Author's Note: My Rowan is nonbinary, so I've decided to do something a little different here and use Old English pronouns for the character. During the period when this story takes place, Old English and Old Norse (plus a good bit of Old French) would have been busy merging to become Middle English. Heo/heom/heore/heomself are the Old English equivalents to the Modern English pronouns they/them/their/themself.
Rowan woke suddenly and completely, breath catching in heore throat. The cottage was dark and quiet, save for the snores of Beau and Lionel, and the wheezing breath of heore father, still recovering from his bout of illness. Near the smoored hearth, the wolf dog Tykell raised his head and gave a soft, questioning wuff.
Moving carefully, so as not to wake heore two sleeping lovers, Rowan disentangled heomself from the covers and got out of bed, reaching for the trousers that hung on a nearby peg.
"What is it, my love?" murmured Princess Ettarde sleepily.
Rowan stilled in the act of pulling on heore stockings. Etty was no fool. If Rowan were only going out to the edge of the garden to relieve heomself, heo would not bother dressing, but would only pull on heore winter cloak over heore nightshirt.
"My mother," Rowan said at last, voice low. "I heard her calling to me from the greenwood."
"A dream?" Etty suggested.
Rowan's mother, a healer and woodswitch, had been cruelly murdered some six years before, the cottage she and Rowan had shared, burnt to ashes. That was when Rowan had changed heore name and fled into Sherwood Forest, seeking heore father, the outlaw chieftain Robin Hood. But Rowan's mother had been half aelfe - the mysterious supernatural beings who inhabited the wood, revealing themselves to few - and perhaps death did not mean the same thing to them.
Rowan shook heore head. "I don't know. I have to see."
Etty sat up. "I'll come with you. Even you shouldn't roam the forest alone at night."
Rowan hesitated, then nodded.
They dressed quickly, pulling on roughspun woolen clothing and winter cloaks, and arming themselves with hunting knives and Rowan's bow.
From his pallet near the hearth, Rook raised himself up on an elbow. "Shall I come, too?"
Rowan shook heore head. "Someone needs to stay, in case the others wake and wonder where we've gone."
"At least take the dog with you." Rook gave Tykell's flank a pat, shooing him toward the door.
It was a cold night as Rowan, Etty, and Tykell set out. Midwinter was barely a fortnight past. The moon, three quarters full, peeked between the scudding clouds, now appearing, now hiding its pale face, making the patches of snow on the forest floor glow.
"Which way?" Etty asked at the edge of the cottage clearing.
Rowan closed heore eyes and breathed in the cold night air. "Mother, guide me," heo murmured.
A calm certainty settled over heom. Heo opened heore eyes again and began walking.
Rowan had always had good night vision, perhaps due to heore aelfe heritage, and Tykell's eyes were keen as well. Etty hurried to keep up, stumbling over shadowed roots and stones. Every now and then, Rowan paused to reorient heomself, and every time, found that sense of certitude - and urgency - drawing heom on.
An hour's silent trek brought them near to the edge of Sherwood Forest, past which the high walls of Nottingham loomed. Rowan's footsteps slowed. The outlaws of Rowan's and Robin's bands rarely ventured so close to the city walls. This part of the forest was heavily patrolled by the wrathful sheriff's men by day, and even by night, was more of a risk than many of them cared to take.
At last, Rowan halted, puzzled.
"What is it?" Etty asked.
Rowan shook heore head. "I don't know. I'm not sure anymore."
As heo cast about, trying to pick up that trail of certainty again, Tykell padded off a few paces, and began sniffing at trees and bushes. Suddenly, his ears pricked up. He gave a soft wuff, and trotted away into the shadows.
"A rabbit, do you think?" Etty said hopefully.
Their winter store of meat was running low, and even small game might be worth pursuing.
"Maybe," said Rowan. "Let's find out."
They followed the dog through the trees until they came to a clearing. At its edge stood a small wattle and daub hut, which must have belonged to a woodsman, for there were a number of felled and limbed logs neatly stacked outside, and a great axe leaned against the wall. The wolf dog trotted up to the door and scratched at it, whining.
"Don't, Tykell, you'll wake them!" Etty called softly.
"I'm not sure he will," said Rowan. The place had a cold, empty feeling about it that heo misliked. "Hello, the hut!" heo called loudly.
There was no answering sound. Approaching the hut cautiously, Rowan rapped at the door as hard as heore cold knuckles would allow. The hollow booming sound should have awakened anyone lying within, but still there was only silence. Trying the door, Rowan found that it would not budge.
"Barred from the inside, I suppose," said Etty, pulling her cloak more tightly around her against the cold. "To keep outlaws out, or sheriff's men, I wonder?"
Tykell whined again and pawed at the door.
"We have to get in," Rowan decided. "Either the place is abandoned, and no one will care, or whoever is inside can't come to the door, and needs our help."
Casting about, heore eye lit again upon the great axe, leaning against the hut wall. Heo took hold of it and hefted it in heore hands. It was heavier by far than any axe heo had ever wielded, and felt clumsy in heore grip. Taking a deep breath, and checking to make certain Etty stood well back, heo swung it at the door.
The blade connected with a dull thud that made barely a dent in the wood. Setting heore mouth in a grim line, Rowan took another swing, and another, adjusting heore grip on the haft to balance the tool, and figuring out how to let the weight of the blade do most of the work.
After several minutes of exertion, heo had managed to make a hole in the wood large enough for Etty to put a hand through and lift the bar that held the door closed. Leaving the axe on the doorstep, they entered.
"Oh!" cried Etty, stopping short and clapping a hand over her nose and mouth.
The hut reeked of sickness. The ashes in the hearth were cold and dead, and on the bed lay the woodsman and his wife, in the same condition. Grief swept over Rowan. Death was never far away for those who dwelt in the forest, especially in the cold season, but with heore healing magic, these two need not have died.
"I'm sorry," heo murmured sadly. "Would that I had come sooner."
Tykell jumped up onto the bed and nosed at something lying between the two still, lifeless bodies. Rowan stepped nearer, to see what the dog had found.
It was a child. Not much more than a year old, naked and filthy, baby fat burned away by fever and hunger. Her eyes were darkly hollowed, and there were smudges of filth on her small face and body. She was too weak to move or make a sound. The life within her was barely a flicker, to Rowan's magical sight.
Lifting her from the bed, Rowan cradled the child in heore arms. She weighed almost nothing. Heo sat down on a bench near the cold hearth, and opened heore cloak and the laces of heore shirt, pressing the chilled little body to heore warm skin. Tykell rested his muzzle on heore knee, as if lending his own warmth.
Etty drew near, leaning close to stroke the child's fine, filthy hair. "Will she live?" she asked in a hushed voice.
"I don't know," said Rowan grimly.
While Etty found a candle, and rummaged for flint and steel in her pocket to light it, Rowan closed heore eyes, summoning up heore healing powers and focusing them through heore hands on the child's cold skin. Heo feared the she might be too far gone, but heo could not believe heore mother would have called heom here too late to do anything.
"Help me, Mother!" Rowan called out, harsh and desperate.
Almost immediately, Rowan felt a tingling sensation in heore chest - and then a sudden rush of warmth to heore breasts. Heo blinked, startled, then tugged open heore shirt further still, adjusting heore hold on the child, and set her mouth to heore breast. Heo stroked her cheek, encouraging her to suck.
"Come, little one," Rowan murmured. "Take what you need."
After a moment, the small lips closed around the offered nipple, and the child began, weakly, to suck. Rowan felt the life-giving milk begin to flow, and sighed with relief.
"Thank you, Mother," heo whispered.
Etty knelt beside Rowan, gazing at heom in awe and wonder. "I didn't know you could do that."
"I didn't either."
Leaning closer, Etty pressed a kiss to Rowan's brow. "Your love is a precious miracle to all who know it, no less than it is to me."
Rowan smiled tiredly. "I could not begin to give such love without the love I have with you and Beau, and the good friendship of Rook and Lionel."
Tykell, head still on Rowan's knee, wuffled softly. Rowan and Etty laughed.
"And you, too, my good dog," said Rowan, freeing a hand to stroke his winter-thick coat. "You loved me first, before any of the others."
The child at Rowan's breast was already beginning to show signs of life. Her cheeks had gained a rosy glow, and she felt heavier in Rowan's arms. The lingering sickness within her burned away as she suckled hungrily.
When at last the child slept, sated, Rowan closed up heore shirt, bundling heore precious burden inside heore cloak.
"Come," heo said, rising. "Let's go home."
"What about them?" asked Etty uneasily, glancing toward the bed and its still, silent occupants.
Rowan set heore mouth grimly. "There's nothing we can do for them tonight. We'll return on the morrow with the others, to bury them."
The walk back through the wood to their cottage seemed to take longer. The child slept on, peacefully, heavy in Rowan's arms.
"What will we do with her?" Etty asked. "Give her to the Church? They often take in orphaned children."
Rowan shook heore head. "No. She's ours now. It's what Mother would have wanted."
"Oh." Etty blinked. "Ours? You mean, we're her parents now?"
"You'll make a fine mother," said Rowan, casting her a fond, reassuring smile. "What can the Church do for her that we can't?"
"I suppose," Etty said pensively. "But what do we call her? She must have had a name, but there are none left we can ask."
Rowan thought for a moment, then smiled. "Her name is Celandine, after my mother."
"It's a fine name," Etty agreed. Then she giggled.
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "Care to share the jest?"
"It's nothing," said Etty, shaking her head. "I just can't wait to see the look on Beau's face, when he wakes to find he's a father."
"To say nothing of Uncle Rook and Uncle Lionel," Rowan laughed, "and Grandfather Robin Hood!"