Wander West, in Shadow

Aela awoke, wrapped in furs and snugly warm. She could not see, and it was a moment before she realized this was because she had slept with the great tangle of her hair covering her face.

Groggily, she swept her hair back. Stone walls lit by a warm orange glow greeted her. A floor carpeted in a thick layer of hides. In one corner of the room, wrapped in a cocoon of furs similar to hers, lay the Sunhammer boy she had rescued. That's right, she thought. She was in Grizel's chambers. She turned her head to find the stooped old crone stirring a bubbling stone cauldron by the fireplace set into the recesses of the wall, her long silver hair catching the light of the flames. The witch hummed and sang to herself softly as she stirred, twitching her colorful shawl about her shoulders.

Memories flooded back to her, as the haze of sleep fell from her mind. She and Kells had made their way back to Dun Cairn through snow and storm, hide and armor coated with ice by the time they had made it back. Aela had carried the Sunhammer boy, swaddled in what furs they could spare; light as he was, her arms had felt like they might drop off from carrying him. Kells had taken him, in the end, hoisting the boy over one of his shoulders. She remembered trailing after the Queensman - nae, dinnae think o' him as such, he doesnae like et - as the light died and darkness fell around him, directing him which paths to take to get back home. What a hard one the soldier was, she thought. Ceaselessly had he marched forward, his grim face emotionless, his bright gray eyes cold as ice.

It was when they had neared Dun Cairn, and found themselves stopped by an astonished greeting party, that she had collapsed. Her folk had rushed forward to embrace her, but she had barely noticed them. It was fear, and uncertainty, and necessity that had driven her forward. But once she had thought herself safe, she could not stop the images that had been clawing at the back of her mind from overtaking her. The dead, black eyes of the Bogge-King as he walked towards her, a hole in the world. Her brother's last, horrified screams. The image of...something....something red and torn to pieces in the snow. Something that looked at her, and gurgled, and-

Suddenly, she felt as if she could not breathe. Her breath came in rapid, ragged gasps, and her vision seemed clouded with gray. She heard Grizel's voice, by her side, and felt the paper-thin skin of the witch's hands, cool and dry, against her forehead. That coolness seemed to seep into her mind, untangling her thoughts. A stone cup of something hot was bought to her lips, tilted back into her mouth. It was so hot that it hurt to swallow; it tasted bitter and unpleasant. But Grizel clapped a hand over her mouth, surprisingly strong, preventing her from spitting it out.

Slowly, she calmed. The indistinct, red...thing faded from the forefront of her thoughts. She could see the world about her again. She looked up to see the sharp green eyes of Grizel, bright and penetrating in the old woman's withered face. "Ach, Ah was wonderin' when ye'd awake," the witch said, with a toothy grin. "Ye've been asleep fer some time. Hush, naow. Et's alright. Ye did well."

For a long, long time, all Aela did was breathe. Breathe deep, her lungs filling with air. She tried not to think of anything; tried to make her mind a calm, blank gray. Grizel's murmuring whispers were a comfort. It felt good to have someone else there. Someone else beside her, so she was not alone with her thoughts. Finally, she felt as if she could speak. "Well?" she asked softly. "Did we?"

"Aye," Grizel answered. "Very well indeed."

Aela sat up as the old witch drew back, and then yelped and drew the blankets around her. Her dirty, travel-stained hides had been removed. "What hae ye done wit' mah hides?" she muttered, tying one of the furs about her shoulders to serve as a makeshift robe.

"Ah had tae see ef ye had wounds upon ye that needed healin'," Grizel shrugged, her long shawl dragging across the stone floor as she walked over to examine the Sunhammer boy. "Dinnae worry. Nae man saw ye." The old witch reached out to lay a gentle hand upon the boy. The lad still looked in poor shape; covered in bruises and cuts, and had not opened his eyes. "Been some time since Ah hae seen a Sunhammer," she mumured, toying with his red-gold hair. "Th' Queensman tol' me o' how ye found him. En the Land O' Dim."

Aela looked about the room, tangling her hands in her long red hair. "Where es Kells?" she asked. "Ah owe him mah life."

The mischievous smile faded from Grizel's face, as she turned back to Aela. "He - tha's a hard man, girl, an' make nae mistake. He hae already donned his armor an' gone back outside."

Frowning, Aela opened her mouth to ask more, but was interrupted by a small tapping sound. She glanced up to find, to her astonishment, that Maol-Manos himself stood in the doorway to Grizel's chambers. The Chief looked at her with his cloudy eyes, his white silks whispering against the stone, long white beard spilling down his chest as he gave her a friendly smile. "Aela," he said gently. "Ah'm glad tae see ye-"

"You!" Grizel cried, her gnarled cane tapping on the stone floor as she swiftly hobbled over to Maol-Manos. "What, d'ye think because yer th' Chief ye can simply stroll intae mah chambers? Ye got another thing comin'." The Chief's eyes widened as the stooped old witch jabbed a gnarled finger at him. "Ah'll blow yer withered ol' bones over th' side o' th' mountain. We got a woman healin' in here, ye guileless git. Ef ye had walked in two moments earlier, ye would hae seen Aela en all her shame-"

"Grizel," Aela cried, feeling her face grow hot. Suddenly the fur blanket tied around her did not seem nearly enough cover. She grabbed more blankets and piled them about her, until she was little more than two eyes peeking out of a coccoon of furs.

Maol-Manos held up his hands in a warding gesture. "Ah - Ah apologize," he said, chastened. "Ah - look, Ah jest need tae speak tae her. Grizel, th' folk, they need tae ken what es happenin'. Ye say th' Bogge-King es dead, but-"

"He es," Grizel snapped irritably, while at the same time Aela said joyfully, "Es he?"

Maol-Manos lowered his hands, and looked back and forth between the two of them. "Ah think," he said, his tone now commanding, "Ye had better tell me o' what happened. Ah heard some from yer Queensman, already. But Ah had better understand."

Grizel growled at this. "Ye dinnae hae tae speak o' et if ye dinnae wantae, child," she snapped as Maol-Manos strode forward. "Ah'll skelp hes noggin ef ye want him tae leave."

"Nae," Aela said, as Maol-Manos sat cross-legged on the floor next to her, groaning as he pulled his old bones into place. "Ah...Ah can speak o' et. A bit."

Maol-Manos smiled gently at her, as Grizel grumbled in disapproval. "Ah haftae say, Ah were surprised when Ah first found ye had left. Et were some time before we even knew ye had gone." He glanced at Grizel, his scarred face wrinkling in a frown of disapproval. "An' yet more time sitll, afore we knew what ye had left tae do. Many o' yer folk wanted tae chase after ye. 'Twas nae small thing tae convince them nae to go." He patted her hand. "Jest tell me what ye can."

And so, haltingly, Aela began to speak. There was much, she realized, she needed to leave out. It seemed so long ago, but she had promised Martimeos not to tell anyone of Hadley's identity. And so there were questions Maol-Manos had that she could not answer - how had they avoided the bogge-men? She could only shake her head, but while the Chief frowned, he did not seem interested in pushing her on it just now. She told him of journeying through the Killing Grounds with Mors; of speaking to the ogres, and then going down beneath the ground to find the Dolmecs. And then finally, into the Land of Dim to confront the Bogge-King.

But she did not get far with this part of the story. As she spoke, she began to stumble over her words. Her head throbbed and her breath seemed to run short. A wave of memories seemed to crash over her and still her tongue. Torc was dead; her older brother was dead. And no matter how angry, how shocked, how horrified she had been at him before he died, it did not change the lifetime of memories she had of him. Of Torc, showing her how to shoot a bow; teaching her how to walk silently and stealthily. Torc, who had given her her first knife. Who had carried her upon his back when she was too tired to run, saving her from the bogge-men when they came for Ghostfoot clan. Torc, who she had teased when he first began growing a scraggly, patchy beard. No matter how hard she had tried to make herself hate him, it didn't change the memories of the way he had been. He's dead, and gone forever.

"Oh Ancestors," she sobbed, her face suddenly wet with tears, "Torc were kilt, an' th' last thing Ah ever tol' him was that Ah hated him. Ah thought Ah was supposed tae be th' one tae die. Ye tol' me Ah was."

Grizel came to her side with more of the bitter tea, whispering for her to drink, as Aela's breath grew ragged again. But the Chief glared at the old witch. "Ye knew she was goin' tae die, an' still ye sent her on her way?" Maol-Manos snapped.

"Ah didnae send her anywhere," Grizel spat back at the Chief. "She chose tae go o' her own accord. En fact, Ah tol' her nae tae go." But they both suspended their feud as the witch turned back to Aela, murumuring gently to the Crosscraw woman as she drank from the tea with violently shaking hands.

"Ye were very brave," Maol-Manos said quietly, as Aela slowly calmed once more. "Ah ken ye are nae tellin' me everythin', but Ah cannae imagine what ye must hae seen, facin' down a daemon such as tha'. Ah am jest glad Grizel were wrong."

"Were Ah naow," Grizel said cryptically, taking the empty cup from Aela's hands. "Well, we'll see." She sighed, setting the cup to the ground with a small clack, and tugged her bright shawl around her tightly.

Aela simply breathed, for a few moments, until the shaking in her hands had calmed. "Did...did ye know haow et would turn out?" she asked softly. "Did ye know that Torc would die en mah place?"

Grizel was quiet for a few moments. "Nae," she said finally. Her withered hands traced out a pattern along the head of her gnarled cane. "Ah didnae mean tae send yer brother after ye, ye ken," she continued. "He - he were th' first tae find ye goan. Clever man didnae fail tae notice ye had disappeared along wit' th' lowlanders and guess tha' Ah might know somethin' about et. Ah tol' him what Ah did because Ah thought he might bring ye back, ef he found ye. An because...Ah had nae ever seen a man as desperate as he were."

Maol-Manos sighed as he sat back, closing his cloudy eyes, running a withered hand through his long, white beard. "Ah'm...glad, Ah suppose," he said finally, "That he were able tae do somethin' good at th' end o' his life. But still. Nae one has been able tae tell me fer certain tha' th' Bogge-King es dead."

"He es!" Grizel cried, throwing up her hands. "Dead an' dust! Ah ken et!"

"Did ye see him die?" Maol-Manos retorted irritably. "Ah dinnae want tae cause a ruckus bah declarin' et unless Ah am certain-"

He was interrupted by a bustling at the doorway. Into Grizel's chambers walked Kells; in shining breastplate and with icicles dripping from the brim of his kettle-helm. His boots were encrusted thick with ice and snow, and he wore a fur cloak about his shoulders. Bloody, bandaged hands gripped the white-lacquered shaft of his halberd. He looked very, very tired. Dark circles lined his hard, gray eyes, and he wore a grim frown. Trailing behind him were a gaggle of Crosscraw women in thick hides, similarly snow-dusted. Many of them were casting sly looks at the soldier; Aela recognized some of them as the women who were fond of pinching Kells, when last he had walked Dun Cairn.

"Ah see th' lot o' ye are finally back," the Chief drawled sardonically as he regarded Kells and the women who followed him. "Though Ah could hae sworn Ah didnae approve o' yer scoutin' party en th' first place." He glared, in particular, at Kells. "Did ye fools manage tae find anythin' en th' storm?"

"Tha's jest et, Chief," one of the Crosscraw woman replied, shaking the snow out of her hair. Grizel looked at the ice dusting her floor and muttered something about skinning her alive. "We didnae find...anythin'. Anythin' at all. Nae sign o' a single bogge-man, ye ken? The crags are...very quiet."

"Safe enough to travel in numbers, at least. Or so it appears." Kells tapped the shaft of his halberd against his helm to knock the icicles off it. His voice was flat and emotionless. "We'll not be staying long, I think. Time to pack up provisions. Then out once more to search for signs of Martimeos and Elyse."

"En this storm..? Maol-Manos groaned, his ancient limbs cracking, as he struggled to his feet. "Yer mad, Queensman."

"Weather's poor," Kell replied coolly, shrugging his pack from his shoulders, "But we can be careful enough. No reason not to look at all."

Maol-Manos stepped forward, glancing at the woman who followed Kells, and frowned. "Lad," he said, "Ye've barely slept since ye got back. Ye're nearly dead on yer feet. Ent nothin' ye'll find en th' snows. Take yer rest, an' -"

"Shut up," Kells said, flatly.

The room grew deathly quiet, except for the crackling of the fire.

Kells turned, and there was something hard and cold in him as he stared down Maol-Manos. Aela could have sworn the room grew colder as the soldier stepped forward, jabbing a bandaged finger at the Crosscraw chief. "They risked their lives to free your folk," he said, his eyes like chips of gray ice. "The least that might be done is that we look for them. Especially if it appears the crags are free." His voice grew pained as he gripped his halberd tightly. "I might have left them behind, but I'll not rest while I think they might be retrieved. If it is true that the Bogge-King is dead, they may live." He glanced back, to the Crosscraw women following him. "And there are those among your folk who feel the same."

Maol-Manos himself grew harder as Kells spoke; he stood up straighter, and in him Aela saw a glimpse of the warrior he had once been. The Chief opened his mouth to speak.

And then, the fire winked out.

Not just the fire in Grizel's fireplace. The torches in the hall winked out, as well, plunging everything into utter darkness. Shouts of panic, and screams; the ground seemed to be moving beneath them, the stone floor bubbling and rolling, for all the world as if it were made of water. Aela caught Grizel in her arms as the old witch tripped and fell; she was so very light.

A bast of arid heat hit them, like a wind blown across a baking desert. Something in the darkness rattled and rustled. The movements of the stone slowed, stopped. And then the fire burst into life once more.

There, in the middle of Grizel's chambers, slumbering peacefully and wrapped in furs, were Martimeos and Elyse. Flit nestled in the wizard's hair, and Cecil lay curled beside them.

Complete chaos broke out. Cries of astonishment, confusion; dozens of babbling voices. "You live," Kells cried, as the pair stirred and opened their eyes, looking about them, startled. The soldier's hand's shook, and he leaned against his halberd as something within him seemed to thaw. "What in the hells - how - well. That's good, then."

Martimeos seemed utterly confused as to where he was, looking about himself widly. Elyse, however, recovered more quickly. Maol-Manos and Kells shouted and covered their eyes as she rose from the furs and looked about her, hands on her hips, the witch completely uncaring about her nudity. "Well," she said, "I have to say, I was half expecting that we'd not be delivered properly - oof!"

The air was driven out of her as Aela rushed forward and swept the witch up in an embrace. "We thought th' two o' ye dead," she cried, beaming at Martimeos, who, wide-eyed at the small crowd surrounding him, was busily trying to wrap himself in as many blankets as possible. "What happened? What became o' ye an' th' Bogge-King?"

Martimeos stood, wincing, holding furs about him to cover his shame. Aela could not help but notice that he was covered in scrapes, and blood-covered bandages were wrapped around his midriff. "He's dead," the wizard replied. "Dead and gone. That's what became of him."

This elicited another series of shouts and and screams; the Crosscraw women whooped and cheered, pressing into the room. Some of them tried to embrace Kells, who still had his hands pressed firmly over his eyes, and shouted in panic when they were nearly dragged away. Maol-Manos sat in a corner with his face to the stone, shouting for clarification over his shoulder, and for Elyse to please get dressed.

It all ended when Grizel slammed her cane against the stone; the strike roared like a thunderclap. "Enough!" she cried into the ensuing stunned silence. She whirled to prod at Maol-Manos with her stick. "Ye hae yer answer, Chief," she spat. "Th' Bogge-King es dead. As I tol' ye. Ye - all o' ye, aside from Aela an' th' lowlanders - go. Go tell yer friends an' family et's over. Ye're free. Go, an get out o' mah chambers. GIT!"

It took some time, but eventually the room cleared out, under increasingly violent and dire threats from Grizel. The Crosscraw women went cheering down the halls, hollering triumph. Even Maol-Manos smiled and seemed more spry, still covering his eyes as he left as Elyse stoutly refused to put on her robes until they had had a wash, though she was convinced to at least wrap herself in a blanket for Kells' sake.

Soon enough it was only the four of them left, along with Grizel. Aela could barely contain her joy; she kept hugging Martimeos until he irritably snapped at her to stop, and then Elyse until the witch threatened to put a knife in her ribs. But beneath it all she could tell; everyone was glad to see the others alive. Even Kells seemed so much more relaxed than he had been mere moments before. So relaxed, in fact, that he seemed on the verge of falling asleep on his feet.

Grizel went to work immediately on Martim's wounds, and as the old witch worked her Art, they recounted their story to her, sitting in a circle on her floor. Aela listened raptly as Martimeos told of what had happened as he had been chased by the Bogge-King, and Elyse of the deal she had made with the Dolmecs after; the safe return of Martimeos and herself in return for the blade and the hammer.

"I am sorry, Grizel," Martimeos said, after he had finished his telling, "But I am afraid Mors died with the Bogge-King."

Grizel, who had been busily pounding together a mash of herbs in a mortar and pestle as she smeared the resulting salve onto Martim's back, paused. "Aye," she said softly. "Ah knew. He were too far away fer me tae feel his death, but - I knew." The old witch shook her head ruefully, with a heavy sigh. "Th' sour ol' fool finally met somethin' that were his match."

Elyse looked up from where she sat, furs draped around her, Cecil purring in her lap. "You do not seem very upset."

"Do Ah nae?" Grizel shook her head, her long, silver hair falling about her shoulders as she did so. "Perhaps ef Ah were younger, Ah would be. But th' older ye get, lassie, th' less death seems like such a terrible thing. Ah dinnae hae much longer left mahself, en this world. Ah'll see Mors again, soon enough." She gave a grim cackle. "En a way, et's nae so bad. We always thought Ah'd die well before he did, an' then Ah'd haftae wait fer him fer a long time. Naow Ah ken neither of us will be waitin' long at all." Still, despite her words, Grizel seemed very frail, and very tired.

"You had best stay around long enough to keep up your end of the bargain," Elyse told her. "Martimeos and I hunger for your knowledge of the Art."

"Ye'll get yer tutelage," Grizel said irritably, and Martimeos yelped as she slapped salve onto his wounds very hard. "Dinnae worry about tha'." The old witch softened as she looked at them all, and gave them a sharp grin. "But save tha' fer later. Ye hae all done very well, en killin' th' Bogge-King. Ah think, fer naow, ye deserve a little rest."

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

In honor of the lowlanders that had saved them, and in simple celebration of the end of the Bogge-King and his servants haunting the crags, Maol-Manos declared that with what food and wine they could manage, they would have a feast.

The reaction of the Crosscraw to their liberation was...strange.

Martimeos had expected jubilation, much as there had been in Twin Lamps, and there was some of that, it was true. The halls of Dun Cairn filled with laughter, wild whoops and cheers as the news spread; Crosscraw women stampeded down the stairwells and crowded around Grizel's chambers, wanting to catch glimpses of the lowlanders, until the old witch threatened to light them all on fire if they didn't leave. And she actually did have to light some of them on fire, invoking the Art to catch their hides and the tips of their long hair aflame, before they finally left. And it took an official proclamation from Maol-Manos that no more than three of the Crosscraw could approach them at any one time before they could move through the halls without being mobbed.

And with the open sky available to them once more, many of the livelier Crosscraw spent their days in the fresh air, out for the hunt; even though blizzards and snowstorms slowed their efforts, and game was still scarce. Meat poured into the halls with so many hunters at their task; rabbits, deer, wolves, even a bear that had been dragged out of its cave. While the Crosscraw might have been freed, it was probably a poor time to be an animal on the mountains.

But while there were the lively, the huntresses, there were still the many Crosscraw that had been driven into a numb stupor by the circumstances the bogge-men had put them in. And these ones simply...did not react to the news that they were now free. At all. And still others burst into tears and wept bitterly, once hearing the news. This puzzled Martimeos the most of all. Until he considered what it must have been like to live in such constant fear. Once the fear was gone, what was left, other than the knowledge of everything that was lost?

Days seemed to pass in a whirlwind as they prepared for the feast.

Although really, little preparation was done on their part, Martimeos thought. They were given a reprieve after their long ordeal; hot baths and wine were theirs even before the feast arrived. Elyse, in fact, spent so much time in the baths it began to seem as if she were living there. He did not think he once saw her without her hair wet and smelling of flowers. Oddly, he thought, it seemed a bit as if the witch were trying to avoid him. When she was not in the baths, she spent much of her time wandering the halls of Dun Cairn, Cecil at her side. He could have sworn that the few times he had run into her, she had all but fled from him, calling after Kells or Aela. This puzzled him, but he did not dwell on it.

Aela was constantly surrounded by her folk; children and adult alike seemed overjoyed to see her, and utterly unable to leave her alone. Though, he noticed, when she could, she would slip away to be by herself, or at times, with Elyse, or Kells. The woman's easy smiles and bright demeanour that she had once held around her folk seemed to be gone, now. She spent much more of her time in silence, staring off dim-eyed, even while her people smiled and laughed around her.

Kells seemed to be the target of renewed attention from the Crosscraw women, who hounded him mercilessly. Whatever hesitation they might have had about him being a Queensman seemed to have vanished entirely, now that he was one of the heroic lowlanders that had saved their people. The only place he could escape their flirtations and advances was when he retreated to Grizel's chambers; he had to take to bathing late at night, when nobody else was awake.

Martimeos did not mind this, though. He spent much of his time in Grizel's chambers himself, under the witch's healings, and it was good to have someone else there to distract him from his thoughts. The memory that weighed heavily on his mind. Hadley, walking into scouring sand and dust, disappearing forever.

And so it was that the day of the feast came, and the smell of roasting meat filled the Great Hall of Dun Cairn, where gigantic statues of the Crosscraw's ancestors looked down upon the remnants of their people, as they ate and drank almost desperately. And Martimeos joined in with them, getting lost in his wine. After all, why not let it warm his blood and lift his spirits? Wasn't there much to celebrate?

Long stone tables full of the bounty of recent hunts, goblets full of rich, dark wine. Martimeos, Kells, Elyse and Aela had a place of honor, but barely were they able to talk amonst themselves for the Crosscraw who crowded around them, asking htem questions that they could not answer. Martim had begged Maol-Manos not to draw further attention to them - indeed, he did not feel comfortable wiith claiming he had killed the Bogge-King at all; it was Mors who had given his life to do so. But nothing could sate the curiousity of these folk, and really, could they be blamed?

They found themselves dragged apart with barely time to eat their meal; dragged off to dance and revel around the great bonfires the Crosscraw had erected in the hall. And full of wine, Martimeos sang for them; he let himself forget his thoughts and sang laughing tunes of love and mischief. He linked arms with the Crosscraw women and danced with them, though he noticed that they were far less forward with him than they were with Kells. More than one whispered to him that they thought him a fine dancer, but they didn't want to earn the ire of the dark witch.

So full of drink was he that he only just barely noticed, as he twirled through the Crosscraw, that one of them approached him with a knife in her hands.

At the last possible moment he fell to the side, as a small, short-haired Crosscraw woman lunged for his neck with the knife, only avoiding having his throat cut by mere inches. He tumbled to the floor as the woman was swarmed by other Crosscraw, all shouting alarm and panic. He recognized her, he realized, as she glared murderous hatred at him. This was Sile, Torc's wife, who had begged for her husband's life when Martimeos had dueled him; her stomach round and heavy with child. "Ye had tae kill him," she screamed at Martimeos, as she was dragged away. "Ye had tae kill him, didn't ye?! Who will raise my child now?! Who, wizard?!"

He watched her from his place on the floor, watched her disappear behind a wall of Crosscraw restraining her. Don't think about it. He was helped up; more wine was pushed into his hands. It will be alright. She's thick in grief right now. It will be alright. He downed the wine, and asked for more. 'Tis a joyous day. You have much cause to celebrate. Be merry. He looked around; drunken faces surrounded him, smiling and laughing. So rowdy was the celebration that the assault had not even garnered much attention beyond the Crosscraw that stood nearby; revelry and laughter still rang throughout the hall. Just a little bit of misery quickly forgotten. And why not? His hands shook, and a sour taste filled his mouth.

"I think I am going to go for a walk," he muttered, pushing his way through the crowd, fumbling for his pipe and tobacco.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

Elyse crossed her arms, scowling, as she was lifted up onto the shoulders of a Crosscraw woman that seemed nearly twice her height, as a rowdy cheery echoed through the Great Hall.

It was not only Aela, it seemed, who found her...adorable. The Crosscraw women in general seemed to have been convinced that she was a mighty warrior, now that she had helped fell the Bogge-King. And it seemed that the idea of something as small as her being such a great warrior drove them absolutely out of their minds. Whatever they found so appealing about it was completely mystifying to Elyse, but they simply could not stop themselves from wanting to pick her up. Perhaps they think that if they are able to lift a great warrior, that makes them a great warrior themselves. Or maybe they're just insane.

At least being up here gave her a good view. She cast her eyes across the Great Hall. Drunken Crosscraw stumbled about in throngs everywhere. She could see Kells, dancing with some of them, though the soldier seemed to be unsuccesfully trying to persuade them that no, he was not hot, and he should probably keep his shirt on. Aela seemed deep in her cups, rowdily sloshing wine down her front as she drank like she was trying to forget something. And Martimeos -

She spotted Martimeos leaving the Great Hall, smoke trailing behind him as he puffed on his pipe.

"Put me down," she snapped at the woman on whose shoulder she rode. "Down, I say, or I'll boil your head!" When she was finally put down on the floor, she scurried away before she could be snatched up again.

Elyse trailed after Martimeos, following the smell of pipesmoke through the torchlit halls of Dun Cairn.

She pushed her way through a gaggle of drunken revelers on a narrow stone staircase. These girls seem awfully young to be so drunk on wine, she thought, as she passed them. They do not even have any of their curves about them yet. When one of them tried to stop her, greeting her as one of the heroes of the Crosscraw people, she glared so fiercely that the whole lot of them ran off giggling, yelling something about the 'Curse of the Dark Witch.'

"Good," she muttered to herself as she continued on. "Perhaps if they think there is a curse less of them will bother me with their hero nonsense." But then she softened. Think of all they have been through. Let them have their revelry, at least for a night.

The smell of pipesmoke trailed out until she was met with cold air; out into the large plaza that served as an entrance into Dun Cairn, into the cold night and black, starlit skies. Crosscraw were out here, as well, even in the cold. Most of them young women, they gathered around bonfires lit on the plaza, and seemed to be playing a drinking game involving who could build the most obscene-looking snowmen. Wine stained the snow, and Elyse marched by grotesquely curvaceous snow sculptures as laughter rang out around her.

She could see Martimeos, on the other end of the plaza, the wizard a dark shadow as his black-furred cloak flapped out behind him as he walked. A few of the young women tried to ply him with wine, and groaned in disappointment when he snatched a cup from their hands, downed it, and tossed it over his shoulder, all while not slowing in his stride. Where is he going? Elyse wondered, as he stepped onto the trail leading away from the plaza, down the slopes of the mountains, into the sea of pines below.

The young Crosscraw women tried to offer Elyse some wine, as well, and one of them whispered something almost obscenely flirtatious to her, but she waved them off idly. There was something she wished to talk with Maritm about, and she wished to have her wits about her when she did so.

Down the trail she went, her path lit by moonlight, though to her annoyance Martimeos seemed to have vanished into the shadows. Down, and down, until the sounds of revelry faded away far above, and she found her path lined by snowcapped pine trees. She began to wonder whether she had somehow accidentally passed the wizard by. Where was he?

"Elyse."

She yelped, and jumped backwards, as Martim's voice came from the trees somewhere to her right. There, the wizard stood, though he was little more than a shadow; only his eyes reflected the orange glow of his pipe. "What - what do you think you do by startling me?" she snapped, as he stepped out into the moonlight.

Somewhat to her relief, the wizard laughed. He had been so quiet and brooding, the few times she had seen him over these past few days. It was good to see that the wine had put some of his mischievous spirit back into him. "Well," he said, giving her a wink, "I had noticed you were following me. I merely decided to showcase the skill in glamour you have gifted me. You should take pride in your tutelage."

"Hmmph," she snorted. "Perhaps I ought to return the favor. Watch as I demonstrate what you have taught me, by setting your cloak on fire. Take pride, wizard." She raised her hand to point towards him.

Martim merely chuckled, and then knocked her hat off with an idly tossed snowball. "So why is it you have followed me, witch?" he asked, as she glared at him and dusted snow off her hat. "I was rather beginning to think you were avoiding me."

"I - I should ask you, instead, why you have come out here," she said hastily. "'Tis a cold night to be out for such a stroll."

Martimeos shrugged, tapping the cloak about his shoulders, and tugging at his scarf. "I have my ways of keeping warm. I just wanted some silence. And to look at the stars. I prefer the open sky."

She turned, to gaze with him, out into the night. They remained there for some time, in silence, appreciating the vast, twinkling darkness that stretched out before them; the brightness of the full moon illuminating the vast sea of pines that seemed to stretch on forever below them.

"Martimeos," she asked, after a long moment, "What do you plan to do now?"

Martim shrugged as she turned towards him. "I thought I might go back and have some more wine. Place some bets on which of the Crosscraw is going to drag Kells to her bed."

Elyse shook her head. "No, I mean - after all this. Where do you plan to go?"

Martimeos became more somber; the small grin on his face faded into a look of seriousness. "Ah," he said, fiddling with a lock of his long, shaggy hair. "Well. I will probably remain here, until the snows clear, at least. Travel out is painful and dangerous while the blizzards may strike, or so I understand. Learn what I can from Grizel. Perhaps, even, try to find my way back to the ruins of the locust-men. There is much there I still have questions about. After that..." A sadness entered the wizard's voice, and his eyes became downcast. Elyse wondered if his previous cheer had simply been a facade. "After that, I will go into Witch-Queen's lands. I know my brother went there, at least. Perhaps I can pick up his trail once more." He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Will you still follow?"

"Of course," Elyse answered quietly. She tried to give a light-hearted laugh. "You have bought me to such interesting places, wizard. Why would I not?"

Martimeos gave her a small smile. "Good. I am glad to have you by my side." He fell silent. He did not, she noticed, ask why she would follow.

Elyse hesitated for a moment, and then stepped closer to the wizard. He was looking up at the stars once more, the small wind playing with his hair. "Martimeos," she said, slowly, cautiously, "I...met a man."

Martim turned to her, frowning, puzzled. "Oh?"

"Yes." She paused, fiddling with the tatters of her robe for a moment. "Back...in the cellar of Hadley's blacksmith, there was a mirror. The man appeared in it, as I chased after you. He was a wizard." She paused. "A wizard that looked very much like you. Except that he had antlers, like a stag."

Martimeos turned his head slowly to stare at her. He didn't say a word.

"He said," Elyse continued, "His name was Amalciano."

She gasped, as suddenly Martimeos rushed forward, taking her hands in his. The wizard's dark green eyes bored into her, the excitement and desperation on his face clearly illuminated by the moonlight. "What else did he say? Did he - did he look alright? Was he injured - was - did he -" Martimeos breathed, calming himself, closing his eyes. "That," he said slowly, as he opened them once more, "Was my brother."

"Yes," Elyse replied softly, "I wondered if he might be." She bit her lip as she looked into his eyes. He tortured me, wizard. He broke into my mind as easily as you might break a piece of fine glass, and rooted through my thoughts and memories. He cursed me with such pain that I wanted to die. But Martimeos looked so excited, almost frantic, to learn that his brother was alive. It has only been a few days since he had to kill an old friend of his, she thought. Perhaps I should wait a bit longer, to tell him of the things his brother did to me. I will have time, before he sets out once more. "I...I did not hear much more from him, before I continued my pursuit of you," she finished weakly. "I am sorry. I thought you might be in danger."

Martimeos growled in frustration. "If only we had a way back there." But then he looked at her, and before she knew it Elyse found herself wrapped up in his embrace, his arms tight around her. She could hear his heart pounding with excitement through his chest as he held her. "Thank you," he whispered fiercely in her ear. "Thank you. At least now I can be certain that he still lives."

Elyse lingered there for a moment, enjoying the hug perhaps a little too much. But after a while, she asked, "Martim, why did he have antlers?"

Martimeos pulled back from her, holding her at arm's length. He did nothing but stare at her. "Ah," he said quietly.

Elyse stared back at him, waiting for an answer, but he said nothing more. "Well, wizard? Answer the question. Why did your brother have antlers?"

Martimeos fiddled with the sleeve of her robe for a moment, his eyes downcast. Elyse frowned, and opened her mouth to snap at him, but before she could he raised her eyes to meet hers once more, and the utter seriousness in them caused her to slam her mouth shut. "What I tell you now," he mumured, "You must promise not to tell others. Keep it entirely to yourself. It can...cause problems, for me, in many places."

Frog's balls, he's actually going to tell me, Elyse thought. She had been prepared for some lie, from the wizard, but he seemed completely sincere. "Of - of course," she stammered. Why am I the one so nervous? He is the one speaking a secret.

Martimeos was silent for a moment longer, until Elyse began to squirm a bit beneath the intensity of his gaze. Finally, he sighed. "My brother has antlers," he said, "Because he is fae-blooded. As am I. Our mother was a fae."

Elyse had not expected this, but she could not say she was surprised, exactly. It made much sense; Martim's singing, his knowledge of the fae tongue. But she had thought that he had perhaps been one of the children stolen by the fae as a babe, and united again with his family later after some bargain with them. After all, there was something that did not make sense. "You do not look fae-blooded," she said. "I thought the fae had, well - funny looks about them." At Martim's skeptical glance, she blushed. "You know of what I speak! Antlers, like your brother. Or feathers for hair. Something like that. You look...normal."

"We are changelings by nature," Martim replied. "It is very easy for those of fae blood to hide, if they so wish."

Elyse squinted at the wizard. "I see. So this is not what you truly look like?"

"It is something what I truly look like," he said, a little testily. "Just missing some bits, is all."

He frowned as Elyse poked at his head. "So what is it, then? Do you have a beak for a nose? Antlers, like your brother?" She gasped. "Martim, do you have a tail? Will you show me?"

He slapped her hand away as she went in for another prod at his face. And then for a moment - just a moment - his eyes seemed to reflect the light of the moon much more brightly, like green beacons in the darkness, and - something about his hair changed. But it was gone, before she could clearly see what it was. "No," he said idly.

"Oh, do not hide it," she cried. For some reason, all of this was making her heart flutter in her chest. To think, I hold a fae in my arms. Well, half fae. She had only ever heard tales of the fae, and heard them singing in the far-off distance, once. Whimsical and tricksome, and...and capable of great, terrible cruelty. Stealers of babes. Leading folk into the woods, where they never returned. Fickle and prone to disappearing at a moment's notice. It seemed exciting, somehow, to know that she had a hold on one; like she had managed to catch a beautiful, jeweled dragonfly. "I thought your father was a cobbler. How is it such a tradesman came to marry a fae? And don't the fae all have strange names?"

"It is quite the story, how my father met my mother," Martimeos replied, interrupting her before she could ask more questions. "And yes. I do have a fae part of my name. But you must let me keep some of my secrets. After all, you still keep yours."

Elyse felt a pang of guilt run through her heart as Martimeos gazed steadily at her. It was true, after all. She did hide from Martimeos. The wizard had trusted her enough to reveal this, and still she hid. But her secrets were so much worse, so much more -

No, she resolved. No. He told me what he is, so I will tell him what I am. And if he sends me away from his side for it, then...so be it.

She glanced up and down the trail that they stood on. The moonlight did not reveal anyone along the snowy path, but still she grabbed Martim's arm, and dragged him into the shadow of the pine trees that grew along it. "You are right," she told him, as the wizard looked at her curiously. "I do keep secrets from you. But fair is fair. You have told me yours, so...so I will tell you mine." She fidgeted a bit, as he stepped back and watched her expectantly. "Can you just...can you promise me something? If you send me away, can you still let me say goodbye to Kells, and Aela, and Flit."

Martim's eyes widened. "Elyse," he said gently, laying a hand alongside her cheek, "I doubt there is anything you can tell me that is going to make me send you away."

Maybe that was true, Elyse thought, considering what the wizard himself was. But best to be prepared for the worst of reactions. She held his hand to her face, and caught his eyes with her own. "And...know that I did not hide this out of malice. I do not always tell the truth, but..." She swallowed, looking down at the ground. "I do not lie when I say I care for you."

"Elyse..." Martim said. There was something in his voice that sent shivers down her spine.

"Turn around!" she snapped, not looking up from the snow. "Turn around, and do not turn back until I tell you."

Martim sighed, and she heard him walk away a few steps, boots crunching in the snow. She looked up. The wizard had his back turned towards her, his arms folded across his chest, looking up into the sky like he was watching the stars once more.

Elyse remained still for a moment. She remained very, very still. And then, summoning her courage, she whisked her wide-brimmed hat from her head, holding it fretfully in her hands for a moment, before hanging it from a branch. She fiddled with the dark ring she wore on her finger for a moment, and then plucked it off, placing it in her pocket. "You may look now," she whispered hoarsely, her heart hammering in her chest.

Martimeos turned. Elyse stood there, pale and beautiful, as she was before. But now, a pair of sharp, pointed horns rose above her long, night-dark hair, and the moonlight seemed to collect in her eyes until they gave off a dim, faint glow, a blue that seemed so dark that it should be impossible that it cast light. "You and I have something in common, wizard," she said, her voice trembling. "For my father was a daemon."

Elyse's heart beat so fast in her chest, as Martimeos approached her, that she thought it might break straight out of her ribs. The wizard paused as he stood before her, his face unreadable, hidden in shadow. She watched, sweat dripping down her forehead, as he slowly reached out.

And then he tapped on one of her horns with a finger, and frowned. "It does not seem to be bone," he muttered, scratching his chin. "What is it made of?"

"Wh-Martimeos," she snapped, shoving him. "That is all you have to say?"

"I have other things to say," he replied defensively. He looked her up and down, as if considering something, then glanced at her hands. "Was it the ring you wore, that hid this?"

"Yes," she replied. "Though it does not always work. It can get too hot to wear when....well. Suffice to say, I must be careful with it." She winced as Martimeos reached out once more to tug at her horn between two pinched fingers, and slapped his hand away. "Stop that!"

"I wondered why you never took it off." He drew his hand back and became silent, more serious. "There are - many different daemons, of many different natures. What was your father like...?"

Elyse looked away from Martim, not meeting his eyes. "I do not know. I did not lie when I said I had never met him," she said softly, cursing herself inwardly as she did so. "'Twas my mother that raised me, since I was a babe. And she spoke very little of him. I know not much at all of what I share my blood with." She glanced up as she suddenly found her hands enclosed in his.

"And you thought," Martimeos said, drawing her near to him, "That I would send you away because of this? It would be terribly hypocritical of me. It is not as if the fae have reputations all that much better than daemons. There are even some who say the fae are daemons." He chuckled softly, as if he found this very funny indeed. "Did you think I would not be able to look past your father, to see the fine companion who has been by my side?"

"I did. Is that so foolish?" she asked, as the wind blew and wrapped his cloak around her. "Look at what daemons have wrought upon these mountains. Was it so strange of me to fear what others might think if they found I shared their blood?" They are liars, and predators, and killers, Martim, she thought to herself mournfully. That is what is in my blood. "I thought you might send me away, or that you might expose me, or that you might not..." She trailed off, unwilling to finish.

And then she gave a muffled gasp as Martim's lips fell upon hers. She closed her eyes as thought fled from her. "That I might not care for you, as I have come to?" the wizard murmured to her, his forehead against hers, once he broke the kiss. "You need not fear that. I do not care what blood runs in your veins. It does not change that."

You should, you fool! part of Elyse's mind screamed as she gasped for breath. It is that very blood which entices you, I am certain of it! I cannot do this. I must stop this. If I truly care for him, I cannot let this go on. It will only hurt him if it goes too far.

"These mountains have been cold for me, in more ways than one," Martim continued, his voice a whisper that sent shivers through her, his body pressed close to hers. "Would you come to my bed, tonight? I could use your warmth."

And then another part of her awakened, a flame in her blood that roared with incredible desire and a need to burn. YES. YES. YES. MINE. MINE. MINE.

With a cry she leapt forward and hungrily kissed him back. Her thoughts were drowned in dark flames. She could not even really say she was aware of the kiss, or the world at all. Only the feeling of being satiated; of a great need she didn't even know she had finally fulfilled, like drinking water after months in a barren desert. And how much more she needed, enough to set her skin on fire, an ache that felt as if it might swallow her whole.

I have to think. She struggled against this tide of desire, trying to reclaim her mind. Some scrap of her clung to her senses. She became aware of the world beyond the desire that was devouring her mind. She drew back from the kiss, dimly realizing that Martim's hands were beneath her robes, sliding across her bare skin, while she fumbled at his belt.

You have to stop. You are going to hurt him.

"Wait," she gasped, "Wait. I cannot. We cannot." With a great struggle, she pulled herself back from him. She almost felt her skin scream as his hands left it, like cracked, dry earth given a taste of water, only to be denied.

His hands lingered in hers. "We do not have to do anything you do not wish," he told her softly, his voice barely louder than the winds whispering through the pines. "We can simply lie together, if you desire."

Unable to stop herself, she took a shaking, unsteady step towards him, before crying out and pushing his hands away from hers. Do not lie to yourself. If you lie next to him now, you will not be able to stop. "Do not tempt me further," she pleaded. "I beg of you." She could not stand it. Even just his gaze on her was driving her mad. "Leave me," she whispered, retreating into the shadows, until nothing but the dim glow of her eyes remained. "Please."

Martimeos reached out towards her, but then let his hand drop. He looked stricken. "I...I did not mean to frighten you. I only want you to come to my bed if you wish it."

It is you who should be frightened of me. If you knew just how terribly I desired your bed, you would wall yourself behind stone to prevent me from climbing in it. "It is...you did nothing of the sort," she choked out, her voice strangled. "Just - leave me - leave, please, leave leave leave leave-"

Martimeos lingered for so long, staring into the shadows in which she hid, that she thought she was going to lose her mind. But eventually, he did leave, with a shake of the head, silently, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked up the trail. The poor man probably thinks me mad, Elyse thought, watching him go. If only it were so.

Once he was out of sight, she heaved a sigh of relief. She retrieved her hat, packed it full of snow, and placed it on her head, letting the cold water dribble down her face. She sat on the ground, in the cold blanket of white, and drew her knees to her chest. After a moment's hesitation, she shoveled snow down the front of her dress as well. She remained there, letting the cold seep into her bones, until the fire in her had been driven out by the chill, and she could put her ring back on.

I cannot let this go on, she thought bitterly. Why did I not just tell him that I would hurt him, should I lie with him...?

You know why, a sly little voice inside her said. Because you do not truly wish to scare him away from your arms. Because you pretend to fight, but you will give into temptation eventually. If you truly wished to avoid it, you could leave his side right now and never return. But all your struggles against your desire are false. An act. Might as well give in now. Go to him. Do you have any idea how good it will feel?

No! She shook her head in defiance of the voice. I should have been more careful. I cannot care for him so dearly. I should never have let him come to care for me so.

She would hurt him, she knew it. Because she was still lying to him, wasn't she? But how could she have made him understand?

How could she have told Martimeos that she had met her father? And that she loved him with all her heart, daemon or no?

How could she have told Martimeos that her father was the reason she had met him in the first place?

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

In her chambers, Grizel sighed, leaning heavily on her cane, as she hobbled slowly across the stone floor. The sounds of revelry from up above had not yet quite died away, but they were far quieter than they had been earlier in the night. Too auld fer all that nonsense, she thought. Ach, but truth told, even when Ah were young, Ah hated et. She blinked, for a moment, and then wiped away a tear from her eye. During times of drunken revelry like this, when she were younger, she had always snuck off into the forest to ride on Mors' back, joining her familiar as he strolled through the woods and all fled in fear of him. Ah, well. Ah dinnae hae much time left here, anyway. Ah'll join ye soon enough, Mors. Jest wait a lil' bit.

She tossed a batch of dried incense into her fireplace, inhaling deeply as the sweet-smelling fumes filled the room. With a groan, she doddered over to where the Sunhammer boy lay, still swaddled in his furs. His bruises had begun to fade, and his cuts to heal; he had even fattened up a bit so that he did not look like a walking corpse. But the poor lad had not said a word, and was still too weak to do much else than sleep; he could barely even walk on his own. She patted his red-gold hair as he frowned and whimpered in the midst of some nightmare. She could not imagine what the Bogge-King had done to him. His body, she thought, would heal, but his mind, well, that was another question. Ye had th' bad fortune tae be th' last o' th' daemon's victims, laddie. Ah'll do what Ah can fer ye.

She glanced up sharply as someone came stumbling drunkenly through her doorway. It was Aela. As annoyed as Grizel was to be disturbed, she was glad to see a smile on the woman's face, even if it was just the smile that wine had graced her with. "Aela," she grumbled, "What are ye doin' en mah chambers? Yer bed ent here, lass. Or did ye want tae sleep wit' th' lowlanders?"

"Grizel!" Aela cried, raising her hands to her cheeks to hide a scandalized blush. "Ah'd feel strange sleepin' wit' any o' em. Mebbe - mebbe wit' Kells, jest fer a bit o' fun-"

"Ah meant actually sleep, ye besotted ninny," Grizel snapped, chuckling nastily as Aela blushed even further. "They ent here, anyway. Still celebratin'. Fer why d'ye come?"

"Ah...Ah actually did come fer a bed," Aela replied. The smile faded from her face, and she looked weary. "Ah am done fer th' night, Ah think, an' Ah'm afraid ef Ah stay upstairs Ah'll be up fer hours more, drinkin'. An, Ah..." she shuffled her feet, looking down at the ground. "Ah did wantae say, thank ye."

"Thank me? What fer?" Grizel waved a knobbly hand idly as she turned back to the Sunhammer boy. "Take one o' th' rooms fer all Ah care - ack!" She cried out in alarm as she found Aela's arms wrapped around her from behind in an embrace. "Lemme go, ye idjit! Ancestor's bloody bones, ye stink o' wine!" She grasped her cane, and flailed wildly at the woman behind her. "I'll beat ye black and blue! Let go!"

"Ah'm sorry," Aela said, as she released her. Grizel turned to glare at the woman, and quieted her rage as she did so. Aela wore a crooked little smile, and her bright green eyes blinked back tears. I shouldn't forget all the poor lass has been through, Grizel thought to herself wearily. "Et's jest," Aela continued, wiping her eyes, "Ah ken th' lowlanders did much, but - ye helped tae cure me o' th' Bogge-King's curse, and we couldnae hae kilt him witout ye, an ye lost Mors, an -"

"Shut yer gob, girl. Ah did nawt but sit on mah arse."

"Nae ye didn't!" Aela twirled her hands in her long red hair, knotting it fretfully. A blissful smile returned to her face as her eyes grew foggy. "Naow, we can rebuild. We can take back all we lost. Et'll take time, but th' Crosscraw, we'll make it through."

Rebuild, Grizel thought mournfully. Oh, child, ye ent gonna like what comes next. "Aye, fer certain," she murmured. "Go on, get yerself tae bed afore ye pass out on mah floor. Ah'll shear ye bald ef ye do."

Aela yelped. "Ah'm goin!" she said, wide eyed, cluthing to her long tresses protectively. On unsteady legs, she staggered out of the room, through one of the darkened doorways that led to the many side rooms. She's stumbled intae mah herb room, Grizel thought to herself sullenly. Ef she fouls up mah plants, Ah really will take her hair.

With a sigh, Grizel left the Sunhammer boy's side, and made her way back to the fireplace. She sat before it, feeling her joints pop as she did so, and drew her colorful shawl around her. She breathed in the incense smoke pouring from the flames deeply, feeling her mind drift away on the eddying currents.

Truth be told, it all still seemed strange to her. She could scarcely believe that it was all over herself. For so long had the bogge-men and their dark King laid waste to the crags that she half expected to awake the next morning in a world where he was still there.

And to think that the daemon had been undone by ones so young. There had been a time when Grizel had considered confronting the daemon herself; after all, she might be old, but she was a witch of no small skill. But every Telling she had glimpsed had told her, with certainty, that she would have been killed if she fought the Bogge-King; killed, and then the rest of her folk would join her shortly after, deprived of her protection. She had been surprised, when first she had seen the visions she had of Martimeos. After all, the wizard seemed so...normal. Clever, certainly, and with many a secret, but normal.

Not like his brother.

Her mind drifted back to the day she had met Martim's brother upon the slopes. The man who had called himself The Black Stag. The wizard who had burnt away half of her familiar's face, and wrapped her up in the Art so easily, despite the fact that he had been barely full-grown. His laughing smile, as he had asked her for a Telling.

And what a strange Telling it had been. Her lips moved as she stared into the fire and drifted off to sleep, recounting the words she had told The Black Stag; what she had seen when she had tried to glimpse the path he walked.

"Dead but livin'," she murmured. "Outside but in. Ah cannae tell where ye end and where ye begin."

Before her, the fire crackled and popped, shooting up a flurry of sparks as the logs and branches within it collapsed. What remained looked strangely like two curling, charred stag horns, dripping with flame.