Everything was going to hell.
Ever since entering the Imperial Villa, it was as if the gods had cursed them. Magda was left behind. Orien and Telfirth never made it back. House Fulcairn had spent all its gold trying to salvage relics, and in the process had lost everything, including Finn. The man that had brought Dolan in, and given him a home.
And it was not over. Merrec, that cornerstone of House Fulcairn, collapsed in the great hall and cursed the house with his dying breath. Medwyn, the young scribe had abandoned them.
Everything was going to hell.
Around midnight after Merrec's burial, Dolan got on a horse and rode. He rode all night, trying to clear his mind and make sense of what had happened in the past month. It was well into the morning, and he had ridden across the Cradle. Well into harvest season, the Wilders were hard at work preparing for the oncoming winter. How would the lands survive if the winter was a harsh one?
Securing his horse nearby, he breathed in the autumn air. He needed the solitude. Gods be damned, he needed some time alone. 'I'll just wash my face, fill up my waterskin and be on my merry w-'
"Milord?"
A very young woman, with fair colors and holding a basket of apples was standing almost a stone throw away. She was a comely lass, with a long braid of golden hair. She was dressed humbly, but her clothes were washed, taken care of and she seemed happy. Her freckles especially almost laughed with joy.
"You startled me girl. No, no, you have nothing to fear. I'm with the Fulcairns. What do you have there? Mind if I have one?"
"Of course milord. Here." And as she took up an apple, he saw a young boy, probably around 3 years old. Same colors as the girl, but with even more round eyes looking up to him; his mouth slightly ajar.
"Don't mind Cedric milord. My boy is shy, but very sweet." the girl said with love and affection, reaching down to reassure the boy with a big smile.
"You don't have to call me lord, I am definitely not one. Hello there son! How are you?" Dolan asked, and his hand ruffled the boy's golden hair.
No reply. Oh well. He is an adorable small pumpkin isn't he?
"If I can beg your leave milord. We have to be off. We are going back to grandmother Arwen! And she has made your favorite food!" At this, the boy squealed with delight and took off, his small legs taking him through the fields towards a cozy looking farmhouse.
"Arwen? Is that her name...?"
"Yes milord. She has made him venison stew with herbs and spices that are imported from the north! A recipe that she says she learned from her aunt, gods bless her soul. My father can eat the entire stew in one sitting! Even when times were very hard, my father never left her." Curtsying, she went after her young son, with the breeze carrying their laughter back to Dolan. Dolan, whose face had lost all his color.
Dolan, who years ago had to sell his sword in order to pay family debts. Who made the hard decision to leave his beautiful comely wife with golden hair so he could provide for her. A wife who had been expecting his child, and during bad weather had caught a fever. A wife that made for him a delicious stew with herbs and spices, passed down from her aunt. A wife that had no one to take care of her, and neither her, nor her unborn baby had survived the fever.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Ever since entering the Imperial Villa, it was as if the gods had cursed them. Magda was left behind. Orien and Telfirth never made it back. House Fulcairn had spent all its gold trying to salvage relics, and in the process had lost everything, including Finn. The man that had brought Dolan in, and given him a home.
And it was not over. Merrec, that cornerstone of House Fulcairn, collapsed in the great hall and cursed the house with his dying breath. Medwyn, the young scribe had abandoned them.
Everything was going to hell.
Around midnight after Merrec's burial, Dolan got on a horse and rode. He rode all night, trying to clear his mind and make sense of what had happened in the past month. It was well into the morning, and he had ridden across the Cradle. Well into harvest season, the Wilders were hard at work preparing for the oncoming winter. How would the lands survive if the winter was a harsh one?
Securing his horse nearby, he breathed in the autumn air. He needed the solitude. Gods be damned, he needed some time alone. 'I'll just wash my face, fill up my waterskin and be on my merry w-'
"Milord?"
A very young woman, with fair colors and holding a basket of apples was standing almost a stone throw away. She was a comely lass, with a long braid of golden hair. She was dressed humbly, but her clothes were washed, taken care of and she seemed happy. Her freckles especially almost laughed with joy.
"You startled me girl. No, no, you have nothing to fear. I'm with the Fulcairns. What do you have there? Mind if I have one?"
"Of course milord. Here." And as she took up an apple, he saw a young boy, probably around 3 years old. Same colors as the girl, but with even more round eyes looking up to him; his mouth slightly ajar.
"Don't mind Cedric milord. My boy is shy, but very sweet." the girl said with love and affection, reaching down to reassure the boy with a big smile.
"You don't have to call me lord, I am definitely not one. Hello there son! How are you?" Dolan asked, and his hand ruffled the boy's golden hair.
No reply. Oh well. He is an adorable small pumpkin isn't he?
"If I can beg your leave milord. We have to be off. We are going back to grandmother Arwen! And she has made your favorite food!" At this, the boy squealed with delight and took off, his small legs taking him through the fields towards a cozy looking farmhouse.
"Arwen? Is that her name...?"
"Yes milord. She has made him venison stew with herbs and spices that are imported from the north! A recipe that she says she learned from her aunt, gods bless her soul. My father can eat the entire stew in one sitting! Even when times were very hard, my father never left her." Curtsying, she went after her young son, with the breeze carrying their laughter back to Dolan. Dolan, whose face had lost all his color.
Dolan, who years ago had to sell his sword in order to pay family debts. Who made the hard decision to leave his beautiful comely wife with golden hair so he could provide for her. A wife who had been expecting his child, and during bad weather had caught a fever. A wife that made for him a delicious stew with herbs and spices, passed down from her aunt. A wife that had no one to take care of her, and neither her, nor her unborn baby had survived the fever.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
No comments:
Post a Comment