Several hours past midnight, the fervent throes of revelry still gripped Griffonsreach-- the frantic and almost desperate sort that provided relief and release for those at the end of a great and terrible war. What few casks of ale and wine remained in the keep had been drained in short order, and even the supplies carted in for the celebration from around Taeghas had not bolstered them for long. Someone had pilfered an antique lute from the display cases in the great hall and was, surprisingly passably, leading a chorus of drunken guests in a rousing rendition of "Thunder And Flame"; the revellers stomped their feet and thumped their tankards to the refrain, and the sound echoed throughout the Keep.
Other refrains reverberated down the halls, too, as folk-- from exhausted soldiers filled with the euphoria of victory, to scullery-maids and stable-hands-- found eager, drunken trysting partners; so rowdy had the celebration gotten that most barely bothered to conceal themselves in a shadowed alcove or doorway.
The strains of both off-key carousing and furtive rutting seemed a sweet melody to Cuinn's ears, a song of triumph, as it were, as it reached them, as she and Cathal lay curled on a luxurious four-poster bed in a vacant suite in the east wing. Beyond the window, the clouds parted, and a gibbous moon and a blaze of stars illuminated the room, limning their bodies against the darkness.
"Gods, we're both so scarred now, aren't we?"
For hideous burn scars, ridged and knotted like poplar bark, spattered Cathal's neck and shoulder. "These are from the dragon?" she asked.
He nodded. "And these?" Similar whorls of ugly, shiny flesh patterned Cuinn's chest and back.
"Some are from the magical bomb that the Dragon-- the wizard, that is-- sent to try and assassinate Mara. Others are from the last fight with Thaliere. We were in a dire situation-- she and a dozen Dragon Knights were upon Mara, Dorian, and I. We were outnumbered by far, and Aerona was pinned on the far side of the battlefield with the elite infantry. Out of desperation, I screamed at Mara to direct fire at Thaliere and I. The Dragon Knights were all but burned to a crisp, and Thaliere was sorely wounded too. My blood protected me, mostly, but the scars remain. And, as you know, that's where this happened."
Cuinn touched the scar on her face that pulled her already stern countenance downward into a permanent frown. She paused.
"This one's new-- what on Cerilia caused this?" She touched an odd round scar on Cathal's back, nearly the size of a saucer.
"Well, you know I stabbed a kraken, right?" He grinned. "It got a shot or two in of its own."
"I have so many questions about what happened in Hogunmark. We've had no time to discuss it. But I need to know more about what happened, and what it means for our House, and for Taeghas, and the future."
"By all means, ask."
Her brow furrowed. "Where to start. Gods. Why did you come back? Why didn't you take the White Witch's offer? Why didn't you become... I don't know, some magical king of the tundra with her help? You've waxed poetic at such great length about how much you love Rjurik--"
"Aye. But I love you more."
"More than being the magic king of the tundra?" Her face was wry for a moment, then impossibly tender for a moment longer, but she continued. "What did the White Witch want in return for the boon she offered?"
"She wanted the Barrow-Crown, though I don't doubt she would have made a lackey of me as well."
"How fare the Yngvi now, after all this, with Fulgrim leading them after Freila's death?"
Cathal released a long-held breath, slowly. "Hogunmark was wounded, but on the mend. Fulgrim held control, but he had enemies, much as we do. He's well-liked enough; he must have more allies elsewhere in Rjurik."
"And this Authild... this Fulcarni? What do you suspect her endgame is?"
"I suspect she wants to unite our long-sundered family. But I believe she wishes to run it. I think she'd be just as happy draining the powers of our blood as working with us. If she shows her face here, it's to come claim your crown, or die trying-- she promised as much."
"This worries you?"
"If I were to gauge her prowess as a warrior, honestly, she is better than I."
"That may be, but no one is better than us together."
"Aye. No one." He pressed his lips to her brow, and they lay silent for a moment, before Cuinn continued.
"I cannot help but wonder if it is better to give that woman half of the trinket rather than to go to war again... though, in truth, I would have thought that a better plan before I... felt... it... resonate... at the coronation."
Cathal shook his head. "When I say she wants half of it, I believe she means at least half. In truth, I think she has more in common with our malevolent ancestors, the Godkillers, than do we."
"Why does Authild want to consolidate the family? She's doing well enough in Rjuvik; what does picking a fight half a continent away serve?"
"Control. Power. I think she is like Avan in her need to control. But seeks it like Boeruine seeks pleasure. I met her only briefly, but I sensed that she felt life more through conquest. As Aerona wishes to spread her word, Authild wishes to OWN."
Cuinn grinned. "Ah, yes. About Aerona. I've been meaning to address the... reservations I sensed from you earlier. You're not wrong; the woman's as touched as a goat who's gotten into the moldy rye grain. But we wouldn't be here without her, and she would lay down her life for House Fulcairn in a heartbeat, and I trust her as I trust you or Mara."
"I don't distrust her loyalty, I distrust her institution. Some of her dogma gave me pause, but as long as the thunder priests serve the people, protect them, let her churches stand, I say. And she fights very well; I'm glad you had her with you."
"As a rule, I don't trust institutions... they need to have a watchful eye on them at all times. And as we are now an institution, so do we, lest we become lax, or greedy, or fail to keep our promises."
Cathal smiled. "I could not have worded it better... Besides, I think you'll have a hard time parting her from Arturo from here on."
Cuinn nodded with mock solemnness, and stifled a yawn. Outside the window, Stormpoint's buildings were silhouetted against the first touch of the grey that preceded dawn. "Why did Freila construct this elaborate ruse? Why not just tell you of the Godkillers? Why die in some frozen barrow far from her hall and her son?"
"I think she didn't quite know what she was searching for. She was having visions, or so she said, and the word of the gods is never direct, even when they are speaking directly to you. In truth, I don't know why she picked me. I've always been a better mediator than Fulgrim, and she probably knew he'd need a friend when she had gone."
"I am so damned tired of oracles, and gods, and visions," Cuinn muttered.
"Hunh. That makes the both of us. We shall make our own fate. Praise Haelyn, but damn his plans for us."
Cuinn raised an eyebrow; this was the first time she had ever heard Cathal blaspheme. "I know that your official duty to the Yngvi is concluded, but I can't help but feel that we may need to aid Fulgrim again, out of love, if not obligation. And is there friction between him and Authild's horde that need concern us?"
"I've felt the same pull, but my place is here with you. If I am to go to him, it will be at your side or not at all... As to Fulgrim and Authild, I'd thought to tell him to marry her. In fact I was going to pen a letter to the effect."
"Is that wise? I fear it would be a mere power play, with him at a disadvantage, and effectively hostage. And how would that turn if she decided to make a play for this crown? Would he dissuade her or merely be dragged along against his will?"
"Hogunmark is no wilting lily. Its only match in the north, other than the Witch, is Halskapa, which is in no shape to challenge anyone at the moment. Its might still dwarfs Rjuvik's, and they share common foes."
"So it's only Authild's lust for power you feel is a threat, not her military might?"
"For the nonce her army is no great thing. Will it remain so? She shares my line's fierce magnetism, and she wins battles. Many may flock to her banner. Yet Fulgrim is as great a warrior as Rjurik knows, and a match between the two is, in my opinion the most obvious political move in the north."
"If she has done right by Rjuvik and its people, it would be a damned shame for us to cut her down for some fool lust for power. Perhaps you should pen that letter after all, Cathal."
"Perhaps. Perhaps you should pen one to her." He grinned; his teeth flashed white in the gloom. "I think she'd like you."
Cuinn's countenance grew stony. "I do not suffer threats to me or mine or that which is under my protection. Not even implicit ones. If I treat with her, I will tell her this plainly; I will not disguise it with pleasantries."
"Which I think she would like. And besides, she is our cousin. In truth, I think Authild is complicated. I do not think her evil."
Cuinn yawned, and Cathal did likewise a moment later. "There is so much to be done. We've won a great victory... the one I'd thought was the final victory... yet it seems like we've barely started. It's... overwhelming."
"It is, but it's exhilarating too, because it's with you."
She pressed her head against his chest. "Don't leave me again."
"Nothing will ever part us."
They both closed their eyes, as the first golden rays of sunlight slanted through the window.
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