantryman, the Imperial Soldier, staggered back from the force of the blow. Another followed, pressing him further back. Railtus followed, gaining position from which he could use his foes to hamper each other. By keeping all of his foes on one side of him and striking in short exchanges, he could fight the combat engaged with only one foe at a time, rather than dividing his skill between them.

Recovering first was the light trooper whom Railtus had exchanged words with. He moved in on the left, seeking to catch an unguarded side. Retaining the initiative, Railtus twisted to that side, thrusting with the longer reach of his weapon and sweeping his shield close to cover the potential opening offered to his first foe. Bracing the crest against his thrusting shoulder and sliding the corner beneath his arm, the shield guarded the gap in his armour at the armpit.

Such measures proved unnessecary, as the long jab from the gladius was too wild to exploit such a gap. The skirmisher dodged back to avoid the blow, and Railtus uncoiled from position to unleash a swinging backhand at the head of the Imperial. A raised sword met the blow, stealing the power away from it, but the blow still struck against the helm with steel flaps descending to protect the face.

Spinning his wrist, Railtus sidestepped right and flowed through the motion to bring his sword in a downwards strike at the helmet yet again. A similar angle, but one which this time forced the soldier to choose between facing the blow and facing Railtus.

Facing Railtus would mean another blow to the helm, which even met by a sword, would still daze him and ring his ears. It would take either a counterswing or a deflection to stop the blow, for which the soldier had to focus on the blade coming in.

Which he did, raising both sword and shield and stretching himself high as he did so. While his sword was effectively blocked by the defence, there was still an opening at his side. One which Railtus tackled with a shoulder charge, flinging the unbalanced infantryman from his feet.

Common belief was that the weight of armour prevented a soldier from climbing back to his feet if knocked down during a fight. Common belief was utterly wrong. Where armour was a hinderance was the bulk preventing the wearer from flowing into a roll, as the rigid steel refused to curve fully with the body when a fighter would otherwise rise smoothly to his feet.

In all this time the axeman had not found his way into combat. The light swordsman had been constantly in his way, and the flow of battle had closed off his route to his foe as he made his adjustments.

Now the skirmisher saw his chance. A swift lunge led with the side-sword. Railtus met it with his sword swept low, on contact driving his crossguard against the blade to lock it in place, then jamming his own shield behind the guard of the side-sword so that he could free his own blade while still holding that one in place. Rolling wrist, elbow and shoulder in a short but smooth motion he lay the edge of his sword against the naked flesh on the neck of his foeman and drew back hard. Blood fountained forth as if from a geyser while Railtus raised his sword high to ward off blows aimed for the head.

Immediately following was a strained crack in the air, and all that convinced Railtus that the noise did not come from his spine was his ability to move after the blow was struck. The axeman had joined the battle, swinging his weapon just beneath the shoulder-blades to land heavily into the steel cuirass. While the backplate prevented edge from ripping through flesh, the impact still wreaked havoc on his ribs.

Unsure of how he got there, Railtus fought from his knees. A reasonable guess would be that he was knocked down by the force of the blow, and that the pain had muted his awareness of falling. Nevertheless, he was too busy to ponder the situation, instead aiming to kill the two thugs standing over him, for the infantryman had risen to his feet.

Swinging at calf-level, Railtus slashed forwards and back at his attackers, hoping to drive them back. Foes seldom leaped high over blades since it was too easy to misjudge, and time spent in the air was time spent vulnerable. Instead the axeman sprang back, carrying him out of range and preparing an immediate rush back into the fray with momentum on his side. The legionnaire, however, trusted in his greaves and turned them outwards to receive the blow.

A mistake.

Most times, this would have been the perfect counter, absorbing the cut on solid steel armour while striking with the sword unimpeded. Were it not for the Echoes. Echoes of comrades betrayed. Echoes of helpless men slaughtered. Wails and sobs from those slaughtered off the field, brutally slain as examples to people who needed convincing that they had been conquered. Righteous fury backed that blow, as if a pure essence supporting the emissary of divine judgement, in punishment of every wrong yet done.

And so the blade struck with the force of hammers.

While the cut of blade edge against greave was none too deep, a second cut was dealt by that same blow. Cutting through the rumbling echo in the air was the snap of bone within the greave itself. Legs buckled, as the soldier fought to retain his balance. During the cry of pain, Railtus slipped his sword inside the open legs, striking above the greaves while pushing the splinted skirt aside with his blade to rake the edge through the inside of the opposite thigh. With no good leg to support him, the heavy soldier hurled himself backwards as he hit the ground.

Seeing the axeman's swing Railtus raised his shield to protect his head. The blow struck the steel-braced edge, forcing it aside. He swung again. Railtus attempted to return his shield into position while rising to one knee. The shield again guarded his head but this time the swing landed on the body. Axe crunched through breastplate and struck into gambeson, but failed to cut into the body beneath, instead merely bruising flesh and bone beneath. Of course, to Railtus, 'merely' was a relative term at the time.

Bodily, Railtus rolled with the blow, swivelling his hips to reduce the impact while retaining balance on his braced knee. Getting inventive, the fighter raised a boot to kick Railtus to the ground. To bat the leg away with his shield would leave his head exposed to an axe blow, and Railtus certainly did not want that. Instead, he thrust his shield outwards to meet the axe and braced his knee further behind him, instead slicing with his sword against the knee.

White sparks wreathed the blade with the promise of vengeance as it drew across the limb, slicing strangely cleanly through the leather and with a crimson leak announcing success. Nevertheless, is was not a particularly hard blow, and the foe withdrew his leg and fought on with a limp.

Swiftly choosing a new trick, the axeman swung his round wooden shield towards the face of Railtus, aiming to strike with the edge. A heavy shield blow could easily daze Railtus, leaving him open for the following swing of the axe. Turning to block with his own shield would expose his back to an axe blow, and his sword was insufficient to resist the weight and power behind the swipe of the shield.

Flicking his sword point upwards, he took the opening to score a slash on the face of his opponent, and jumped back to escape the range of the broader swing. Hopefully the flow of blood from that wound would obscure the vision of his opponent, and fighting with both axe and shield would make it difficult to wipe it away.

While Railtus escaped the swing, his extended sword was caught by the shield and dragged him off balance, giving chance for his foe to spring forwards and lash out with a backhand cut. Stepping far outwards with one leg, Railtus stretched his body over the leg to keep his head from being a viable target. Instead, the blow landed on his side, crashing through a seam in his armour joining the breastplate and backplate together.

Again, the iron armour stopped much of the blow, and the gambeson helped, but this time blood welled forth from the injury and that side of the breastplate tried to split apart.

Next time, Railtus resolved to lunge forward and drive his sword clean through the man's belly, pushing his shield against the axe to hold it still.

Which is why these techniques only worked once during a fight.

Again, another swing, serving mainly to begin the process of battering down his defences. Railtus met it full on the shield, the head once again breaching the wood and striking the vambrace. With the head stuck, Railtus tried a trick of his own. He twisted the shield so that the bottom point was facing horizontally, forcing it forwards against most of the wooden shield. The curve between crest and corner neatly slotted the boss like a jigsaw piece, holding it in place while Railtus stabbed low and upwards beneath his own shield.

Blade slid neatly into flesh, while the foe was held in place, transfixed by the length of steel running through his belly. Railtus twisted the blade, and then levered it through his flesh, tearing through entrails which landed like a pile of wet noodles at his feet as the blade pulled clear. Turning his shield again, Railtus pushed it outwards, forcing the axe wide to prevent the death-throes from landing a killing stroke. Ankle-deep in viscera, Railtus stepped away from the man after ripping his guts out.

Remembering one foe who lived, Railtus moved near the head, seeing no reason to give worse than a swift and clean death.

"Mercy." cried out the man weakly.

"Like the mercy you showed?" asked Railtus, thinking of the Echoes still calling out to him.

"But I don't want to die!" begged the infantryman, it was a weak case, but the most honest one which appealed to any sense of mercy inside the victor.

Or not. "Then you made a very strange choice of career," snapped Railtus. "Did any of those you slaughtered wish to die?" Mercy was not as simple and mechanical as people believe.

A long moment waited before the answer. "But they were soldiers!" Less an argument or a point than a plea.

Rather than delving into the Echoes, Railtus focused on the crimes he knew of here. "You stole from the smith. What would have happened if he had resisted? From whom do you take shelter, a family terrorised into obedience? What is it you do here if not exploit your strength against the weak?"

"I'm sorry!" begged the mercenary.

"For what!?" barked Railtus, "For being caught? Defeated? For the fact that three of you could not kill me?"

"You are a warrior too!" he protested, "You killed two people just now! You said you were going to take the armour from my his corpse." The infantryman pointed at the dead companion in question.

"And?" Railtus asked, unsympathetically.

For a moment it appeared that the trooper would say that they were no different, as if they were the same and that to judge the soldier was to judge himself. But he already understood that Railtus had never stolen, or lied, or raised his sword against an innocent. From there, he had to accept that he had. All three. Stolen, lied, slain people innocent of no crime but being connected to his enemy.

The soldier hung his head. "You're right." he confessed. "I never thought of anyone I killed. I did what I liked. I considered it my right for being stronger than they were, that the strong should rule over the weak. That gives you the right to kill me. I probably deserve it. I beg you not to."

"Cruelty is not strength. The people here, they struggle each year against droughts and floods, when disaster strikes, they battle on and try again. Why? Because they have families that need feeding. They make the food that their families eat. And you and I eat by the way. What is that if not strength?"

Railtus did not like preaching to a man held at sword-point, but found it better than leaving him to go free and unchecked, unrestrained in his evil. Standing nearby, Railtus waited for an answer.

"I don't know." admitted the mercenary. Finally, he spoke. "It is easy to believe the strong should rule when you are the one with power."

"Power, not strength. Power is conditional, strength is within. Remember the difference."

"What do you want from me?" asked the soldier, marked by his gear and heavy armoured style as an Imperial hastati, if a deserter. "Bishani? Gold? There is more wealth I can show you."

"No." snarled Railtus, resenting the implication that he would act like a common bandit, and making the captured hastati fear for his life. "Your bishani and wealth can go to putting right the wrongs you and your comrades have done, though I will take your weapons and armour as insurance, and see that it is put to more noble use."

That surprised the infantryman, but he accepted, mainly because his life was being spared.

"Throw your weapon aside. Leave them here. I will mend your leg and you will help me deal with the bodies. The leg will still be fragile."

While the mercenary complied, Railtus cleaned off his sword on one of the bodies before returning it to it's sheath. Then he commanded, "Pull off your armour." Once he unbuckled the unbroken side of his own breastplate, it fell to the ground with a noisy clang, and he pulled on the coat-of-plates.

From there Railtus unlooped the sacred pendant around his neck and pushed it against the leg, starting with the cut. "Gift of mercy. Wound unmade. Suffering ended." With that, the wound slammed shut as if seared, the skin thin and delicate, but the bleeding was over. Then he held the pendant over the fractured shin, focusing on the work Railtus had planned for him, the penance and atonement for his crimes. The duty to right his wrongs. "A duty to fulfill, hale limb needed. Right to be done. Wrong to be ended." Then he brushed the pendant back and forth over the steel plates over the shins.

A few minutes later, the hastati was able to move somewhat unsteadily. From there, they began hauling the bodies to their chosen destination. Railtus easily slung the shield onto his back and carried the one in leather over his shoulder. The hastati settled for dragging the corpse, limping the entire way.

When they reached the smithy, Railtus called out a warning to Orin before showing him the bodies. "Warning! Corpses!"

The good-humoured tone lessened the impact of the warning. Orin stood open-mouthed and gaping, "What!?"

"What was stolen?" Railtus asked, utterly unperturbed.

"A suit of lamellar and some arrowheads." stumbled the smith.

Railtus began pulling the lamellar off the corpse and throwing it near to the smith. "Then this is yours." It landed heavily, clinking harshly. "What would it cost me to keep the arrows?"

Orin froze, wondering why Railtus would expect to be charged for goods he had no need to return. After a moment of indeterminate stammering, Orin answered, "Call it a trade for the food you already brought me."

"I will collect the bodies shortly. A few things to do first. Your greaves." The change of who he was addressing happened so quickly that it was difficult to follow, but eventually they caught up and realised he was speaking to his captive. "And your name."

First answer was to pull of the greaves whilst grimacing against the pain. Second answer was, "Sentius."

Railtus donned the steel greaves in place of his own, then set off to the household which had sheltered Sentius... under some level of duress.

When they got there, the family took one look at Railtus in armour (bloodied armour), and fell into wailing and sobs. "Please! We can't take anymore-"

"Stop." ordered Railtus.

"But we have nothing left to take. Others like you have taken everything. Please go Lord."

"Enough!" snapped Railtus, giving voice to a wound dealt by an insult and festering by shame. "From the moment I came to Shim, people have treated me like some bandit that they should fear. Women and children expect me to hurt them. I can think of no greater insult. I. Have. Had. Enough." Almost instantly, his tone softened. "Please. Do not presume to know me or my intentions. You will likely be better off for my visit."

The parents glanced worriedly around. On seeing where their eyes lingered, Railtus bit down his anger. "Nothing like that I assure you. Tell him."

Sentius complied. "We were defeated by this warrior. My two companions are dead. This," he held out his money pouch, "Is to repay what I have taken." Suspiscious eyes settled on Railtus, expecting some ulterior motive. When Sentius offered his pouch of Bishani, the family snatched it away quickly, holding back as if they could do anything in the event that he had meant harm.

"Jewlery." Railtus prodded.

Sentius handed over two brass rings and an silver amulet with surprisingly little resistance. If a wedding band or lover's ring was kept there somewhere, then Railtus would have relented on that piece, but that would require one to be so far away from home as to spark doubts. "How will I live?" Sentius asked.

"If there are trail rations in your comrades packs, live off them for now." Next words were directed at the family, "If you would permit him to stay, he can earn his keep by helping with the chores and farm work while his leg heals. I am sure much needs doing since the mercenaries took over. Is that acceptable?"

The family all stood in mute shock.

"I am sure it would help you catch up on the tasks you need to, and the free hand on the farm would be helpful. That, and I wish for some way to set right the wrongs he has done."

The man of the house looked up, "We don't want him here."

Unfazed, Railtus turned to Sentius, "In that case, go through the packs for travel gear and rations. Pitch up a tent. Find work. I would not suggest taking the road unarmed."

"Work? As if anyone here would hire me."

"Ask for no more than food and lodgings in exchange for your labours. The alternative is to be taken prisoner. We have rope." By the look of fear, Railtus had guessed that Sentius misunderstood his meaning. "For binding to take you to Marn. Not for hanging."

Sentius only appeared more afraid.

"Well, those are your choices. You have rations and a tent. Now, if there are no objections, I would like your trophy rings as well. I had set out to hunt robbers. If I return so soon with nothing it would count against me." Railtus explained to Sentius, who complied.

Then came the business of rummaging through the belongings of the vanquished. Most importantly, Railtus found a hunting bow, with arrows in a quiver. One of them had seemed like an archer. A few pilums showed themselves as useful as well. There were even travelling cloaks cast aside, and changes in clothing stuffed inside packs. There was even a bedroll and a rolled up tent. All of these, save for the tent, a cloak, and one of the bedrolls, were stuffed into one pack which Railtus had emptied to make clear.

Now was time to return to the farmhouse. Rather than stepping in immediately, he readied his horse, fitting it with full saddle in a matter of minutes, and rode back in the dark to the smithy. Once there, he hauled both bodies onto the saddle, remembering to collect his leather greaves as he did so, and lead the horse back to Julen's farmhouse, collecting what gear remained on the way back.

As for the cavalry horse, it was trained for war, and no stranger to the scent of blood and of death. While mildly uncomfortable, it held calm enough transporting the bodies, which were swiftly discarded the moment they were finished moving. No sense in burdening the horse needlessly.

Approaching the door of the farmhouse, there was a much different look to Railtus than when he had set out. The iron breastplate was gone, replaced by a coat-of-plates. On leaving, his gambeson was white, now it was stained red, his sword-arm painted from neck to elbow as if it had been dipped in blood. New steel greaves hid the blood splashing on his shins, but the boots were now encrusted with red from wading ankle-deep in human entrails.

[Julen]

“We’ll just wait a little longer.”

Rosemary had already taken her savory egg custard from the oven and put it on the table. Three wooden bowls, along with three spoons, awaited use by three diners. Looking at the scene, Julen couldn’t help but be reminded of the shrines built by some of his neighbors, who then used them for offerings of food, so that the gods might be tempted into visiting. It was as if the act of setting a place for Railtus was a mystical ritual that might somehow help ensure that he would return and take it.

Not that Julen felt truly worried, not yet. Railtus could certainly take care of himself. But it was after dark, and there were a lot of potentially angry mercenaries around, and Railtus might well risk some very uncertain odds if innocents were threatened. Part of Julen itched to go try to find his friend. But doing so would mean leaving Rosemary unprotected, and he couldn’t risk that. Railtus would be the first person to scold him for it. So Julen confined his nervous energy to the ever-useful act of fidgeting.

“Maybe you could go pick some greens for a salad?” Rosemary suggested, while casting a nervous glance at the jar of strawberry jelly Julen had nearly knocked from its shelf. Abruptly, Julen realized he’d begun to toy with his spear in a manner completely inappropriate for indoor use. Chagrinned, he nodded to Rosemary’s request, and headed outside to pick some parsley, borage, mint, and whatever else he could find. But just as he stepped through the farmhouse door, he nearly collided with Railtus, who was coming in.

“Railtus!” Although he resisted it, Julen felt an irrational urge to hug his friend, despite the embarrassment such an act would cause both of them. But Julen’s relief proved to be short-lived. While the new pieces of armor went momentarily unnoticed, the red stains on Railtus’s arm and gambeson did not. “Gods! Are you alright?”

[Sir Karsimir]

In answer to the emphatic greeting was a bright and heartfelt smile wholly out of place while wearing armour streaked with the blood of the fallen. Paying little mind to his bloodied condition, Railtus nodded, "Well enough, thank you for asking. Has all been well since I left?"

Natural courtesy took over and Railtus stepped back, allowing Julen both personal space and functioning room to do whatever he was intending, or to proceed onwards unobstructed by an armoured man. Then light dawned on where that would take him. "If you plan on eating, best not to go looking around outside for now." Although the bodies had been thrown out of the way in heavy shadow, few things would spoil an appetite like the sight of violently slain corpses.

Particularly since Railtus had a mind to loot them. Despite the rather obvious issue concerning the nature of meat, dead flesh and dinner tended not to mix very well.

With whatever awkwardness needed to get past, Railtus made his way inside, grateful to be in the better light. A clump of hair was matted together with dried blood, running from above the temple to over the ear, clinging to the edge of his neck.

Once sheltered by the welcome glow, he accepted that he was tired, enough so that he cared more to sit down, eat and rest rather than clean off the dried blood. While his gauntlets were caked in gore, he had no intention of wearing them to eat. Meanwhile, Railtus concentrated on Julen, attentive even in his desire to get past and clear of the doorway.

[Julen]

“Uh...yes.” Coherent speech momentarily deserted Julen, driven away by the surreal spectacle of a blood-spattered warrior casually inquiring if all had been well during his absence. A week ago, Julen probably would have just stood in the doorway and gaped. But he was not the same man he’d been a week ago. Reassured that the bulk of the gore didn’t belong to Railtus, Julen managed to shove his words into some reasonably sensible sentences. “Yes, we’ve been fine. I caught a frog. But what in the world happened to you?”

When Railtus cautioned him against going outside, Julen responded like most people -- he immediately experienced an overwhelming urge to see whatever ghastly sight he’d been warned about. Fortunately, before he could stick his head out the door, common sense triumphed over instinct. If Railtus didn’t want him to look, he wasn’t going to look. Not, at least, before dinner.

“Thanks for the warning. I’m sure we can do without salad tonight.”

Light revealed even more blood stains as Railtus stepped into the farmhouse, and Julen’s first impulse was to politely request that his friend clean himself a little before sitting down to the meal. Not because of any squeamishness on his part. And not out of any sense of decorum. But for Rosemary’s sake. With everything so fresh in her mind, surely she couldn’t view the state Railtus was in without being reminded of all her fears for her husband. However, Julen could see that Railtus was understandably tired after what was no doubt a fierce battle against some injustice. The man deserved some rest and good food. So Julen didn’t push the issue of washing up.

But he did make an attempt to alleviate Rosemary’s worst fears before they could arise. Glancing over his shoulder, Julen called out to his wife. “Rosemary? It’s Railtus. He’s back and he’s fine. No need to worry.”

Then Julen beckoned Railtus further into the farmhouse. “Please. Join us.”

Even after Julen’s effort to prepare her, Rosemary still blanched when Railtus entered the kitchen. For an instant, her eyes darted to her husband, and Julen wondered what she was imagining. Him, returning home coated in blood? Or another warrior coated in the blood that used to be his? But she quickly recovered her poise. Gesturing to one of the vacant chairs, Rosemary welcomed Railtus with an honest smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you safely returned from your errand. Sit down, help yourself to the custard, and I’ll pour you a mug of water.” It hadn’t escaped Rosemary that Railtus had been very sparing with his wine during lunch. “We’ll be having some of the fine sweet bread that Julen brought from Marn for dessert.”

[Sir Karsimir]

Watching Rosemary turn pale, Railtus experienced a pang of regret for his thoughtlessness. How the sight would affect her was something he should have considered. Washing at the cistern outside would no great ordeal, and that would have spared her the horror of seeing a very vivid reminder of death in her own kitchen.

Most accustomed to ritualised courtesies, Railtus was unaware of the formal tone Rosemary used when speaking to him. So accustomed to thinking outwards, Railtus was at a loss for how Rosemary had gathered new information regarding his preferences in meals. Mavelle had known without asking as well. That confused him.

"Thank you kindly. Forgive my current state. When you have chance, I would be thankful of your aid regarding some stitches." Probably the least assuring thing to say, but Railtus remembered the basic concept of chirurgy and knew that it would save a great deal of his aid when healing.

Before sitting down, Railtus undone his sword belt, gently lowering the sheathed weapon to the ground, then reached around the side and unbuckled his coat of plates. That was also removed with care. Then, he donned his sword belt again, wrapping it twice around the waist. Apparantly he preferred to keep his weapon by his side at all times.

Most of the blood marking his body was indeterminate, inviting guesses as to the original source. On his right side, however, the broad patch of crimson was based around a deep rip in the fabric, and that hinted of the original owner.

A few grimaces, even a wince, while shedding the armour indicated that Railtus had not come away unscathed.

In the intervening time before the water was poured, Railtus remembered that Julen had asked him a question. And it was about time that he answered.

"Returning some stolen goods to the smith." Part of Railtus felt that he should explain more, but a larger part of him wanted to shield Rosemary from the grimmer details. "Another family now fares better than before." Easier to hear of than the bloodshed, he chose to speak of the good that had come from his actions.

[Falcon Bertille]

“No need to apologize for your state,” Rosemary assured Railtus. “Better to wear the grime of a good deed well done than dress in all the finery evil can provide. That’s what my father always says.”

Julen grunted, and Rosemary shot him a look, trying to determine if the sound was intended to convey derision. But perhaps it had only been the result of Julen settling into his own chair. Rosemary knew that her father didn’t always practice what he preached. He’d been disappointed when she picked Julen -- said it was selfish of her to chose some farmer when she could have brought her family fortune by marrying into a higher station. Every time she returned home after the wedding, he seemed to relish pointing out the things her siblings lacked, things which a wealthier husband could easily have given them. Until finally, in a fit of temper, Rosemary told him that however much she loved her brothers and sisters, she didn’t consider it her responsibility to become a whore to provide for them. Her father had struck her. It was the last time they’d spoken.

“My father says a lot of things. I just try to remember the good ones.”

When Railtus had first asked for her aid with some stitches, Rosemary assumed that he needed his pants or shirt patched. But as he removed the main piece of armor from his body, she noticed the blood-stained rip in his gambeson, and began to understand that his request was considerably more involved than mending clothing.

“It’s true that I’m skilled with a needle, although I’ve never worked with the...ah...‘material’ I believe you have in mind.” She couldn’t bring herself to be any more specific while serving dinner. “But if you’ll tell me how, I’ll do what’s required.”

Railtus’s obvious pain tugged at Rosemary’s gentle heart. Eager to do what she could to make him more comfortable, she filled a mug with water, and placed it on the table within easy reach. His statement about returning the stolen goods elicited admiration and appreciation, but no desire to hear any further details. “I hope that family is as grateful as we are. It was a fine blessing that brought you to Shim.”

Her husband’s reaction was a little more casual than her own. Filling his bowl with custard, Julen chuckled. “Honestly, Railtus. Leave a few mercenaries for me.” It was an easy joke to make while seated in the cozy warmth of his kitchen. Outside, staring down at the two violently slain corpses, Julen would have had trouble forcing similar words from his throat.

Mindful of her guest, Rosemary paced the meal according to Railtus’s apparent desires. If he wanted time to sit and rest, she didn’t want to rush him along. But on the other hand, if he was eager to eat and get started on other things, she didn’t want to hold him back.