Chapter 14: The Signet Ring

Arl Trian Auber

When the king and his two knights departed to bathe and rest, I sat a moment examining the ring. It was obvious that it had been cared with regular polishing during the intervening years since I had last seen it. Running my finger over the graven image of the mountain goat, rearing up to charge, reminded me of things I had not allowed myself to remember in so many years.

The ring had been commissioned by my father for his young bride and he bestowed it upon their wedding day. My mother had treasured it always, never removing it from her finger. She had used it to seal her letters. For her it was a symbol of how she had embraced her new family and its heritage. When she had become ill and her time drew to a close she left the ring to me with the instructions that I should bestow it on my own bride.

When Eiluna came to Herfirien to become my wife, I placed the ring on her finger before tenderly kissing her hand, explaining its significance to her. She, like my mother, also cherished that ring and her vows to me. Such happy years we had together. She was so beautiful and full of life, she was loved by our people and eagerly worked among them with compassion, learning the herb lore and the traditions, the songs and the stories, the art and the small rituals that were as natural to us as breathing. When she was taken from us by illness, much like my mother had been, a part of me died with her.

I had buried myself in my duties, meting out justice for the people I mediated for and made sure that the needs were met. I fulfilled the duties required of me, even if my heart was not in it. It was not living, but subsisting.

Then my sister, Ayleth, sent me a letter requesting that I allow my youngest niece and nephew to stay with me during the harvesting season. When we had been children we had been inseparable and I was as devoted to her as I was my mother. Her marriage to Donngal Crewe was arranged, but she had been eager to become Donngal's wife and be an arlessa. She talked incessantly of how close the two arldoms were and how easy it would be for us to visit one another whenever we wished.

After the wedding she wrote almost weekly, informing me of every little detail of her new life. Then her letters started to thin out, coming mayhap once a moon or two in an entire season. I did not question it or think less of her for her laxity in writing, she was a busy woman. After her first son, Fendril, was born the letters stopped all together. The only news I would have of her would be a hastily scrawled line or two in her husband's missives when he proposed business trades or requested assistance of some nature.

The letter a year after Eiluna had passed caught me off guard. I had known of Ayleth's four children, the youngest two being twins of five years at that time. Never having laid eyes on them and having had no children of my own I was reluctant to agree to the visit, but remembering how dear Ayleth was to me and feeling lonely I finally sent a letter of my assent and made preparations for their care. I was informed that they would travel with a nanny to help meet their needs and I had rooms organized for their interim in my household.

The day they arrived at the beginning of the harvest season, I had been informed that there was a potential plague of root rot that was attacking the root vegetables we were trying to harvest and store. There were also a number of ill goats in one of the south pastures. The whole world felt like it was going mad and I had to keep it under control. Most of that day I spent either in fields or reassuring farmers and laborers that everything would be well and prevent panic.

When I returned to the mansion all I wanted was a hot meal and to be allowed to rest without someone coming to petition something of me. As I walked in the door, Kynan, my head of household, informed me that the children had arrived and were settled. My first instinct was to leave be and have them summoned to me the next day, but my curiosity to see what they looked got the better of me and I arranged for them to share my evening meal rather than partake of it in my room.

I could never forget the moment I laid eyes on them as they were ushered to my table by a rounded, pleasant looking woman. They had dark brunette hair, the color of mature chestnuts and matching dark brown eyes. Their resemblance to my own mother was uncanny, especially considering that neither their mother nor I had resembled her, taking after my father's black locks and hazel-green eyes. Looking at them made my heart ache slightly.

The children filed into my presence, only giving me partial glances with their downcast eyes at stolen moments. Clearing my throat I tried to put them at ease, taking a moment to complement their manners and ask questions about their home. They ate in near silence, giving one word answers when coaxed and nodding meaningfully in affirmative when asked if they liked their quarters and the garden.

After what felt like an eternity, the meal was over and their nanny announced that the children should go to their room for bedtime. Like dutiful living dolls, the two children excused themselves from the table and followed their Nanny out of the room, except the little girl stopped short in the doorway and turned to ran back to me, resting her little hands upon the arm of my chair and looking into my face as if trying to deduce my soul from what she saw there. Then, with a chubby, beckoning finger she lured me to lower my face closer to her and placed her hand gently upon my cheek.

"You look like the small picture Momma keeps of you," she confided, "except for your whiskers. You had no whiskers in the picture."

I recalled the picture of which she referred, my sister had painted it shortly before her marriage and I recalled the grueling sessions of posing and sitting in complete stillness so that she could manage to capture my likeness to take with her. The memory made me smile and the little girl mirrored that smile on her own face.

"She promised you would be kind to us and not speak sharply." The girl informed me of this with new gravity, as if verifying that this was the case and not some empty promise.

Whispering solemnly, I vowed, "I will never speak sharply to you, little niece." This promise seemed to appease the child and she stood on tiptoe to bestow a reverent kiss upon my cheek before scurrying off to their rooms for bed.

The rest of their visit, I brought them with me all over the Herfirien. They witnessed the harvesting and listened to the stories I told them of their mother and I when we were children. I would watch them play in the garden, climbing trees and helping to pick the vegetables with their nanny for their meals. The pair were lively companions and I derived much pleasure from their company.

Their time with me seemed to end too soon and they had to go home. Maerwynn, my niece, was most adamant that she wanted to stay and manage house for me while her brother, Murchad, offered to stay on and train as a knight in my service. The devotion to me was touching and I was loathed to let them to go.

Every year, from then on, I extended an invitation for the children to visit during harvest time. Eagerly I looked forward to their coming. When they would I arrive I would embrace them both fondly and listen as they regaled me with tales of their lives and experiences. Those were my happiest times.

One year, when the twins were nine, their older brothers accompanied them. I was fond of my niece and younger nephew so I looked forward to acquainting myself with the older boys, assuming that I would come to regard them with equal affection. It did not end as I planned.

From the very beginning Fendril and Ronan, aged thirteen and eleven respectively, were sullen and restless. They never looked at me directly or spoke more than a word or two at one time. In my presence they seemed ill-at-ease and appeared to try to avoid me. Thinking that they would warm to me in time, I allowed them their space and encouraged them to explore the town, provided they were careful.

After a week or two I received reports that they were bullying the village children and were rude and demanding with my staff. Deciding to rein them in and confront them about their behavior, I went to seek them out in the garden. When I found them I was shocked. Murchad was on the ground, bleeding and crying. Maerwynn was struggling to break free of her oldest brother who was gripping her wrists and kicking her in the shins with his heavy boots. He did not notice me until I came up behind him and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He began cursing and swearing until he realized who it was who restrained him. Then he fell into a glaring, brooding silence.

I marched him inside, finding the nanny speaking with the other boy in the kitchen regarding his cruelty to the kitchen cat that was the best mouser of the household. Sending the woman to see to the younger children, I took both boys in hand and lectured them about how dishonorable it was to terrorize those weaker or smaller than themselves, particularly women. They listened in dour silence, making no sign that they understood or that they were repentant for their actions. Within the week, seeing no change, I sent them home with a missive explaining why and stating they would not be welcome in my home unless they experienced a vast improvement in their outlooks. Maerwynn and Murchad spent the rest of the harvest interim as they had always done, but the events caused me concern.

I broached the subject with the twins' nanny, Bruna, who had apparently cared for the younger children since they had been born. According to her the older boys spent far more time with their father, being schooled in the running of their home and how to work. The twins rarely saw them and were not accustomed to being with them. Thinking that the behavior had stemmed from a sudden change in their liberty, I was satisfied with the answers and did not consider it further.

Years passed and the twins continued their annual visits. The year they turned fourteen, I noticed that they were both maturing into amazing young adults. My niece, especially, was graceful and had a harmonious voice. The halls were filled with her singing and it was like a spring breeze passing through. It refreshed the soul, giving new life to those who listened. It was a beautiful summer and I began to think ahead to the future.

I had no children to name as my heirs. Since Maerwynn and Murchad were my sister's children it would not be unseemly if I were to name them as my successors. Their older brothers were prepared and poised to take over Cloughbark and providing the twins with future options seemed a wise decision. I began to tutor both of the children that summer in how to run the arldom of Herfirien and began introducing them to the heads of the villages. The twins dutifully listened to my instruction and related well with the people they came into contact with.

When they left for home at the end of their visit, I began the legal arrangements and made plans to announce it that following year and inform Donngal Crewe my intentions. I assumed that he would be pleased since he would not be pressured to provide the twins with a berth within his own arlage. I could not anticipate what would change everything.

One night, after the first snowfall, one of the gate guards rushed into my study, informing me that Maerwynn had unexpectedly arrived. I could tell from the look on the man's face that he was gravely distressed and without a thought or a word I bounded from my room and to the front door. I stopped short on seeing my beloved niece just inside the large doors.

She was shrouded in a cloak and the fingers that gripped the edges to keep it closed looked thin, so much thinner than they were the few months prior. Aside from the cloak, the clothing she was wearing was far to light for travel during that time of the year and she was shivering. What caused me to catch my breath, though, was the fact that the right side of her face was bandaged and blood still seeped, showing red against the white pallor of her face.

I drew the shivering girl into my arms and led her to the fireplace in my study, calling for the servants to bring hot cider to warm her. She would not speak, regardless of what I asked or how I coaxed. She only continued to shiver, regardless of how warm we tried to make her, which indicated a grave fever.

She lay in bed for a number of days, delirious and I refused to leave her side, frightened she would slip away in her sleep. Two days after Maerwynn had arrived, Bruna also appeared at the gates stating that she was looking for the girl. She was ushered in and I discovered that she was versed in herb lore and ministered to my niece's needs. Soon the girl's fever broke and she became coherent again.

Once the danger appeared to have passed and I could think clearly, I cross examined Bruna, demanding to know what had befallen to cause the girl to be in such a state. She was evasive, reluctant to speak but nebulously implied that there had been dark happenings in the Crewe household. Thinking back to when my older nephews had visited and piecing together what little was revealed by the nanny, I began to suspect that one either Fendril or Ronin had flown into a rage and injured my niece.

I sent word to my sister, informing her of Maerwynn's whereabouts and insisting that the girl should remain in Herfirien until she could be deemed well enough to travel. Her face was badly scarred with what appeared to be a burn, with an angry red imprint across her cheek and around her eye. If it had fallen differently she might have been blinded. Over time the color receded to a pale purple and had some raised edging in places, but it seemed far less severe than when I had first seen it. Maerwynn stubbornly refused to discuss with me what happened to her and it gravely distressed her so I soon resolved to stop asking, assuming that my initial assumptions were correct and her silence was a misguided attempt to prevent bringing unwanted attention to her family.

The winter was long, and even when Maerwynn was probably fit enough to travel, the poor weather and snow had made the roads treacherous, or so I claimed. In reality, I could not bear to part with my niece for, even in her poor state, she brought joy into my life with her presence. We wiled away the winter days in the study, reading form my library and discussing our thoughts on whatever struck our fancy. Bruna also helped to occupy the girl, teaching her how to manage a kitchen and other tricks of herb lore. It did not occur to me to mind, particularly since they began a habit of serving me a wonderful tea that they brewed by hand from herbs that Bruna collected.

When spring finally came and the snow began to disappear, I reluctantly made arrangements to escort my niece home to Cloughbark. Maerwynn seemed to be distressed at leaving as well, but hid it behind a brave façade and allowed me to bring her back without argument. The trip took two days by horse and we rode into the grim walls of the Cloughbark estates.

It had been many years since I had been to these lands and it seemed almost darker than I remembered. The servants had the look of frightened people hiding behind painted smiles. They graciously welcomed us when they saw my niece, though they exchanged nervous glances with one another as they waited on us. We were informed that Arl Crewe was seeing to some land matters, but Arlessa Ayleth would be quite eager to see her daughter. We waited in a drafty sitting room as we listened to servants scurrying in the halls.

Ayleth, when she entered the room to greet us, looked nothing like the girl I had remembered. Though she still possessed her loveliness, her smiles never reached her eyes. She was very quiet and retiring, shunning all laughter regardless of my good natured teasing and remembrances of our happy childhood. Maerwynn kissed her mother on the cheek and embraced her, but there was no warmth exchanged. These things gravely distressed me because I could not account for them.

When Arl Crewe arrived home after attending to other matters, I requested to speak with him privately. I voiced my concerns about Maerwynn's safety, particularly in reference to the fact that she had been gravely scarred. I made not accusations against my nephews, but I offered to open my own home to my niece if that would satisfy him, to which Crewe politely, though laughingly rebuffed my offer, stating that he had other plans for my niece. He spoke of the possibility of sending her abroad, perhaps to Orlais, for further schooling. The thought of her being sent so far away made me even more distressed, but I did not press my suit further.

The next day I took my leave of Cloughbard, but not before I took my niece aside and spoke with her.

"Listen to me, Mae," I whispered, holding her hand and looking into her eyes as I used to when she was a little child, "if ever you need me you can come to Herfirien. You are welcome and it will always be home to you."

"I know, Uncle" she squeaked, a tear trickling down her cheek.

"You and your brother will always be safe with me. What is more, it is my desire to name you both as my heirs. When I am gone, Herfirien will be under your protection." I asserted strongly, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

"Really?" she breathed.

I took her hand and pressed my mother's ring into it, "This ring belonged to both my mother and my wife. It is now yours. If ever you need my help, send me a letter sealed with this and I will move the mountains themselves to find you and bring you safely home. You may be a Crewe, but you are equally an Auber as well. Never forget that."

Speechless, overcome with emotion, she nodded and clung to me. It took every ounce of my will power to leave her behind, but it would have been unseemly to overstep my place.

I left Cloughbark and had not travelled back since. The details that I noticed on my visit however gnawed at my innards. Something was gravely amiss and it made me apprehensive for my niece and nephew's safety. Though I sent letters inquiring after them I received no replies, save for the business missives that Donngal Crewe sent regularly making requests and empty of what truly mattered to me.

That harvest season Maerwynn and Murchad did not come. I was sent a missive by their father that he had made other arrangements for their time and they would be too busy to waste their time in childish pursuits. Murchad was becoming a man and had to start shouldering responsibilities for his family. My world became emptier with their absence.

Desperate to know any substantial news of my dear ones, I enlisted the aid of spies. I sent them to find work within the household and around the center of the arlage in order to monitor what transpired on those lands. Maker forgive me I had never felt the need to employ such means before, but what I discovered distressed me far worse than I could have imagined.

I discovered that not only were my nephews, Fendril and Ronin, cruel and violent, but apparently they had learned it from watching their father. The man was not above beating the servants for a poorly executed task or accidental transgressions. He was exacting to the point of pettiness and was driven to maddening lengths by his ambition and arrogance. The people around him were merely tools, and that included his wife and children. In particular, Maerwynn was terrorized because she would refuse to bend to his every whim or would intercede on behalf of those he tormented. It was even rumored that he had scarred his own daughter as punishment for questioning him in one of his rages.

After so many years of silence, the pieces began to fall into place in my own mind and I understood what had been there all along and it made me ill to think of it. I tried to secretly send word through trusted couriers to my niece and nephew, begging them to escape to Herfirien, but received no reply or indication that they had ever received my letters. Feeling helpless, I began to pray to the Maker that he would take pity on them and permanently remove Donngal, but if the reports were to be believed then Fendril and Ronin would not be an improvement.

Years passed and I gave up all hope of being able to help Maerwynn and Murchad when, shortly before the harvest season was destined to begin, Mae arrived at my gates one night with Bruna in tow. The guards knew who she was and did not detain her, but rushed her through. She came into my study and threw herself into my arms. During the three years since I had last seen her she had grown, but it was her eyes that showed the greatest change. They held a strength that indicated a wisdom borne from suffering, but they also indicated that she had not been broken by her ordeals.

My heart was glad to have her with me again, but her somber expression spoke volumes. She urged me to sit down so that she could reveal her purpose to me. I complied and she began to tell me of her father's latest scheme to arrange a marriage between her and Arl Leofrick Boese.

Knowing Boese by reputation, I visibly shuddered and she went on, "Uncle, father has learned that violence again me does not work to his advantage. I have hardened myself to withstand it and he is unable to coerce me by threatening it. Now, however, he resorts to threatening those around us if I do not comply with his wishes."

"Mae," I reassured her, "you are safe now. He will not be able to force you to leave here."

"You do not understand, Uncle." She chided, before continuing, "When I refused to agree to the arranged marriage with Arl Boese, he threatened to turn Bruna over to the Templars."

I felt stricken by this information. To resort to physical violence was one thing, but to purposely turn innocent people over to the Templars to be tortured and executed was something far worse. My mouth went dry.

"Even if I were to stay here," Mae explained, "both father and Boese would turn their wrath on you, use the Templars to take it out on the people here."

"No!" I exploded, "If they were to do any such thing there will be blood. I am an Auber and I will not stand for that blatant disregard of honor and the ancient compacts that have long held the Cauldron in peace."

For once, my niece looked frightened. In all my years I had never seen her look so, but she was frightened for me and for what her refusal would unleash if she were to seek shelter under my roof. She tried to argue with me, but I refused to hear her. I was full to the brim with my own self-righteousness.

I had the servants prepare rooms for her and assured her we would speak in the morning. She embraced me once and kissed me on the cheek as she used to do as a little child before taking her leave of me to go to her room. Sometime during the night she stole from the house and was not heard from again.

As she foretold, Arl Donngal Crewe arrived on my lands to fetch his daughter and was irate to find that she was not there. I held my tongue and allowed him to search my estate, my property and all the surrounding countryside without complaint, but also without assistance. The longer he dallied in Herfirien, the more distance she could put between herself and him.

When he was satisfied that I was not harboring her, the man's ire spent itself and he went home, vowing to hunt her down by proxy. Crewe was not interested in the woman he had threatened to turn over to death, now that the threat had backfired on him, so I kept Bruna on at the estate until eventually she was running my kitchen.

Eight years had passed, and I still knew my niece as well as I did then. I stood up and walked to the kitchen, opening the door with a bang to see my niece sitting at a table, gossiping with Bruna. At my entrance she rose to her feet, attempting to smile coyly, though there was uncertainty on her face as well.

I was filled me with a mix of emotions and all I could manage to do was sputter, "Perhaps I should be flattered that you informed me of your presence at all, though I would have preferred you to have used the front entrance rather than the back door like a thief or a beggar. At least I knew where to find you as soon as I discovered you were here."

She was unsure of what to say, she opened her mouth twice but nothing came out. Finally she offered, "Well met, Uncle."

In three quick strides I crossed the room and hugged her to me, crying in broken gasps, "Welcome home, my Mae!" Let the whole staff see me, I no longer cared.