FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The silence of the cave was lost to the pounding of blood in her ears, a dead sprint up the darkness of the caves towards the twin points of light all she could think of: Gram's lantern, and the starlight creeping in the opening. The darkness mired her not, her mother's blood speeding her feet and clearing her view as she nimbly scrambled after the shape of the man she loved.

“Gram!" She cried, and he voice echoed off the stones back to her as the only answer. The patter of her soft soled boots on the stones played echoes around her, a staccato beat drumming on stones and ears as the light grew, and in the distance she saw Gram's silhouette outlined against the stars. She called his name again, and again no answer as she pounded her way there, breath ragged her her ears.

“GRAM!" She cried again, breaking the mantle of shadows deep into the cave, fresh air swirled around her, stirring her hair. The wet kiss of raindrops stung her cheeks with bracing cold, and the smell of trees, leaves, and life rushed in on the stormy air. In but one more stride she was free, out beneath the stars, the rain had not abated if anything it poured all the harder, a deafening din of droplets pouring through leaves and undergrowth.

Gram stood there. Rain pattered off his armor in a tinny chatter. He was motionless, stock-still in the little clearing near the mouth of the cave, back straight and staring.

Louis stood to his opposite, face a mask of frozen rage. His shaven forelock plastered to his head by rain, his clothing clinging to his lean, muscular frame, soaked through. His saber gleamed in his hand, water running from the blade. Neither spoke as she came to a slow, rolling stop.

“Gram… Louis…" She began, but found her words fell upon deaf ears, the two men staring at one another, Gram's visor open. “How'd ye get here?" She asked, and Louis' cold mask broke in a sneer.

“How did I escape your sorcery, you mean," He corrected in a low tone, little of that youthful petulance in his voice, replaced by unfeeling iron. “I left, went on long patrol with the riders, I could not stand the look of you," he growled and began to slowly pace around the perimeter of the clearing, his saber gleaming dangerously.

“I saw your fell magicks ride in on the storm, watched that black cursed fog consume the whole of the keep from the far slope. The other men wanted to ride back, to take up arms. I let them." He continued, turning on his heel to pace the opposite direction, his shoulders tense, neck flexing with bottled-up fury, eyes on his brother. “I knew it was you, Gram. I knew you would escape with your fairy bride, and I knew exactly where you would go." He spread his arms to the surrounding area.

“Recognize this place, brother?" He asked, his voice raising in a shout over the roar of thunder, a stroke of lightning illuminating his furious visage, “You should, we played here as boys, we both got the same drubbing when we went hunting around in that cave you crawled from."

“I knew better, you did not. The punishment fit." Gram answered coldly, and Louis' ire only seemed to intensify.

“Oh we both learned! Stories of escape tunnels and danger in the dark. A smarting backside did little to detract from the wonder," he said and his voice dropped to a dead, listless thing as he crossed back over his original position, pausing. “How things have changed."

“Ye dinnae 'ave tae do this, Karnov is usin' ye, ye 'ave tae see that," Lidia urged at him and with a snarl he rounded on her, flicking the point of his saber at her like an accusing finger.

“Shut your miserable whore mouth," he snapped, froth flecking his lips as rage strained the edges of his control, “You of all creatures to speak of corruption, even your own blood is lies."

Lidia recoiled from that sudden, intense flare of hatred, her fangs flashing as she curled her lip, mouth forming around a harsh rebuttal.

Instead, the answer she got was the quiet, metallic clack of a blade loosening in its scabbard. Louis' eyes leapt back to Gram, the tall cavalier's offhand resting pointedly on the hilt of his saber.

“Stand aside, Louis," Gram said in that incalcitrant tone of command. The younger man's hackles rose almost visibly, his neck and shoulders bunching in corded ropes of resentment and fury.

“No." He snarled with cold finality.

“Louis, please!" Lidia begged him, advancing with her hands held out in her plea, “It ain't about me, it's abou-" She cut off in a gasp, as Louis's blade flashed, and in a lunge he dove at her with the blade aimed straight at her heart, murder in his eyes.

A stroke of thunder lit the clearing, and a peal of thunder boomed, deafening them to all but the primal fury of nature.

Illuminated in that flash, was Gram's arm extended, locked hard as a steel rod — his own saber drawn free in that flash, locked against Louis' mortal thrust, turning it away, interposing himself between his betrothed and the killing stroke.

“It need not be like this," Gram rasped across the intimate distance. Louis' gaze narrowed to pinpricks of resentment.

“It can only be like this, brother."

“You were never good enough," Gram's voice was like stone.

“Things change," Louis growled, shoving backwards away from Gram, skipping a distance away, pointing his weapon ahead at Gram again, walking a slow circle. The rain beat down on them both. Lidia reached for her sword.

“No." Gram's voice was implacable, her hand froze. Her eyes went wide… he'd sounded just like Karnov in that fleeting instant. The tall cavalier raised his hand to his visor, lowering it with a deliberate snap of his wrist.

“This is between us."

Lidia opened her mouth to protest, but another fork of lightning and its answering crash of thunder silenced her, casting the two brothers in its pale light, a moment frozen in time. Lidia grit her teeth — Damn him, damn him — he knew her, and she could not violate that trust he had given her. She shrank back into the darkness, eyes aglow with fae light as she sank against a stone, rain raking down across them all with pitiless cold.

They were a study in contrasts, Gram's black-enameled armor gleamed in the rain, Louis wore little if anything resembling protection at all, save thick bracers and heavy riding gloves along with the layered gambeson favored by Karnov's men — Karnov's red wolf bright on its breast. They moved like opposites, Karnov's technique baked deeply into Louis made him move like an animal, the angry young noble's body languages was erratic and volatile.

Gram was a man of stone.

She'd fought alongside Gram, shed blood side by side, she knew him in ways more intimate than lovemaking in that regard. He moved with a singular, measured poise, his blade snapping out to one side before slowly, almost mechanically raising to a high guard, his eyes gleaming flat and dangerous through his visor. Louis answer spreading his stance wide, raising his own blade across his body.

There was a clap of thunder, another flash of lighting. Louis roared.

The first strike was almost lost in that blinding flash, Louis leaping to the cut almost like a pouncing wildcat, driving his saber at Gram's visor only to have it batted away in the first exchange, Gram's blade whirling back in a tight figure-eight, striking back at Louis on the return stroke — a cut Louis dismissively slapped away, dancing back a few feet from the armored warrior.

“Just like it always was," Louis snarled, stalking around his opponent — lunging forwards in another snapping series of cuts and slashes, slashes that Gram handily defeated with both his blade and armor alike, batting cuts aside with his steel shod arms in support of the saber, “You were always bigger, always stronger, you practically seemed invincible," he continued and lashed out again intentionally clumsy, striking a harmless skittering blow across Gram's pauldron as he tucked his body against the cut, eyes never leaving the red-blonde man as he snarled bitterly.

“It was never fair."

Gram took the initiative on that, moving forwards — his armor limited him, not by very much, but enough that he was not as viper-quick as he was on the sands, but traded that speed for the unyielding momentum and hardness of steel. He struck hard, driving back and forth in clipping, winging strikes — sending the tip of his point flicking and driving at Louis like a whip, the blade almost seeming to crack in the air as he ran the lighter-armored man back.

“I only strove to protect you," Gram delivered in return, his voice hard and flinty — anger boiling up behind his frosty composure, his blade cracked again in answering rapport with his mood, forcing Louis on the back foot again with sheer unyielding mass, committing to swings that the younger fighter had no hope of punishing, “Everything was for my family, everything!"

“YOU LEFT!" Louis bellowed in return, and the sky shattered in support. A crash of thunder backing his furious riposte, driving back at Gram with such fury he seemed to leap from stance to stance, focused and driven, snapping his own whip-like cuts. Lidia let out a reflexive cry as Gram faltered in the wet mud on the sudden rush and Louis fell upon him, raining blows down in a screaming rage, “You left us! You left me! Years of struggle, of never measuring up, of being second-best — and then you just ran away, and guess where all of that responsibility went!?" he howled and drove a furious backhand strike at the nearly prone warrior, Gram levering his arm up in between the strike, halting it with his vambrace — locking eyes with his brother.

“Right onto me, brother. Right onto my shoulders, with not a God-blighted shite given on if I could bear the weight," Louis rasped, and twisted his blade.

Gram gave a strangled, gasping-cry as Louis dragged the edge of his blade across the unarmed inner curve of his elbow, a faint, shallow gash adding a splash of bright, red blood to the palette of clashing colors. Lidia's own voice joined it, covering her mouth as she watched — her heart ached and anger warred with anguish at the circumstances. Louis' words dripped with the agony of a broken heart.

Gram grasped Louis' arm and twisted, letting his body weight fall with the motion, whipping the lighter man around with sheer mass. Louis rolled with the motion, skipping it out and ending up several paces away from Gram as he regained his feet.

“So I have seen…" The armored soldier rasped, his voice echoing hollowly as he flexed his arm, clenching his fingers on the wounded side — the blood oozed but did not gush, a superficial cut, but it still put Louis ahead in the lists. “I am sorry Louis, I would never have asked this of you."

“Sorry? SORRY?!" Louis bellowed, and once again the storm rallied to his fury, a flash lighting his furious face as he jabbed his saber at him in accusation, “Father died the day you left! He walked this house a ghost, mourning mother and mourning you!" Louis screamed and tore into a sprint, hurling himself at Gram in a flurry of slashes and cuts — but he was not a heedless animal, he had learned, the slices were not aimed at his armored torso or plated arms, he sniped at his feet, hands, even his visored face. Louis may not have been the warrior born his brother was, but even only a day later — he was a quick study, a dangerous opponent.

“Who else was there?! Father was a walking corpse, Alphonse was barely more than a child, it fell to me, brother!" He snarled and forced Gram back with a driving boot to his armored chest, Lidia clenched her teeth. Gram was holding back. She knew both men in that sense, she'd faced both at the end of a sword — her beloved was holding back. He was trying so hard not to hurt his little brother.

“One boy, barely fourteen summers — expected to run the Barony, to be what father could not! Karnov is the only reason we have a home for you to return to!" he screamed at the staggering soldier, froth flecking his lips.

“He was there when I needed him, WHERE WERE YOU?!"

Gram stood stoically, his eyes gleaming with haggard intensity behind his visor. He had no answer. Louis' face screwed up into a mask of twisted, childish fury. The younger man leapt to the attack again, Lidia gave a wordless, strangled cry.

Gram did not move an inch.

Louis' first blow landed with a resounding clang, Gram raised his arm in a static defense, deflecting the slash harmlessly off his, but Louis did not relent, down came the blows like the furious downpour about them, sword slashes and raindrops hammering off Gram's indomitable frame. He brutalized the tall cavalier, hamming his head, arms, and torso with the saber with screams bordering on madness. Gram weathered the punishment, only moving to twist, parry, and brace just enough to render the blows harmless — but not painless. He flinched, recoiled, and staggered as Louis abandoned all pretense of form and style and simply hammered on the armored soldier in fury. Tears lost in the streaking rain as he poured his rage, hurt, and loss into his elder brother. Gram did nothing to stop it. Lidia set her teeth… her own tears stinging her eyes as she clenched her fists, dug her nails bloodily into her palms as she did as she was asked, fought every instinct, every desire she had to run to the man she loved…

“SAY SOMETHING! DEFEND YOURSELF!" Louis raged, a mad thing of grief and resentment, screaming in the visored man's face before backhanded him with the hilt of his saber. Gram's head whipped around, slinging an arc of water with it, the tinny clang of his helmet loud as it absorbed the blow, his eyes turned back to his brother slowly, staring with stoic acceptance. Louis' hands contorted into claws.

“All these years living under your shadow," Louis snarled, “Always second-best, always the spare heir, there to pick up the slack, do something, say something!" he bellowed and struck Gram again, and again, the steely clangs of his hilt bouncing off Gram's visor and armored pauldrons, driving the man to one knee as a particularly weighty blow snapped his head back. Louis screamed without words, without meaning and grabbed the older man by his harness, shaking him in apoplectic fury.

“STAND UP, FIGHT ME, DON'T YOU DARE IGNORE ME!"

It was then that Gram moved, Louis raised his sword for one more vicious slash, and Gram again simply deflected the blow, letting it slide into that same gap in his couter as before — but this time he snapped his arm up, flexing at the elbow, trapping the blade in between the two hardened steel plates, with a twist he ripped the weapon out of Louis' hands, throwing it to the side and lunging forward at the now-unarmed man.

Where he crushed him to his armored chest in a savage, desperate embrace.

Louis screamed in inarticulate rage, and drove fists and elbows at anything soft he could find, but Gram simply held on, squeezing him in those strong arms until the blows came slower, the screams became sobs, and soon the scarred man wept openly, crumpling against his other brother. Lidia sobbed softly… it had never been a contest. Gram had been right along along, Louis had never been good enough, ready enough to square with the seasoned soldier armed for battle… but it had not really been about the martial prowess. It had been about the fight.

“I am so sorry Louie." Gram breathed, barely audible over the rain — a forgotten pet name freshly remembered, his gloved hands grabbed handfuls of the young man's hair and gambeson, crushing him tightly, “I never wanted to hurt you, had I known, had I the courage before now… I would have come home, abandoned it all. I would have saved you," he grated desperately through his visor, Louis' shoulders wracked with sobs and he weakly banged his fist onto Gram's pauldron once more.

“I was all alone!" He wailed, and there was hot, youthful pain in that voice, “One day you were there, and I was safe, and then the next you were gone and you left nothing to fill that void." His voice cracked, and he hiccuped through the sobs, leaning heavily into his brother's iron-banded embrace.

“There is no apology I can give, but I am sorry Louie… I was young still. Afraid. Ashamed… I drove away mother, drove a wedge between all. Every time I looked into the mirror I saw an invader in my home, the face of the despoiler that had wronged us looking back at me." He paused then, and taking his hands away, he unlatched his helmet, letting it fall absently to the floor, revealing the mustached cavalier's haunted, dead-eyed face. Tears streaked down it and the pain there was so raw, so naked that Lidia was forced to look away, covering her face. She could not look at him so, it was too much.

“I went away to die, Louie. To take our dishonor and bury it in a field somewhere for a good purpose, I never meant to harm anyone. I went to the Lady. I asked for a good death…" his shoulders quaked and he shook his gauntlets irritably from his hands, reaching up to cup Louis's face.

“… She denied me, and instead gave me a good life. One I did not deserve." He searched the weeping man's scarred face and his own crumpled into anguish.

“Even growing to fill my shadow, ill-fitting as it was… you grew into a formidable man, Louie… I… I can never apologize that I was not there to see it. That I forced you to become so… hard," it was Gram's turn to break, crushing the younger man to his chest once more, burying his face in his shoulders, his fingers in his hair, as if he might squeeze his brother through his armor to feel his pounding heart and hear its words directly.

“Why, Gram…?" Louis said after a moment, shaking his head and clenching his teeth, “… Why couldn't you just let me hate you?"

“I have spent enough time on hate, I lived a life defined by it… and then I met some people. Crazy, irrational people. People with dreams, heart, and soul that was cold and frozen inside me…" he pulled back and looked into Louis' eyes with sudden, almost insane zeal. “I was shown that I had more to offer this world than a good death… I could have a good life, one I deserved. I could earn that." He shook his brother lightly, his fingers tight on the nape of his neck in crushing fraternal intimacy. Louis's eyes were resentful, but his shoulders rocked in amusement.

“The sidhe woman." He said nothing else, there was a defeat in his tone. Gram nodded.

“She and her friends… her family, they reminded me of what mattered. What I had lost." He said and gave Louis a firm shake. “You. Us."

There was a long silence, the two men stared at each other. Gram with open, naked anguish on his face Lidia in her place as unwilling voyeur — was wholly unaccustomed to seeing on his proud, stoic bearing. Louis a wreck of emotional debris, his face a mixture of crushing weariness and boiling misery that made both men grotesque, monstrous almost in the flashes of lightning and wan light in between.

“I was so alone, Gram…" Louis said after a time, and his voice was… different. Softer, lacking that raw cutting edge of malice. Lidia turned back towards them, having huddled away as they had… savaged each other, weeping her own powerlessness into the rain and wind. “Father… he drank and smoked, and slept too much. The others were too young. Khanenko tried but… he was just as overwhelmed. I had to face up to debtors, rivals, merchants, and suppliers. A dozen soft-handed men who saw just a boy, and took advantage." He grimaced and turned away.

“I made bad trades, poor deals… we were bleeding out slowly. Nobody starved, nobody noticed but… bit by bit, the vultures of the court took pieces from me. I… I wasn't strong enough." He said… and Lidia realized this was Louis' true voice, the man he was under the hurt and defenses.

“Karnov… he was strong enough. He taught me how to bully the other nobles back, to stand for our birthright… they tried to take father's title, rule him incompetent, distraught — gone with mad delusion after mother. Karnov stepped in, he showed me how to gentle them…" he shuddered and Gram blinked away new tears.

“I… never knew. The letters…"

“No one did. Father… he came back to us, but… even now as you see him he is…"

“Wounded," Gram answered. Louis nodded… and he crushed Gram in a fresh, almost violent embrace.

“I kept it to myself, I… I couldn't let them know I was scared. There were always spies, eyes from the rival houses, people who saw the prestige of a Shield Barony but not the people… I… I wasn't strong enough, I needed help Gram. I had no one else."

The tall cavalier's eyes were wide, and he squeezed his brother with such fervor, such need that the seams of his armor creaked, and he broke into a quiet sob.

“God… Louie…" The young man shook his head, and the two simply seemed to give out. First Gram sinking to his knees, second Louis, both men collapsing under the weight of their past mistakes laid bare, Gram leaned his head to Louis' brow, his shoulders quaking for a moment.

“I'll make it right. I'm going to bring mother home. I'm coming home… you don't have to carry it all yourself anymore."

“It's not that simple Gram," Louis said in a hollow voice, shaking his head. “Karnov… he has ambitions, greater than just the Barony. I don't… I don't think he's wrong but…" Louis shook his head, quaking as he looked down at his hands.

“I… haven't looked at them honestly, for a long, long time."

Gram listened, Louis taking a shuddering, sobbing breath before shaking his head. “He's gathering power, I see that now… I… I think he was genuine. I think he would have taken care of us… but not because he cared, but because we would be his subjects." Louis' face crumpled again and his shoulders sank.

“I am a useful idiot once again, always the stooge," he lamented bitterly, raising a hand to his face. He sucked in a breath, “I can make it right. I have to make it right…"

“We will make it right… but I need to go first, Louis." Gram pleaded, shaking his brother earnestly. “I am dying Louis, I only have perhaps a month and change before the time Baba Yaga borrowed for me runs out."

Louis' face went bleak, his eyes wide.

“Wh-what? What ails you?"

“… I do." Lidia said at last, her voice soft, barely heard over the rain. She had slowly wound herself into a miserable ball, unable to watch the man she loved be brutalized, nor brutalize his own kin in return. She'd listened more than watched much of the exchange, and eventually had simply balled herself up under the leeward side of the boulder, soaked and shivering — from cold and hurt alike. Louis' face whipped to hers, and she expected him to wear another curl-lipped expression of disdain — but instead, only naked worry lived there.

“How? How do you harm him? Tell me, no more secrets, tell me!"

Lidia was shocked, and there in the downpour, she took a haggard breath — then told him everything. It was alarming how easy it was now, the third or fourth time she'd gone through it, all the while Louis' face went through emotions she'd never seen on his always-sneering countenance, he was in some ways… just a little boy again. They both were, emotionally naked, afraid. Both just boys, afraid to lose something precious.

“… You cannot delay." Louis said, his entire bearing changed, he was slack, listless. Hopeless… at first, but soon that ember of indignation burned again, and he shook his head. “Karnov will send troops the moment the sidhe magics fade, they will come for you…" he turned his eyes away in shame. “I… would have told him where you went. He will have it from me one way or another, I cannot lie to him," he continued with a shudder of quiet terror. “I never was strong enough to do so."

“What are we tae do?" Lidia asked quietly, and Louis laughed a little. There was a sharp edge to it as he looked up at the roiling storm clouds, the rain not abating, indeed it poured down over them. Washing the blood and tears away. Washing away the pain.

“I… will buy you time." He said, and stood up, his saber reclaimed in a moment. Gram's eyes were haunted as he raised the blade, pointing it as his brother's eyes.

“Spare me the shame, make it look good brother." He breathed, and Gram's eyes lit up with understanding. Lidia shrank away. Gram reclaimed his own weapon, standing up at blade length from Louis again, the two curved points but inches from one another.

“I do not have it in my heart to forgive you for what you are, what you have done, changeling." Louis said, his face bitter as he looked down at Lidia, “I am my father's son enough to know my limitations… but perhaps… I can thank you." He said and closed his eyes, turning away from her.

“Thank you, for bringing my brother home. In spite of all else, for this I will be in your debt."

Lidia didn't have the heart to respond, she drew away again with a nod. The two men standing off in the rain again, the duel once more resumed… but there was a different tone to it now. Gram did not bother reclaiming his gauntlets nor helmet as they waited a beat, both letting their hearts and breath steady.

“… Do you remember our first lessons together?" Gram asked after a moment, the rain pattering off them. Louis in spite of himself, broke into a boyish grin.

“The moulinet routines." He answered, and Gram nodded. Louis raised his saber in a salute. Gram mirrored it.

They began to go through the motions together, their blades touching at first slow, measured, the two moving against each other's strokes in a practiced, measured dance. Each man rolled their bodies and arms to slowly whirl the saber's curved blades in tight, twisting figure-eight motions that met in the middle, parrying off one another with increasing speed, the tinny clash of flexible steel growing more rapid, more insistent as the two men accelerated, each matching one another's tempo until the blades were a glimmering blur cutting through the rain.

Louis lunged first, pushing Gram back as he took control of the tempo, but there was an eagerness to the cuts now, as they slashed and parried and riposted, it had a joy to it. Both men were grinned through eyes wet with tears long unshed, and after a point laughter broke out as they pressured one another — whirling about, trading blows, the back and forth spirited and innocent.

They were brothers again. Boys again, for just that moment.

The tempo reached its zenith as Gram once again proved the faster, the more controlled, whipping Louis' blade out wide, he set the tip of his saber to the blonde lad's throat, and Louis laughed, raising his hands, spreading his arms wide as he looked up to the stars, laying his cheek on the flat of his brother's blade.

“The rain, brother…"

Gram looked up. The rain had stopped. Glimmering stars peeked through the oppressive clouds.

“I supposed it cannot rain forever." The young man said, and closed his eyes.

Gram raised his blade, and brought the heavy, angular pommel down at the base of the younger man's skull with a meaty, dull thwack of flesh and bone. Louis gave a gasping, strangled cry… and fell silent, falling to the wet grass in a heap, his gambeson and shirtsleeves savaged with a thousand tiny deflective cuts from he and Gram's 'duel'. Out cold, beaten, but alive.

“The sun will shine again, dear brother."

~ ~ ~

“Ye never told me ye went off tae die."

The words jolted Gram out of a business-like trance. They had taken Louis' unconscious form out of the cold and wet, Gram carrying him solemnly to the mouth of the cave, tucking him back wrapped up and out of sight. Lidia had seen how he'd touched the man, he was as loathe to leave him injured as he was as anything — but they'd not had much choice.

“Perhaps not as dramatic, but yes. It is a… custom of sorts, of the Darrrowmite Nobility." He said, shifting in the saddle.

They were at the end of a hard ride. Louis' horse had been nearby, soaked and frightened by the storm. It had taken little for the skilled cavalier to calm the animal, and she and Gram had taken flight upon its back, pounding through the rest of the night at a blistering pace, devouring the miles of storm-tossed grasslands in silent flight.

“Tell me." Lidia murmured against his back, the horse still cantering beneath them, all beneath the glow of the Twin Maidens beaming down upon the plains as the storm blew itself out. Gram's breath hitched as he considered.

“Bastards are a consideration in all houses, less for the reasons of my birth — infidelity among the noble houses is in many ways a game." He explained, Lidia closing her eyes as she hugged his cold cuirass, warming it's chill metal with her cheek — they were both still soaked, no time to dry their wetted clothes, the wind cut at them like knives, but they pressed on.

“Sounds horrible, cannae imagine livin' in a place where marryin' is a… game," the little changeling murmured, teeth chattering lightly.

“It is not a happy pursuit, but there are many unhappy homes in Darrowmere. Marriages of station are not always marriages of love." The cavalier said, and Lidia shivered with nothing to do with the cold. “It is tradition that the unwanted children of such unions be given over to the church, where they find new purpose as soldiers, scholars, whatever they may choose."

“So… ye joined the Church Soldiers,"

“And went forth to do my duty, and die far away from home, scrubbed clean of sins of father and station by my deeds. A death on the field would be an honor to our family, even with my mixed blood."

Lidia absorbed that for a moment, they had been riding hard for hours, the massive warhorse Louis had taken showing little sign of tiring, the Steppefolk steed powerful, doughty and true.

“I'm glad ye didn't, I'd 'ave been lost without ye."

Gram's silence in response was not a cold one, and she smiled against his back.

The night ran long, early they had left, and in spite of the wonders and toil — Morgan's guidance through the cave had been a swift pace. They plowed ahead through high grasses and groves of trees, beyond the ridge — Darrowmere proper rose above them, a land of high, craggy mountains and sweeping shelves of stone. In the far distance she could see the glimmering outlines of the capital spires gleaming atop their distant cliffs. In spite of the chill of the rain, the summer night returned its warmth in the wake of the storm, drying the pair slowly, and lulling Lidia again to sleep on the rock and sway of the saddle. She didn't dream. It was peaceful.

They rode through the night until the sky began to lighten behind the rapidly dispersing clouds, finding a copse of trees to pile into, still too close to the keep to risk a fire, they supped on dry rations and water while the horse grazed on wild fodder. Gram napped briefly beneath the trees, Lidia keeping a quiet watch as her beloved rested. The atmosphere was tense, as he slept she gazed down on the amulet, loose from beneath his armor. The black had crawled higher still, had Mum's presence somehow accelerated the rot? Was she tasking it harder being so close? The thoughts lingered in the silence as he slept, the horse regarding her with its guileless eyes. She missed the Lady, she would know what to do. What to say.

Gram woke as the sun dipped low, Lidia had dozed some, the quiet had been oddly refreshing. She had not really been alone for a while, and had not realized how she'd missed safe solitude — yet seeing Gram's blue eyes open again filled her with warmth. She'd do what it took to see those eyes every dawn from now until the end of time.

They pushed on into the night, Gram drove the horse in a way only a seasoned cavalier could, eating up the leagues beneath its hooves as the stars above flew by, the Twin Maidens offering their cool glow as light to guide them. In the early hours of the second evening, Gram reigned their borrowed mount in, Lidia stirring from her doze as they jostled to a stop.

“There it is," Gram's soft voice intoned, Lidia rubbing her eyes, blinking away her sleep.

Perched on a small hill, surrounded on all sides by a thick grove of trees that flowed up the incline, roots entwining and branches overlapping, was a small, squared-off little complex. The Abbey back in Fairharbour if it were rendered in miniature, perhaps no more than a half-dozen buildings arranged in a sort of irregular wall around a twin-spired chapel in the middle, all adorned with heavy, clay-shingled roofs and round turrets at the corners. It was alive with creeping ivy and invasive vines on every surface, but the merry light in leaded windows and smoke drifting from chimneys dispelled the image of being abandoned and overgrown. Nature lived in harmony with worked stone and laid brick. Not far to the west, the borders of the Black Forest rose up, an abrupt line of trees that cut off the rolling plains and flowed up the mountainous, irregular western lands unbroken — a sea of dark trunks and dense evergreen branches that light itself seemed unable to penetrate.

“Well, no sense in waitin' about here, let's go loverboy," she said, leaning up and kissing the man's cheek. He still seemed hesitant, she tilted her head. “What's wrong?"

“I haven't seen her… seen my mother, in some time," he said… and there was a sudden vulnerability in the seemingly unstoppable soldier's voice. Lidia bit her lip and laid her hand on his cheek, turning his face to hers.

“Gram, yer th' finest man I've ever met, an' I know Paladins, livin' saints, and th' bloody Unicorn herself," she said, sitting astride his lap and cupping both hands about his face.

“Have faith."

Gram's eyes glimmered with trepidation, but he smiled and laid his gauntleted hand on hers, leaning his face into it.

“A wife covers her husband." He murmured, and she smiled.

“Aye."

The pair trotted up the rutted path, the dense trees forming a natural archway that filtered the moonlight into glowing shafts along the path. The trees shut out the sounds of the plains like a warm, woolen blanket, and soon they found themselves before a small, heavy iron-bound door adjacent to a larger, tightly-shut gate. Sliding down from the mount, Gram took the lead, marching straight to the door.

“Surely there will be a warden…" he murmured, and raised a his steel-shod hand and banged it soundly three times against the door. He waited a moment, before raising his fist again.

“I hear you, I hear you, don't be slamming the daft thing off its hinges," came a tired voice. Gram and Lidia exchanged a mild look as the slot in the door slapped open, exposing a pair of dark, Darrowmite eyes over a pale, hooked nose.

“Who goes at such an ungodly hour?"

“Family of one of your flock, we seek entrance, the night is long and our supplies thin," Gram answered tersely, the warden behind the door raising an eyebrow.

“Don't think we have any soldiers in our ranks, we're a scholarly convent," the voice mused in a cagey voice, turning his eyes back down towards Lidia — who peered back at him with wide, glimmering slitted green eyes. The Warden's own went wider, and he recoiled back from the door, slamming the slat shut with a cry of 'Fairy folk!' and a spat oath. Lidia frowned, and Gram's brow furrowed tightly. He raised his fist again, and banged much less kindly on the door thrice more.

“Open up! I have traveled far and long and I won't be denied!" He barked, and got no answer. Lidia leaned her ear closer to the door, able to make out furtive discussion beyond, too quiet for even her sharp hearing to quite make out, but it was two voices — one agitated, another calm. Gram raised his fist anew, fingers clenched perhaps a bit too tight, the next series of 'knocks' like as much to be more forceful smashes… and the slat clapped open again.

“Aye… but I know this fairy," came a warm, melodious voice. The eyes that stared back at them were pale pink, like fresh spring carnations set above a fine-boned nose, framed by sharp cheekbones and a familiar shock of snowy-white hair. It was Lidia's turn to go wide-eyed as the bar on the door audibly slid back, and it swung inwards.

“The world is a small place these days, Little Sister" came the response, a smiling face, handsome and pale as milk sat above a simple black surcoat and a spiraling horn-and-eye device that was oh-so-familiar now.

“Lucian!" She cried, and threw herself forward into the lean Knight-Brother's arms, laughing as he gathered her up in a tight hug, squeezing her until they both creaked, she looked up at him practically in tears yet again, “What're yet doin' up here!?"

“Research, Blackreach Monastery has quite a collection of lore on the Horned Saint," he said and gently eased out of the embrace, tossing his shave-sided mane of hair out of his eyes, “My extremely-great grandmother's history has answers to many questions." The lean Church Knight looked between the pair with a raised eyebrow himself.

“What brings the two of you here in the dead of night, and bearing the scars of battle no less?"

Lidia looked back, and in the light she supposed it was more obvious, Gram's armor and attire were still scarred from the beating he took at Louis' hands, the gleaming steel shining through the black enamel where his brother's blade had found purchase, Gram raised his chin.

“My mother is a resident," he said tersely, Lucian's eyebrow only climbing higher as the canny man's eyes took in Gram's features before he raised his own face in a soft 'ah' of understanding.

“Lady Simone, of course. You have her bearing."

“Baudelaire Keep is in trouble, Lu" Lidia urged, still close to the albino man, “We need tae use th' Messenger Hawks tae send word o' it tae the Church fer aid."

“I assume these two events are in some way related," Lucian surmised as he looked between the pair, “Lady Simone spends much of her time in isolation, but I believe I can talk the abbot into the use of his hawks with little trouble," he said without hesitation — Lucian was good to a fault, heritage of the Lady in White shining through him like her golden blood beat in his veins. He shook his head and stepped out of the way.

“Come, inside now. One of the monks will come 'round for your mount." He said, waving them inside with a wry smile, “I'll quiet the warden, you gave him quite the scare."

“Oh c'mon, Luc, I'm harmless," Lidia said, pointedly resting her hand on the hilt of her new saber. Lucian chuckled.

“Exactly what a wicked fairy would say."

Lidia grinned and cast him an exaggerated wink.

“Don't encourage her, she's developing a spiteful streak," Gram lamented quietly.

Lidia's grin only got more toothy at that.

~ ~ ~

The inside of the monastery created an eerie sense of familiarity, the surrounding buildings and their styles were shockingly like The Abbey, back in Fairharbour, Lucian noted her eyes flicking around two and fro, smiling.

“The Abbey was built by a coalition of artisans, working directly beneath the Triune, it drew from all styles in some ways, and it then inspired others," he said, laying a hand on a stone wall. “Blackreach was built shortly after the reestablishment of the Healing Church of Darrowmere, and in a curious sort of symmetry — it followed the shape of Abbey in return."

“Ye sure ye dinnae get any o' th' Lady's mind-readin'?" Lidia offered as Gram took her pack from her, rolling her shoulders from the sore spots beneath the straps, Lucian smiled. He had a good smile, it lit up his face and put all those sharp angles and high cheekbones in the right places to put you at ease.

“No, I just had the same reaction and was given the same speech by the Abbot on my own arrival," he said with a little wink, taking their cloaks from them and hanging them, it was a small, cozy complex of buildings and most of it had been visible to her out of the barred windows.

“Nae get much in way o' visitors I suppose," she ventured, and Lucian shook his head.

“Blackreach is an isolated sort of place, few other than scholars have much reason to visit its peaceful walls," Lucian answered with a shrug. “It's why I am here, afterall."

“Mother would have wished to be in a place of scholarly bent," Gram said in a quiet, guarded tone, “Her first love was the written word."

“She chose the right place," Lucian responded mildly, folding their cloaks and turning to face them, even here he made himself busy in being useful. She'd be unsurprised to find he'd volunteered for watch. “Blackreach is more of a library than it is anything else, the stacks have grown to overtake several of the surrounding buildings." His eyes sparkled at the mention, the way that Richart's had sparkled as he spoke of ancient lore, “So great a wealth of knowledge, recorded, edited, stored here by many an aged churchman seeking quietude in his twilight years."

“Ye sound well-suited," Lidia said, and Lucian shrugged, gesturing towards the door with a hooded lantern in hand.

“Perhaps, I am a soldier still, as much as I enjoy a good puzzle there is part of me that wishes I could simply kick over the shelves and lay siege to the tomes until they yielded their secrets to me," he said, and it was then she spied the sword at his hip — worn how Bart wore his sword, that familiar sway she'd seen there. Lucian may not have a mantle, but he was still in all other ways a Paladin.

“Why are you here, friend Lucian?" Gram asked in sudden, earnest interest. The Albino raised an eyebrow as he guided them through the garden.

“Tracing my lineage. My family does hail from Darrowmere, but its many places removed. Mother and father had little to go on but the old marriage rolls, which… as a pair of common folk, run aground a few generations back." He said with a shrug, “I thought to instead try the other end of the tree, and that leads me here and to great many a tome about The Horned Saint."

“Why d'ye even care?" Lidia asked honestly, a crooked sort of grin on her face as she bumped him playfully with her hip; “Th' Lady in White herself acknowledged ye right there in front o' god an' several o' his favorite functionaries, what do ol' records matter?"

“You've been spending more time around Madam Naima," Lucian remarked with a short bark of laughter, and he shook his head and his red-limned eyes turned serious for a moment. “I had a vision. An ivory throne stained in golden blood. A golden heart beating in terror. A desire, no — a need — to put someone on that throne. A woman's voice I have never heard but have always known spoke of old blood betraying new…" he shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “I spoke to the Augurs and the Lady herself of it, they tell me the time of the vision I experienced corresponded to when Mihai wounded her at the ruins of Lachheim."

The three of them exchanged a haunted look, Gram and Lidia had been been there, and in a sense it seemed — so had Lucian. The silence was heavy before the tall cavalier cleared his throat.

“That does not sound like much to go on," Gram interjected, and Lucian shook his head.

“They never are, always covered in artifice and symbolism that only becomes clearer the closer the events are to coming to pass." He shook his head, frowning. “I saw a vision before Bart left. Of him dying. Alone. In fire and darkness. Unarmed and surrounded by a shadow that gnawed."

Lidia froze, falling a step behind them as Lucian described his vision. Her eyes wide as dinner plates as she was flung back, only a few short months but what felt like a lifetime ago. Back to the darkness beneath Lachheim. Back to the den of Dagan-Baal. Where the fires had leapt against walls, and where the shadows had been made of catching claws and gnashing jaws.

“I had to put a reminder there, in his mind — So he wouldn't be alone when the darkness came." The Hospitaller paused, turning and raising his lantern to cast a worried look at the little changeling, “Is something the matter, Lidia? You look as if you've drank sour milk."

Bewildered by yet another brush with prophecy, Lidia shook her head mutely, catching up with a little trot.

“Nae, nae anythin' 'tall," she said, blinking back images of Bart and her, flashes of violence in the darkness, back to back, shoulder to shoulder they had stood for one innocent soul in a place so terrible.

“He wasn't alone, ye were right."

Lucian arched an eyebrow at that, but simply shrugged, carrying on.

“How often do you get these visions, Ser?" Gram queried, ceding to his superior's rank out of habit, Lucian quirked his mouth, the man's clean-shaven face surprisingly dusted with a growth of dense white stubble across the chin — that and hollows beneath his eyes spoke of long nights. Lidia frowned as he shrugged with a wry smile.

“Here and there. I'd like to say sometimes I get gut feelings or good instincts, but it's always visions, properly esoteric things that I have to divine meaning out of," he said as they passed under more dense trees in the courtyard, “Sometimes I never figure out an omen and it simply comes to pass or doesn't and I am never the wiser."

“That… sounds mighty weighty tae live wit'," Lidia said after a short pause, Lucian smiled and gave a shrug,

“They are common enough I am comfortable knowing they were portents of import — but not for I, or those I care for. Perhaps the fact the world still turns suggests they were all glad tidings, no?" he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I have faith."

They crossed the yard to the dormitories, the kitchen fires still puffing smoke out of their stocky, squat little whitewashed addition, Lucian paused and directed them,

“That way will take you to the kitchen, Goodman Durin is doubtlessly still about and he'll see you some warm food and drink, I'll wake the Abbot and then you two can sit and tell us properly what this is about."

“Thanks, Luc," Lidia said squeezing her friend's hand, who smiled gently.

“Pay it no mind, if the matter is serious enough to bring you here in the dead of night, it is serious enough for me to act in kind," he answered honestly, giving a little salute — returned by Gram — before departing.

“I told you." Gram said after a fashion, turning with his betrothed towards the kitchens.

“Ye told me what?" she shot back, confused.

“We're the heroes," Gram said with a raised eyebrow, “The Scion of the Lady herself quoting omens here to speed us through the gate."

Lidia laughed all the way to the kitchens. It was a silly thing, this thing called fate.

~ ~ ~

Goodman Durin was a broad man, broad of bone and build more than flesh, and had a wide face with a blocky mustache and close-cropped hair. He was also nearly entirely silent, the solid man raising a bushy eyebrow to the pair as they entered, before simply ushering them to a little nook with chairs, handing them both a cup of mulled wine before turning briskly back to the bubbling cauldron. They were given but time to exchange curious looks before the brown-robed man returned with two steaming bowls of venison stew with chunks of potato and leek visible in it, all clearly simmering for hours as was the way of church kitchens she'd come to discover. The aroma reminded her of Fort Ivory and its ever-simmering cauldrons and she didn't bother covering the smile. Goodman Durin smiled back.

The Abbot was apparently a dutiful sort, because the pair had hardly time to finish their much-needed meal before Lucian appeared again at the kitchens, getting a quirked eyebrow from Durin, and similar responses from the two still-chewing lovers.

“Abbot Giles is ready for you, if you are finished," he ventured as Lidia sucked her thumb clean of the last of the gravy in her bowl. Gram's fancy cheeses and cured meats were heavenly, but nothing would ever take away her appreciation of a good hunter's stew.

“Mhm, kind o' ye seein' tae us as such," the changeling said in a gratified tone, truth be told after a good meal and being properly warm, she was more ready for a nap than serious conversation. Being the heroes was terribly inconvenient.

“I saw your packs, soldier's rations are no way for civil people to travel," Lucian answered with a smile, Goodman Durin walking straight up to the Order Knight and thrust out at him a platter set with cups and a heavy pewter kettle. Lidia nose twitched as she smelled coffee steaming from its spout. Durin nodded and silently returned to his simmering pots.

“I haven't figured out how he does that," the albino man murmured balancing the platter and gesturing for the pair to follow.

It was a short walk to the library, which occupied the majority of the adjacent complex. Having grown organically from a single room until it took over dormitories, stockrooms, and larders nearby, It created a sort of dense, maze-like labyrinth of tomes, scrolls and heavy bookcases rife with documents of all shapes. She even spied what looked like carved tree bark tucked into a folio as they picked their way along.

“The stacks are extensive, and organized surprisingly well, despite appearances," Lucian narrated as he guided them along an alarmingly circuitous route, the chaotic nature of the stacks seeming to flow along the whims of the scholar's needs more than that of visitors, or God protect them — house maids. Sweeping the place must be a nightmare. “There are books here written before the Black March, and some from the Empty Queen's occupation even, the Abbot even says one of the original copies of the Seelie Accords rests under careful lock and key here."

“Might not be a poor idea to look at that ourselves," Gram noted, Lidia making a bit of a face.

“I'll mention it," Lucian added with a curious eyebrow.

The Abbot waited in a little office that could have been a copy of Father Denis' own, the old man behind the desk himself looking positively ancient. Lidia's eyes went wide, he was stooped and think, his body like a rail even beneath the heavy brown robes he'd pulled on, the chain that bore his Eye-And-Horn symbol making him almost seem shrunken beneath it's grandeur. He had deep-sunken eyes and a short-trimmed beard so perfectly white it almost seemed to glow. He moved slowly, but steadily, turning surprisingly bright eyes on the pair as they entered, a smile flashing crooked, tea-stained teeth and a strong, deeply Darrowmite jawline.

“Quite a story comes to our door in the dead of night," the Abbot said, his voice was deep, a basso that resonated out of his thin frame like a horn. He grinned and his crooked teeth added a sort of roguish flare to his smile that Lidia found reminded her oddly of Kull. Odder still, she found it made her like the man more as he gestured with old, leathery hands. “Good thing, stories are what we do here. Sit, sit, I see Durin is as prescient as always," he rumbled as Lucian set the platter down.

“To a distressing degree, you would think he the one with the touch of prophecy," the albino man quipped, getting another toothy grin out of the older man, who reached for the kettle.

“Mayhap, but I think it far more likely he just knows when a man needs a good cup of coffee," he mused, one of his eyes a bit palsied, giving it a constant, critical, considering bent that he leveled on the pair, “Woken in the dead of night by a half-fairy and her Church Soldier lover on the run from some hither-now untold threat, on a stolen horse…" his eyes flashed and he gave a bit of a grin. “Aye that's something that requires a good cup of coffee."

“How'd ye know th' horse was stolen?" Lidia asked directly, getting a grin from the old Abbot. He kicked Gram's foot gently from under his desk.

“My boys told me of it when it came in, said it had a steppefolk-style saddle. The Captain here wouldn't use one of those in his armor," he said plainly, and Gram tipped his head with an impressed raise of his brow.

“He's correct, our traditional saddles are lighter and made for quicker riding. I keep Bayard fitted with a proper military saddle for lancing."

“Oh quite boyo, quite, quite." He agreed approvingly, sipping the steaming coffee with a hiss of pleasure, leaning over the table, his eyes the color of a tree's fresh heartwood.

“Now then, let us talk a bit, yes?"

~ ~ ~

Telling her tale had become a routine at this point, and it took less time than she expected to relate the events to the old Abbot — in no small part due to canny questions from him at key moments that kept the recitation running smoothly.

“Quite a tale, and at the very least you believe it," He said, those age-stained teeth turned in a crooked smile as he tapped a leathery digit on his temple, a considering expression passing his face. “I'm far too old to be taking sides in matters of politics, that is for you young firebrands, out to change the world, disrupt the status quo, make all sorts of unseemly noise." His voice had a tone of judgment to it, but those dark eyes glimmered.

“… Karnov, you say?" he asked, his teeth slightly apart as he said it, lip curled just so above them. That palsied eye bright and inquisitive beneath his drooping brow. Lidia nodded, Gram as well. The Abbot echoed the gesture, eyes distant as he ran his tongue over his teeth. His face was elsewhere, another place. Another time.

“God has bid me to be impartial, to be fair and just. I am a shepherd of this knowledge, all of it is a great arsenal of blades in the shape of ideas," he said, making a fist with astonishing strength for his aged limb, like leather and steel. Her turned those dark, wild eyes on them again. “Ideas are dangerous, my friends. Ideas are the greatest, worst thing about humanity. We alone, can imagine new, wonders — or horrors, as our whims dictate. Those who think are those who do." The old scholar's eyes were afire as he tapped the side of his shaved pate with a finger.

“That is what God has charged me with, protection and guidance of ideas. Knowledge is free, my children — it must be free, needs be — but it is dangerous, and it demands respect. Someone has died for every idea in this library, and that sacrifice must be honored." he said, and looked down at his hands and fell silent again. A long, considering silence.

“Karnov, you say…" He reiterated, nodding to himself more than them. “We know this name here. Knowing all of the above, what Blackreach is — one of Man's arsenals of wonder against the dark — I accepted a petition from a girl from down country, just the other side of the neighborhood really." He reached for his coffee, looking at them over the brim.

“She wanted to take the oaths, become a member of our little order, to reside here in peace," he said and looked down at the cup, “I was set to deny her, we get many petitions and grant few, it is a small place…" he rolled his mouth a bit, “So we went to confessional. As is proper for anyone wishing to live in a community devoted to God." He met their eyes, Lidia's most, seeing unfamiliarity there, “A confession of sins and wrongs, both done and done-to the petitioner. Many come to flee a crime, either of their own doing…" his eyes became very sober.

“Or they were the victim of."

He swallowed those bitter words with bitter coffee and met their gazes again.

“I will not violate her trust by telling you what she told me, but I will say that I was told terrible things, violations so specific and methodical as to be villainy, and in hearing it from her own lips I accepted her petition without a second thought," he said and drew himself up, tapping his brow again as he looked across the table at the three intensely.

“Karnov. We know this name here," he said and his eyes smoldered with towering indignation, “Tell me how I can ruin him and I will see it done." he drew his gaze sharply to Gram, his short beard bristling around his crooked teeth.

“When you set your jaw like that, you have her eyes."

“We need yer Hawks," Lidia pressed urgently, Abbot Giles' eyes turning back to her sharply, eyebrows raised in attention, “We 'ave tae get a message across."

Once more, Lidia set about outlining their plan, it was a much shorter conversation with the little changeling being artfully questioned once again by the Abbot to cut to the heart of the matter.

“So you're sending off for a writ of succession, would be a simple enough matter with a signed and sealed writ confirming your right and parentage…" he began, to which Gram reached into his sash, She'd seen him take something from his pack earlier and her eyes glimmered with glee as she recognized the oilskin document satchel — in their flurry of preparations, Richart, Khanenko and Gram had sat down and put together a proper request of Gram's rights of succession.

“Here, signed and carrying my father's seal… however, it is part of why we're here."

“Simone." Abbot Giles stated plainly, and Gram nodded. Giles ran his tongue over his teeth again.

“It is a good plan, particularly for such a specific request. The Ascendant Sisterhood is our primary patron within the Healing Church, were the hour more humane you'd see Sisters all over hither and yon, so our hawks get preferential treatment from their scribes."

“Meaning?" Gram asked, and Giles grinned at him with those crooked teeth.

“It'll be in the Queen's hands before the wax is cool on the seals."

Lidia's heart soared at that, and she grinned, reaching over and threading her arm through Gram's and squeezing with a smile, “That's bloody brilliant, innit' Loverboy?" She asked. Gram looked down to the paper, to the empty line, unsealed. The Abbot's eyes followed it as well.

“Only if Simone signs and seals it as well," he observed and looked up through his thick eyebrows at the stoic cavalier, “This troubles you."

“The trauma of my birth drove her here, she…" he swallowed and set his teeth a moment. “She may not be able to stand the sight of me after so long. She may not wish to restore such a thing to her family line. I do not know. I will not until I ask."

The Abbot's eyes were kind as he folded the paper closed, pressing it into Gram's hands and closing them.

“Have faith, boyo." Turning to his coffee the Abbot stifled a yawn, looking to Lucian, “You were right, Ser. Quite worth getting out of bed for, but I would suggest both of you take rest. I understand the pressing nature, but tomorrow is soon enough." he said and took a pause, looking down at the letter in Gram's hands again.

“It will be better to speak of things in proper places, not battle-scarred in the dead of night." He stood and pulled his robes about him a bit more, drawing himself up against his weariness. “Tomorrow, breakfast. I'll relate it all to the Ser here, old men like me can't abide having our rest interrupted too long." he said but paused to pat Gram's pauldron gently.

“Faith, boyo." he reiterated and turned his crooked gaze to Lucian, “See them to guestrooms, would you Ser?" He asked and Lucian nodded, the old man smiling and nodding to them all before quite plainly, like any old greatfather, trod from the room tiredly and shut the door behind him.

“Are you well, Captain?" Lucian asked, Gram's face had not softened from the stoic mask it had assumed, Lidia touched his arm. He took a breath.

“I am… not, but it will pass." He said with a stiff working of his jaw around the words, but his hand took Lidia's firmly. “I would very much like to see those guestrooms now, Ser.". Lucian nodded in response. His eyes were sad.

The return trip was silent, Lucian giving the pair a respectful distance while Lidia leaned into her betrothed's side, she ached to get him out of his armor so she could touch him, hold him properly. In all of this, it had been easy to lose sight of how much this pained Gram — doughty, stoic Gram. He played the invincible soldier role well. Too well, sometimes.

“I will wake you early, the sisters prepare the baths early. Cleansing oneself is a ritual of sorts," Lucian said as he lead them to an unobtrusive door at the end of an equally utilitarian hallway. “If you need anything at all, I am just across the hall."

“Thanks, Luc," Lidia said as she guided Gram into the room, pausing to give the albino soldier a tight hug. “I'm glad ye were here,"

“Glad to be here, little sister." He said, echoing Bart's name for here — indeed, what all of the Knights had taken to calling her about the Abbey. The door closed to his smiling face. His eyes were concerned.

Inside the room was simple, accommodations as one would expect for monks and traveling clergy, a modest bed, a chest, wardrobe, and a writing lectern near a narrow window. The texture of the room was impressive. Decades of visitors and living had left it covered in the odd tapestry, blanket and pillow. It had a soft, welcoming sort of feeling in spite of its spartan cleanliness. Gram faced the window as she approached.

“C'mon loverboy… let me undress ye," she breathed against his shoulder, enfolding him from behind in her arms in a delicate embrace, palms laying across one another over his heart. He took a deep breath, eyes closed… but laid his hand across hers. She smiled.

Her fingers worked diligently, buckles rattled, and plates clattered in places as she disrobed him of his harness. She took her time, the silence of the late night and the wind in the trees ruling the moment. A lit candle cast warm light upon them as she worked. His vambraces, polyens, rerebraces and all joined his gauntlets on the floor as she carefully stripped back his arms, laying her face into the smooth callouses of his hand as she freed each limb of its steely protection. He explored her face as she did, his eyes distant, but his hands sought her hair and cheeks for comfort, the red curls bouncing raucously through his fingers.

She rotated around him, undoing the buckles of his cuirass and pulling it away in two parts and laying each aside with his pauldrons before burying her face in the nape of his neck, wrapping her arms around his waist. The scent of iron and sweat stung her nose, but beneath it was the smell of the man she loved. He tensed slightly, and she squeezed harder before sliding away once more. His gambeson and undershirt followed the rest, and her bare palms alighted upon his naked chest, sliding up through the silky pattern of chesthair, the tangles in it parting beneath her gliding digits. He trembled beneath her fingers and arched his back outward, she pressed her chest to his back, holding him to her like that, the pair breathing as one together — she could feel his heart now, hammering away like a rabbit. He was afraid, terrified. She could feel it, smell it now that he was freed from his armored shell.

She held him like that, bathed in the light of the twin maiden moons, before she let her hands slide down his body. She undid the rest of his armor, tassets and all joining the rest as she reduced him to his smallclothes with gentle, tender hands. She took the basin from the corner near the chamberpot, rosewater already in a nearby pitcher — truly, all churchmen were of a piece. Daubing it in the water… she washed him. The cool air drew a shudder from him as she laid herself against him and wiped the dirt and grime of the saddle and combat from his flesh. He was alive with fresh bruises, his arms and face showing their shadow now in clear sight — his brother's rage wrung out against his armor, which turned would-be lethal blows into mere ugly bruises.

She washed them all, kissed each one in passing. She did so, until that rabbit-quick heart began to slow.

“C'mere, Loverboy…" she breathed. Pulling him aside. She laid him down on the bed, smoothing his long black hair, taking the tie from it so it spilled out across his shoulders as she lay him down, caressing his face. He opened his mouth to speak, and she pressed her fingers to it.

“Shhh," she soothed him, leaning down to gently kiss his brow before sliding back. He was given a perfect, moonlight view of her undressing. She often did it behind a screen or door… but tonight, as he lay there in naught but smallclothes, she let him watch her undress. The hood, jerking and boots sliding from her lithe frame until she herself wore naught but her linens, back facing him as she covered her modest breasts with her folded arms. She took the cloth then, and briefly bathed herself, back to him… letting him watch the glistening cloth glide across her body and flesh before she set it aside, drawing one of his own clean, white shirts from their packs, pulling it over her nudity before turning back to face him, green eyes aglow with desire and love as she pressed her face into the collar of the stolen shirt, breathing deep.

He reached out to her, and she took his hand, allowing him to pull her to the bed with him. She tumbled into his arms, and then pulled him to her chest softly. Despite their nakedness, there was no hunger in their touches, simply an intimacy that only flesh could speak to flesh. She cradled his head to her bosom as she leaned over, blowing out their lone candle and releasing the room to the Twin Maiden's light.

They lay like that until both fell to peaceful, silent slumber.

~ ~ ~

They awoke with the sunrise, Gram's eyes looking up to her as she came away. Her smile was reflexive, and his welcome. They greeted the day with a long, deep, affirming kiss — Lidia winding her way around him until she was beneath him, and he atop her — legs twined around his middle, his face in her hand.

“Ye doin' better, Loverboy?" She asked, and he nodded, kissing her again.

“Yes… I needed that, the… space to think. To breathe." He said, closing his eyes and smiling at her with genuine warmth. “You are to be a good wife, little redcap."

“It'll be ok," she whispered to him, stroking his face, turning those blue eyes to hers, “I 'ave faith."

On cue, a knock from the door turned both of their heads. Lidia answered it to find Lucian staring pointedly at the ceiling, a bemused smile on his lips.

“Good Morning, little sister," he said, and Lidia bit her lip around a smirk, leaning on the doorframe.

“Good Mornin', Luc, somethin' pretty up there?" she teased him, still wearing naught but smallclothes and Gram's borrowed shirt. The Knight-Brother rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I do enjoy the buttressed construction, very sturdy," Lidia's gaze was devilish as he gently handed her a folded pair of towels, and woolen robes. “The baths are hot and breakfast should follow in about an hour, I'll find you again when Lady Simone is ready to speak."

“Yer a saint, Luc."

“No, just related to one."

She leaned up and kissed his cheek, getting him to grin as he closed the door, eyes never leaving the roof. Gram had risen and was tying back his hair as she turned and presented the two towels.

“Thinkin' they might be a wee bit cross iffin' I try tae bathe ye proper, so I'll see ye over at breakfast, ye?" she asked, swaying her way over to him and leaning up to take one last, long kiss. He smiled at her.

“I will need all of my strength for today, and part of it lives there." he said, taking his hands down and pressing a finger to her breastbone, right over her heart. She smiled and gave him a wink.

The pair dressed in the simple robes, Lidia surprised they fit her, and found their way to the baths. Easy enough, the ideas of Blackreach mirroring the Abbey becoming far more obvious, even a bit like Fort Ivory. The church had been re-founded by military men, and even their places of peace showed with common places for common things. A pragmatic way to live, really.

The two bathhouses were sort of communal, each tub had a stall of roughly neck-height, and each section was separated by sex — to which Lidia and the Sisters were the clear majority. Even walking in she saw far, far more of the white-topped wimples like she had seen on Sabine and the others back at Fort Ivory than she saw hooded monks — though these few lacked the matching surcoat and mail they had worn.

Lidia slipped in shyly, finding a tub already steaming and unoccupied, around her she saw the women in various states of casual undress, combing and drying hair, cutting nails and in some small pockets, having quiet conversations. There was another sort of intimacy to the place she didn't want to intrude upon, these women lived in this cloistered community on their own, and didn't need her getting in there and making things all awkward with her pointy teeth and unearthly gaze.

Lidia set about undressing in her little walled-off tub, she sank into the water with a heavy sigh. The cold rosewater had nothing on a good, hot bath. How had she lived on the streets in her own sweat and grime so long? The hot water worked out a dozen aches and pains that had been persistent from two long days in the saddle, sleeping rough.

“So you're the fairy child that gave Edwin the fright," came a voice to her side, Lidia gave a little start from her half-doze in the round tub, to see another woman's face, or at least the eyes and hair, sticking over the divider. The stalls did leave all of them roughly at head-height with another, Lidia's small frame put her a bit under it.

“Aye, sorry fer that, cannae help the way me eyes look," she said sheepishly, the other woman's eyebrows raising in mirth as she leaned back out of view.

“No, no you can't really. Hard to wear the face of something so feared, isn't it?"

Lidia blinked a bit, there was no venom in those words so she pondered on them a moment. “Aye, 'tis at times. People dinnae know, iffin' er'ry sidheborn lass were like me, nae one o' ye would be scared o' any of us." She said, getting an appraising eyebrow from the woman in the other stall.

“A very mature outlook for one so young, it normally takes some time to resolve such things," she said, her own voice was sonorous and rich, and carried with it a weight of years. It reminded her of Sister Brennan a bit, that note of knowing in her tone.

“Aye, 'ad plenty o' that. Bein' on yer own before yer tenth summer forces ye tae grow up quick. Grow hard quick," she said idly, scrubbing her fingers through her hair. “I've seen th' real monsters, I cannae blame the common folk for bein' scared o' someone that looks th' part."

“Mature, and pragmatic, many from your life would be bitter."

“I was. Now I ain't, nae so much at least."

“Why is that?"

The question was again, curious. Neutral. It made her want to answer, she shrugged and doused her head, scrubbing her scalp and coming back up with a light gasp, slicking her hair back down and wiping her face.

“Nae deep reason, I saw th' wider world, 'ad tae fight for a bit o' it. I earned a bit o'… there's a word…" she sighed, her lack of education still tripped her up sometimes on certain words.

“Clarity?" The woman supplied, and Lidia sheepishly sighed, feeling silly at dropping such a regular damned word… the circumstances were odd. She'd cling to that, with her dignity. “Aye, clarity."

“You talk more like a soldier in some ways, than some young fae girl," the woman mused lightly, and Lidia laughed a little.

“Guessin' I'm a bit more like 'em than a cutpurse these days, aye. I spend so much time around the doughty gits."

“You came in with the Captain, no?" the woman asked, her voice level as she clearly sank lower in the baths. Lidia let herself have a goofy grin.

“Aye," she answered, “'Tis me loverboy, he's one o' them bits o' clarity." The woman's barely-visible hairline immediately was invaded by her eyebrows at that.

“Loverboy?"

“Aye, he's me betrothed," Lidia answered casually, raking her fingers back through her hair once more, “'is mum lives here its… complicated, she's dearly missed," she answered, and the woman made a small sound of assent.

“He was… injured? There was mention of evidence of recent battle," the woman asked, and Lidia grinned — leave it to a Sister to start worrying after a church soldier's health.

“Nae, nae, a few bruises, but 'is armor soaked the brunt o' it. Thank God he an' his wear all that steel, Louis wasn't pullin' his blows."

“Louis?" the woman asked in a confused tone, and Lidia shook her head.

“Nae, nae need tae worry about it, 'tis a family scuffle. Gram tells me it's somthin' o' a national pastime th' further towards th' capital ye get," Lidia said.

“Unfortunately," The woman agreed ruefully, and there was a shifting of water. “Sorry for interrupting your bathtime, young lady, my curiosity won over my manners. You have a pleasant morning."

“Ye too," Lidia said as the woman's shape left the adjacent tub, Lidia sinking beneath the hot water for a long few minutes to just let the heat and weightlessly suck the aches from her muscles, not like Gram and Lucian would be lost without her for a few more minutes.

~ ~ ~

Lidia found her way to the kitchens and then the dining hall, having worn the robe back to their room to briefly change — she noted Gram's spare clothes were gone, but his saber conspicuously hung on the peg near the door. Frowning, she dressed in kind, leaving her own weapon next to his, her fingers trailing across the hilts as she went.

She found Gram with little trouble, of the few gathered for their meals — Gram and Lucian were the only pair wearing Knight's heraldry and steppefolk garb. Gram had changed into the outfit he had worn on their outset, the tight cuffs and snugly-woven sash contrasting the loose breeches and shirt in all the right places that made him look so dashing. Heart briefly aflutter with a completely normal, girlish glee, she settled down next to him — where the tall man handed her a plate, loaded with rashers of bacon still steaming, savory porridge mixed with wild mushrooms, baked eggs and crusty bread.

“I love th' way ye Church Folk eat," Lidia said as she tucked in ravenously to the meal, fresh butter and honey for the bread, “Nae fer nothin' wit' all o' the delicacies an' brandies o' the Keep, but I'm a woodcutter's girl, simple sticks tae me ribs." Gram smiled at that. Playing his fingers through her hair a moment as she ate, Lucian sat nearby, a pipe dangling from his lips and a tome open on the table before him, his sword propped nearby. He looked all the part of the Warrior-Monk, his shave-sided tonsure looking like a proper mane as he filled the spare quiet with study.

They ate in silence, the same tableaux playing out on many other tables about the small open-sided hall, soft conversation happened, but many of these people had lived together for decades, and little needed to be said in small talk. The whole place had a sort of rhythm to its sounds, the very stones seemed to breathe in time with the sway of timbers and the ebb and flow of those who chose to abide here.

After a time, one of the sisters came up and drew Lucian's attention with a quiet whisper, Lidia had finished a second helping, as had Gram — both had burned far more energy than they realized in their escape — when the albino Knight perked up, meeting their gaze.

“She's agreed to speak to you, we've cleared the west annex reading room for the duration," he said and Gram took a sudden, steadying breath.

“C'mon loverboy, I'll walk ye over."

It was strange to see Gram so rattled, his stoic mask cracking and fracturing constantly, and it put worry in her heart, she found his hand with her own and squeezed tight. The tall man gave her a look of profound gratitude, and she smiled.

Lucian lead the lovers over in the same respectful silence, the path through the stacks once again a labyrinth of parchment. She didn't pay as much attention to the various covers this time through, Gram's eyes were distant as she held his hand, somewhere else inside. She decided her presence was more important than prying words, and just gave him another squeeze. He smiled at her, just a bit.

“Lady Simone is a bit of a local darling, I'm told," Lucian said as they came to a slow near a door at the far end of the stacks, “Abbot Giles, despite his bluster more or less treated her like a daughter, many of the sisters seem quite protective of her." Lucian said, pausing and drawing himself up — making it clear he was planning to stay at the end of the hall, “You should be undisturbed, as long as you need."

“Thank you, friend Lucian." Gram said in a quiet voice, Lucian could only smile.

Lidia walked him to the door, he seemed to be taking his time, and his stoic visage strained at the edges. She knew when he was anxious, and his hand never left hers as she stopped, the pair standing at the threshold.

“Ye want me tae go in wit' ye?" The little changeling asked, holding up his hand and pressing her lips to his knuckles. Gram to her surprise, nodded, his face intense. She smiled at him, and took his hand all the firmer as he pushed inside the door.

The reading room was a small, comfortable place. A large central table filled it, already stacked haphazardly with a myriad of tomes and scrolls. The furniture was plush and well-worn, every wooden surface polished glossily smooth by hundreds of hands, elbows and drowsing faces over a dozen decades, the chairs patched and repaired by loving hands.

At that table, she sat. A book open before her, clearly passing the time as she waited. Lidia drew up short, eyes widening as the tall woman lifted her gaze from the book, her own face filling with sudden trepidation.

“Hello, mother." Gram said in a tight voice.

“Hello… Son." Came the reply. A strong, sonorous voice. Rich like brandy, and with a soft weight of years. Lidia remembered that voice, the woman in the baths. Eyes the color of dark-brewed tea and hair the same ashen, strawberry blonde as Louis. She wore the same habit as the sisters, a simple long, comfortable robe, sashed at the middle, with the face-hugging white wimple covering her from crown to throat, but even as covered as she was… she saw what Abbot Giles had meant. Gram and Simone stared back at each other with the same expression — same jaw tight with worry, same eyes hard as agates.

She took a long time to gaze at Gram, and neither spoke. She looked him up and down without shame, looking at the man he'd become.

“You grew out your hair, like your father." She said in a quiet voice. Lidia could see Louis and Alphonse in her face, in the high cheekbones and angular nose. She was classically beautiful, statuesque and tall, taller than Lidia by a half span at least.

“The forelock never suited me," Gram agreed stiffly, still not having left the doorway, frozen at that distance as the two stared.

“You've grown so much… I knew you would, but to see it…" she trailed off, raising her hand to cover her mouth a moment, swallowing. “I expected to see you in harness." She admitted.

“I had thought appearing before you in full panoply might have been… stressful," he said and she bit her lip, nodding.

“Perhaps it would have been, I see you've embraced… his culture,"

“In my own time," Gram agreed, plucking at his steppefolk-style clothing.

“It suits you, better than it does him."

The silence after that was heavy as the headsman's axe. Lidia shrank back towards the door, touching Gram's arm.

“Ye should talk 'bout this privately, I'll wait outside loverboy," she said.

“Please, stay."

The words ran out in unison, equally urgent from both Simone and Gram alike — the latter catching her hand in desperation, lacing his fingers in it. Simone's eyes were full of anxious terror, looking pleadingly at the little changeling like a lifeline to a drowning man.

“… Aye, I'll stay then."

Simone and Gram both took a breath, and she pointedly looked away from his face, there was such shame in her face that it made Lidia's heart hurt. Squeezing Gram's hand, she quietly cleared her throat.

“Let's sit down, aye?" She suggested, and he nodded, seemingly snapped out of his trance. The pair found seats on the opposite end of the long table, Simone folding her hands over the closed book before her.

“I am sorry for… the secrecy, in the Baths," Simone said to Lidia as they sat, “I had heard that Gram had arrived with his betrothed, and… I am a mother still. I wanted to meet you… to suss out perhaps, more of who my boy had become in that time between."

“Ye were kind, nae need tae apologize," Lidia admitted honestly.

“I… had planned to deny his request, actually." Simone admitted, both Lidia and Gram's face went blank with shock. “You changed that."

“Me?" Lidia asked bluntly, and in spite of herself, Simone laughed.

“Yes, you. The way you spoke of him… I know what love sounds like, I heard it in Richart's voice time and time again. You loved him, it poured out of you like sunlight. It… surprised me, shocked me. He did not have women who spoke of him such, bubbly lusts and wants of power, but never love…"

Lidia smiled and looked up to Gram a moment, “Aye… I really do. 'Tis nae bit o lust, or want fer station… I'm just a fae girl from the woods, fallen head 'oer heels fer a proper knight in shinin' armor."

Simone smiled, but there was sadness to it as she turned her gaze to her son.

“What happened to you, mother?" Gram asked in a lost sort of voice, “Father told me much but… it has been a long time, I… I barely remember your face." Simone nodded, and fell silent. Considering.

“I don't know where to begin," she said after a moment, eyes downcast. “It has been a long time, and there has been much time for reflection. My recovery was not… easy, nor fast. I assure you, Richart is a noble, good man… and he gave you a much sanitized version of… his, actions." She drew in a shuddering breath, closing her eyes.

“He hurt me, terribly so. It was not a single act, but many, over much time."

“Mother, I…" Gram began but she shook her head.

“No. no, son. Let me speak." She said firmly, laying her palms flat on the table, shoulders stiff. “I need to say it, to you most of all," she began, lifting her face to meet his gaze, tears in her eyes, defiance behind their hazel depths. “You, who's face I have spent more than ten years unable to remember, because whenever I thought of you, my firstborn son, I saw only him."

“Mother…"

“You changed so much, my baby boy."

The words arrested Gram's protests, and his face lost all expression, all stoicism. His emotional armor fell away in shards and fragments until all that lay on his face was that of a boy, barely into the cusp of manhood, hurt. Scared. Lidia squeezed his hand, melding herself to his side as a welcoming, warm presence. Simone's voice picked back up.

“I missed much, I see in your face the weather of years, lines from smiles and sadness alike," she said, forcing herself to look at the tall man, “I see scars, on your flesh, and in your eyes that I was not there to soothe," she took a breath, going silent a moment as she wiped her eyes carefully.

“They tell me you're a hero now," she said, and her voice broke just a bit over the word 'hero', “That you strode hell itself to save the Lady, did battle with monsters. That you won."

“I did was was required of me, nothing more," Gram stated without any of his typical dissembling humility, his voice sounded tired, “What else could I do? The world needed me to be more than I was," he shook his head and met her gaze, “Who was I to say no?"

“Ye know, that's what heroes do," Lidia said softly from her place at Gram's side, squeezing his hand and nuzzling her cheek into his arm gently. Simone tilted her head, and she smiled for the first time, it was a tiny thing, small and wan — but it lit her face up. Touched every part from lips to eyes.

“She's right, you know," Simone said, laying a palm on her cheek. “You really did all those things," she said as belief settled in and she gave a miserable little laugh. “I thought perhaps the sisters had chosen to lie to me for my own sake, or they had mistaken you for another Church Soldier. It was hard to believe that my son I had so scorned had become such a thing…" she said and her face turned miserable again.

“Surely, I had ruined you, right?" she said, more to herself than Gram, “Spoiled you with my neglect, destroyed you by allowing him to destroy me." A single tear found its way past her defenses, defiantly coursing down her cheek unchecked as she forced herself to meet Gram's eyes over the table.

“Surely that boy I ruined couldn't be a hero, wearing the face of a monster, right?"

“Is it so hard to look at me?" He asked, and there was only hurt in that tone, no accusation. She took a breath.

“No, no my son… not now, but before… you had his eyes then. Those cold, flat, empty eyes…" she shook her head and set her teeth, “What exquisite torture it was, to see you come running, full of life and have my heart flutter full of love… and to have a backbeat of terror wash over me as those eyes did not match that smiling face…" she covered her eyes with her hands for a moment, falling silent as she regained her composure.

“He… Matevi, he hurt me. It was not merely the violations, the way he manipulated me into silence even after… taking from me as he had. It was what he said of your Father," she said… and there was a glimmer of hope there. Even deep in misery, she called Richart his father. Her heart knew.

“He spoke such wickedness of him, how you would supplant any 'weak' sons he would sire, all this talk of Richart as some frail, fetid thing — as if they had not been like brothers for decades," the words were full of bitter venom and old hate, “Those cold, flat eyes of his were all I saw when he forced his way, and when he spoke of how he had… contaminated our family, it was like broken glass through my insides."

She stopped suddenly, clenching her fists and wiping her eyes with the knuckles, “No… there is no time for such wallowing, his crimes are not your crimes. Telling you how he hurt me will only hurt you even more… and I have hurt you enough already."

“I want to hear it, someday." Gram said in a quiet, unyielding tone. “Perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow. But someday. You hurt me, mother… more than most…" his eyes glimmered as he straightened his back, “But never because of what you said, or did… but because you were not there." It was then Gram's body shook, he drew in a shuddering breath, strangling a sob with it.

“I grew up, mother. I am a man now, a good man or so I try to be. I have a woman that loves me, the friendship of heroes, the thanks of a goddesses, a good, strong sword arm." He said and raised his chin a bit, tears threatened to fall as he curled his lower lip hard, mustaches bristling.

“Look at my face, mother. Do you see Karnov there still?"

Simone snapped to attention, staring at him unabashedly, eyes pouring tears — anguish on her face. Gram's throat worked and Lidia only could hold his arm close to her, be the support he needed in this moment. His fingers laced with hers, and he squeezed back hard.

“… No, no my son. My baby boy. That is your face now, yours alone."

Simone's face crumbled, and with a single motion she pulled back her wimple, her fingers digging through her hair with a terrible, wracking sob of grief so long-carried. Lidia drew away from Gram as he rose without a word, crossing the distance in a rush as he took the older woman in his arms — and she went to his willingly, laughter and grating sounds of anguish fighting for dominance as she wrapped her arms around his neck, bawling into his shoulder.

“Oh my baby boy… I missed so much, I missed you all so, so much…" she wailed. Lidia felt out of place, and yet she smiled. Simone's eyes opened over Gram's shoulder, and she smiled, squeezing her son even tighter as she mouthed two words to Lidia:

Thank you.