Trevan
The bailey was empty, its colour a drenched green as the plants drooped and trees groaned. A light rain pattered down, blotting the summer sun, as the first rain of an early monsoon fell. The clouds churned like froth in a cauldron, shades brewing and melting into the black of the sky. Occasional crackles of thunder broke the silence. There was no person in sight, no one in the courtyard, no one yelling triumphantly on the child-made mud hills, no wooden sword beating near the armoury. Lopelanzec had died.
Memories not a week old, of the very same place, flashed to his mind as if they were distant dreams.
He smiled, a genuine smile not fake or mocking or complacent, but a grin of happiness. The emotion was of satisfaction; Arthur, Demzan, Robert, Margh and Hapem were all alive and happy, he too was. He leaned against a building wall to his right and observed the bailey immediately in front of him.
Hapem and Margh were playing a make-believe game where one was acting a lord and other was acting like a great warrior return victorious from a massive battle - a dream of almost every boy. Hapem walked on the worn and bending grass, still lush and bright, and Margh sat smugly on a chair somewhere near the bailey’s centre. Margh had a cup held between two fingers, which had water in it, but he pretended it to be some rich brewery and sipped it with deliberate slowness. He wants to be a lord, Trevan thought with a chuckle. Careful what you wish for, he had once told Margh and that phrase rung again in his mind.
His eyes followed straight ahead of the two brothers in the vast bailey, to the armoury, where Robert and Posbar, Napemol's sword-master, sparred. Posbar barked tips relentlessly. Though Trevan could only see them as palm wide figurines, he knew they were sweating profusely. He took a seeing glass and eyed them duelling. Their techniques were impressive though he could also have suggested a thing or two. No, he wouldn’t have – a great swordsman is not definitely a good teacher.
He looked, his eyes squinting hard – Robert's right side was open, and the sword-master's sword rushed to strike it. Whoosh! Suddenly, from nowhere, Robert's blade came to his teacher's head. Robert gave a pompous smirk, asking sarcastically, "That could have hurt a bit, wouldn't it?" The master spat on the grate and added, " Don't get so cheerful, lad. I was going easy on you."
"Yeah, you sure were."
He saw Robert tossing the practice sword aside and muttering something to Posbar. Robert started walking towards the living quarters. He glimpsed Robert notice Hapem and Margh and decided to walk towards them. He noticed that Hapem had seen Robert approaching and teased Margh at that moment, "You will never be Lord of Napemol, then why pretend?" Margh snorted and riposted, " You will never be a gallant knight, then why pretend? Anyway, who knows one day I might become The Lord of Napemol."
Robert laughed and spoke mockingly from behind Margh’s back, "Sure!"
"Our brother over there appears so egotistical and confident. He needs to be taught a lesson", Hapem said to Margh, who turned in his chair to look at Robert. “Yes,” Margh shouted and with that, Margh and Hapem both rushed onto Robert, toppling him to the ground. Robert laugh and yelled, "Get off! Get off! You win."
Trevan glimpsed Arthur also observing his children from his room’s balcony. The building was towards the left of the bailey. Arthur’s eyes met Trevan’s and Trevan saw gloom in them. Arthur must have received some bad news, he deemed. At that moment, Arthur spun around sharply and quickly disappeared inside his room.
The moment Trevan had asked what was wrong to Arthur he had learned that everything was about to go wrong. Trevan smiled anew, a smile of sad acquiesce — life had been great in the past. Lopelanzec was a ghost town to what it had been a week ago.
“Oh, mighty Raguela. Bless us! Bless us!”
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Micura
It was a cosy estate with rich, high-yielding fields and servants to serve to every need. Cooking was not an everyday task, but an occasional luxury. He and his wife sat around a table, face-to-face, staring at the crimson sky, leaning on each other. His partner's middle bulged massively, both of them soon expecting a child - their first child. In the understanding silence, they sipped on the soup cooked by Micura.
"It is tasty, like always." Micura nodded, sensing something important was developing.
There was a moment of expected silence and later, after releasing a deep breath, his pregnant wife spoke, "Life is perfect, why do you wish to leave? My lord, are you hungry for more?" She stressed on the word LORD as if saying that being a lord was enough.
Micura gave a soft laugh and responded, "No, my dear. I desire no more - no more lands, no more wealth, no bigger title. Nothing more ..." He paused, and they basked in the quiet. He continued, “Duty calls ... and without Orwen I would have just been the last heir of a long-lost lineage, which every other gentry felt non-existent. I had estate of mine own but still was a farmer in its own mean. He brought me up to this, this world, and voiced no complaint on my retirement. He merely sought one thing from me, his best friend, to come to aid when the times were dire, and no soul stood on his front.”
"If no soul stands on his side and the times are dire, wouldn't it mean defeat or death?" his wife pointedly inquired. "No, it doesn't. When we two meet, we shall dig allies from the very Barren Lands if need be. Others will turn to our cause," he asserted, confidence evident in his voice. He added with a pause, “And you know all this. Can we stop pretending you don’t know me and your brother’s relation.”
“Alas, I know my brother and I know you and know you both together. Mayhem!” Siapa said playfully. Micura chuckled but the laughter died quickly to leave a tensed, hollow atmosphere. He knew the cause of the silence.
“I will live, and I will make Orwen live too. For our child!” Micura said looking at the bulge on Siapa’s abdomen.
“Don’t promise too much. Orwen will avenge my niece. In death or life. As you said, I know him. But for your life,” Siapa replied with a sigh, "one can only hope."
"One can only hope." He repeated after her.
His House's motto was ever true.
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