CHAPTER 6 – THE PHOENIX
Since coming back home from the tourney, days had been long and peaceful, the nights deep and silent; until recent raids on the honey farms started. Following reports of a new group of bandits that named themselves 'the red bears' Raeghun had sent parties out to investigate, and bring an end to the attacks if they could. By sunset two days past, a scout returned with confirmation that the band had set up in a cave near the Flint Cliffs, and he went out himself with a party of soldiers to extinguish the threat; returning with a new scar. He sat on the edge of the bed holding his left arm above his head and resting his wrist against his neck as his wife helped clean and dress the wound. He stared at the wood floor as he felt the cold fingers run across the broken skin just under his shoulder blade and around to his chest, where the armour did not reach.
"It's healing well." Claira mentioned as she replaced a small jar of green Myrrh and Achillea ointment back on the table before covering the injury with linen bands. Maester Adlyn assured there would be no need of bandages as these strips would adhere to the skin for several hours before falling off. Raeghun nodded, and returned his attention to the floor underneath his feet, feeling the cold pressure as she pressed the viscous cloth to his skin. It may have been a foolish decision to go, even ser Austinus Schmidinger, their master-at-arms advised him against it. But he wanted to go, he needed to. It was his duty, to keep his people safe, wasn't it? It's what his father would have done, or he believed it would be. Then the hands left him, and she sat back.
"Al right. Don't go straining yourself." he lowered his arm and took a shirt from beside him before turning to her.
"Thank you, my sweet." he kissed her before pulling the shirt over his head and shoulders, letting it fall to his waist.
"I need to attend to our court matters today, so I won't be able to go off the castle grounds. And then there is the matter of what to do with the remaining red bears." she lowered her feet to the ground.
"What are you planning, to do with them?" she asked, and he breathed out slowly.
"They will most likely be hanged, for their crimes." he determined, and she nodded.
"I should go and visit our wounded. Then I'll speak to Jeody, and see to the rest of the matters." she said standing up, the seam of her grey dress rustling around her feet as she smoothed down the front of the dress. He took a brown doublet from atop a chest, and pulled it over the cotton tunic then fastened the front laces; and departed the lord's wing for his duties. After ensuring that all was in order, she left the lord's wing, finding Gavin one of her sentinels waiting at the door.
"Good morning, my lady. I trust you had a pleasant evening." he greeted, and she smiled as she closed the door behind her.
"Good morning, Gavin. Our night was peaceful. And yours?" she returned to the short, stocky guardsman with thick chestnut coloured hair and dark eyes. He returned her smile.
"Good, but too short I'm afraid." he said, and they shared a laugh. He raised a hand.
"Shall we begin our tour, my lady?" he asked, and she obliged. Of her four sentinels, Gavin was the most cheerful one. He was the son of the castle smith, who had grown up and trained alongside Raeghun and Berin. Not wanting to follow in his father's footsteps he joined the household guard, and became a sentinel. Whatever negative thoughts you had, he could quickly jape away, and he loved telling tall tales from the Age of Heroes. They made their way down the halls towards the barracks; the guardsmen at the tables stood as she entered, giving her their full attention and a fond greeting.
"Good morning, everyone." she returned before continuing on her way to the infirmary to see their people. Seven men waited while nurses tended their wounds, and assured that they administered the medicinal aid from the maester.
"How is your arm?" the lady enquired as she came to the last of their injured, and he looked up smiling despite a long cut running down the length of his fore arm.
"Healing, my lady." he reported, and she smiled.
"Good, and the fever?" she further asked.
"Gone. Maester Adlyn is truly gifted. It is no wonder why he is called 'the healer'." the guard praised.
"I'm so glad to hear it. Don't exert yourself too much before you feel better." she advised, and the guard nodded.
"Thank you, my lady. Your compassion truly speeds our recovery." he said, and then noted that a face was missing from the hall.
"Where is Falgon?" she enquired, and Gavin stepped forward from her side.
"He should be with Maester Adlyn, my lady. He complained of a burning in his chest earlier." he advised, and her attention went back to the hall behind them.
"Oh, then I had better see him as well." she mentioned before turning back to Gavin.
"Is anyone else missing from my visitation list?" she asked, and he shook his head.
"No my lady." he assured, and they turned to leave.
Falgon sat on the chair next to the little hearth, looking through the window towards wide green fields, bordered by forest and dotted with farms.
"This is a lovely country. I've found it quite enamouring." he said, and then looked back at maester Adlyn who sat mixing a white balm.
"It is a beautiful place. The Corridor stretches all the way from the west where we are, here on the highest cliff of Cape Kracken, all the way across to the shores of The Bite on the east side. White Harbour is just a few miles above our border to the north, and The Neck to the south." he told, his hands working continuously for a soft texture.
"You've served the Taugere family a long time, maester?" Falgon asked as he sat waiting, watching as the maester's hands moved in circles, first to the left, then to the right, and then in a figure of eight.
"Yes, for many years. My service here started under lord Varin Taugere. When it was his time to leave this world, I served his first born son, lord Rychard Taugere. And now I serve the late lord's only son, lord Raeghun Taugere. Perhaps, gods be good, I'll have the privilege to serve his son as well." he confirmed.
"The names sound almost Valyrian." Falgon noted.
"Yes, that they do. Many have associated them directly with the Targaryens; but the Taugere name is ancient. They have been here for much longer than that. Aegon the Conqueror's rule was around three hundred years ago, the burning mountain has been the seat of the phoenix for thousands of years. I'll confess that they share some ancestry with the dragons from marriage pacts made in the past; something rather clear in the colour of lady Mae's silver-gold hair." he told, and could imagine he saw the sentinel's posture change from calm to unease for but a moment.
"Are you al right?" he asked looking up.
"I'm fine, maester." Falgon assured, seeming just the same as he did.
"Nonetheless, as I was saying: lord Veyron Taugere started building this hold, its completion was seen by his great grandson, lord Rhendan Taugere. There are many stories. One of the most prominent is the tale of Baderon 'Blackwing' Taugere. He resisted the Andal invasion. It was said that he entered battles wearing a cloak of black phoenix feathers; and that simply his voice could send arrows off course." Maester Adlyn said with a smile.
"Black phoenix feathers." Falgon tried imagining it in his mind.
"So the story says, but if anything like that could ever exist, it has been long lost to the family. But the lord's sword remains. A Valyrian steel blade with a hilt fashioned to the likeness of the house sigil. It grieves me to have to admit that some houses do not have a particular fondness of the Taugere family, as tales depict them as rather brutish. But I assure you, this is misunderstood. While they are harsh and forthright, they are not unkind. Theirs is a long and proud bloodline of strong people." the maester said, then he sat back for a moment, his hands still on his knees, and a far off look in his features.
"I remember the day that lords Stark, Baratheon and Tormont came to the burning mountain to negotiate an alliance. With no lands or treasures to give, they were left with one alternative option. However, the Baratheon succession was left to three sons. House Stark had a daughter, but she had vanished; and the rebellion initiated with the intent to retrieve the lady. Seeing little options, lord Willmon Tormont stepped forward, offering his oldest daughter in marriage to lord Rychard's only son to seal their alliance. He requested the night to reflect on the offer." then he continued his work.
"He had doubts?" Falgon asked, and then the maester looked up at him with a gentle smile.
"With the dawn, and fifteen thousand men at their back lord Rychard Taugere rode south with them, to war." he finished. Then removed the pestle from the mortar and shook off what he could from it.
"Al right, where did you say the burning sensation was?" he asked, and Falgon removed his shirt. The maester sat stunned for a moment, taking in what he saw before him. Then he handed the tub to Falgon, still watching the area of discomfort.
"That should ease it." he said softly, and leaned forward to study the sentinel as he spread the salve over the area.
"What happened to you?" he asked, and Falgon looked at him.
"I don't know. I woke up with it one day." he said lightly, and then placed the mortar back on the table, and wiped the excess from his fingers with his shirt before readying it to redress.
"This brand is truly fascinating; I've never seen anything like it." Maester Adlyn mentioned, and then looked up at the door, where the lady stood. Falgon turned to face her, and she too gasped slightly at the sight of it. A scar blemished the left side of his chest, a mark in the shape of a ring, with a long shaft and five bit lines, resembling a dangling key stretched from the clavicle to the base of his pectoral muscle.
"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt." she said, but he smiled at her.
"You interrupt nothing, your grace." he said, and pulled the shirt over his head.
"I was told you're feeling a bit morbid this morning?" she enquired, as pulled the shirt down over his body.
"No, your grace. I'm perfectly well." he assured.
"Good. But take the day for yourself, make sure everything is in order." she instructed, and turned to leave them.
"There is really no need, your grace." Falgon insisted, and she turned back; her clear eyes meeting his.
"Do it anyway. Return to your duties on the morrow." she said, and duly left with Gavin at her side. Falgon sighed, and looked back at maester Adlyn.
"She cares about her people." he reflected, and the maester shared his smile.
"Oh yes, she visits the sick and wounded as often as she can." he mentioned, and then looked up at him.
"And you have cares for her?" he directed, and Falgon glanced away.
"Of course. I respect her, and I want to see her safe. While there is a level of affection, it's not licentious." he clarified.
"Say you now. She's a truly exceptional woman, Falgon; loved and reviled by many, north and south. You were chosen out of hundreds to be one of her few personal guard. Thousands will kill to be near her, thousands will kill for her, and some thousands more will try to kill her. Thousands of people with intentions good and bad." the maester said, and Falgon stared at him.
"I realize that; and I will die a thousand times over before I allow her any harm in my attendance. But what I can't fully comprehend, is why anyone would be driven to harm her." he spared a glance at the door where she vanished, and then fastened the lace of his shirt.
"True. Lady Claira has done nothing to justify any ill intent. But let me tell you a little something about people, Falgon. They do strange things, for no apparent reason. It's part of being human. They single out the strange and exceptional, simply because it's different. The timid and reserved, because they want excitement in the otherwise consistency of their every day lives. I remember, years ago when I was still at the Citadel training as a maester, I too was singled out. I worked hard, for the simple reasons that I wanted to help people, I wanted to make proud those whom I've learnt from, and those I would serve in the future; and I was good at what I did, but so were many others. But I kept to myself, had very few associations with others; I spent days with little more than dusty tomes and scrolls on the history of healing and medicines. Later it was said that I did illegal experimentation to further myself, which naturally wasn't true. Many heard the stories, some believed them, and some didn't; it all depends on what you choose to believe. Again, there was no legitimate reason for these claims, and they persisted for a while before disappearing altogether. I knew who started the rumours, which at first struck me as very strange because he, too; was severely skilled in his subject. But it's something people do. You don't always do something specific to deserve someone's resentment, but doing something, or not doing something doesn't found either good, or bad feelings. It just depends on them, who they are and what they think. What they choose to do or say or believe, and what not. Humanity is a strange and complicated thing, and I wish there was a better way to explain it; but it's what we are. It's why we are who we are. But on a more directed note, are you familiar with the story of the Wail of Winter?" he told, and Falgon thought for a moment.
"I've heard it. But it's just a story." he confirmed.
"Also true, it is just a story. But many believe it. The story tells of a beautiful woman with pale skin, eyes blue as the rime, and hair the shade of fallen snow from the north, born in winter. The hold of ice so strong, that her mother died in childbirth, claimed by the frost. Further, it tells that those who reached out for her affection, died slowly as the frost claimed them as well in the cold she brought with her. She became known as the North Witch, and she brought about the end of several great houses." maester Adlyn told.
"What does that have to do with the lady?" Falgon asked, deciding that it wasn't the same. Not at all.
"Lady Claira is from the deep north. Eyes blue as the rime, and pale skinned. The North Witch had the same black in her hair, just as the lady has white in hers. Some believe that she has the same coldness in her. That she may lead to the destruction of more great houses, just as the North Witch." he explained, but Falgon scoffed.
"This house still stands. Others still stand. She is no more a witch than I am a Man of the Rain." he determined, but maester Adlyn looked at him with confused eyes.
"Man of the Rain?" this was clearly something, he had not yet heard of.
"The Men of the Rain, to be more specific. Ancient and powerful sages, small men with eyes white as the clouds. Stories tell that they appear to those in need of guidance, and that they possess powerful magics. But this, just like that of the North Witch, is just a story." he said, and then noticed that the maester was again smiling, seeming fully satisfied with the answer he'd been given.
"Good. Remain true to your duty, it is that, that will strengthen you." The maester said, then took the mortar from the table and filled a small jar with the contents and handing it to Falgon.
"I am hers. Always." he said as he took the jar from the maester.
"Perfect. Go, your day awaits." he instructed, and the sentinel left the tower. Maester Adlyn sat back in the chair, trying to place the strange man. In all his years he'd never met someone quite like him.
Around late afternoon, Falgon exited the arched door to the inner bailey to meet with Berin.
"Falgon. You are my sparring partner today." Berin said.
"Are you sure about that?" Falgon asked him, watching as the sentinel removed his shirt and threw it onto a stack of hay bales against the outer wall. Other members of the guard sparred in the bailey, swords and fists.
"Oh yes, but here's the twist. No swords, just hands. With your sword, you'll serve me to our lord and lady like a festival ham. I would like to see what you can do unarmed." Berin said smiling as he turned back to his friend.
"If I manage to connect with you Berin, I'll break bones." Falgon warned.
"I know how strong you are, so my key is to be faster than what you are." Berin calculated as he prepared himself, hands raised loosely in front of him and feet set apart for power as well as balance. Then he looked up at Falgon, watching as he let his shirt drop to the ground, exposing scarred skin and a strange brand on his chest.
"Don't hold back. I need the practice." He instructed, but Falgon stood.
"Come at me, then." Falgon urged, making no effort to ready himself for battle; and Berin knew why. Posture by default, had a habit of betraying your intentions, and emotion just made it so much worse. When you stood with your left foot forward, you intend to move to the right, and when your right hand is in front of you, you intend to strike with the left, that's basic perception. But with Falgon, there was nothing, just those dark eyes staring at you, watching you like an eagle would watch a hare in the field. Berin needed to move first, this he knew. The man that stood before him, never initiated the match, he would wait you out for a week if he had to; a trait that made him very difficult to read. He had patience, which so many others did not and he knew it. He used this to his advantage a lot. Berin studied him for a moment, the way he stood – straight back, feet apart, facing him evenly, and completely calm. This very simple deception he applied to something as unassuming as standing, it brought a sense of ease to his opponent, and rose their confidence; which was exactly why they lost. In any instance, his first strike would miss, but then he had to make the next one count; Falgon was on no occasion one for weightless words. A silence had taken the bailey as other guards gathered and circled them to watch. Then Berin breathed in deeply, suddenly and swift as the strike of a snake he shot forward, right fist raised. He swung at Falgon, who drew back sharply and the blow missed, just as Berin predicted. Then he twisted his body, and brought his left elbow around in an arch, again aimed for his opponent's face. His elbow struck something hard, and for a second he thought it was the wall. But then he looked, and saw Falgon's right hand raised, blocking the blow. In an instant, he saw his opponent's elbow come down, aimed for his ribs; resounding his words in his head, he dropped his weight to his dominant knee, avoiding the strike. Berin pulled back sharply, and twisted aiming a fist to Falgon's ribs; and connected. He heard him grunt as air left his lungs, and aimed another fist for his stomach. He blocked the blow with a right hand, and swung with the left, aiming for Berin's ribs again, and he ducked away. Falgon moved, throwing a right fist for Berin's chest, who missed the blow by inches, then another fist from Berin went for his opponent's stomach and connected. Suddenly, Falgon's strong hand took hold of Berin's shoulder, and pushed him down into a rising knee. Berin threw his weight to the right side, the knee grazing his left; he wrapped his arm around the raised knee and moved forward, throwing Falgon to the ground. He lay on the ground, dust floating around him from his force to the ground. He chuckled slightly, confessing that his hand-to-hand skill was indeed not what it should have been.
"Have you had enough?" Berin asked, rubbing his hands.
"Not yet." Falgon said as he got to his feet; the circle around them grew.
"Are you even trying?" Berin asked as he turned to face Falgon again.
"Trying to hit you? Yes. Trying not to break you? Yes." He said.
"I need you to be serious, Falgon." Berin encouraged.
"Your Milla will have my head for her wall." Falgon joked slightly, it did bring a smile to Berin's face.
"I won't improve without someone to challenge my limits." Berin insisted, and Falgon breathed in deeply before looking up, straight at Berin.
"Al right, I'll try." Falgon agreed, and this time prepared for the spar along with Berin.
"Three coppers on Berin." One of the guards whispered from amidst the sizeable circle around them, followed by others saying, five on Falgon, two on Berin, six on Berin, four on Falgon…
"Come." Falgon urged, seeming more prepared now than before. Berin's eyes searched him, his right arm was tucked against his side, the left raised in front of his face, left foot forward, right behind balancing his tall, muscled mass. Right… whatever he'll do, it will be right. Berin thought, No, Falgon is as unpredictable as he is calm. don't expect. Be ready for anything... then shot forward. A fist went for Falgon's face, and he drew back, Berin brought his left hand forward to block what should have been a retaliating strike, but Falgon's left elbow came down at him. He was faster this time, aiming decisively devastating strikes; the onlookers growing increasingly lurid as the match continued.
Milla stood in the southern hall, inspecting tables and feast ware for this evening's banquet. She saw that the hall was sufficiently cleaned, and even had garlands of flowers hung on the walls with the house banners. She loved her occupation; it was as challenging as it was rewarding. By lady Claira's instruction, they would be served roasted boar with buttered and spiced steamed vegetables, mead and apple pie for supper. A scullion brought a tray with silverware to her for further inspection. The maiden held the tray out to Milla, whom took a spoon from its surface and inspected it. It had the expected even surface, and a clear reflection, she replaced the spoon on the tray and waved the maiden away to place them. Loud voices from outside drew her attention, and for a moment she spared a glance through the doors towards the sound. Then she returned to her business, seeing that the high table was properly set. The voices drew her attention again, they seemed elevated. She knew that the guards were sparring, but they've never been this visceral before. She dismissed it again, spacing the goblets inches from the plates while other scullions placed goblets and charger plates on the tables. Another sudden disturbance made her knock over a chalice. What in the seven hells is going on out there? She thought, and then discarded her current activity to find out what the unusual excitement was about. She made her way through the Hall of Fire, seeing a handmaiden come her way.
"What is going on out there?" she asked, the maiden looked anxious.
"It's Berin and Falgon, my lady." she reported.
"What about them?" she asked, a sudden increase in her pulse.
"They're brawling." the maiden said, and Milla rushed ahead. She crossed the barracks hall and exited the door to the bailey just as a rush of cheers and excited wails assaulted her ears, seeing a crowd pressed together around two fighters.
"Excuse me, please let me pass." she said as she pushed between soldiers, and then she saw the struggle fully. Falgon's arms were wrapped around Berin's shoulders and throat while forcing him to his knees, and he pulled back, straining his airway.
"Move Berin! Get out!" one of the guards called, just before Berin turned his head and dropped his weight to his free side; slipping from the grip. He touched ground, and brought a fisted hand around to Falgon's ribs and connected, forcing him back. Then he stood, and brought a knee up to his face; Falgon pulled back, avoiding the strike.
"Stop this!" Milla cried, but no one around her seemed to notice. She grabbed the arm of the closest man.
"Someone, stop this, please!" she begged, and the guard looked at her.
"Are you jesting? This is the best brawl I've seen in years." he said, and turned his attention right back to the fighters, another roar of cheers rising as a fighter fell on the ground. Milla turned and ran for the hall, desperately searching for someone of greater authority than her own. She hastened up the steps and to her relief saw the lord descending the right staircase with maester Adlyn at his side and a sentinel following.
"My lord!" she called while running up to him, and he looked at her in surprise.
"Milla? What's wrong?" he asked.
"Please help!" she begged as she came closer, and he raised his hands to her.
"What is it? What happened?" he asked as she reached him, breathless from the shock and the sudden sprint.
"It's Berin and Falgon. They're fighting." she said, desperately. His expression was one of disbelief.
"Where are they?" he asked, and she turned.
"In the bailey. Please, please hurry." she pleaded, and he followed. They glided down the steps across the hall and through the barracks to the bailey, where the crowd was still in full circle; and he could witness the skirmish between the two sweaty and dust covered sentinels. Berin's fist shot forward at his opponent, he blocked the blow and then moved forward, a powerful arm wrapping around Berin's waist while his shoulder pushed into his ribs; then he circled throwing Bering over his side in an arch towards the ground, but his feet touched the earth first, and with his momentum he pulled forward, throwing Falgon down. He lay on his back, Berin's weight holding him down and a fist drawn up high.
"Enough!" Raeghun's voice shattered the atmosphere in the bailey, and the guards turned to look at him while a breathless and seemingly exhausted Berin's fist lowered slowly and he acknowledged the lord,.
"This is my home, not some back-alley tavern for your entertainment!" he said, and the guards exchanged nervous glances.
"It was just a bit of fun, my lord. We meant nothing ill by it." one of the guards tried to calm him.
"Fun? You can have your fun in your own time, at your own hovel. Not here!" he said, he looked around at the staring faces.
"Any bets that were placed on this incident, will go to the treasury." he concluded, and nodded to the by-standing sentinel to claim the wages; and the group dispersed. Then his attention went to the two sentinels.
"And you, get yourself cleaned up and meet me in the Hollow." he instructed before leaving. Berin had stood up, and held a hand to Falgon to help him up.
"You don't anger easily, do you?" Berin said as Falgon took his hand.
"It takes a lot to get under my skin." Falgon admitted as he got to his feet. Milla stood to one side, breathing in deeply, calming the nerves that shuddered through her body, but then saw them smiling.
"Well, we have been summoned. I'll see you later." Falgon said, and took his leave. Milla went over to Berin as he sat down on the hay bales and reached for his shirt.
"What in good graces happened? A full out fight with Falgon? What were you thinking?" she demanded, and he wiped a smear of blood from his brow.
"We weren't brawling, Milla. We were sparring." he corrected, and then sat back as he took a deep breath.
"Fuck, he's fast. I had to work hard to get away from him." he said through a satisfied smile, and looked at her as she pulled back slightly.
"I've seen you spar with lord Raeghun before, Berin. This was nothing like that." she said, and he shook out the pieces of straw from his shirt to pull it over his skin.
"Al right, so I pressured him. I wanted him to get angry, wanted him to test my limits. I wanted a challenge, a real challenge." Berin confessed.
"This wasn't challenge enough?" she asked, indicating Berin's bruised knuckles, and he looked down at them.
"I was able to evade his strikes, but every time I connected with him it was like hitting a wall. His muscles are really hard. I suppose that could be accounted to his many rough years in the field." he mentioned, and she knelt beside him.
"Please don't take it this far again." she pleaded, and he reluctantly agreed. Then he stood and kissed her cheek.
"I'll see you later." he left for the barracks to clean himself and pull on fresh clothing before proceeding to the sun tower where Falgon already waited in the Hollow. He was studying a tapestry on the wall, depicting a fiery phoenix capturing a black ox from a field.
"So, we're in trouble?" he asked without looking back, and Berin closed the door behind him.
"Oh, hell yes. Practise has never received that much attention before. And seeing that it went so far, it's understandable that it was perceived so mistakenly." Berin said as he came closer, and then the lord entered the Hollow and closed the door behind him again and then turned to them.
"So, if you don't mind telling me: What the fuck were you doing?" he demanded, his voice echoing off the walls, and Berin stepped forward.
"We were sparring, my lord. It was not a fight, it was training." he insisted.
"Training? Never in my life have I ever seen training do that. The two of you were bludgeoning each other like drunken pit fighters." he said.
"We meant no disrespect to your home, my lord. I wanted to test my limits, and I'm afraid that I pushed Falgon too far." Berin insisted, and Raeghun looked at him.
"And what say you, Falgon? Are you going to plead that this was but a play for you?" he directed, and the sentinel smiled modestly.
"It was indeed nothing more than a practise match that got out of hand, sire. I do find myself in need of further training." he agreed, and Raeghun put his hands on the wide table, leaning forward. After a moment of silence, he looked up at them.
"Listen to me, both of you. You are my strongest sentinels, I can't have you beating each other to a pulp every time you throw a fist. So, train and share your knowledge with each other; but if you make a spectacle of it again like you did today, I'll have you both thrown off the bridge." he promised.
"Yes, my lord." Berin agreed, not wanting to further test the lord's annoyance.
"Understood, sire." Falgon added, and Raeghun turned to leave. But at the door he stopped and turned back to them.
"You are both confined to the barracks for the next two days. We can't have the other guards going around thinking it's acceptable to slap each other silly while training." he concluded, and then left to attend to the business he'd been disrupted from. Berin stretched out, and looked over at Falgon.
"That went well." he mentioned, and smiled.
"Two days of jail time. What to do with the time." Falgon returned.
"Reflect on our sins, I suppose. It's a steep drop from the bridge." Berin suggested, and threw a fist at Falgon's shoulder.
"Maybe I'll pay maester Adlyn another visit." he decided, and they departed the Hollow.
The banquet ensued with the liveliness of the castle, the guards, hands and maidens all joining the feast. Milla looked over the smiling faces, and listened to the song and laughter of their people. Two faces were missing from the hall. She looked over to Raeghun and Claira. She had assumed that Berin and Falgon would be rebuked, but didn't think that they would be denied an evening meal. She leaned over to a nearby guard.
"Have you seen Berin and Falgon?" she asked softly, and he leaned closer to her.
"They've been ordered to stay in the barracks, my lady. They created quite a stir this afternoon." he informed, and she looked up to the lord again.
"Oh well, I suppose it's not unjustified." she muttered, and resumed her conversation with another of the handmaidens beside her, and long after the feast had ended and the hall cleared she went to the kitchen to request two more plates be served. After thanking the cook, she took the plates and headed to the barracks to retire for the night. She met Berin at the door, heading back from the servants' bath chambers and a quick visit to the maester; light bandages wrapped around his bruised and scraped hands, smelling of Myrrh.
"We missed you at dinner." she said handing a full plate to him.
"Oh, thank you my sweet." he returned gratefully as he kissed her cheek.
"Is Falgon inside?" she asked, glancing at the other plate in her hands.
"Yes, he's in front of the fireplace, stocking his brain." he confirmed, she smiled.
"Stocking his brain? With what?" she asked, and Berin laughed.
"Whatever he could find in maester Adlyn's assemblage." he said.
"Al right, I'll just leave this for him then." he escorted her inside the barracks, and bid her goodnight before leaving for his chamber. She made her way to the fireplace, where Falgon sat with a book in his hands. He seemed comfortable, with one foot resting against the pillar that bordered the warm fireplace. A selection of other reading materials lay stacked on the table next to him. She looked at the covers.
"I didn't take you for a scholar." she mentioned as she placed the plate next to the books.
"It keeps my mind active." he said as he looked up at her. She took one of the books and held it up to read the title: Hundred Thousand Bodies. Then she looked down at the others. The Sinner and the Slayer, A Frozen Rose, Black Dragon's Breath, A Message from a Raven, The Woodland Crown, The Lonely Field, Six Stones, Firestorm, Glass House, Purple Blood, The Great Feast, A Blade Edged Bone, The Ivory Chalice. Books on history, war, romance, humour and many others, no thinner than at least two hundred and seventy pages each.
"What are you reading now?" she asked, and he closed the book.
"A Trade of Sorrows." he named, and she smiled.
"Poetry. A variety that it seems is not read enough." she said, and then looked back at the plate on the table.
"I've brought you supper. Try to eat something." she said, but his attention went back to the book in his hands.
"Thank you. I'll have something before I retire." She moved forward and stood in front of the hearth, studying him.
"Falgon. Are you al right?" he closed the book again, and looked up at her.
"Lady Milla, I'm fine, thank you." he assured with a kind smile. Her eyes went over every contour of his face.
"Are you sure?" she pried, and he chuckled.
"I'm uninjured, I promise. But your care is moving." he secured again.
"Berin beat the stuffing out of you." she said, recalling Berin's sufficiently hard hits to Falgon's body.
"He went easy on me. I regret to confess that my hand-to-hand skill is not as advanced as his. Berin moves very well, he has a level of control over his body that is rare. There is a good deal that he could teach me." he said, and Milla saw the broken skin of her intended's hands.
"His hands and knees are scuffed and bruised, and you…" she just couldn't make sense of it, but he remained smiling.
"I have a tough skin, that's all. Your concern is not needed, sweet lady. I'm perfectly fine. But, I sense that you are troubled." she looked away from him, suddenly trying to disguise the emotion that lay so close to the surface.
"You're angry with Berin?" he judged, and she sighed.
"No, I'm not angry. I'm disappointed, and not just in him. I know it was just a sparring match, but with the way you moved... both of you, it truly seemed that you intended to do harm to one another. And the other guards just stood there watching, they enjoyed it. It's been a long time that I was that scared. Everyone in this hold, the nobles, the servants, the guards... we're more than just that. We're a family. We need to watch over each other..." she said softly, the dancing flames throwing long shadows in the darkened hall.
"I'm sorry, Milla. It won't happen again." he assured, and then she could issue him a smile.
"I hope not. Good night." she turned to leave.
"You're from the deep north, like lady Claira, aren't you?" she turned back to him.
"Quite the assumption. How did you know?" she asked.
"You dress the same way. You talk the same way. The northerners are very magisterial people." he said smiling, but instead of returning his attention to the book, his eyes went to the flames of the hearth.
"I thought you came from the south?" she said turning back to him.
"I came here, from the south. I've been north before, past the sunflower towers." he said, and she smiled.
"My home and seat to the Scharer family, Citrine Arch; where we Face the Light. It's the only place in the north where sunflowers grow, despite the weather." she recalled her house words. It brought back good memories, endless fields the colour of sunlight. Her family was a lesser vassal, vowed to the Tormonts. Her father, lord Luitpold Scharer, resented his only daughter's decision to leave while her mother, lady Bea did not question her.
"Why did you come here?" Falgon asked.
"Because I wanted the opportunity to do something with my life, to make my own choices, with my own strengths. I was fortunate though, lady Claira was a close friend of mine growing up, just as our mothers had been when they were young. At some point though, I thought our lives might turn out differently, as I was two years older than she was. That I would marry to a lord before she did, and she may become my court maiden. Up until the day she was promised to lord Taugere." she told.
"You feel resentment?" Falgon asked,
"No, not at all. I love my life. Had things not turned out this way, I would not have met my Berin. My first moments here, I couldn't stop staring at him; the tall, fierce mounted warrior. Dark haired and green eyed, something about him made me think of home." she said, then then chuckled.
"The first time he approached me was in the garden, I was looking for flowers for the tables. He gave me a blue flower, the petals lined with bright yellow." she recalled the sight of it, a hand reaching around her with a beautiful lily; and when she looked back, there he stood inches away from her.
"A building, is just a building. A home is where you feel loved." Falgon mentioned, she approached him again.
"That is true. This is my home. And it will be one for you as well." she said, and he nodded.
"How did it come, that you came here?" she asked.
"I travelled with a group of mercenaries called the Black Bannermen for five years, after returning from the Basilisk Isles. The leader of the group, Baret; he arranged for me to fight in the melee against a knight. I didn't expect to be struck down the way I was, that day." he recalled, and she laid a hand on the backrest of the chair.
"You lost?" she asked, and then he looked back at her.
"No, no weapon in existence could do that to a man. When I saw her, the lady in blue with hair black as midnight, with white like the stars; everything I ever thought life came to was shattered in that single moment. This is where I was meant to be; and I finally found it." he said, and she could almost feel the absolute conviction he felt.
"I wish you every happiness, Falgon. And that you will find it here." she said.
"I believe I have. For the first time in years, I belong somewhere. Of all the places I've been, of all the things I've seen; here is where I found a peace like I've never known." he said, softly as if he wasn't speaking to her but to a shadow in the corner, and his mind was no longer there. She lingered another moment, then turned.
"Good night, Falgon." he turned back to her again.
"Good night, lady Milla." he greeted her, and returned to his book when she left the hall to her own quarters. He truly did feel at peace; all the long years spent wandering the stretch of Westeros, his journey across the Narrow Sea to Essos, all the miles he connected and every night spent under the stars or in front of a foreign hearth seemed so meaningless now. Everything he'd been searching for was here, all along. Everything he'd lost came back to him, in this place, and it resonated with the words that he read here, before the fireplace in the barracks of Mount Ardor, The Burning Mountain. Home, peace, family, honour, pride, value... love?