Nimue broke the flower stem with her spindly fingers and pulled it into the wreath. "And a bloom of blue for luck," she breathed softly. On the grass, amid multicoloured flowers, her daughter slept on. Placing the ring of flower onto the ground, Nimue stroked her child's hair. Her precious daughter, so frail and pale as winter. For all she had her father's dark hair and dark eyes, Ragnelle had come into this world half-dead. But she had fought and lived still.
"Woman, enough for today!" Merlin's voice broke her out of her reverie. "Darkness comes in haste." Ever the warrior, Merlin approached them with his sword at his hip and a slight smile upon his lips. He picked his daughter in strong arms and chuckled when she refused to open her eyes as to greet the world. He looked upon the girl's mother. "You have painted her as a warrior."
"Blue, for luck and fortune," Nimue agreed. Blue, to protect the child from charms and evils of their world. Ragnelle was yet small, a babe in the woods, helpless should she fall from her mother's hands. "Mayhap in time she will gain strength."
Merlin shook his head. Nimue meant well, but Ragnelle was not and never would be a warrior, she had not the making of one. Nay, his daughter had wit enough and strength of character, but her arms were not for bearing weapons. That did not bother him. Nimue might have thought it her failure not to have given him a son, but the man loved his daughter just as well. His brothers-in-arms had sons enough. "Should she take to the reading of bones I'll be just as pleased. Come, woman, the feast will begin soon. Do not fret any longer. Rest and have your fill of drink and food."
Obediently, Nimue followed her husband to the chief's hall. Her own thought shifting from her daughter. Summer would soon fade, and winter would approach fast. She wondered how long the man would war this winter. Romans were weaker in the months the wolf packs travelled up the river seeking food and shelter. Of course, they were never weak enough to leave. A light scowl marred her features, and Nimue shook it away. To worry over such was not her problem. The men would see to it.
Thus passed the seasons upon all. Wind blew hard and harsh, howling through the trees and over the hills. Clouds gathered upon the sky, raining down showers of ice and cold and death of those not strong enough to survive. Men waged war, women fought and grieved, and the world moved on. The sun rose each day, and children grew and old men died. Despite everything, hope persisted. Freedom would not be easily won, but the change of it was there and men clung to it with iron fists and bows and arrows and swords and knifes. It was the way in which their world revolved and spun them round and round.
Along with the passing of season grew the daughter of Merlin. Ragnelle, studious even as a child, took little pleasure in playing with the other children. She would rather follow her father around and learn from him the art of healing. There was something utterly fascinating about the wildlife found in the woods. Short legs pumped with fervour to keep up with her father's longer strides. Merlin, ever patient, took great care in the education of his child. "Warriors are of great importance," her father had said, sitting her down by the thick and protruding roots of a three, "but equally important are the healers. There is no life without death, child. But there need not to too much death when it can be prevented." He was a hard taskmaster, demanding only the best from his daughter.
Ragnelle equally loved and feared the man, for she was love in him, but also the power to take what life he'd given. Time soothed all. And as she grew, the girl leaned that her world, dark and full of terrors as it was, had its own light hidden in the deep blankness.
And so began a tale that would sail the centuries…
Hers was a country of rolling mists and flowing hills and cool air. Ragnelle sat by the tall trees at the edge of the copse. This was a place of worship, the gods had infused their power through the roots and up the trunks to the thin braches. The young woman leaned against one such tree. She hummed softly grinding a cluster of mushrooms into powder. She did not look up at the sound of children laughing, nor did the pay attention to the stamping of feet. She dipped the tip of her finger into the dust she'd created, moving it back and forth as if to better stir. She picked another mushroom and placed in gently in the bowl, after which she minced it with a sharp stone. And so on and so forth; lost in her task, Ragnelle did not even see that she was being approached by another girl residing in her village.
"Won't you come and join us?" the Woad asked, her voice holding something like uncertainty. "In a fight with the Romans those powders of yours won't lend you much help."
Ragnelle looked up from her work. Guinevere stood before her, a sly smile on her face. Older than Ragnelle, she stood also a better fighter. Her arms were skilled enough with a bow and she could wield a long knife. However she was a rash young woman, likely to find her death sooner rather than later. For all that her heart was good. Ragnelle smiled back, a brief stretch of lips. "Many thank, but I prefer my work with plans." She raised her arms up, the covering of her sleeves sliding downwards revealing slender limbs. "These arms are not fir to hold a bow."
"Aye," Guinevere agreed not a moment later. "But how about a knife? You could make use of a small one, I reckon." She pulled one of Ragnelle's arms to her and felt it. "With the added strength of your body, you could at least have a chance at survival."
Shaking her head gently, Ragnelle refused yet again. "Mine is a path of the healer, daughter of Cywryd. Take up arms as you will, and I shall see to the healing of wounds as I must." That woman's heart longed for battle and greatness. Should she tread without care, Ragnelle feared death would claim her all too soon. It was not so much that she cared for the other woman, she didn't know her nearly well enough to de distraught should anything happen to her, but as a fellows clanswoman she felt a faint stirring within her. "Have a care, sister mine."
Having apparently done her part, Guinevere retreated swiftly. Many thought her father a dark magician, and for that reason feared him. Ragnelle herself was the subject of whispered concerns. Had her father passed his magic to her? He must have, for how else had life been breathed back into her when she'd been born with no breath of her own? Aye, to them she was a creature of fairy dust and charmed words. Ragnelle resisted the urge to smile. Better that. It helped tremendously that as a child she'd started bleeding from her nose at the oddest moment. One moment she would be bent over a patch of herbs, the other she had her fingers pressed to her nose, watching in fascination as blood dribbled down her fingers into her palm. All sorts of tales had sprung from then onwards.
"The best of luck to you on patrol!" Ragnelle added hurriedly to the swiftly retreating Guinevere. She received a wave for her concern and a warm smile.
"You are not as fearsome as you like to pretend," Guinevere yelled back. "It is you who should have a care, sister, or you shall loose all claim to your title as sorceress."
A painful blow that. Ragnelle chuckled. Nay, she would not want it to be known that, indeed, compassion ruled her at times. Eyes shifting to her work, she noted that there were no more mushrooms. "Ah, that should be all for now," she considered out loud. Sitting up, Ragnelle stretched her arms and breathed deeply. Her mother would probably need her back to help with the stew soon. Collecting her small bowl from the ground, Ragnelle coveredit with a white cloth, she grabbed the sharp stone in her other hand and started walking down the hill.
Little away from the path, the archers has set their targets and were busy practicing. Ragnelle stopped a moment to look at them. Many were young men, just boys really, the women were older, of an age with her, Ragnelle was sure. She searched for Guinevere and found her helping Dagmar with her stance. To think that some of these lads and lasses would be gone when the next raid on the Romans had come to pass, such a pity. Ragnelle had once asked her father what it was that the Romans had done to incur the wrath of the gods. Merlin had answered that they'd taken what was not theirs to take. Her home, that was what they had taken. Bur war bred only war, hatred and monsters. It made beasts of good, decent men. A curse of their own making, her father had said. While Ragnelle partly agreed, she also felt that something more could have been done.
"Lass, you shouldn't brave the dark on your own," a well-known voice startled Ragnelle. Cyr, son of Brenwyk, stood beside her, his bearded jaw clenched. "Merlin would have our heads if an ill befalls you."
"Cyr, you join the patrol on this eve do you not?" Brenwyk's son nodded his answer. "Keep watch over yours. And may the gods keep you all safe."
She was about to start on her way again when Cyr took hold of her wrist. Ragnelle turned, dark eyes oddly empty. She waited for his words. "When I come back, share house with me."
Considering the man before her, Ragnelle studied his features closely. He was not the handsomest man in her village, but he was broad-shouldered and hard-working, strong and brave. His eyes were the colour of the crying sky, his mouth a straight line. That face of his had been carved out of stone, except when he grinned, a wide opening of his mouth, showing strong teeth. She could do worse. Yet she felt nothing when she looked upon him, not even a stir within her. Ragnelle supposed that she was to be blamed for that. A being weak in body such as her, she ought to have known she would not be able to withstand the amalgam of emotions her brethrens held within them.
"I shall be waiting for you," she told him. Ragnelle held no doubt that he had spoken to her father. Merlin held the man in high regard, and his daughter, who was usually a mirror of her father in such matters, held him in equally high regard.
Extricating her wrist from his hold, Ragnelle hurried across the green fields and to the cluster of huts. She stepped around the dogs that had gathered and whistled low and short. One of the bigger ones sprang to its feet, and Ragnelle called it over. "Home, boy, Come." The dog followed her obediently until they'd reached the entrance. Ragnelle pushed the animal skin from her way and looked inside. Her mother sat by the fire, her father was not there. Once more she called after the dog. "Swyr, come."
Swyr slunk alongside the wall, deftly avoiding a cup that was thrown after him. "You bring the mutt again!" Nimue chided her daughter. "Think you I cook the meals for him?" She threw the dog a heated look.
"Swyr saved my life, mother," Ragnelle reminded her only present parent. It had happened years ago when she was still a girl. Ragnelle had ventured into the woods far beyond the copse. Now she could not quite remember what her line of thinking had been then, but she'd encountered a wolf. Not uncommon by any means, except that the beast hungered and she was small and weak, good prey. He would have feasted upon her flesh if not for Swyr. The dog must have followed her from the village, Ragnelle hadn't even noticed him before he jumped in front of her, baring fangs at the hunter. So it came that the two fought for what seemed like hours to Ragnelle, until she had picked herself up and started throwing rocks at the wolf. In the end it had run away, probably too tired to fight both girl and dog. Swyr had lost an eye and a deep wound had decorated his belly for many moons. But he'd lived and since then, Ragnelle had given him a special place in her heart and at her side.
Sitting at her mother's side, Ragnelle took a small bowl and filled it with food. Then she felt for the bones and threw them Swyr way with a promise for more. Although she didn't particularly like her daughter's companion, Nimue had not denied him a meal yet. "Cyr has asked me to his house," she told her mother, her face blank.
"Moves fast, the boy does," Nimue replied. "I am glad daughter. Will you see him off?"
"I have said my piece," Ragnelle assured her mother. "There is nothing else." And there wasn't. When he came back they would share furs and a home, and if the gods were willing she would bare him sons soon. She turned to Swyr and gave him a wide piece of her bread.
"As you wish," Nimue sighed. She turned just in time to see her man entering. "You've arrived at last." Nimue passed him a bowl filled to the brim. "Sit, eat."
Following her father's example, Ragnelle swallowed a mouthful of stew. Swyr wagged his tail, stretching at her feet. She pushed his gently away. "Later," she promised, but snuck another piece of bread.
"Feed him to your heart's content, daughter," Merlin finally gave his permission. "Cyr has spoken with you." It was not a question, merely an observation on her father's part.
"Aye." Ragnelle doubled her response with a nod. That must have been as much as her father had wanted to know for he asked no further questions of her. It suited her fine.
Rolling onto her side after she had finished eating, Ragnelle pulled a fur across herself and shooed Swyr to her feet. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of Cyr and living with him. Batter that he has not asked. Falling into an uneasy slumber, Ragnelle was visited that night by shadows carrying with them blood and death and pain. She woke covered in cold sweat with Swyr's nose bumping hers.
"Off," she ordered the beast quietly. Throwing the coverings aside, Ragnelle looked to her sleeping parents. Her hand came to rest upon her breast. "A scare of the night, nothing more." Climbing to her feet, the young woman made her way outside, Swyr faithfully at her heel. The sun had not rised yet, despite the light. Ragnelle decided to go to the lake, near the wide rocks. A swim would do her good. It would cool her heated skin and ease her mind of burdens.
The walk was not a very long one. She could be back in time for food if she did not dally, Ragnelle decided. "Saty here," she told Swyr as she discarded her long dress, remaining in a white chemise. Weighing her options, the woman came to the conclusion that she should wash her dress as well. She threw her chemise off and jumped into the cool water. Swyr barked, staying at the edge. Ragnelle broke out to the surface and looked at her pet. "No need for that, Swyr. I shan't disappear." She submerged once more, running her fingers through her tangled hair. Scrubbing, Ragnelle came up for air. She spit out a mouthful of water then continued to wash herself.
Swimming to the bank she dragged her dress in, the dark material darkening further under the action of water. Swyr growled a warning at her when she threw water his way. Ragnelle laughed. "You stink!" As if understanding he was being insulted Swyr barked even louder, nearing the edge. Ragnelle called him in. The dog hesitated. "Come," she tried to make her voice as commanding as possible. Swyr retreated a few steps back, stared at her in indecision and then he ran straight into the water. It was a sight, truly, seeing the beast peddle about. At least he would not smell so bad after.
Ragnelle climbed out of the pool and shook the water off. Cool air assaulted her but she paid it little mind. Instead she pulled her chemise back on after a few moments in which she'd dried herself off. Over it she pulled a fur to hide her sodden state. Barefoot she ran all the way home, Swyr close behind. By the time she was back her mother had already gotten a fire roaring and was preparing food. She looked her daughter over. "You'll catch your death."
"I shan't." Her protest went unanswered. Instead she was forced to sit down by the fire to warm herself up. Nimue murmured something about her daughter having ice in her veins and wrapped a blanket around her.
"By the time Cyr returns you will have found your place in the halls of our ancestors." The mother tapped her foot to the ground in a show of annoyance. "Gods help us all." Ragnelle took great care not to let her amusement show. Her mother would only grow angrier for that and she was not above correcting her child with a strong hit to the head should there be need of such.
Loud commotion from outside had both women to their feet. Nimue took a long knife and handed another to her daughter. They exited the house together. Fianna ran past them hurriedly. She stopped all of a sudden and turned to stare at them. Light blue eyes filled with tear. "Brigd came back, she started. "Only Brigd came back."
Looking from Fianna to her mother, Ragnelle furrows her brows. "Only Brigd? How is that possible?"They had had a scouting mission. Even if they had seen enemies they should not have engaged into a fight.
Fianna wiped her tears away and shook her head. She had no more knowledge of this than them. "He will explain to us. Let us hurry."
Brigd stood a human mess before those who had gathered to listen to him. "We stood no chance. yr fell first. He put himself in the way of an arrow to save Guinevere. It shot in the neck, he bled out before our very eyes. Guinevere and I, we fought like wild animals, but too many and too strong."
"How did you escape?" Merlin's voice boomed, covering awed sounds of the audience.
"They knocked me down, hit me in the head. They must have thought I was dead and they left me there to rot. Cyr too. Only he was dead. Guinevere I never found. They must have taken her." The boy, for boy he was, was badly shaken.
Merlin nodded his acceptance. "My daughter shall see to your wounds." Ragnelle stepped forwards to take her charge, Fianna close behind. "See him to his hut and if you have need of anything you must but ask."
"Come, Fianna. Help me." Ragnelle allowed Brigd to rest his arm across his shoulders, Fianna doing the same. Together they saw him to his hut. "You should go," Ragnelle said. Fianna shook her head obstinately. "Fine then. You may bring me water from the river and see it boiled."
Hurrying away to do as she was required, Fianna left but Ragnelle and Brigd in the hut. Ragnelle unbuckled light armour, fighting with the animal skin that had caught to the man's flesh, sewn together by dried blood. His chest and back would need ointments and bandaging. Ragnelle sent Fianna fter those, claiming the task of boiling water for herself. The girl returned with Nimue in two, and the tree of them set to working of Brigd and his wounds.
Quiet and drawn was the light-eyed Fianna. Ragnelle watched the young girl with lingering envy. When she though of Cyr's death her feelings did not pass a fleeting pity. Not even sadness. Just pity for his cruel demise. The gods knew something must have been wrong with her if she could not summon the appropriate distress towards the man's death. Brigd would live, yet his sweetheart cried her eyes out as if he were burning on the pyre already. "Wipe your tears anon," Ragnelle commanded softly. "He lives and he will continue to do so if I have any say."
No sense in thinking of what was lost. Ragnelle bent over the boy's middle, dragging a once white cloth over the crust of dried blood. She wielded it with care, mindful of the sensitivity he presented. Brigd was quite brave through it all. He had gritted his teeth, only unclenching them for Fianna to place a piece of apple-wood for him to bite on. "You are brave," Ragnelle told the boy, giving him a small, odd smile. "The gods saw it."
"So was Guinevere. So was Cyr. And they do not live." Foolish pup, blaming himself for the misfortunes of others. "I failed them. I failed you all."
"You have not," Ragnelle assured him. "Cyr died by his own decision and Guinevere, if she yet lives, will find a way to come back to us. If not, hers was a warrior's demise. She would have wanted no less. Thus her wish is granted." Now she lied. Ragnelle was sure that if the Romans had taken Guinevere the poor woman was not granted death. "You must fight on, in the memory of Cyr and Guinevere."
Unconvinced, but too exhausted to protest further, Brigd closed his eyes and bit back into the wood as Ragnelle continued to work on the cleansening of his wounds. Some were deep, other shallow. All would heal with proper care. Some needed stitches. Ragnelle nodded towards her mother and Nimue prepared thread and needle. Fianna and herself held Brigd down while the wife of Merlin worked on him. He was a sorry sight, the boy, with his sad eyes. Ragnelle closed her eyes but a moment to rid herself of the sight of his mournful face. He could have done no more than he had.
When she stepped outside, Ragnelle found that tears had flooded her own eyes. What reason had she to cry? Sadness did not eat away at her insides for the death of Cyr. Nor did she cry for the sister that had been lost. Nay, Ragnelle though it must have been the pressure. Nimue wrapped an arm around her daughter's middle. "I do not cry for him, mother," Ragnelle said between sobs. She covered her mouth to muffle the embarrassing sounds. Almost grown and crying like a child, Ragnelle cursed inwardly.
"I know," Nimue told her. "Let us rest awhile at the copse and then we shall return to Brigd." She led her daughter away.
"I did not even see him off," Ragnelle breathed, leaning against the steady form of her mother. "He held my hand and looked at me with hope. And I, I pulled away. I hurt him."
"Would you have done any differently had you known he would o longer be of this world come morning?" Nimue thought that not. Ragnelle had a kind heart but her demeanour was often reserved. One had to know her well to get her warmth.
"Nay. Or perhaps aye. I know not, mother." Ragnelle sat in the grass, staring at the village. "But perhaps nay."
A/N: Yes, I own nothing! I regret nothing!And I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter. :)