Endenvar

Season of the Phoenix - 1304 AE

Consciousness came to him in waves. It started with the acrid scent of burnt hair and flesh and then blurred into what seemed like the worried muzzle of a yellow wolf. His stomach turned and rolled as the varied wounds inflicted on him made themselves known. He smelt ozone and watched as Wolf's spirit melted off Valdi, leaving him kneeling in torn bloodied clothing. Blood and the tainted corruption of necrotic magic clung to him. His face was a mess; the right side was bruised into a multi-coloured disarray of flesh. His right eye was closed shut and weeping, his cheek was swollen double its size. When he focused on the boys eyes it was to see panic, confusion and, more than anything else, fear. He felt the boy's strong hands move him up from the cold ground. His stomach recoiled and green tinged bile and blood spewed from his mouth, burning his esophagus as it came. Strong, lean hands held him up as he retched up the remaining poison from his system.

"Valdi?" he asked as he ran a dirt encrusted hand across his mouth, blood and bile mixed coating his mouth and the stubble of his beard with its sticky remnants. The movement cost him and he sagged in the boys arms, his eyes closed as his hand sought the wounds on his side. He could barely move. He heard a grunt as the boy moved him into a sitting position against what felt like rock. With blurry eyes he regarded the landscape stretched before him. Night had fallen, the moon was full and by its crystalline light he could see the rugged and hilly landscape of Lorner's stretched out before of him. They were in a discarded camp. Glancing across it, Endenvar could see that whoever had occupied it before had left in a hurry. Half erected structures crumbled in the elements. Judging by their size and design, Endenver deduced them to be Asuran. There were remnants of human occupation, a greatsword protruding from the dirt - rusting slowly - a tattered shirt, still hanging on the line, blowing gently in the breeze. Here and there gnawed bones peaked from the hard dirt, they shone white in the light of the moon. Nothing grew in the camp and it was empty and decrepit as if all life shunned what had happened to cause its inhabitants to leave. Shifting his shoulders across the hard rock, he looked up. Slate grey cliffs rose into the distant clouds that hung oppressive over the moonlighted landscape.

"Where…" he cleared his throat, "Where are we?" His voice sounded gravelly and broken even to his ears.

He felt Valdi shift, but didn't look at him. He gaze was fixed ahead on the towering pine trees; they stood like majestic sentinels in the light of the moon. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Valdi sit heavily, the boy tightened his arms around his kneels and then buried his face in them.

"I made a mistake," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion, "I sent Olaf ahead to find you. She said… She said you were dying and when I found you, you were…"

A knot formed in Endenver's throat and his chest tightened.

"Valdi," he turned to the boy whose face was hidden in his arms, his blond hair, grown too long, wafted in the breeze. "Where are we?"

He tried to keep his voice gentle, but knew that it had taken an edge. Valdi tightened his arms on his legs and his body grew tense.

"I didn't know what to do, Endenvar. You were so still. And the baby… The baby was screaming."

Wolf breath, he had forgotten about the Asuran. Ice formed in his veins and his heart thudded against his breast. He drew a deep breath before asking;

"What happened?"

His voice was thick with emotion; he could barely talk around the lump in his throat. Dread filled him completely and twisted its way through his body like a snake that coiled around his heart. Valdi looked towards him finally, his amber eyes had darkened to almost brown and his jaw was clenched so tight with emotion that Endenvar could see the muscles bulging with the effort. The image threw him back twenty years to a time when he sat in this exact position, except where he sat it had been Xanthia. She had listened calmly while he desperately tried to validate Zinnia's death. He opened and closed his hands rhythmically until the ice in his blood and lump in his throat had abated. Whatever came next, he needed to be calm. He needed to be calm like Xanthia was all those years ago.

He drew a deep breath through his nose and exhaled it through his mouth. The bitter taste of bile filled its cavity. Anger and sadness warred within him. The last thing Xanthia had said to him before she left to save Olaf on the day of his mating was that history was a closed circle. Her last words to him held true. He turned to the silhouettes of the pine trees in an effort to give the boy privacy. Like an old man he mimicked Valdi's posture. Every part of him ached. He rubbed his face on his folded arms and left a sticky trail of vomit and dirt.

"It helps," he said, his voice low and tired, echoing with the pain he couldn't bring himself to show, "if you start from the beginning."

He felt Valdi shuffle, then heard his muffled voice as he began to speak.

"A couple of hours after you left, Olaf came back to Vanjir's. He was irritable, but I assumed that was because he hadn't had a drink in a while. You … ah… you know how he has been since Gylda left…"

"Yes." he said, "It's under control"

"Yes, of course." Valdie replied , his words tumbling over one another, and then "It was only after a few ales that he mentioned the baby. He was annoyed with you because you refused to leave it. I think he was going to use it as an excuse to leave you behind."

"It wouldn't be an excuse" he broke in, "Olaf was against me coming from the beginning."

Valdi turned towards him, in the pale light of the moon his hair shone silver. He twisted his hands together and squeezed.

"How…?" asked the boy, voice filled with genuine perplexity, "how could you follow him…? How could you go where he was going if you knew - you knew - what it was he would face."

Something about the way the boy said it caused Endenvar to freeze. It was almost as if he understood, truly, what the Matriarchy was capable of. A sliver of fear about what that could mean - for Olaf, for the baby - tightened his chest. Calm, he cautioned himself, he needed to be calm. He needed to set the boy at ease. Clearing his throat he replied;

"It is because I knew what he would face that I followed him. You are young, Valdi, and have had a solitary upbringing. The bounds of brotherhood are tight and inescapable once they are attached. Olaf and I might not share blood, but our experiences have tied us together for better or worse."

They were silent for a while, both lost in their thoughts as they stared out to the moonlit landscape. Endenvar shifted uncomfortably, the wound in his side oozed puss when he touched it and his ribs ached with each breath he took. He bought his hand up to his face and sniffed, it smelt wretched, like rotten meat and swamp water. He felt his face scrunch up in disgust.

"Things were going fine for a while," said Valdi, "I was still mad at Olaf for leaving you and honestly, I was a bit drunk. I don't know how long we drank together, only that by the time the mist formed; I was feeling the effects of the alcohol. I don't think Olaf was as affected as I was, he could outdrink a dolyak if given the chance."

Valdi shifted again and dislodged a stone that had been causing him discomfort, he then tightened his hold on his knees and turned his face from Endenvar. His eyes got a faraway look as he gazed unseeingly onto the landscape.

"I don't know who she was," he said, "I had never seen her before and I don't think that Olaf recognized her either. She introduced herself, and then she casually said that you were dying and we had a short time to find you before you did. Olaf…" he drew a deep breath to steady himself, "Olaf was furious."

"Let me guess, he attacked without thinking?" he asked, hand clutching at his side. Pain frazzled at the edges of his nerves, causing him to take large gulping breaths. The landscape spread before him dimmed slightly as he fought to stay conscious.

"You know him well."

"He has been that way since we were boys. His mother, Xanthia, was worse."

The corners of Valdi's mouth lifted slightly.

"I find that hard to imagine."

Endenvar chuckled and then stopped and clutched his side harder. A dark patch of blood bloomed on his chest as the wound left by Mistress Wolf's poisoned dagger reopened. He groaned and then slumped, eyes blurred with the effort of sitting upright. Valdi got to his feet when he saw Endenvar collapse and stood helpless as Endenvar fell to the floor.

Pain blossomed from his core and spread through him like wild fire. Ah yes, he thought, as the pain reached insurmountable levels, her poison was a gift that kept giving. Mistress Wolf would be proud. The moonlit landscape dimmed and then went out. The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was the desperate expression on Valdi's face.

He drifted again. At one point he was jostled into consciousness while on the back of a dolyak, another time he woke to the gentle susurration of voices and the third time to the image of a woman with golden hair changing the dressings of his wounds. Her hands where cool against his fevered flesh and her voice soothing as he fell once more into oblivion.

When he awoke, truly, it was to the warmth of the midday sun as it spilled over his exposed chest from an opened window. A gentle breeze wafted through it, stirring the pale cotton curtains that provided a screen to the bright light of outside. The scent of flowers filled the small room. Birds called to each other gaily and insects buzzed blissfully. The bed he inhabited was too small for his large body and his oversized feet hung off its edge. A sheet, white and cool, tangled about his legs making it difficult to move.

"Get up." He whispered to himself, trying to will strength into his unmoving limbs. He focused on the dark wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling above him and drew a deep breath. Before saying once more:

"Get up."

It was louder this time, his voice carried the strength he did feel. With the echo of his voice he swung his legs off the edge of the bed. The effort cost him and he wilted against the hard mattress. Gasping through the pain that shot through him, he tried to breathe as the world tilted on its axis dizzily. Slowly he raised his hand onto the heaving expanse of his chest and clutched at the bandage covered the wound Mistress Wolf had given him to ensure his cooperation; he felt the wet welling of blood as it oozed through the bandage. Closing his eyes tightly, he counted to ten and then tried to stand once more. It took five attempts before he found himself clutching a wall, swaying slightly and fighting nausea. His world spun, and agony exploded behind his eyes. Every part of him felt as if it had been pulverized. With exception to the bandages covering his wounds, he was completely nude. He frowned down at himself and then hefted the sheet from the bed and wove it around his waist. The light stung his eyes as he gazed around the room. It was small and barely big enough for a child, never mind a Norn fully grown. It had the look of a storage room; there were boxes of varying sizes stacked haphazardly across the far wall. One of the boxes had been left open, and Endenvar could just make out its shining contents in the midday sun. He breathed deeply through his nose as he made his way towards it, each step he took was a effort to stay upright.

When he reached it a frown marred his face as he took in the sight of dwarven artifacts shining dully in the midday light. Absently sought the wound on his chest as the fog in his brain obscured the significance of what a storage room filled with dwarven artifacts meant. Everything felt as if it had an edge of unreality tainting it. He shrugged his broad shoulders then rubbed his hands across his face. Orange spots blossomed on the darkness of his eyelids, and he ached. Every muscle is his body felt as if it had been stretched and pulled.

"You shouldn't be up." She said; her voice as melodious as he remembered. He kept his face hidden in his hands as he grappled with the significance of what her being here meant.

"Am I dead?" he asked, scrubbing his face with his hands once more before looking at the wall of boxes before him, too scared to turn and face disappointment if she wasn't there.

"Not yet, but it was close."

He heard her move into the room. Her footfalls were soft and there was a gentle rustling from her skirt with every step she took. He knew the exact second she was behind him. Her hand was soft where it touched his arm and he looked down at it in wonder. Its fingers were long and tapering. There were calluses on the inside of her middle and index fingers, remnants from hour upon hour of translating ancient text. Her skin was snowy against the tan of his arm. There was a time he would tease her for choosing books over the Wilds. His gaze took in the spiraled tattoos that wound themselves up her arms, his and Valdi's names were woven in so inconspicuously that they couldn't be seen unless you knew where to look. Her neck was slender and graceful, her face round and dimpled. A small scar bisected the perfection of her lips, giving her lovely face character. A similar scar slipped across her high forehead into the golden mass of her hair. There was a dusting of freckles across her upturned nose. A long time ago he had kissed every single one. Her eyes smiled up at him.

"Cal?" he said, wonder crept into the gravel of his voice.

"Didn't think you would see me again?" she asked, the dimples that bracketed her mouth flashed into existence as she regarded him.

He frowned and grasped her hand with his own. It was so small it was buried in his. His other hand tightened on the sheet hiding his nudity. His mouth was dry.

"Where am I?"

The smile that lit her face left.

"We have a lot to discuss." She said, her voice dropping, "I would leave this conversation for another time, but time isn't with us."

She eased her way under his arm and helped shuffle him to the curtained door. She leaned him against the wall as she opened it and then lead him into a small kitchen. It was light and filled with the smell of vanilla and cakes. The stove was open and unlit with logs stacked neatly against it. Wooden counters bracketed its sides and clung to the walls. Each surface available was covered with the remnants of an intense baking session. Endenvar smiled slightly, when she was worried, Cal baked. There was a roughhewn table in the middle of the room. Endenvar recognized it as the only piece of furniture that Cal had taken when she had left him. He shook his head slightly as he watched her clear a space for him to sit. Calan Abaelard was once the love of his life. She had taken over it with gusto and a sweetness that he missed even now. And then she had left… There were things in life you could get over, that wasn't one of them. She had hated Wayfarer. He had watched her spirit slowly die under its merciless overcast skies. She had hated Olaf almost from the first and resented Endenvar's friendship with the Norn. Their makeshift family became the point her world revolved around, and, for someone like her, with her wit and intelligence, it was a slow death. When she had packed her things he hadn't been surprised.

She turned her chair towards him and then slumped into it. She was so close that Endenvar could see shadows of exhaustion hanging heavily under her eyes. She reached out and grasped his hands and she drew them towards herself. She then enveloped them in her own. They were soft and reminded him of a time when it had been just the two of them. His heart ached at the memory. They had been partners, lodge masters, and foster parents, once inseparable. With her at his side, he had felt like he could do anything. The folded greys of her uniform drew his gaze and he felt his eyes tighten. At its sight reality reasserted itself. Cal was married to the Priory. Her work was her life, her books were her children. There was no place for him in her life. Not anymore.

He leaned back and pulled his hands from hers with the movement. A flicker of pain crossed her face before being replaced with a resolute expression. He turned his face from hers and asked;

"Where are we?" His voice was soft and troubled as he tried to grapple with being here, with seeing her again. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

"Home" she said, "My home. It is between the old Ettinworks lab and Guutra's. Valdi had no choice but to bring you here, it was the closest."

He could feel his jaw tighten, anger and resentment burned through him.

"He knew where you lived." His voice was ice.

"For a long time he was my son too, Endenvar. I would never abandon him." Like I did you.

The words were unspoken, but they hung between them nevertheless. She sighed deeply and, glancing down, rubbed her hand across her face. Her shoulders slumped and folded inwards. She looked defeated. A golden plait tumbled over one shoulder and platinum strands glistened in the light of the sun slanting through the window. Endenvar felt cold. It had been years, but the pain she had inflicted on him felt as new as the day she left.

"I don't mean for us to fight," she said, slouching forward. She rested her elbows on her knees and shifted on the chair. "I knew this would be hard, but I wasn't prepared for how hard. I almost wish I didn't send Valdi away. I am bad at this people stuff, Endenvar. I do not know what to say to make it right between us." Her eyes met his; in the warmth of the light he could see their golden highlights. Holding his gaze, she reached out once more and grasped his hands in her own and held them tightly. "I love you, Endenvar. I have always loved you. But I had to leave. I had to. If I had stayed I would have withered away to nothing like your neighbour." Her hands squeezed his. "I am not a good gardener, Endenvar. I would have gone mad. There was nothing for me there."

Her last words tore through him. He could feel a lump forming in his throat. He and Valdi had been there. Were they not good enough? Was he not good enough? He could feel himself shutting down and drawing away from her emotionally. He could not deal with this. Not now, not with Valdi and Olaf gone and the Sylvari and Matriarch out to get them. She was leaning towards him, her gaze intent on his, when she saw his closed expression she lowered her gaze to their interlocked hands and a frown formed on her face as her eyes grew sad.

"You don't believe me." She sounded resigned.

Endenvar clenched his jaw, and started to remove his hands from hers. His gaze slid past hers and fastened on the sparse vegetation outside her kitchen door. His hands, now on his lap, tightened into fists.

"Say what you have to say and be done with it." He could not help the anger that infused his voice.

"Olaf met Valdi at Vanjir's Stead," she said, "Apparently you two had had a fight. Valdi had too much to drink and the Sylvari, the same one I assume attacked you, caught them unawares. She issued an ultimatum. Obviously she didn't know Olaf or else she would never have been that stupid. He did what he always does and attacked her without a thought to the consequences."

The last was said with bitterness. Cal knew first-hand how callous Olaf could be. Endenvar's gaze flickered to hers. A look of distaste marred the beauty of her face.

"His heart was in the right place." he said.

"Oh yes," she said, "Now if only his brain was too."

"Cal…"

She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze.

"I am sorry Endenvar, old habits and all that."

"How do you know it was the same Sylvari that attacked us?" he asked, tightening the sheet around his waist.

"There are two reasons. The first is that as far as the Priory knows there are only twelve Sylvari firstborn. We have tentatively contacted the Pale Tree in order to study them, but as yet haven't received a decisive response. Apparently those blasted inquest captured one and put it through their 'experiments'. She is obviously hesitant to allow us access to her children."

Her fists tightened on her lap and a flush of anger burned her cheeks. To him, Cal was always beautiful, but when she was angry it seemed as if a fire lit inside her amplifying her natural charms. A sad smile flittered across his face before he asked;

"What was the other reason?"

She looked away. The flush left her cheeks leaving, her face became white and sunken. Her hands relaxed and she became still before answering.

"There were signs of the same magic's, on you and Valdi."

The memory of the Sylvari and Charr flashed before his eyes. She was a necromancer, a speaker of the dead, and more than that, she was a corruptor of souls. If she had tainted Valdi… The whites of his eyes became more prominent as the thought twisted through his mind.

"Is he okay?" He asked, desperate for an affirmative answer.

"It depends on your description of okay, Endenvar. He was drunk when the sylvari appeared and couldn't shoot straight. Apparently the wooden witch snatched one of his arrows out of the air without any effort. He knew that Olaf would cause a scene, but he couldn't see straight never mind think straight. How is it that a Norn, a young adult at that, wouldn't know the art of fighting drunk?"

She looked at him accusingly. It was an old fight. One he had no validation for except he had learnt the consequences of alcohol and magic many years ago and had sworn never to mix the two again. Only Xanthia and Olaf knew of Zinnia.

"You know I couldn't teach him that, Cal."

She slammed her hand on the table, rattling the baking tins and books that were scattered across its top. Her eyes blazed and met his and guilt flooded through him.

"You could have got that moron to teach him." She bit it out, each word filled with anger and bitterness. Her face reddened as anger once more flashed through her,"It's probably the only thing he could do properly!"

He shot to his feet and banged down his fist mimicking her. Even in his weakened state the sound of it crushing against the hard wood was enough to bring a look of shock to her face. He couldn't look at her and instead bowed his head, and, staring at the floor whispered;

"I'll not have you speak of my brother like that."

"He is poison," she said, anger still brimming from each word, "Look at what he has reduced you to, what he has reduced your son to."

His eyes met hers; anger and guilt mingled and made him feel as if she was his enemy and not the woman who had saved him. Standing as they were it was as if they were combatants ready to fight.

"It wasn't Olaf who did this to me, Cal, it was that witch Sylvari and her pet Charr."

Her eyebrows drew together in a frown and she wilted into the chair. The fight left her and she cradled her head in her hands. One of her plaits swung over her slouched shoulder and swayed softly with each breath she took.

"I knew this would be hard," she whispered to herself, "I knew this would be hard."

The words were like a mantra and Endenvar felt ashamed of what he was making her feel. There was a time when he felt as if she was the other half of his soul. When she had left it had felt as if she torn half of him away with her, his better half.

"I know," he licked his lips, "I know how you feel about Olaf. Things were never easy between you, and I didn't help that by always taking his side. Cal, he is my brother. We have faced hell together and come out alive. He doesn't always do the right thing, but he tries."

"Is that why you forgave him for killing Gylda?"

He took a deep breath and then sat down. The pain from his wounds made breathing difficult. Every muscle felt the ache of the Sylvari's torture. He could not deal with this on top of what he already had filling his plate.

"Don't speak of what you don't know, Cal. The situation is complicated. I won't ask where you got the idea that Olaf would hurt her, but I suspect that Valdi has been feeding you false gossip. Maybe if you tell me the rest of your story I'll fill you in on my suspicions of that night. As I remember, you and Gylda had a tentative friendship once upon a time. You deserve to know at least some of it."

She nodded once and then continued her story, as if their disagreement was nothing more than an interlude.

"Valdi was forced to take Wolf's form in order to provide Olaf a distraction."

Endenvar sucked in a breath; "He hasn't gone through the rite or been through the proper training!" he interjected.

"Yes." She said. She didn't need to say any more. There were consequences to using the Spirits form before going through the proper ceremonies. His hand covered his mouth as the impact of what that could mean for Valdi sunk in.

"Is it bad?" he asked, emotion clogging his words.

"He was lucky, luckier than most have been." she said "If he had chosen Bear or Leopard he would not have been so lucky. He is stuck midform, fluctuating from one to the other. I sent him to the Priory; there is a magister there who has intimate knowledge of what being riteless entails. In a way, we are lucky; the Sylvari's death magic somehow slowed his mental decay. Because of that he was able to save you and turn for the most part in order to bring you here. Gunter, the magister I sent him to, sent word a day ago that his form was still fluctuating, but they have lowered his risk of going full beast. At this point we have no choice but to wait and see if Wolf's Spirit will release him."

She said the words as if she were reading them from a card. There was no emotion in them. Endenvar realized in that moment that she had already given up hope for Valdi.

"Still," she said, "even that is better than if the Matriarch's Flesh Golem had caught him."

"What?"

Her eyes met his. Her face was deadpan, completely without emotion. Her eyes had darkened and were empty as she said;

"Valdi was forced to watch as it stole your friend and ate the Asuran baby. He was forced lie still as it shuffled above him, believing him to be dead thanks to all the necrotic power the Sylvari corrupted him with. He had to lie there and endure the humiliation of not acting. To save you. That, Endenvar, is the worst thing you could do to a Norn and for one so young it is crushing."

He swallowed thickly.

"How," his voice wouldn't work, and it took two tries before he could chock out, "How did he get away from the Sylvari?"

"He was a riteless Norn fully entrenched in Wolf's Spirit. There was very little the Sylvari could do to him that would have done him damage. Despite that, she wounded him gravely. Whoever-whatever- she was, she was strong. He would have stayed and fought on if it wasn't for Nero. When he realized that Valdi was riteless, he intervened." She turned her face from him and stared out of the window, a marauding earth elemental was making short work of her pathetic excuse of a garden. Endervar could see a look of sadness darkening her face. Her eyes got a faraway look as she said; "She killed them all, Endenvar. Every single one of them, not one was spared. Not even Nero's son." She cleared her throat before continuing, "After she killed them she… she…" Her hands clenched in her lap, "… she burned them. We couldn't tell the bodies apart, they were so badly damaged. We had to call a necromancer from the Priory. Josef is one of the best in his field, but he couldn't get them to talk… He said… He said that she had twisted their souls, Endenvar. He said that the only time he had seen such damage on the ethereal plane was with Zhaitan's minions. If Valdi hadn't run when he did…"

"He did get away though…"

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire," she said, still watching the elemental.

"What did he find when he came to Wolfspaw?"

She shook her head and glanced towards him, her gold flecked eyes filled with sadness.

"He couldn't speak properly. He was trying to stay Norn so hard so he could tell me. Oh Endenvar. He was heartbroken and it was making it difficult for him to fight Wolf's Spirit. From the bits and pieces he got through his fluctuations, I found out that Olaf ran to Wolfspaw and that when he got there it was to find the mother to the shrines pups attempting to eat you. Lucky for you the baby you had found had managed to hold them off. When Olaf was distracted by the Wolf, the Matriarch's minion struck. Olaf was taken completely unawares. Valdi had been following closely behind him and arrived in time to see him being thrown over its shoulder. He thought he could save the baby, but the damage done to him by the Sylvari… It was so extensive, Endenvar, that I am surprised he survived, genuinely surprised."

"What did he do?" he asked.

"He attacked it and was flung aside as if he was nothing. He couldn't move. He had to lie there and watch it eat the baby. He had to listen to it scream. Can you even imagine…"

She stopped, she couldn't speak anymore.

They sat in the warmth of the midday sun, both lost in thought. The elemental darkened the doorway briefly before being flung back by the wards placed around the house. Neither of them noticed.

The shadows in the room grew long and it became darker as a storm rumbled in the distance. Cal shook herself and then stood. She stretched her legs then walked up to Endenvar and touched his shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Did you mean to take him to the Matriarch's keep?" she asked.

"No." he said, voice gravelly from the unnoticed pain and disuse. "I would never. I knew what I was getting into Cal, I only bought him to Lorner's so that I could introduce him to Xanthia."

She shook her head and then turned from him. Her hips sashayed as she made her way to the window, her Priory uniform hiding her curves, but accentuating them too. She had come a long way from the woman that had left him all those years ago. He could see the confidence that infused her. She leaned forwards on her hands and stared out the window. The one of her plaits tumbled down her back and the other was folded over her shoulder. Outside angry grey clouds churned as an afternoon storm built. The sound of thunder reverberated in the small room. Endenvar absently reached for one of the many cookies tins that were strewn about the messy kitchen. He selected a large butter one and bit into its surface. Vanilla flooded his mouth. Gods, Cal could bake.

"What happened to Gylda," she asked, her voice nearly swallowed by the thunderous applause from outside. Thick rain drops began to fall. The sound of them hitting the thatch roof created enough distraction for Endenvar to get his thoughts together. The temperature dropped, and rain started to fall inside the door. Cal sauntered to it and closed it. With the thud of its closing went the cacophony of the storm.

"What happened to Gylda, Endenvar?" she asked again.

He selected his words carefully before asking;

"What do you know about Norn/Human hybrids, Cal?"