[Laurelyn]
As they approached the Dun of Bro'n Laurelyn found herself listening attentively to the silence - and fearing that she would hear the faintest of strains from a phantom bagpipe. She also found herself studying the trail to the legendary site, since she had never been there. All she knew of the Dun was from the tales of the bards, and the clansmen's personal stories of blood and valor. And her mother's curses at such foolishness and the knowledge that her lover's head might one day "grace" the walls of the Fort of Sorrow. According to her mother it was one thing to pit your wits and strength against the trickiness of the sea, and the law - and another to be forever fighting over a pile of rock that brought neither bread, meat, nor coin to the hearth. And now, more than ever, Laurelyn had to agree with her Ma. It was indeed one thing to know that you had survived the relentless sea and wind, and no shame in the losing. But another matter entirely, to be forever squabbling over a wee bit of land.
Though, sadly, she knew it was more than that - blood called for more blood as the need for vengeance grew. She had seen it happen in Montfort over a relatively short time as the Republic, Church, and the citizens noted each bloody grievance. And the hill clans had had centuries of bloodshed to have become addicted to the violence.
The trail they rode carried them higher into the mountains, and both natural rock and fortifications closed around them. As they turned a blind corner they suddenly found themselves looking at massive iron gates that for the moment were open. Torches burned and men were milling about waiting for them. Obviously word had sped ahead.
Gairge swung from his horse and grabbed a nearby lad. "Tell the Chief his daughter has arrived," the warrior told the boy - then sent him on his way.
To a couple of camp followers, the only women about since clanswomen rarely went into battle, he said, "Show these folk some quarters and let the cooks know we'll be wanting a feast."
Though Laurelyn rarely was one to take issue at minor slights she knew better than let this one pass. "Gairge," she said in Common, knowing the women probably didn't speak the tongue, "Does a Chief's daughter rank so low that she and her party are shown to their rooms by prostitutes?"
The clansman studied her closed expression for a long moment, and then in an apologetic tone said, "Nay, lass, nay!! I meant neither ye - nor yer 'party' any slight!! The women were just handy - that tis all." With a deft hand he signaled a couple of the younger warriors forward and said, "These good lads will show ye the way."
"That will do," Laurelyn said, though her tone was still chill. She hadn't missed the quick look Gairge had given Fionn and Ulric - one that said he thought she traveled with rubbish. Nor had his attitude been much better to the others. But she knew that Gairge would only risk minor slights - he feared her father no matter what he thought of the offspring.
To her companions she said, in a more neutral tone, "We'll have a bit of a chance to clean up and rest - a welcoming feast will take a while to prepare on such short notice."
[Thomis]
Thomis kept his own brown eyes moving over the enclosure, pretending not to take too much notice of the brief tension between Laurelyn and her cousin. But the storyteller had handled it well, with a smooth confidence that had dared the brash young man to find the backbone to own up to his insult. Fionn himself displayed an equal confidence, the Oathbound noted, meeting the few stares that came in his direction with a level gaze, and no reaction to a Highland mutter that sounded somewhat less than friendly. Maeve's reaction, a quick flush to the roots of her red hair, confirmed Thomis's suspicion. Good thing Laurelyn had not been aware of it.
[Jacques]
Personally, Jacques would have been perfectly happy to have been shown to his quarters by a prostitute. For any number of reasons. The good thing about such people, he considered, was that at the very least you knew where you stood with them - or lay, depending on your point of view, your inclination, and your purse.
He eyed Gairge from under his bushy eyebrows, and something in him wanted a knife in his hands again. Some people were such that you would _never_ know where you stood. Until you ended up with a knife in your back.
Fiend gave a little surprised yip, though Jacques couldn't figure out why, and then the pup's brown eyes turned upon him sadly.
"What's your problem? I'm sure we can rustle you up some rabbits, oh great Rabbit Hunter from the Mountains."
Fiend made a couple of happy, excited yaps, and then settled into a contented, patient expression. Jacques turned to the boy who'd been allocated as his guide.
"Anywhere we can get a bath?" he asked. Fiend immediately set off in a mournful wail, tail between his legs, and ears flopped straight down. With a glare, Jacques dropped the animal into a pocket in his uniform, from where the wail continued, albeit well muffled and with a peculiar reverberating echo to it.
"I swear, that damn animal understands me better than I do," he muttered, and then blinked in surprise at the thought. It was foolishness.
Fiend's wail turned briefly into a short series of coughing barks that sounded suspiciously like laughter, and then slipped back into a distinctly unhappy whine.
[Keir]
Keir looked askance at both Jacques and Fiend after the rabbit comment but had to agree that a hot bath would be most welcome. The chill mountain air had seeped even beneath his thick fur and his sensitive nose had endured the odor of sweaty Big Folk and horses for about as long as he could endure. "Something hot to eat would be appreciated as well." he stated with the conviction of a Hortus who hadn't eaten in at least an hour.
[Sean]
One of the two young warriors, Sean, had quickly realized that since these were "friends" of the Chieftain's daughter they were to be treated well, but he couldn't speak Common. Instead he explained the arrangements to Laureyln.
[Laurelyn]
As the boys led them towards their rooms - leading them through the expansive courtyard, Laurelyn explained, "They'll be bringing up water for baths, and some cold food for now. At least enough to tide us over to the banquet which will be late this evening."
The storyteller noted some activity at the far end of the courtyard and asked Sean about it. As he answered her Laurelyn's expression became more contemplative - then she turned to the group, specifically looking toward Pierre and Daron. These were the two of her party that worried her most; Pierre, because he seemed very frail and frightened, and Daron, because she was showing signs of being about to splinter from some internal stress.
To the pair she said, "Over there is a merchant caravan that will be heading for safer lands this eve. And while I won't throw any soul out of this group - unless they become dangerous to all of us - I think that both you, Pierre, and you, Daron, might be better off riding with them. The journey to find the Star Dreamer will just become more hazardous, and I suspect that the shock of our past encounters have worn on both of you."
She looked at the others and added, "The choice is offered to any of you."
[Daron]
The artist looked at Laurelyn, her green eyes haunted by inner demons.
"I have traveled this far; I cannot lose the chance to find..." Her voice broke. Daron coughed into her hand to clear her throat. She found her voice at last, "...to find my brother Dillon, be he alive or dead." A chill ran up Daron's spine at those words; she quickly whispered a prayer to the Maker to take the curse off. "And I appreciate your concern for my safety. But this is something I have to do." She brushed her dark bangs out of her eyes with a careless gesture. "I will see it to the end, no matter what the price I have to pay." Her eyes and features now showed her determination.
Daron hoped silently that a good night's sleep and some proper hot food might improve her outlook on things. -A bath might not hurt also,- she thought, feeling travel grime cling to her like a second skin.
[Thomis]
The Oathbound raised one eyebrow in Laurelyn's direction, but did not speak. Despite Daron's quick rejection of the proposal to join the merchant's, Maeve herself gave a thoughtful look in the caravan's direction before realizing that Fionn had seen her head turn. The girl's expression turned quickly to a defiant stare, waiting for the dark-eyed Fhaolain to speak. But the man simply shifted the weight of the babe nestled in the carrier against his chest and continued after the others, silently.
[Ulric]
Ulric kept his calm as he was escorted by two young warriors who looked more inclined to test their skills against him than lead him anywhere. Their silence and tense glares told him enough about the honor they thought to gain if they killed one such as himself, but also the dishonor they would do their leaders, who had extended their hospitality -at least temporarily- in his direction.
He felt perhaps a little foolish at finding himself surrounded by clansmen when mere days before he had been a fugitive in their lands, but he understood enough of the culture to realize that he was, for now, safe enough.
He turned Laurelyn, and spoke in her own language, ::So you are home, clanswoman?::
[Laurelyn]
The storyteller nodded, and quietly said, "I'm at least amongst kin, Ulric, though I wouldn't call the Dun of B'ron home. And the hospitality is sound - they know that the Chief would let me have first blood on any who did harm to my companions. And if I didn't kill them - he would."
Even she would admit that there were times and reasons to fight, but now she needed to turn her thoughts to less bloodthirsty necessitities. She nodded to Pierre and led the lad over to the caravan.
After a few quiet words with the boy - to let him know that she thought he had a strong heart, and did not think less of his bravery because he opted for a different path. To the caravan master she had confidentially explained that the boy seemed shocky from a recent attack and needed a safe haven. She had also added that Pierre was an excellent musician and once rested probably could cheer his new traveling companions.
Once the storyteller had returned to the group their escorts led into the west wing of the Dun, and up several flights of worn stone stairs - the shadows and torchlight making some of them look bloodstained. As if some stains would never go away.
There was quite a bit of activity on the third floor as both campfollowers and youngling boys prepared the rooms. In the halls were bundles of fresh straw, and even a few true down mattresses, which seemed to be causing a heated debate - for while the workers could agree that Laurelyn got a down mattress there was no consensus on who deserved the other two. All scattered as the group approached, though everyone's expressions showed avid curiousity. So far most of the rooms had candles lit and had been swept out, with lavender and other herbs sprinkled to hide the smell of unused rooms - dampness and bird droppings.
Two of the campfollowers, whose clothes indicated that they were officers' women, came forward to point out Laurelyn's room. And to offer any assistance in preparing for the feast - this the storyteller politely declined.
The consensus seemed to be to wait and see which rooms the others chose, and then to quibble ranking - so that the appropriate people got the other mattresses. Though, from what little Laurelyn could make out, there was a strong leaning towards Thomis, Daron, and the "cute little" fellow. The storyteller nearly choked on this description of Keir, and was grateful the proud healer hadn't understood the comment. What she didn't like was the opinion that Fion and Maeve, and the babe, along with Jacques and Ulric should be banished to the stables. Or at least given old straw. They were unsure on Rudolpho's standing.
And though she didn't let on that she had overheard the commentary she made it clear that _all_ in her party were to be treated with honor. The cold pride in her blue eyes made most of the workers hurry back to their work, and left Sean quickly to stammer that the bath water would soon be heated. And that two bathing rooms were being prepared.
Once their escort had left to bring a cold snack, and the workers had settled to finishing the preparations, Laurelyn let out a tired sigh. To Thomis she said, "I just hope I have time for a bath before Da calls for me."
[Rudolpho]
Rudolpho stood quietly at the door and knocked to get Laurelyn's attention. He felt strange but didn't really know why. "Umm...Laurelyn, is it okay if I..um..go look around a bit? I really don't care where I sleep and well, someone else can have a mattress." He looked from her to his foot that was kicking at the ground. "I won't be any trouble...I promise I won't touch anything or...or get in the way." He looked back up at her to see what her response would be.
[Ulric]
Ulric stood out in the hallway a moment, a little unnerved by the closeness of the walls and the smell of enclosed rooms. While the cold stone which surrounded them spoke in ghostly voices of battles long past and glories uncaptured, the hallways remained oddly empty and depressed, as if the spirits which lurked here had no wish to remember any of it. He shuddered, suddenly aware of the anger and stubborn pride which had always filled these rooms.
"Your children live up to you..." he whispered gently to the walls.
He stepped to the doorway through which Laurelyn had entered, and leaned his head in. "There is too much bad history to this place. Do we stay long?" he asked.
[Laurelyn]
Laurelyn had been just about to answer Rudolpho when she heard Ulric. She looked up and said, "Not any longer than can be helped, Ulric, though it has been a couple of years since I saw my father and I will need to speak with him."
She could well understand Ulric's discomfort and added with a grim smile, "If I have my preferences we will be riding free of this cursed place in a day or two."
To Rudolopho she said, with a gentler smile, "You don't have to give up a mattress, and some _cautious_ wandering about will be alright. But do so with great care - people are always warier in places like the Dun of B'ron, and it is an old fort so full of its own dangers."
[Narration]
The sound of grunting and unintelligiable curses heralded the arrival of the tubs and the hot water - carried up the ancient stairs by Sean and the other lads he had drafted. The tubs were set up in the two rooms that had been designated for bathing.
Sean's arrival also brought word that the Chief of the Hillrover clan desired to see his daughter.