Oswald worried for his lord. Since they had entered into this hell-scape, monstrosities of all ilks seemed to be around every cracking branch or smoldering pyre. His Lord Owain was a peerless warrior, Oswald knew that but still… without his grace, without the powerful magic that accompanied it, Lord Owain was greatly dimmed. The others did not know, could not, of the terrible truth. They did not understand Oswald's anxiety. To them, the Highlord seemed his self of eld, a force of nature, a tower of might, the lodestone of their very order. Truthfully, Oswald almost forgot it himself sometimes whilst he watched the commander in battle.
When first Lord Owain had strode from the crypt, Oswald had thought himself perhaps finally dead. The long years of wandering, the many thousands he had killed in Lord Morgott's name, it all was an endless slog of misery for him. The lands were broken and not a lord among them could mend them. The Veiled Monarch could hardly keep the great runes out of the hands of the flocking tarnished, not to speak of even trying to restructure the golden order. Then the man his heart named father had smiled at him and bid him banish his fear.
As Oswald struck down another rotted foe, his gaze flickered worriedly to his lord. The Lord Commander had begun a great work, the likes of which none had achieved since before the shattering. Oswald was honored to aid him even a little in his grand goals.
The nights in Caelid were unbearably hot, the terrible humidity making it all the worse. Lady Ranni cast massive enchantments of cooling winds around the whole of their encampment, but any time one had to leave for patrol or scouting, it was truly miserable. There were so few survivors left unscathed here, barely a few score scattered lives. Oswald mourned the verdant land that used to dwell where now hell sat. Only ever more shambling corpses, piles of rot, addled fauna, or the dreaded centipede pests, met them on their path west.
Each day their great cavalry would go forth and cull yet more red remnants, Oswald often spied heraldry of his friends' families, great houses that had fallen into ruin. He and his lord had visited the lord Radahn often after his lord Owain's engagement to the Princess Ranni; this heartbreak was so heavy, just more weight piled atop his commander's shoulders.
Each night, they would sit within the confines of enchanted torchlight and hasty fortifications, praying the roaming hordes of monsters would not launch yet another attack. Though, throughout it all, the men's morale flagged little, as Lord Owain himself was ever at the forefront of battle. How could they despair their lot when their commander too was covered in this ghastly red rot. How could they yearn for home when their commander ranged ever farther forward in defense of his troops. No, Oswald knew there would not a man be found who would desert this campaign, not when the sight of their highlord's back was becoming more familiar than his front. It would disgrace them, rob them of what honor they had reclaimed since the shattering.
Oswald heard it often, the same hopeful words sounding from many mouths. Lord Owain was restoring the golden order. The Lord Commander was restoring to them purpose, prestige, and a glorious and honorable future. Oswald had fought through the horrors of the shattering, had commanded men to their deaths in wars that made no sense to any of them. He, and every other veteran sentinel, knew too well what baseless lands awaited them should they once more lose their beloved commander.
Lo, beloved he was. His rallying speeches, his deeds of might and awe, the men devoted themselves to him wholly, halberd and shield always ready to go forth at his command. Oswald could feel it in the troops, a long lost hope that sparked and flamed and burst within their hearts once more. That the once grand order of the tree sentinels could be so noble anew.
It was some weeks into the campaign when Oswald was hurriedly called to his lord's command tent by lady Ranni's attendant Arista, a sharp looking woman with sharper eyes. She tugged him impatiently through the heavy flap of his lord and lady's tent, where they caught the tail end of a conversation between the two. "-too hard, Wain. Dost thou wisheth to be the death of me?"
His lord was hunched over the side of his large cot, armor strewn about, blood seeping slowly through fingers clenched to his leg. He must have been stuck where the plates of his armor did not cover somehow. "I'll not keel over this instant, Ranni, I've too much to do." His lord's eyes found his own, Oswald knew the golden glow was a facade but even he could not see through it. "Ah, Os. Mend my leg, would you? One of those damn pests surprised Osgalath in the battle this morning."
"Yes, my lord. Of course." He'd become well practiced since their arrival in Caelid at healing lord Owain's wounds.
"Could you fetch Aldo when you are finished? I need his reports of the northern front." Oswald nodded, casting a greater healing spell quickly. The magic did nothing to allay the growing bags beneath his lord's eyes, or the lightening pallor of his skin. Oswald agreed with his lady Ranni, Lord Owain was pushing himself far too hard.
Before he exited the tent, Oswald turned, resolute that he must speak his mind. "My lord, I agree with Princess Ranni. I worry for you."
Owain took in three matching stares of concern with a low sigh. "I will…I will endeavor to be more careful, be not afeard."
Oswald's anxiety was only smally mollified but he smiled none the less. "Thank you, my lord." Now, where was Aldo? He was always dallying!
Nigh fifteen hundred of his sentinels, that was the cost in lives of three moons of trudging through Caelid in the name of gold. Most had fallen in battle against the rot crazed remnants of the sub-continent, while a few had succumbed to sudden onsets of the scarlet sickness. Despite all the efforts of his many perfumers, he lost more men every day. Owain scrubbed at his face with a hand, leaning back in the chair of his tent. Loath as he was to admit it, Ranni was right that he pushed himself too hard. He was flagging and she knew it.
He had not realized just how much he relied upon his magic to mend his body and soul, to aid him in combat, or cleanse him of disease. Thankfully, despite his own woes, the campaign into Caelid was going almost too smoothly. The Redmane's had offered their full cooperation, making pushes into most of southern and eastern Caelid from their hard-held forts. Owain and his sentinels had burnt clear through most of the northern and south-west country in a two headed strike. Aldo's report from the north was comforting news as well, even with his lesser force of three thousand, they had struck to as far as the dragon barrow.
Owain's main force would arrive at the southern edge of Aeonia in but a week's time. Oswald would then go north to reinforce Sellia, whilst Owain and smaller force of only a thousand Sentinels would continue on to castle Redmane to regroup and resupply. The rest of Caelid would fall under the shadow of his shield in due time, but it was what awaited them at the castle that worried him so.
Ranni's dulcet whispers soothed his ears as her willowy arms came to rest around his shoulders. "Thou requirest respite, lord commander." Her lips brushed lightly against his ear.
"With you at my side, am I not already in a dream?" He smiled wearily into her cheek as he turned to kiss her.
"Thine flattery doth not spare thee the need to rest, Wain." She began kneading at the iron of his stiff shoulders.
He groaned as she worked a particularly sensitive knot. She was right of course, alas, that his dreams had been so troubled of late. "I will try." He muttered.
"Dost she haunt thine dreams still?" Ranni said after some hesitation.
"Aye. Starlight, and still I've found no meaning to it." The same vision, every night for as long as they'd been in Caelid. His queen, crucified by cracking gold, speared through by searing red. She said naught, but her eyes scored through him, even as her flaking skin fell away. He could not discern where the dream took place, it felt as if it was a passing fever of muddy images. What this meant or why he'd been forced to see it so many times…he did not know.
Ranni sighed, pausing her efforts to rest her chin atop his head. "I detest the thought of it, but perhaps she is truly speaking to you and it is no vision at all. Even after thy death, still she will not give you peace!"
Owain pulled her into his lap, burying his head in the crook of her neck with a sigh. "Enough talk of such dark things, there is dark enough around us already. Come, let us see if I can find any respite with my lovely wife." He knew she still wished to speak of his vision but he simply had not the strength for it. He would need to muster himself before they arrived at the keep.
Her brother's imposing fortress awaited them, with crowds of Redmanes cheering at their arrival. Ranni only hoped she really would be able to save her brother. Mother and Miriel had mastered the spell to transfer souls and Ranni had made careful notes while she watched them perform it upon Morgott and Melina. She worried at the influence of the rot and the effect it might have on the efficacy of the spell. She worried also, that Radahn's great rune might yet interfere somehow; but she would need to lay hands upon it personally to truly tell. Ranni may yet have need to call on mother, but she hoped she could perform the rite without her. It would not do for mother to see Radahn like…like what Ranni had been hearing; she did not wish to risk a relapse. An entire transport of captured Tarnished rode at the back of their army; surely such a mass of bodies would be enough to work through trial and error.
It still surprised her that Owain was aligned in her perspective on their prisoners. Though, perhaps she should have expected him to be unwilling to grant any mercy to those who had attempted to slay his family, the memory of his potent fury at the attack was still fresh in her mind. Ranni edged Torrent closer to Osgalath, that she might hold Owain's hand; the princess worried for her prince-consort.
In his shining armor, atop his regal mount; Owain looked every bit the commander he had been before the shattering. Ranni though, knew the truth of it. This moons long campaign, all this war and death and battle; it had drained an already diminished man. He did not sleep soundly at night, some magic blocked even her own from giving him restful dreams.
He bled, he healed, he gained wounds anew. Had he his magic it would have been a trifle for a man as powerful as he; alas, he had been stripped of it. It was her fault! Her dealings with the dark moon had brought such pain to her Sunbeam! Ranni cursed her foolishness not for the last time. Her research into the Dark Moon's influence was proceeding rather poorly too. All signs pointed to a truth she did not wish to face; if Owain was to be wholly restored, he would once more need his grace. As they passed under the arch of the inner keep, she tried to banish such melancholy from her mind, she needed hope now, not despair.
Jerren awaited them at the foot of the stairs that let to the main hall. Castle Redmane could never hope to hold their host entire, so only Ranni, Arista, Oswald, and Owain had ventured within its walls. Owain's reassuring bulk was ever at her side as Jerren walked them through the keep, Oswald and Arista tending to their mounts.
"It is an honor to once more welcome you both into the keep; my lady, my lord. When I read that you intend to attempt to save my lord Radahn…we redmanes have not felt joy like this since before the blooming."
As Owain appeared to be brooding, Ranni answered for them both. "We art obliged by thy hospitality, Jerren." She wrapped an arm around Owain's. "I thank thee for holdin' off thine…festival."
She'd been about to continue when a massive figure, heavily armored with the head of a smiling wolf, raced around the corner. Blaidd! Oh, her sweet Blaidd! "Ranni!" Owain was snapped from his ruminations and nudged her forward with a breathy laugh. Jerren smartly stepped to the side. "I've missed you so much. Look how much trouble you've gotten into whilst I've been away!"
Ranni hugged the half-wolven happily, taking in his usual scent of iron and fur. "Dare not blame me for the trouble, twas all Owain."
Blaidd released her and the two men locked eyes. Some of the lingering shadows fled from Owain's face as he smiled; he really did look so much kinder when his expression wasn't so dour. "Blaidd." He opened his arms. "Come here already, you mangy pup."
Blaidd needed no further invitation before clasping Owain in a bear hug and vainly attempting to lift him off the ground in his joy. "Fat as ever, eh ol' man? Tell me, why'd Morgott give you back your old position when you're so outta shape?" Ranni palmed her brow in exasperation as Owain roared with laughter.
Blaidd joined their journey through the fort, Owain slinging an arm over his shoulder. "You see, little brother, I'm what they call 'competent', though I'm sure you've no idea what that means, do you?"
Ranni's sigh was drowned out by their continued banter. Only minutes back in each other's company and she was likely to develop a headache. Though, secretly, their familiar jokes settled a few pieces of her long broken heart back into tentative place. If these two could so easily reunite, who's to say Rykard and Radahn could not be brought back into the light as well? Her sunbeam would certainly do his best.
They arrived at Ranni's usual quarters, with Blaidd waiting for Jerren to bid his goodbyes before pulling both she and Owain in conspiratorially. "It is good that both of you are finally here. I've picked out a few of the tarnished that gathered for the festival to assist us in our quest, but there's more still that I think might be trouble." He butted heads gently with Owain. "I didn't say nothin' since I wasn't sure what you'd be thinkin'. There's to be a war council tonight, to decide next steps."
Owain's face hardened once more and Ranni mourned slightly the loss of his smile. "Good on you, brother, I shall be there."
Ranni sniffed delicately, leave these roughhousers to their battle plans, she had other work to do. "I'll not. Now that we're here, I mustn't waste any time. A portal stone to the manor shall takest me at least a week to fashion."
Blaidd stepped back, hand primed on the door. "Right. Things are beginnin' to feel right again; Seein' you two together." His gaze met Ranni's. "We'll fix up Radahn, don't you worry." She and Owain bid goodbyes with matching smiles.
After a few hours of rest, Owain began to adorn his armor once more for the council. Ranni aided him with the many plates, interspacing each new piece with a kiss. She felt an unease for some reason. "Mind thy manners, warrior mine." She murmured down at him as she softly pressed another kiss to his cheek before placing his helm atop his head.
"Don't I always?" He said with a weary smile.
"Owain."
He smoothed away the furrow of her brow. It never failed to make her laugh. "Aye, my dear. I'll not bring you shame." It was not shame she was worried about as she sent him off. His pride tended to get him into trouble when he interacted with rougher characters. Ranni began on her notes, trying vainly to quell this growing worry.