Dawn

The rolling hills of south Bhaine arched their backs against a sky still deep grey, awaiting dawn's first light over the sea to the west. The shore was close enough that Cuinn could smell it faintly on the breeze. The morning air was warm, gentle. All around, larches and elms unfurled vividly-coloured buds; underfoot, the grasses awoke from a season of slumber. She always treasured the silent hours before dawn, when the rest of the Keep was still asleep, and the sky seemingly held its breath in anticipation of the first light of morning; the world seemed then a silent and peaceful kingdom where she alone held watchful dominion.

She sat on a log outside her tent, going through the motions of maintaining her gear. Her bow, the strange black bow from Melehan's hoard, Hjärfindur-- Heartseeker-- never seemed to need it. Oh, it needed to be restrung, and the strings given a sheen of beeswax, certainly, but the thing had been through a dozen battles now and not a single nick or dent showed on the dull black curve of unfamiliar wood.

Her armour on the other hand... She'd needed a new cuirass since Legate Thaliere had cut the old into unsalvageable scraps; the Wilders had spared no expense in making a magnificent new one for their Countess. The new one bore a cunningly-worked hawk rampant that spread its wings across her chest. Even the spaulders, made of wax-boiled leather, had been crafted to suggest the shape of hawk wings. It was magnificent, a tribute to the skill of the leatherworkers of the Gorge, but it was still a bit stiff, unlike her old serviceable one, which she'd been sweating and bleeding on since she'd borrowed it from the armoury and ridden into the woods alongside Cullan and Corrac for the first time.

Truly, that seems like another lifetime ago. When she stopped and attempted to retrace all the steps that had led the House from this point to here, it was bewildering, baffling. Only three years ago, and things were so different now, she was so different now, that remembering it seemed like recalling a tale about a stranger.

Things were so much simpler then. My greatest problem was trying to maintain a convincing Rjuven accent day and night. Now, look at us-- from a minor House in charge of a remote forested backwater, to wresting freedom for a nation, and then ruling it, if we succeed. And here we are, on the morning of what well may be the final battle. Either we win, or we perish.

A rustle of tent flaps and an honest-to-gods giggle broke her perfect pre-dawn silence. One of the women-at-arms-- a fetching young lass with a riotous shag of dark blonde hair-- burst out of Aerona's tent, attempting to straighten her disheveled uniform. Her gaze lit on Cuinn's from across the embers of the campfire, and she blushed beetroot red and scuttled away. Aerona followed a moment later, clad only in a half-undone gambeson, and grinned broadly at Cuinn.

"A good morning to you, Countess!" She strode around the fire and parked herself on the log. "A fine day to bring Cuiraecen's will down on the heads of our foes, yes?"

Cuinn raised an eyebrow-- almost exactly as she had when she witnessed Athelan, the Haelynite priest formerly in service of Thaliere, make a similar exit-- and they both managed to keep a straight face for at least a few moments before Aerona doubled over laughing.

"'Tis a fine thing for a warrior, to enjoy some companionship the eve before battle, no? It rallies a soldier's constitution, puts fire in their blood! Cuiraecen is, after all, a god of many hearty appetites, is he not?"

Cuinn half-smiled despite herself. "I have no particular desire for...companionship... these days."

"Aye, Countess, if you would forgive my presumption... I've served you for nigh on a year now, and to my knowledge, you have remained quite... solitary in that time." The priestess grinned broadly. "It seems a shame; the ranks of the army you have gathered contain so many doughty warriors of such skill and stamina..."

 Cuinn picked up an arrow, examining its fletchings. She did not care to discuss such things, usually, but she had always been able to relax her guard around Aerona for some reason... or perhaps it was comforting to speak of such trivial things before the enormity of the task ahead of them. "I had the finest of men for a husband. I will never meet his like again. I brought justice to his murderers, and eventually I even made peace with his loss, and moved past it. But I find I would still prefer to go without, rather than tarry with a lesser man."

"But Countess, do the holy scriptures not speak of love as being perennial as the grass? That it shall inevitably return, blessing the land even after the darkest and coldest of winters? It seems to me that you are like the man in the parable who stood gazing for years at his prize oak, fallen and burned in the yard after a lightning strike... when behind him and unbeknownst to him, fine saplings were growing in the fertile ash of its wake."

"Ah, but are there not other kinds of love? I loved Corrac more than I have ever loved anything... but since he passed, I have not lost that greater capacity for love that grew from loving him, and that love has flowed into other things. Love of country, love of the Wilders, love of the people whom are sworn to serve me, and who I in turn serve. Love of the ideals we have chosen to fight for. Love of you and Mara, who are all the family I have left, as far as I know."

For a moment, she thought of Moerel Valmyrri and his strange sword, but she quickly put the thought from her mind.

"And if Cuiraecen grants us victory today? A great many eligible lords will flock to woo you. Will you turn them all away, because they cannot equal what you lost? Is this even what he would want for you, lady? I doubt it... I knew him only from afar, knew him only as Baron Fulcairn's handsome heir who made all the girls swoon... but I believe he would want you to live your life, and find joy."

And Cuinn found that tears were welling in her eyes, not out of sadness, but out of gratitude for this large, loud, ginger-haired priestess, and her friendship.

"To be honest, Battle-Sister, I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Aye. There'll be plenty of time to vet eligible bachelors for the ladies Fulcairn once we've won this war." She grinned, cracked her knuckles, and flexed the majestic bulk of her sword arm. "Let's go wake up Mara and see if she can warm up the stewpot with a ball of arcane flame, eh?"