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A Collab by @Spoopy Scary and @MacabreFoxSkingrad, Refugee CampRhona wove in and out of the crowded footpaths, the grass underfoot trampled into the dirt, quickly turning to mud from that morning’s rain. More survivors from the attack on the Imperial City continued to arrive by the hour. There had to be well over a thousand people setting up camp outside of the walls. She passed by a tent searching for volunteers to lead a scouting mission, something called the
Colovian Rangers. She moved past the tent, fighting and sleuthing through the shadows was not her expertise, so why put herself in danger? Tobias kept close at her heels, seemingly content with claiming her as his new master, or at least for the time being. An animal had its own will, and if it wished to leave, she would not hinder it. Each being deserved to be free.
When she turned along the path, she kept her eyes fixated on the faces of the people. Perhaps Holbert, Lysanna and her mother had had their backs turned to her when she made her rounds the first three times. Yet she didn’t see a familiar face amongst the weary and tired, she had spent the entire morning and afternoon searching. However, as she passed a group of men gathered, she overheard concerning conversation and stopped to listen. They paid no heed to her, as they were deeply enveloped in their emotions.
“I’m tellin’ ya, I was just here two weeks ago for business, there’s no reason why the Count would close the gates of Skingrad, save for him being a greedy sonuvabitch. We need food, and shelter. I don’t give a bloody hoot if these folks believe that he works for their interest, it’s not what’s best for
us.” There were welcoming cheers among the men, Rhona figured that they had consumed quite a bit of alcohol to be so rowdy during midday.
‘
Mara give us peace.’ Rhona thought with a shake of her head. Just as she stepped away, an iron-grip crushed her forearm, and spun her around. Her heart plummeted, and the blood in her hands drained away. She couldn’t breathe. Towering over her like a phantom of years passed, stood Cezare, dressed in black. He had grown a beard, neatly kept, and his hair still had its same lustrous brown waves. But his cheeks were gaunt, the skin stretched tight over his face. His blue eyes were as cold as ice, as he began to pull her away, holding her tight against him, his pace quickened so as to avoid any prying eyes from stopping them.
“After
all these years,” He whispered in her ear, “and my
wife finally shows her face.” At his words, a fire flooded her veins.
NO. This is why she left. Why was she letting him lead her? She dug her bare feet into the mud, trying to free herself.
“Let go.” She countered, trying to make her tone just as cold.
“Oh no, I won’t be doing any such thing. After all, we’re still married. You are mine.” He yanked hard on her arm, trying to get her to walk straight.
“I said let go!” She stuck her foot out in between his ankles, causing him to trip. He broke his grip, and she swung her staff up at his head. The wooden stave connected with his skull, a loud
crack resounded. Rhona bolted, slipping once in the mud from the panic. She could hear Cezare behind her, the anger in his voice would have paralyzed her, but her instincts told her to run. Run fast, run far, and don’t look back.
“
Rhona Amoretto!” He bellowed, his voice striking her core. She ran blind into the throng of people, Tobias beside her, she needed somewhere safe to hide. Somewhere Cezare wouldn’t find her.
While these events were unfolding, the affairs of a certain bard were being put back in order. Calen had urged the child away for the falling sun forecasted the rising of the moons and dusk would soon be upon them. Though truthfully, it was more for the sake of Danish’s nerves and his own physical well-being. A foot accidentally touching the pony’s haunches was enough to spur it into action, but the reactionary tugging on his halter by an inexperienced rider gave the pony mixed signals and caused him to rear back. Though Calen managed to wrestle the rope away from the boy atop of his beast of burden -- whether that meant the beast carried his own burden or the beast was a burden in and of himself, that was still up for debate -- the agitated pony whipped around, putting Calen behind his hindquarters. Danish bucked, kicking Calen square in the chest with both hooves and throwing the boy off of hisbare back in one fell swoop. Though they had the fortune of landing in a soft patch of grass that Danish had not yet the opportunity to ravage, no such fortune was able to prevent the wind from being knocked from the young man’s lungs.
The evening had otherwise been pretty fruitful, the bard figured, even as he tried to rub the aching soreness out of his chest and looked down at the spooky pony with some measure of resentment. To think that damn animal nearly went the whole day without incident! He sighed in resignation as he finally led Danish to the stables outside Skingrad, making sure to (this time,
securely) tie the rope to his halter to one of the posts next to the stall where he’d be kept and closed the gate behind him with a loud, metallic screech.
‘Ugh, they need to oil these gates.’ He thought to himself.
As a chill wind swept through clearing, Calen looked to the sky. The coming night must be a chill one. Danish was accustomed to the winters of Skyrim, but perhaps it would be best if he prepared for whatever came in these strange times. Walking just a few paces from Danish’s stall, he climbed into the back of his wagon and procured a key from one of his pockets to unlock the trunk and withdrew a large woolen blanket. Slamming the trunk back shut, he marched back to the stall and draped it over the gate in front of his pony -- and that was when he heard the wrathful cry of one of them men back at one of the refugee camps.
“Rhona Amoretto!”Her eyes scanned for any place to hide, someplace where he wouldn’t find her. It was then that she reached the far end of the camp, when the sight of a stable caught her attention. She made a beeline straight for the edifice, trepidation consuming her. She slowed her pace enough to keep her bearings, that’s when she spotted a blond man standing outside of a stall door. She ran to him, meeting him with a mousy face and a look of terror.
“Help me please,” Rhona begged, “I need to hide!”
Calen met her with confusion and alarm. At first he was disarmed by the beauty of her face, but then he realized that there was a look terror marring her countenance, and moments ago he heard the wrathful yelling -- and then it clicked. He didn’t know the full story, who was right or who was wrong, just that there was a young woman who needed his help. He looked to the gate of Danish’s stall --
no, no, that wouldn’t do. He looked the woman and her clothing up and down, and his face lit up as an idea came to him.
“Just bear with me,” he said to her in hurried, hushed tones. He grabbed her dingy grey cloak and quickly draped it around her shoulders, folding one end and looping it back underneath itself. He craned his neck around to see if anyone was coming -- no one yet -- and pulled off his brown outer shirt over his head, revealing the white undershirt beneath, and haphazardly coiled it around her head in a fashion that resembled what he knew of the alik’r and pulled the folded part of her cloak up, opening it up to form another hood which he pulled over once more.
She wasn’t sure what he was doing, but she put her trust in him, if he was willing to help this much, she might as well give him the chance.
Time was quickly running out, Calen felt, but for the last second finishing touches, he reached down and dug his fingers into the dark, rich soil and grab two fistfulls of dirt and rubbed it into the skin on her face --
‘Stendarr’s mercy, she’s going to hate me’ -- and onto her hands before throwing the rest of the dirt down and dusting off whatever landed onto her clothes. The sound of a goat bleating caught his attention, and he looked down to see just that: a goat. He gave the animal an incredulous look, as the damn thing would be a dead give away. He quickly grabbed the blanket he brought for Danish, whipped it open, and threw it on top of the goat prompting the creature’s muffled bleat.
“Hey, Calen!” By the Gods, he found her. Rhona squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m looking for my wife, I saw her run off this way.”
“I’m sorry ma’am,” Calen said, initially talking over the angry Imperial, “I’m afraid I don’t know how to get to Sentinal from -- oh!” Calen feigned a look of surprise to Cezare, but then a real sense of trepidation came over as he was struck with a realization. “Hey, uh... your wife?” Rhona remained still, her head swimming with panic. Would he oust her?
His eyes flicked down to Rhona, but back to Cezare. “Didn’t you tell me your wife left you a couple years ago?”
“Yeah well that cunt finally showed her face. She’s in this goddamn camp somewhere. She’s short. Pretty. Brown hair. I swear to the Gods, Calen. If I get my hands on her again, she’ll realize what a fucking mistake she made leaving me in the first place. You just tell me if you see her.”
“Yeah, who would want to leave you…” Calen muttered under his breath. Then he cleared his throat and spoke loud and clearly, “I don’t know, my friend, I was just putting good ol’ Danish away. I thought I heard one of the kids running past, but if she’s short like you say she is… maybe? I guess? She might be circling the city walls.”
“Yeah? I’ll take a look, she can’t have run far.” Cezare huffed, and strode off. No more questions. Not even a consideration about the woman before Calen. Nothing. Rhona breathed a sigh of relief, she had stood so rigid, that when her shoulders drooped, she began to shake like the last leaf clinging to a branch before the arrival of winter. Tobias, from underneath the blanket Calen threw over him, made a muffled bleat once more and headbutted the side of Calen’s knee, prompting a restrained yelp of pain as he hunched over and puffed out his cheeks to keep himself from crying out too loud.
“Is he gone?” She asked, her voice quiet, as if speaking too loudly would bring Cezare right back.
“Uh… yeah, actually.” Calen responded, aiming another resentful glance at the second animal to have wronged him today. He slowly let go of the tension he was also holding in, but it steadily dissolved into nervous laughter as the whole dramatic irony of it all unfurled before him until he he was bent over and holding onto his knees and the laughter became more genuine.
“Are you kidding me! That actually
worked!” He cried out. Then he looked to Rhona with a look of awe. “And you! You’re here with the rest of the refugees! Did you really live in the same city under his nose for
two whole years?”
She shook her head, not finding the humor in his words, she unraveled his handiwork and passed his shirt back to him, “No. I avoided the city like the plague.” When he had reclaimed his shirt, Rhona wrapped her arms tight around herself, her way of controlling the trembling.
“I left for a reason, and in my eyes, we’re not married. Not under the eyes of Mara, mother bless me.” She lifted her head to look him in the eye, offering him a small smile.
“Thank you, for your kindness, and bravery.”
“Oh, there was nothing brave about it!” Calen said chipperly, brushing off her compliment as he slung the shirt over his shoulder. Bravery! That was a new one… but there remained a question which itched the back of his mind. “But uh… if you’re not from the Imperial City, then what are you doing here? Bad timing?”
“Mm. You say that now. But you catch him on his bad side, and you’ll see what I mean. But no. I was in Rihad for the winter, and I decided to come see Cyrodiil again. I just came from Anvil when this all happened.” She gestured at the sea of tents stretching in an endless wave of white.
“And you? Are you among the afflicted?”
“Ah… not really.” Calen replied somberly. “I happened to pass by in front of the city as it was under siege. Just in time to help the citizens evacuate.”
“So it’s true? What the people have said? There were ships in the air?” She soaked in the information, Tobias bumping his head against her. She reached down to pat him on the head.
“Yeah. They were there. I couldn’t believe my eyes.” Calen explained, but then he hesitated for a second as if he had remembered something, then his eyes looked apologetic. “Oh, uh, hey -- um, sorry about… you know, the dirt. I just, uh, tried to sell the whole Redguard thing and, well…”
“I am not upset,” she smiled readily, reaching up to touch her face, “It is a blessing to receive the touch of Kynareth.”
“How… do you know Cezare?” Her brows furrowed, realizing that Cezare had called to him by his name, “Calen yes?”
“Yep, that’s it.” He confirmed. “Trust me, we’re not old drinking buddies or anything, he just happened to be one of the evacuees I helped; and you must be Rhona? He mentioned your name once or twice on the trip to get here.”
She nodded solemnly, “Yes, I am. I’m… not surprised he did. Though for his sake, I wish he would forget me entirely.” With one hand she began to wipe away the excess dirt tickling her nose.
“How does that look?”
“Well, I say you’d look beautiful even covered head to toe in skeever dung, but since that doesn’t help you now… I heard from some of the others that there were some ponds and lakes just a short jog north if you’d like to wash off. It would also take you away from the city for a bit”
She contemplated the offer and gave a shrug, “I don’t see why not.”
As promised, it was indeed a short jog to the ponds just to the north. Rhona felt right at home in her element, away from people, in tune with nature. She set herself down on the water’s edge, washing the mud off her feet, and then focused on her face, using the hem of her cloak as a towel. She hummed quietly to herself, and splashed cool water on her neck before wiping her hands off on the front of her dress.
“You’re not from here, are you?” Rhona asked, spreading her cloak out and took a seat. Tobias had set to munching on cattails near the water. She rummaged through her rucksack and procured her pipe, packing it full of her dried herbs, and lit it afire with her fingers tips. Long tendrils of smoke curled above her as she returned the pouch to her sack, and reached for the lavender oil, rubbing some on her neck.
Calen sat in the cool grass beside the cloak, having long redonned his shirt since he had it returned. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her use of magic. A mage then? But the question got him thinking for a moment, which lead him to an amused smile on his face. He asked in turn, “What gave it away? Was it when I told you north and started walking south?”
She smiled, pulling the pipe away from her mouth, “Something like that. And the fact that most Imperials would demand payment for any help. And you… you just helped me without asking anything in return.”
“It was the accent.” Calen added in with a humored quip. “You don’t get this smooth voice like honey mead anywhere this far south, eh?”
It was nice, to have someone to talk to, even if she preferred the company of trees and insects. His cheerful attitude lifted her weary spirits.
“If you want to call it that,” She chuckled, “My father was from Skyrim. He talked like you. From what I can remember that is.”
Calen laid his back against the ground, hands behind his head and closed his eyes as he let the last few hours of the sun’s warmth soak into his skin and clothes and a sense of peace washed over him. Taking in a deep breath, he sighed and idley said, “
My father always told me to do right by others and they’ll do right by me. When you came to me, I had to make a decision then, do what I thought was right. I think I did right. My old man is old-fashioned, but he
was right about a lot of things. Life’s too short to be angry and bitter. That stuff’s exhausting. I don’t know how your poor bastard of a
‘husband’ does it.”
She shifted uncomfortably at his words, taking another puff on her pipe, and then touched her arm where Cezare grabbed her. It burned like fire and ice. Rhona didn’t want to look at it, but she knew it had bruised. A pain she thought she had left far behind years ago.
“A lot of drinking. Squandering away your inheritance and running into debt will do the trick.” Carefully, she rolled up her right sleeve, and peered down at her forearm. A colorful display, one Nocturnal would approve of, bathed the muscles in an array of blues, purples and black. She huffed. It would fade. “Your father sounds like a sensible man, at least.” Rhona drew the pipe away from her lips, offering it out to Calen.
“Would you like some?”
Calen cracked open one of his eyes, and those she was aiming the pipe at his face, it was but a blur to him as his eyes focused on the colorful bruising on the arm behind it. The smile on his face turned into a frown. He sat back up and absentmindedly accepted Rhona’s offer, placing the end of the pipe between his teeth, an uncharacteristic air of seriousness came over him now that his attention was on her and her arm.
“Did Cezare do that to you?” He asked.
“Don’t inhale the smoke into your lungs--” Rhona’s warning came too late as Calen abruptly start coughing and spitting, causing the pipe to fall out of his mouth. The effects of whatever it was that was in her pipe had immediately gone to his head and made him dizzy, and the spasms in his chest that caused his coughing suddenly gone tight, stopping his coughing fit and causing him to heave for air, but little of it actually entered his lungs.
“Gods damn it, Calen, you idiot!” Calen hoarsely croaked to himself, as his eyes went wide and sweat began to bead on his forehead. How? How could he forget? How could he forget the
one thing he was supposed to be mindful of
at all times? ‘You’re an asthmatic, you milk-drinking idiot!’ He looked down at his hands as they began to tremble, and he clenched his eyes shut as he tried his damndest to focus on them. His heart was beating against his chest and his lungs felt like they were in agony. Slowly, but surely, a familiar weak yellowish-white glow radiated from his hands he hurriedly cupped them around his face. Suddenly, a rush of air abruptly filled his lungs as Calen gasped for air, and a faint yellow glow could be seen emanating from underneath his skin, trailing down his neck.
Rhona’s eyes widened in shock at his unexpected coughing fit, one that led him to cast some type of healing spell on himself. She reclaimed her pipe, shaking her head as she did so.
“I am sorry. I should have asked.” She watched him for a moment before asking, “Are you better?”
“Y-yeah..! I’m f
ine!” Calen said hoarsely between deep, heavy breaths, causing his voice to crack a bit.
”And… y-you! You’re fine too!”
The young man took in a couple of long, deep breaths before deciding to talk again. “You’re fine, really! That was my fault! You offered... I took it. I guess I just… wasn’t thinking! Distracted. Pheeww… hah… anyway…”
“Here. Have some water.” She untethered her water skin from her rucksack and handed it out to him, a sympathetic smile on her lips. Calen eagerly took it and gave her an appreciative nod, before taking a couple of sips. Reclaiming another breath, he looked back at Rhona, pointing the waterskin at her arm. “As I was saying… did Cezare do that?”
She had hoped he would have forgotten about that in his coughing fit, but he seemed relentless on letting the matter lie. Rhona gazed at him, a peculiar expression on her face, one mixed with pain and remembrance.
“Yes… it’s… he did.” She moved her left hand over her right forearm, shifting her gaze away to stare fixedly on the water’s surface.
“Big mammoth-nosed son of…” Calen sighed. He crossed his arms. “Well I guess I don’t have to explain myself anymore thanks to my skeever brain, but I can try helping with it if you’d like me to. I mean, I’m not actually
super good at it, but I can give it a shot. It’s just a bruise.”
She gave him a half hearted smile, “I’m not very good at healing either. But go ahead. Maybe I could enchant something of yours as a thank you?” Rhona extended her arm out to him.
“Maybe you can enchant this daft old noggin’ of mine to be a touch more mindful?” Calen joked as he leaned his with an ear to ear smile. He set his hands an inch over Rhona’s arm, and it took a few moments of visible effort on his part to call upon the same magick he had used on himself a minute ago. When the slight light began to appear around his hands, the effects didn’t seem as steady as it did before, the light flickering in and out before it fizzled completely and leaving Calen out of breath once more.
“Bah, Stendarr’s eye!” Calen swore. “I guess I’m dry…”
“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard.” Rhona said reassuringly, patting his hand before staring hard at him, as if she had just realized something.
“What even brings a Nord like you all the way down here? You’re not a bard on an adventure seeking new tales to sing, are you?” Part of her joked, but she did wonder why he had come all the way down to Cyrodiil.
For a moment, Calen stared at her like she had sprouted another head on her shoulders before he hesitantly answered, “Well… that
was the idea.”
Her eyes widened, before she grinned, shaking her head, “An entertaining life I’m sure. One that must be filled with arduous affairs of the heart, countless bottles drank under starry skies… Mara, bless me with such wonder.”
Though Calen was initially caught off guard by her
terribly uncanny insight, her musing had brought back some memories of his travels across Skyrim. Indeed, there had been many nights where he felt blessed, and many an affair that was led by his heart -- whether or not that was the message she intended to convey -- and her words had also come to remind him of the two bottles of Solitude’s famous spiced wine locked up in the chest on his wagon. There was nary a better way of ending the night that he could think of then getting drunk off some good wine with the company of a beautiful lady!
“Indeed it is, Rhona, indeed it is!” Calen agreed in a sing-songy voice. “Might you be looking to be entertained?”
Her eyebrows rose at the invitation, she hadn’t expected one from him, half expecting the pleasantries to end between them. But he had brought such good cheer to her, that part of her didn’t wish to have it end. And more importantly, she didn’t want to be alone in case Cezare found her.
“My heart could use the cheer after such a fright.” She nodded her head in agreement.
And so, the two of them, with Tobias in tow, set off back towards the camp, Calen keeping her entertained with animated conversation. Yet her thoughts wandered as she listened with half a mind, Rhona couldn’t chase the feeling of fear from her heart, what if they ran into Cezare? What if he came back to look for Calen and found her with him? If anything, she had her staff in hand, she could certainly strike him again, or at least set his britches on fire. Yet while she worried about this, Calen’s soothing nature put her at ease. He had a carefree attitude, and it made her think of Aurelia, and her friends. She absent-mindedly placed her hand over heart, as if it caused her physical pain. She swallowed a hard lump in her throat, shaking away the thought. At least Aurelia would be safe in Valenwood.
Not long after, they arrived at the stables, however, Calen guided her to a carriage. And with her help, they erected a tent over it with some canvas and wooden poles which were procured from a chest that was kept and bolted down just behind the driver’s seat. Her hands moved with haste and it reminded Calen to quicken his own pace as they fitted the poles into their respective slots and finally draped the canvas over the top, sheltering the two from the outside world.
As Calen stood, partially hunched over due to being unable to stand at his full height underneath the tent, he fastened some of the loose strings stitched into the fabric around the poles, and idley spoke to Rhona in a passive voice. He said, “I hope it’s not too inappropriate of me to offer a frightful widow a place to sleep tonight. I imagine it’s safer from prying eyes than any other place I can think of.”
“A frightful widow…” she whispered under her breath. It was strange to hear, but it resonated with her. She smiled to herself, a tender one as she peeked inside, watching him make the finishing touches.
Rhona cleared her throat, “I think… Mara has brought you to me for a reason.”
“Mara?” Calen mused with an entertained smile on his face, gesturing to Rhona to come inside and make herself comfortable. “Me, an agent of the Mother-Goddess? Rhona, you honor me! What makes you think that?”
She laughed as she took a seat beside him, resting her elbows atop her knees, “Well… I meant it more as… Mara works in mysterious ways when it comes to my… friends and lovers I’ve come across through the years.”
“She… has been a complicated mistress to me.” Rhona shrugged nonchalantly.
“Well then, how about...” Calen began cheerfully as he dived back into the chest of his belongings, shifting some items to the side as he sifted through and randomly handing off a lute and drum to Rhona as he continued his search, “in celebration of our friends and lovers… and all of the friends and lovers to come…”
Finally, he seemed to have found what he was looking for, and withdrew two green glass wine bottles adorned with straw that was weaved around the base and a pillow. It was the last of his spiced wine from Solitude -- one was full while the other, from what little light was inside, was only half of its contents left. He pushed the full bottle into Rhona’s hands and took back his lute as he sat back against the bench on his side of the wagon while propping his feet atop of the other.
“We share a health to the company!” Calen proposed, idley strumming once over his lute. “For it’s as Dibella says --” the bard thumbed the amulet around his neck,
“Open your heart to the noble secrets of art and love. Treasure the gifts of friendship and seek joy and inspiration in the mysteries of love!”She widened her eyes at the mention of Dibella, but popped the cork on the bottle of spiced wine, she took a tentative sniff, never had she tasted wine from Solitude, but she brought the lip of the bottle to her mouth, and took a hearty sip. It was sweet, spicy mostly, but sweet nonetheless. Not overbearingly so, but just enough to settle well with her.
She took a smaller sip this time, and passed the bottle back to Calen, her eyes landing on the amulet around his neck, “Are you a follower of Dibella then?” Rhona asked, nodding at the trinket bearing her distinctive mark.
“Nah, I just like wearing her jewelry.” He joked with a cheeky smile. “I kid -- yes, absolutely! The Lady teaches us that love can be as fleeting as it is immortal, and that's okay -- and love, in all of its various forms, is equally significant whether its between two friends sharing a drink…”
Calen gestured around them.
“...or two lovers intertwined.”
Calen threw back the bottle for a long sip, then continued, “Every friend and every partner I've ever had -- I love them still to this day. I hold them close to my heart even if they don't feel the same.”
She listened in silence, and when he had finished speaking, Rhona let the brevity of his words sink in. She covered her mouth with one hand, shaking her head slowly, and with both hands moved them over her face as if to crush the inner turmoil.
“Gods… I envy you. I…” her throat tightened, feeling hot tears wetting her cheeks, voice cracking as she spoke, “Everyone I have ever loved….” She gave a soft laugh, her heart aching as she recalled the vivid memories of waking up that morning in a field near Chorrol, expecting to find Sayyid alongside her, but he had disappeared, with her belongings, and Aurelia… left without a goodbye, and it made Rhona feel cowardly for not having the courage to go with her to Valenwood. And Cezare… well she never really loved him.
“They leave me with a broken heart.” She tried to smile, rubbing the back of her hand against her forehead. Rhona blew out air between her lips, and brought her hands away from her face, her hand extended for the bottle. She could use another sip of spiced wine to quell the wave of emotions rising up.
Calen gave her a sympathetic smile to match the sullen air of melancholy which has enveloped Rhona. The countless heartbreaks were plain to see in her hazel eyes, and such was a sight he has seen too often in his paltry twenty-three years, and his own heart ached for her as it did for a dozen other friends and companions he has met on his journeys. He gingerly handed the bottle of spiced wine back to Rhona -- he suspected she was going to need a lot more of it before the night was over -- and reached into his trunk one last time and brought out an old, battered journal.
"I take that energy and turn it towards something productive," he said. Calen moved from his spot and crawled over next to Rhona's side, placing the journal in his lap. As he began thumbing through the pages, revealing page after page of entries, hand-drawn portraits of old friends and lovers, poems, he eventually stopped at a page depicting in meticulous detail a beautiful robed woman which he had captioned, "Illia". He continued, "When I think about past loves, I don't think about what I lost. I think about what I gained. The love I felt in those moments were real, and those moments are valuable to me. So the memories don't hurt me that much. More than anything, they feel... fulfilling."
She cradled the bottle of wine in her arms, holding it against her chest as if it were a newborn babe, she watched as he flipped through the pages. He had a knack for drawing people that much was true. When he came to the page with the woman depicting Illia, she smiled, he had said her name with such tenderness it reminded of her Sayyid, “She’s beautiful. You were lucky to have known her.”
His eyes broke away from the page and faced Rhona, a brief moment filled with a sense of longing sobering Calen from his usual, whimsical disposition. He cooed, "That's why they're still so dear to me."
Rhona took a long draught from the bottle, shivering involuntarily as the liquid raced through her body. When she looked up, she found his eyes upon her, and perhaps it was the wine starting to get to her, or perhaps it was the sentiment thick in the air, but she reached up with one hand, and cupped his cheek. His words had struck a deep resonating chord with her, how much grief did she still carry in her heart? And more
importantly, why was it so hard to let go for her? She had tried to forget with Aurelia, she had kept her mind focused on other tasks at hand. She pulled her hand away, and took another drink, then slipped the bottle between them. She then shifted her weight, resting her head against his shoulder, and sighed. She could smell his scent, of hay and horses, of earth and sweat, it comforted her.
“I can’t believe it worked. He didn’t even question who you were talking to. And Tobias,” she started laughing, “you just threw a blanket over him.”
Calen joined Rhona in laughter, throwing his head back as if that was the funniest thing he’s ever heard and set his journal back in his lap. He cried out, “I know, right?! And the whole,
oh I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t know the way to Sentinal -- I didn’t even know what I was going to say at first, that was completely unrehearsed!”
After a drink of wine from the bottle they shared, Calen reached for his lute once again with his free hand. Though since Rhona was resting on his other shoulder, his arm on that side reached around her waist and held the neck of his musical instrument. She had expected him to shift away from her to accommodate the lute, but he didn’t. It felt good, to be close someone again. A quick swipe over each of the strings to make sure they were tuned properly was all he needed. “So,” he began, “we’re drinking, we’re merry; what do you say about hearing a merry drinking song about drinking and being merry?”
“Well I’m not going to say no, look you already have your lute. Play on.” She grinned, her cheeks flushing red.
The young bard played on, beginning with a quaint if uncomplicated and slow tune. The rhythm was simple and easy to follow as many classic and memorable drinking songs are, but it was peaceful almost like a lullaby would be. When the melody came to a pause, it picked right back up with Calen's voice in tow.
"Kind friends and companions,
come join me in rhyme!
Come lift up your voices,
in chorus with mine!
Come lift up your voices,
and share a health, my friend!
For we may or might never
meet here again!
So here's a health to the company,
and one to my lass!
Let us drink and be merry,
all out of one glass.
Let us drink and be merry,
all grief to refrain.
For we may or might never,
meet here again!
My footsteps may falter,
my wit, it might fail.
My course may be challenged
by the worst northern gale!
We'er fortune prove to be friend or me foe,
you'll always be with me wherever I go."When the song returned to its chorus for the last time, Calen ceased the strumming of his lute and replaced it with intermittently tapping against the wood of his lute, allowing his voice to carry the rest of the song out to its very end.
"So here's a health to the company,
and one to my lass!
Let us drink and be merry,
all out of one glass.
Let us drink and be merry,
all grief to refrain.
For we may or might never…
meet here again!"[/i]
Rhona could feel his words and the melody vibrating through his body and into hers with each strum of the lute. She closed her eyes as he sang, and when Calen had stopped, she lifted the bottle to her lips, took one sip, and looked at him. She didn’t know why she did what she did next, but she leaned over, and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you. For everything today.” Rhona said, pulling away.
“Don’t thank me yet.”
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Cyadical
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