Unexpected Homecomings

[Julen]

The journey to Shim passed uneventfully. Which was just as well, since the prospect of finally being home again kept Julen so distracted that he might have bumped into a troll without noticing. No opportunity had arisen to send word ahead to Rosemary. But the fact that their arrival would be a surprise only made it more pleasurable to anticipate. Already, Julen could imagine her kneeling in the vegetable garden, so absorbed by pulling up weeds that she wouldn’t notice his approach until he stood behind her and spoke her name. Slowly, her head would lift. Julen swore to savor that moment, when light drove the shadows from her eyes and he saw her smile for the first time in so long. Then she’d leap into his arms, and hands smeared with dirt -- the dirt of his land, the dirt from which he’d borrowed his pouch full -- would cup his face between them as she kissed him.

He could show her the two weeks of wages that Railtus had already paid him. He could tell her that further wages would be earned, more than enough to keep the farm running. For the first time in over a year, he could promise her that everything was going to be alright, and actually mean it.

Still, as the road led them into Shim, even Julen’s daydreams couldn’t keep him from noticing that something odd seemed to be going on. The village streets could never be described as bustling. But usually there would be some sort of activity -- a pair of farmwives gossiping, a shop girl flirting with the delivery boy, children playing while their parents ran errands. Now, the only local that Julen noticed was a woman who scurried past them like she was evading a pack of wolves.

When Julen and Railtus reached Shim’s town square, the scene became even stranger. There were still no locals. Instead, Julen noticed a number of rough-looking men, armed and armored, who he’d never seen before. Not guards, he guessed. They were too ragged and motley for that. And the lack of any single uniform or emblem appeared to rule out soldiers. But whoever they were, they seemed to be making themselves at home. Gathered together in small groups, they drank, bragged, and played games of dice.

Mostly, the men ignored Julen and Railtus. But just before they exited the square, a stout man with an eye-patch and scraggily beard clapped a hand on Julen’s shoulder. “Hey,” he greeted, his words carried on puffs of alcohol-scented breath. “You here about that call for fighters?”

Apparently, Julen’s mute bewilderment was taken as assent, because the man continued. “Wish we could get started. I hate all this waitin’ around. Especially in a sorry excuse for a town like this one.” A wad of phlegm spit at the ground conveyed his opinion of Shim. “Still, some of the boys have made themselves pretty comfortable. You should have gotten here earlier. All the good places are taken by now.”

Incredulity finally forced words from Julen. “People are actually renting out rooms to you?”

“Renting?” More sour breath billowed from the man as he laughed. Shaking his head, he removed his hand from Julen’s shoulder and slapped him across the back. “Now, who said anything about renting? The people here are so goddamn happy to see us that they let us stay for free.”

Somehow, Julen doubted that ‘happy’ accurately described the emotional state of his neighbors. ‘Scared’ would be much more to the point. And a pretty young woman, left alone while her husband was away, would have more reason to be scared than most. “Rosemary,” Julen hissed, his earlier bliss now completely replaced by apprehension. His first instinct was to start running toward the farm. But ever since the confrontation with Railtus over being grabbed, Julen tried hard to remember he was not the one giving orders. So, instead, he turned toward his friend with an imploring look.

[Sir Karsimir]

Being feared was nothing new to Railtus. It was also nothing pleasant.

Watching the dismayed woman hurry by brought a sting of sympathy and sorrow, as if painfully conscious of the need for rightness in the world. A rightness he did mean to provide.

Chasing down the woman would only make things worse, and Railtus had long understood that forethought was a better means to do good, had always understood without being told. Knowing that it would only frighten her further, Railtus battled his personal desire to insist upon answers, a battle in which he prevailed.

Burly fellows bearing blades and armour partially explained why. Correction, surely explained why, if those echoes lashing against the thoughts of Railtus were any clue. At once, Shim was brightly lit by the crimson sun and under a haze of gloom from the many faint shadows overlapping within.

As much as Railtus sought value in being a warrior, he had to admit that the creed of the mercenary was to do harm for money. Commonly that attitude spread through their general lives, suddenly claiming privilidges by force was not such a leap. These men were likely his enemies.

Regardless of reason to smite this more friendly mercenary, other issues took priority. That hiss had not gone unnoticed. Some detatched portion of his brain marked the absurdity of the notion that Railtus would deny Julen from rushing to the defence of his wife.

Catching the gaze, he nodded.

"Lead the way, swiftly."

[Falcon Bertille]

After lugging a final bucket of water from the well, Rosemary poured it into her washtub. Then, placing her hands on her hips, she glanced around the front yard of the farmhouse. Even from here, she could see things that needed doing –- weeds poked up in the herb garden, the sheep pen gate sagged on its hinges, birds devoured the cherry tree’s ripe fruit before she could pick it. And she didn’t have time to accomplish any necessary chores, because she was busy playing maid to an unending procession of obnoxious thugs. Rosemary didn’t know who had put out a call for mercenaries, but right then, she could have cheerfully strangled them.

Rosemary sighed as she knelt and began to scrub the pants and shirt she’d been ordered to clean. So far, she’d been able to walk a very thin line. While mostly behaving in a demure manner, she offered the mercenaries just enough flirting to make them think they had some chance of winning her favor, and that whatever she gave willingly would be far more pleasurable than anything they could gain with rape. But it couldn’t last. The only reason she’d been able to pull it off for so long was because the lugs considered her to be such a prize that they kept fighting over her, so that a new one was always taking the place of the one who came before him. Unfortunately, this latest warrior -- she was sure he had a name, but she’d be damned if she did him the honor of remembering it -- seemed more than capable of fending off any rivals. And he was definitely showing signs of impatience.

“Hey! You better wash these, as well.”

Dismayed, Rosemary watched the man drop her best sheets onto the dirty ground. But she made no protest. Keeping her head bowed, she gathered up the linens, and added them to the washtub.

“I’m going into town,” the man continued, while Rosemary wished him all the way to hell. “If I find a willing piece of fun, I want a clean place to bed her.”

Hidden by the murky water, Rosemary’s hands curled into fists. It was bad enough that this man had driven her from her own bedroom, had laid claim to a place that belonged to her and her husband alone. But to think of him and some hussy defiling her marriage bed...the place where she and Julen had...on that first tender night, and then on so many others after it...it made Rosemary feel sick.

“Of course,” he continued, catching her wrist in his large hand, “you could save me a trip. What do you say, pretty Rosemary?”

There was nothing Rosemary wanted more than to sink her teeth into his hand until she drew blood. But that would be a fight she couldn’t hope to win. “My lord,” she murmured, knowing that such titles always flattered them, regardless of how little they deserved them. “What would you think of me if I gave in so easily? That wouldn’t make me a very worthy prize, would it? Surely a meal tastes sweeter if you have some time to anticipate it.”

Her words twisted his mouth into a lustful sneer. “Very well. But don’t tease my appetite for too much longer. A man can go for only so long before he needs to satisfy his hunger.” Slowly, making sure she understood how easily he could overpower her whenever he chose to, he relaxed his grip. “Your husband was a fool to leave such a tempting dish unguarded.”

“Indeed he was. Be sure that it’s a mistake he intends to rectify.”

Startled by the familiar voice, Rosemary jerked her head up. “Julen?!”

[Sir Karsimir]

Harsh rasps of a drawn sword mirrored the anger Railtus felt at the sight of a lady being mistreated like this. The seeming helplessness of this situation tore at him, as the lady seemed to be constantly trying to hold off worse treatment that she would be powerless to prevent if the brute made that final step.

Covering the blade with his shield, Railtus kept his weapon concealed, knowing that he would use it soon enough and had best have the weapon readied, but not wishing to alert his foe too soon.

Mildly bemused, he mentally constructed the logic behind the behaviour of the lecherous mercenary. It fell apart. So far, the lady was being forced into chores, bullied with demands, deprived of freedom and security within her own home. All while intending to win her favour? It all seemed like gross stupidity to Railtus.

By the echoes lapping at his mind like tear-formed waves, by the presence of taint before him, there was going to be a fight. Even if it was avoidable, he would not wish such a thing. If this one was not cornering Rosemary he would be doing it to somebody else.

Such evil cannot be suffered to live.

Combat now a foregone conclusion, Railtus began taking the measure of his opponent. Rough and unshaven, although that was not here nor there. Tall and somewhat burly, although the strength of his frame was less than his height. One glanced warned that this tall man had the reach of him, and the heavier blade. A round iron pot was worn on his head, and heavy bracers on both arms.

That sword was a work of art. Long bladed, with a fuller running to near half of the blade, reinforced with a diamond cross-section. A lengthy grip split into two pieces, each more than a handspan. The part nearest the guard was wrapped in dark leather, widening beyond the handspan to offer a more secure grip. The second half of the grip was made of silvery metal, and became more slender as it reached away from the thicker base. Capping the hilt was a fish-tail pommel, and the curved crossguard bore the same silvered finish.

Searching for other armour, a thick jack of cowhide was worn on the body.

Making careful note of all thse details, for combat was all about details, Railtus now caught up with the tall fighter's reaction to Julen's dramatic entrance. Seeing the lightly armoured Julen, the tall man laughed contemptuously. "Once I'm done with you, she'll have nothing to hold out for." grinned the mercenary, reaching for his own fine sword, showing the quality of the blade with the first few inches to emerge.

Posing was common before a fight. Still, it had the convenience of allowing Railtus a few clear moments of preparation. Seeking to catch Rosemary's eye, Railtus twitched his head to openly move his gaze from her to a space away from the mercenary, so that she knew to get well clear before battle was joined.

"Understand this." stated Railtus dreadfully, in a voice that could kick-start a new Ice Age. "I will not let you treat a lady this way. Ever. There is no use in threatening you, because you are going to die here. Your life is over and you shall never harm another."

That was a promise.

[Falcon Bertille]

Rosemary’s heart swelled with fury when the mercenary threatened to kill Julen. Her hand rose from the soapy water, and her body coiled tight, prepared to spring. If this man was going to fight her husband, he would do it after she’d clawed out at least one of his eyes. But then, Julen’s companion caught her gaze, and Rosemary realized that Julen already had a far more effective ally. As much as it reeked of cowardice to retreat from a battle that was being fought for her sake, she couldn’t provide any help. She might even be liability if the mercenary tried to use her as a shield. So, nodding to indicate that she understood, Rosemary began to creep away.

[Julen]

Seeing his wife at the mercy of such a monster nearly proved too much for Julen. Here, on the land that he’d given her as a gift of their union. The place of all places where she should have been safe. Rage and shame twisted in Julen’s gut like twin snakes -- rage at the man who dared to commit such a violation, and shame that it was his own absence which had permitted the violation to occur. Rage had already driven him to speak when silence might have allowed the tactical advantage of surprise. Now, shame nearly paralyzed him. He could only imagine what Rosemary might have suffered. How could he ever face her again, knowing that it was his fault?

Drop the self pity now. That is an order.

The memory of Railtus’s words struck Julen like a slap. And, for the first time, he understood them as something other than a lack of sympathy. They were a warning, just as Railtus would have warned him if he’d done something dangerous while handling a weapon. Sometimes giving into emotion wasn’t just an unwise lapse. Sometimes it was fatal. Pushing the rage and shame from his mind, Julen turned his focus onto everything he’d learned in the past week.

While Railtus delivered his chilling promise, Julen backed it up by readying his spear. As much as he wanted to deal the fatal blow, he knew that his role would be as more of a distraction, and the spear would allow him to do that while keeping him beyond the mercenary’s reach. Stepping sideways, Julen began to adjust his position so that it would be impossible for the mercenary to face both him and Railtus at the same time. A helmet ruled out the chance of any blows to the head. Similarly, the mercenary’s arms appeared well protected. Julen thought that his spearhead might possibly penetrate the jack, if he thrust hard enough, but such a strike would sacrifice speed for strength, and that wasn’t a trade Julen wanted to make. Not yet. So instead, he jabbed at the mercenary’s unprotected neck, fully prepared to give ground if the man decided to press a return attack. Actually causing a wound would be nice. But mostly, Julen just wanted to make the mercenary turn his back on Railtus -- a mistake which, he suspected, would be the man’s last.

[Sir Karsimir]

By the steady grip on the spear and the calm move into position, the skills taught to Julen immediately found their way into practice. This was good. Staying calm and remembering the right strokes was the greatest difficulty for first time fighters. If that opening maneuver was any indication, there would be little trouble on that front.

Even better, Rosemary was away from the danger, if reluctantly. That reluctance touched Railtus at heart, seeing how eager she was to defend her husband. A mere instant which won undoubting admiration from Railtus.

After a meaningful pause, the tall man bellowed out a laugh. "Hah! We have a hero here. Hear that! A hero." Somehow that word was said with contempt, as if not describing one of the highest compliments to ever be on offer.

By now, that blade had cleared the sheath.

Most shocking to new fighters was the sheer intensity of the violence, threatening to drown out technique amid the force of weapons. Many fighters entered battle reeling with mead and ale, offering their only talent of swinging giant blows which could kill an ox, but a sober man who knew the nine strokes would always beat such a man. Never was a warrior of renown known for needing drink to find the courage for battle.

Regrettably, this man was mostly sober, and skilled.

First strikes were launched, declaring that combat was begun through the mighty clash of blade on shield. Extending like a coiled spring, the mercenary thrust his sword from the shoulder directly at the face of Railtus, leaning with his height to add some weight to the sudden blow.

With his sword pointed downwards behind the shield, Railtus was expecting a high stroke, and so raised his shield to meet it. A low cut would have been parried with the sword. Sheer impact from the blow forced the shield back, the wooden corner striking Railtus in the forehead, opening a bloody gash which threatened to drip into his eyes.

The downwards pointing sword-tip slipped neatly under the shield to sink unchallenged into the leg of the taller fighter, piercing deep into the thigh and twisting in the wound all with one fluid motion. Faintly dizzied by the blow to his head, Railtus danced back, wrenching his blade clear as he did so. Blood sprayed upwards in a crimson jet, followed by oozing from the gaping hole torn in that limb.

In that instant, a second wound followed. The neck was a small target, difficult to hit on a moving foe, but the style of the helm lacked cheek, neck or ear pieces. A leaf-shaped spear blade ripped along the edge of the jaw, pouring blood from just below the ear. Following the momentum of the thrust, the spear blade continued past the now wounded head, reaching over the right shoulder.

Blood filling his ear, the mercenary lost his bearings briefly.

Briefly was a long time when outnumbered.

[Julen]

As the first blows were exchanged, Julen felt his heart begin to race, pounding inside his chest like the hoof-beats of a fleeing horse. This was not practice. This was real combat, full of messy surprises. And the first of those surprises came when the edge of Railtus’s shield got knocked back, striking Railtus in the forehead. The resulting gash didn’t appear to be a particularly severe wound. Still, it was the first time Julen had seen Railtus bleed. In some unacknowledged part of his mind, he’d assumed that Railtus couldn’t bleed, and this refutation came as an unpleasant shock.

The next surprise came when Railtus drove his blade into the mercenary’s thigh. Having slaughtered his fair share of animals, Julen was no stranger to blood and severed flesh. But when killing an animal, the execution was quick and neat, without any needless suffering. To see such an obviously painful wound inflicted on a man -- even a man who Julen dearly wanted to see dead -- still made him wince.

And the third surprise came when Julen’s own effort actually drew blood. For an instant, Julen almost lowered his weapon, awaiting feedback from Railtus. But this was not practice. There was no time for corrections, hints, or advice about what to do next. He’d just have to trust that he’d done alright so far, and keep going. When he’d made his thrust, Julen had been trying to pierce. But now, the scrape across the mercenary’s cheek reminded Julen of something Railtus had frequently mentioned -- that a spearhead could slash as well as jab. Yanking the spear back, but guiding it a little lower and a little more to the left as he did so, Julen attempted to pull the edge of the spearhead across the mercenary’s throat.

Then something truly unexpected happened. Unnoticed by the three men, Rosemary had dipped her bucket into the washtub. Now, careful to keep a safe distance from the melee, and also careful to choose an angle from which she wouldn’t risk blinding either Julen or Railtus, she hurled the soapy, dirty water into the mercenary’s face. “Do your own goddamn laundry!”

[Sir Karsimir]

At any other time, Railtus would have used the moment in which the mercenary recoiled from Julen's strike to force the defending blade aside and either shear through the waist with a sidelong hack or bury the point of his sword deep into the man's armpit and reach directly inside the ribcage.

Dazed as he was, he missed that chance to catch the mercenary off-guard, seeing the opening close as the longer blade was held ready. With a tentative step forward, Railtus prepared a hanging guard supported by his shield now behind the blade as if bracing it. The number of strikes which could not be viciously countered from that position where minimal.

With the half-raised sword-arm and shoulder of the mercenary serving to guide the spear level with the neck, the spear drew hard against parting flesh. Neck wounds are nasty, bearing a concentration of veins and arteries just waiting to be opened by a blade's edge. Blood fled from the wound freely, as if itself in fear of the damage done to it's housing body.

Indeed, the outpouring of blood resembled a full bucket or vat or large cauldren being tipped over onto the floor. Panicked, the taller fighter clamped a hand to his slashed neck, trying to stem the outwards flow of his escaping life.

In light of this, the shower of water which followed gained no reaction, although was something funny to watch. Most of the water merely drenched the head and shoulders of the mercenary, which would have infuriated him were his straights less dire.

Taking careful account of the wounds on his foe, Railtus noted that the sword was held in the right hand, with the left across the body to press against the wound on his neck, attempting to limit the blood running out through his fingers. That would make his left side weaker, limited in ability to bring the sword around for defence. More so, with the leg wound delivered earlier, since quickly turning to adjust his facing would be more difficult with a ruptured thigh.

Springing twice to the right, Railtus circled his foe, then thrust high towards the face. Parried. The longer blade came up to brush the stab harmlessly wide. Good. Rolling the wrist, Railtus bounced from the parry to chop shortly down onto the arm held across the body, cutting into where bicep met shoulder.

The arm flinched, needed muscles severed. The hand came away from his neck.

So the bleeding resumed in earnest.

Unable to retain the crimson fluid of life, the mercenary folded over, still gripping his sword as if it made any difference to him now.

A promise made, a promise kept.

"That's it, stay back. Let him die with no more risk to us." advised Railtus, allowing himself some safe distance to watch his foe bleed to death. While he did, he turned his gaze towards Rosemary, worried for what harm may have come to her in the time before she was found.

Now, the heat of battle seemed very cold.

[Julen]

Numerous emotions filled Julen as he lowered his spear and backed away from the fallen mercenary. The man deserved to die. Whatever harm he’d done to Rosemary was now avenged, and no other woman would ever have to suffer at his hands as she had. And yet, to stand there and watch it happen, without an act of aid offered or word of comfort spoken, appalled Julen’s gentle nature. He knew Railtus was right. It would be ridiculous to put themselves at risk to perform some futile gesture. And Julen certainly couldn’t think of anything kind or reassuring to say. But witnessing such a thing still stirred a deep sense of unease. Julen didn’t know which was worse -- that the sight of his dying foe sickened him, or that he also took a certain grim satisfaction in it.

However, other concerns quickly tore Julen from his brooding. Emitting a wordless cry, Rosemary ran toward him, and Julen barely had time to drop his spear before enfolding her in his arms. Gods! He could feel her trembling. Or maybe he was the one trembling, or maybe they both were. Temporarily unable to speak, Julen buried his face in her hair, and inhaled the scent of her, familiar as wildflowers, calming as herbal tea. Home. After four months, he was finally home.

At last, Julen regained his voice, and gently cupped Rosemary’s face in his hands. “If you’re at all hurt, Railtus can heal you. Did he hurt you? Did he--?” Julen couldn’t bring himself to say it. But he hoped she could see the compassion in his eyes, and know that if the mercenary had, Julen wouldn’t accuse her, or blame her, or consider her spoiled, or dirtied, or anything except the victim of a horrible crime.

To his immense relief, Rosemary shook her head. “No. He grabbed me. And he boasted about what he could do. But I tricked him. I said flattering things…said he was so much more of a man than my husband, and that my husband could never satisfy me in bed…things to make him think had a chance if he waited. None of it was true!” Again, Rosemary collapsed back against Julen. “I’d never -- never with anyone but you.”

“Shh,” Julen comforted. “I know.” Holding her tightly, he swiveled his body, slowly rocking her from side to side. “I’m so sorry. I should have been here.”

“You foolish man!” Rosemary’s head jerked up, and Julen couldn’t help smiling at the return of her customary spirit. “It’s an act of grace that you weren’t. You would have tried to defend me, and they would have cut you down as if you were nothing more than a stray dog. I was so afraid that you’d find out, and come charging back here with a heart full of fire, and get yourself killed. But you had the sense to bring help.”

For the first time, Rosemary seemed to remember Railtus. Still not quite willing to leave the safety of Julen’s embrace, she turned toward the knight, and curtsied as much as the arms wrapped around her body allowed. “Good sir?” she ventured. “I thank you. Both for the timely rescue and for bringing my husband safely home to me.”

[Sir Karsimir]

Warmed to the heart, Railtus saluted by lifting his bloodstained blade high to touch the pommel against his forehead. "Pleased to be of service, lady." he answered politely and humbly, himself thankful for her acceptance of his deed for what it was. Beforehand, he had expected worse upon meeting Rosemary, as if the blood-tie shared with Phelan would count against him.

Seeing the two together after so long was a welcome sight, as though the journey was more than worthwhile. Ordinarily, he would not tolerate dropping a spear in such a manner, but decided to make an exception in this case. Stepping back so as not to intrude on the couple, Railtus cleaned his sword on the grass before busying himself with other matters.

Looting.

Devoid of any reluctance over handling a corpse, and a violently slain one at that, Railtus began divesting the body of valuables, organising them into neat piles arranged by some system yet undeclared to the world. Iron bracers were first, stripped away to begin the first pile. The iron helm started another. Dragging clear the bloodied leather jack from the body, that joined the second pile. Boots also, second pile. Then the sword belt was unbuckled and pulled free from the corpse, along with the sword, both of these went into the first pile.

Examining the hands and neck, Railtus found a few rings and an amulet, deciding to leave them on the body for the moment rather than risk losing them amid the grass. Now making good use of Mavelle's handkerchief, Railtus lay it flat on the floor to bear the captured jewelry.

Soiled with lifeblood were the clothes someone had just died in. Linen. That was good. Railtus liked linen. These would be useful. Best to take them soon after, and put them to life-saving use.

Picking up the iron bracers, Railtus turned his gaze to his current leather vambraces, then up to Julen, with his arms still wrapped around Rosemary. Good angle. Shifting his gaze back and forth between his own vambraces and Julen's forearms, he began mentally measuring. Too big. Good. More to work with.

With that, he removed his own leather vambraces, which came to rest in pile two, then donned the iron bracers. Better armour was always welcome. In fact, it was an achievement. A full set of steel armour was a major step towards knighthood.

Finally the sword. A good sword. A longsword. The favoured weapon of Railtus. This was a fine blade that he looked forward to claiming as his own.

Resting the flat of the blade against his knee, Railtus slammed down his shield on the center, snapping the weapon.

A fine sword indeed.

[Julen]

When Railtus saluted her by raising his sword, Rosemary acknowledged the gallant gesture with a pretty smile and nod of her head. But it was hard to keep her attention focused on anything except her husband. Twisting back around to face Julen, while still refusing to leave the protective circle of his arms, she took note of his new appearance. “And look at you, all dressed in armor and carrying weapons like some soldier returning home from war. What happened to you while you were in Marn?”

“It’s a long story,” Julen confessed. Then, seeing that Railtus appeared to be busy stripping the mercenary’s body, he decided to tell it. A quick version, at least. “I was renting a room in the back of a bakery...”

The beginning immediately presented a problem. There must be, Julen supposed, people he could lie to -- but as of yet, he hadn’t met any of them. And he certainly couldn’t lie to Rosemary. However, he could omit a few details. So he glossed over his meeting with Railtus without mentioning the illusion which had led the warrior to his door. When Rosemary heard the name ‘Railtus Anstrun’, her lips pulled tight, and she cast a wary glance over her shoulder. But Julen quickly dispelled her nervousness by explaining that Railtus was from a distant branch of the family, and seemed to feel no allegiance toward Phelan. No allegiance. Considering the antagonism Julen had witnessed between the two men, those words were something of an understatement.

Julen told Rosemary about being hired as Railtus’s guide, and then as his footman. If he could have forced his arms to release her, he would have pulled all the newly-earned bishani from his pouch and poured them into her cupped hands. But, even without seeing them, news of their existence drew another smile from her. Unfortunately, the smile didn’t last. When Julen described the confrontation with Phelan, her eyes widened in horror, and she interrupted him for the first time.

“I wish Railtus had broken his arm,” she hissed, after hearing about Phelan’s threat to flog Julen, and Railtus’s response. “I wish he’d broken every evil bone in that man’s body.”

“Rosemary!” His wife’s uncharacteristic burst of venom startled Julen. “I agree, Phelan is an arrogant ass, but still...”

Rosemary shook her head, and for the first time since his arrival home, Julen noticed tears threatening to spill from her eyes. “You’re a good man, Julen. So you can’t believe what spite an evil man is capable of. You think he would have just struck you a few times to appease his pride. But if Railtus hadn’t stopped him, he would have beaten you within an inch of your life, and never felt a moment’s remorse.” Desperately, she clutched his arms. “Promise me you won’t ever go near him again. Promise me!”

“You’re not the first person to give me that advice,” Julen assured. “And I’m more than happy to heed it.”

That settled, Julen continued on to relate his meeting with Valanghar. At that point, he couldn’t resist producing the ornate bracelet that House Anstrun’s champion had given him, and slipping it onto Rosemary’s wrist. While Rosemary gawked at the jeweled band, he told her about the gnome’s incredible flying ship, and his training sessions with Railtus, and finally concluded with his return to Shim.

For a long moment, Rosemary was silent. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. “The important thing is that you came home to me.” And Julen couldn’t argue with that.

By now, Julen had begun to feel a little guilty for ignoring Railtus. Taking Rosemary’s hand in his, he wandered over in time to watch Railtus, rather inexplicably, snap the mercenary’s sword with his shield. Julen also noticed that Railtus had made two piles of things looted from the mercenary. Despite the fact that he was dressed in a dead man’s arming coat, the process still made Julen feel a little squeamish. Rosemary, however, didn’t appear to share his uneasiness. “Sir? If you’re taking what’s rightly yours, the man left a pack in our bedroom that I’d be glad to see the last of. And his poor mount is still in our stable. It’s a wretched creature, which might be better off if you sent it to join its master, but that’s for you to decide.”

Drawing closer, Rosemary appeared to notice the gash on his forehead. “And if you care to come inside, I can wash that for you, and get a bandage.”

“Oh, that’s alright. Railtus can...” Julen trailed off as something new occurred to him. “Um? You can heal yourself, can’t you?”

[Sir Karsimir]

Being addressed by a lady, Railtus stood in acknowledgement, breaking his crouch before replying. "Thank you, lady. Though not all of this is for me." Now Railtus resumed his crouch to better indicate what he was speaking of, "The sword and the bracers I will keep. These," Railtus gestured over the far larger pile, "Will be used to make better armour for Julen. If we wash and dry the leather, then bring enough water to a boil, it will make a strong breastplate. Treating these," indicating the leather vambraces, "the same way will harden them."

Although mainly explaining for the benefit of Rosemary, Railtus lifted his gaze to now address Julen directly. "With a forge, I can attatch your maille patches on to that helm to protect your neck." Moving on to the trinkets lain out on Mavelle's token, he then turned his attention back to Rosemary. "The jewelry and money," a small pouch looted from the body was chucked to Rosemary, "will go towards recovering the wrong done to you and your house, although I would appreciate covering reforging my new sword." Now nodding towards the one he had just broken. Turning back to Julen, Railtus rested his finger on one of the dull iron hoops that were being worn as rings. "These rings were made from weapons, kept by warriors as symbols of victory. One of them is yours, well-earned I might say, you fought brilliantly." Railtus took one for himself and reached out offering the other.

"Keep any linen clothes he had, it will help making armour." Instructions could wait, now the bleeding into his eyes was beginning to irritate. He wiped blood from his forehead with a grimace, reminding him of Julen's question. "Yes. I can heal myself, though not as well. My heart is not in it the same."

"Once we have looked through the pack, then we can check on the horse."

Already Railtus was enjoying his new gear, the feel of the iron bracers, the new sword seemed to be treated with a strange reverence. Lightly, he lifted the main portion of blade and guided it calmly into the scabbard, followed soon after with the remainder of the sword. A sword at once honoured and destroyed.

[Julen]

Julen nodded as Railtus outlined his plans for the dead mercenary’s gear. It felt like a lot of information to absorb all at once, but he’d come to expect such long lists from Railtus, who was apparently on a one-man crusade to rid the world of idleness. Julen particularly supported Railtus’s suggestion about attaching maille patches to the helm. After watching blood gush from the mercenary’s throat, protecting his own neck suddenly seemed like an exceedingly good idea.

When Railtus offered him one of the iron rings, Julen grinned. Earning Railtus’s words of praise meant more to him than any amount of loot ever could. “Thank you,” he answered, accepting the token and sliding it onto his finger. “I shall wear it in honor of the man who taught me.”

Rosemary caught the coin pouch, and rewarded Railtus with another curtsey, before she tucked it into the pocket of her dress. “Thank you, Sir. And I wouldn’t worry about the cost of reforging your sword. Shim’s smith has been busy, as you can well imagine, with all his new ‘customers’. But when he finds out what you did for me, I wager that he’ll do your work first, and consider an honor to do it for free.”

“Now,” she continued, picking up the leather jack, “Julen can take you inside to look through that pack while I finish this laundry. Then I’ll get started on some lunch for us all.”

“Are you sure?” Worried, Julen touched his wife’s shoulder. “I can do all that. After what you’ve been through, maybe it would be better if you rested...?”

But Rosemary shook her head. “The sooner I get my house back in order, the sooner it will be as if that thug never came here. And didn’t Railtus say we could use some of this to make you better armor? I want my husband wearing the best protection possible.”

Even as Julen tried to protest, she closed her hand around his. “Please, Julen. I know you mean well. But I really do feel better when I’m busy.”

“Alright,” Julen surrendered. Raising his wife’s hand, he gently uncurled her fingers, and placed a lingering kiss on the center of her open palm. Then, he folded her fingers back over the spot his lips had just caressed. “I would have killed him a hundred times,” he vowed. “A hundred thousand times to protect you.”

“I know,” Rosemary assured.

For a moment, they just held onto each other, reluctant to draw apart. Then Rosemary resumed the laundry, and Julen turned toward Railtus. With a mixture of bemusement and concern, he noticed that Railtus still hadn’t healed himself. Julen knew that if it had been him or Rosemary who'd been hurt, no matter how mildly, healing them would have been Railtus's first priority. But Railtus just didn't seem to feel the same urgency about his own welfare. “Ah...your forehead?” Julen reminded, as politely as possible.

[Sir Karsimir]

There was a reason why the plans for the armour were outlined to Rosemary more than Julen, that was because those plans would get done. As Rosemary had said, she wanted her husband wearing the best protection possible. Everyone has motivating factors, and for a couple so clearly and selflessly in love, their motivations were simple and clear.

Motivation would exist for the smith as well. By what had been seen so far, the mercenaries would hardly be upright in their dealings with him. With the abuse of force going on, the smith would likely welcome any outside challenge to the mercenaries, so would more than welcome the idea of such a challenger being well-equipped.

Sweetening the deal would be the offer of donating any excess captured arms and armour to the smith as stock.

Fresh blood trickled forth, supporting Julen's reminder. So far the wound had been disregarded, as something to be treated when there was time. "Oh. Yes. Thank you." Railtus responded easily, as though indeed only vaguely aware of his injury. Blood was weeping above his brow, but his mind did not make any connections from that fact. Any injury which did not hinder him would wait.

Grabbing his shield, Railtus rose from his crouch and proceeded inside as Rosemary had invited. On the way in, he stopped to give one last instruction to Rosemary. "If anyone so much as draws near, shout for me. My full name is Railtus Anstrun." As a gentleman, he took care not to eavesdrop on Julen's conversation with his wife, so did not know that Rosemary what Rosemary had been told of him. "The name of my House may deter any who mean trouble."

Now indoors, he folded into a chair, shedding his shield as he did so, and pressed one hand to his bloody head. "Fetch the pack for me, please." Railtus addressed to Julen. Command or polite request, it was difficult to be sure.

Focusing on the injury that was so far being ignored, Railtus paid close heed to the sensation of flesh joining together, encouraging that process with his thoughts. Self-pity was unnatural, so the passion fuelling his gift was absent, diluting his talent for this act.

Hovering above his brow was a neat line of hardened crimson, like a thin scab running along a closed-over cut, with a darkened swell on the edges like the hint of a bruise.

Now it was a mark, not an injury, and he could get to examining the pack.